The Works of Lord Byron Volume V Part 137

IV.

How, if that soaring Spirit still retain A conscious twilight of his blazing reign, 90 How must he smile, on looking down, to see The little that he was and sought to be!

What though his Name a wider empire found Than his Ambition, though with scarce a bound; Though first in glory, deepest in reverse, He tasted Empire's blessings and its curse; Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape From chains, would gladly be _their_ Tyrant's ape; How must he smile, and turn to yon lone grave, The proudest Sea-mark that o'ertops the wave! 100 What though his gaoler, duteous to the last, Scarce deemed the coffin's lead could keep him fast, Refusing one poor line[271] along the lid, To date the birth and death of all it hid; That name shall hallow the ign.o.ble sh.o.r.e, A talisman to all save him who bore: The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast Shall hear their sea-boys[272] hail it from the mast; When Victory's Gallic column[273] shall but rise, Like Pompey's pillar[274], in a desert's skies, 110 The rocky Isle that holds or held his dust, Shall crown the Atlantic like the Hero's bust, And mighty Nature o'er his obsequies Do more than n.i.g.g.ard Envy still denies.

But what are these to him? Can Glory's l.u.s.t Touch the freed spirit or the fettered dust?

Small care hath he of what his tomb consists; Nought if he sleeps--nor more if he exists: Alike the better-seeing Shade will smile On the rude cavern[275] of the rocky isle, 120 As if his ashes found their latest home In Rome's Pantheon or Gaul's mimic dome[276].

He wants not this; but France shall feel the want Of this last consolation, though so scant: Her Honour--Fame--and Faith demand his bones, To rear above a Pyramid of thrones; Or carried onward in the battle's van, To form, like Guesclin's dust, her Talisman[277].

But be it as it is--the time may come His name shall beat the alarm, like Ziska's drum[278]. 130

V.

Oh Heaven! of which he was in power a feature; Oh Earth! of which he was a n.o.ble creature; Thou Isle! to be remembered long and well, That saw'st the unfledged eaglet chip his sh.e.l.l!

Ye Alps which viewed him in his dawning flights Hover, the Victor of a hundred fights!

Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Caesar's deeds outdone!

Alas! why pa.s.sed he too the Rubicon-- The Rubicon of Man's awakened rights, To herd with vulgar kings and parasites? 140 Egypt! from whose all dateless tombs arose Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose, And shook within their pyramids to hear A new Cambyses thundering in their ear; While the dark shades of Forty Ages stood Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood[279]; Or from the Pyramid's tall pinnacle Beheld the desert peopled, as from h.e.l.l, With clas.h.i.+ng hosts, who strewed the barren sand, To re-manure the uncultivated land! 150 Spain! which, a moment mindless of the Cid, Beheld his banner flouting thy Madrid[280]!

Austria! which saw thy twice-ta'en capital[281]

Twice spared to be the traitress of his fall!

Ye race of Frederic!--Frederics but in name And falsehood--heirs to all except his fame: Who, crushed at Jena, crouched at Berlin[282], fell First, and but rose to follow! Ye who dwell Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet The unpaid amount of Catherine's b.l.o.o.d.y debt[283]! 160 Poland! o'er which the avenging Angel past, But left thee as he found thee,[284] still a waste, Forgetting all thy still enduring claim, Thy lotted people and extinguished name, Thy sigh for freedom, thy long-flowing tear, That sound that crashes in the tyrant's ear-- Kosciusko![285] On--on--on--the thirst of War Gasps for the gore of serfs and of their Czar.

The half barbaric Moscow's minarets Gleam in the sun, but 'tis a sun that sets! 170 Moscow! thou limit of his long career, For which rude Charles had wept his frozen tear[286]

To see in vain--_he_ saw thee--how? with spire And palace fuel to one common fire.

To this the soldier lent his kindling match, To this the peasant gave his cottage thatch, To this the merchant flung his h.o.a.rded store, The prince his hall--and Moscow was no more!

Sublimest of volcanoes! Etna's flame Pales before thine, and quenchless Hecla's tame; 180 Vesuvius shows his blaze,[287] an usual sight For gaping tourists, from his hackneyed height:[dz]

Thou stand'st alone unrivalled, till the Fire To come, in which all empires shall expire!

Thou other Element! as strong and stern, To teach a lesson conquerors will not learn!-- Whose icy wing flapped o'er the faltering foe, Till fell a hero with each flake of snow; How did thy numbing beak and silent fang, Pierce, till hosts perished with a single pang! 190 In vain shall Seine look up along his banks For the gay thousands of his das.h.i.+ng ranks!

In vain shall France recall beneath her vines Her Youth--their blood flows faster than her wines; Or stagnant in their human ice remains In frozen mummies on the Polar plains.

In vain will Italy's broad sun awaken Her offspring chilled; its beams are now forsaken.

Of all the trophies gathered from the war, What shall return? the Conqueror's broken car![288] 200 The Conqueror's yet unbroken heart! Again The horn of Roland[289] sounds, and not in vain.

Lutzen, where fell the Swede of victory,[290]

Beholds him conquer, but, alas! not die: Dresden[291] surveys three despots fly once more Before their sovereign,--sovereign as before;[ea]

But there exhausted Fortune quits the field, And Leipsic's[292] treason bids the unvanquished yield; The Saxon jackal leaves the lion's side To turn the bear's, and wolf's, and fox's guide; 210 And backward to the den of his despair The forest monarch shrinks, but finds no lair!

Oh ye! and each, and all! Oh France! who found Thy long fair fields ploughed up as hostile ground, Disputed foot by foot, till Treason, still His only victor, from Montmartre's hill[293]

Looked down o'er trampled Paris! and thou Isle, Which seest Etruria from thy ramparts smile, Thou momentary shelter of his pride, Till wooed by danger, his yet weeping bride! 220 Oh, France! retaken by a single march, Whose path was through one long triumphal arch!

Oh b.l.o.o.d.y and most bootless Waterloo!

Which proves how fools may have their fortune too, Won half by blunder, half by treachery: Oh dull Saint Helen! with thy gaoler nigh-- Hear! hear Prometheus[294] from his rock appeal To Earth,--Air,--Ocean,--all that felt or feel His power and glory, all who yet shall hear A name eternal as the rolling year; 230 He teaches them the lesson taught so long, So oft, so vainly--learn to do no wrong!

A single step into the right had made This man the Was.h.i.+ngton of worlds betrayed: A single step into the wrong has given His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven; The reed of Fortune, and of thrones the rod, Of Fame the Moloch or the demiG.o.d; His country's Caesar, Europe's Hannibal, Without their decent dignity of fall. 240 Yet Vanity herself had better taught A surer path even to the fame he sought, By pointing out on History's fruitless page Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage.

While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to Heaven, Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven, Or drawing from the no less kindled earth Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth;[295]

While Was.h.i.+ngton's a watchword, such as ne'er Shall sink while there's an echo left to air:[296] 250 While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar![297]

Alas! why must the same Atlantic wave Which wafted freedom gird a tyrant's grave-- The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave, Who burst the chains of millions to renew The very fetters which his arm broke through, And crushed the rights of Europe and his own, To flit between a dungeon and a throne?

VI.

But 'twill not be--the spark's awakened--lo! 260 The swarthy Spaniard feels his former glow; The same high spirit which beat back the Moor Through eight long ages of alternate gore Revives--and where? in that avenging clime Where Spain was once synonymous with crime, Where Cortes' and Pizarro's banner flew, The infant world redeems her name of "_New_."

'Tis the _old_ aspiration breathed afresh, To kindle souls within degraded flesh, Such as repulsed the Persian from the sh.o.r.e 270 Where Greece _was_--No! she still is Greece once more.

One common cause makes myriads of one breast, Slaves of the East, or helots of the West: On Andes'[298] and on Athos' peaks unfurled, The self-same standard streams o'er either world: The Athenian[299] wears again Harmodius' sword; The Chili chief[300] abjures his foreign lord; The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek,[301]

Young Freedom plumes the crest of each cacique; Debating despots, hemmed on either sh.o.r.e, 280 Shrink vainly from the roused Atlantic's roar; Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides advance, Sweep slightly by the half-tamed land of France, Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and would fain Unite Ausonia to the mighty main: But driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye, Break o'er th' aegean, mindful of the day Of Salamis!--there, there the waves arise, Not to be lulled by tyrant victories.

Lone, lost, abandoned in their utmost need 290 By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed, The desolated lands, the ravaged isle, The fostered feud encouraged to beguile, The aid evaded, and the cold delay, Prolonged but in the hope to make a prey[302];-- These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can show The false friend worse than the infuriate foe.

But this is well: Greeks only should free Greece, Not the barbarian, with his masque of peace.

How should the Autocrat of bondage be 300 The king of serfs, and set the nations free?

Better still serve the haughty Mussulman, Than swell the Cossaque's prowling caravan; Better still toil for masters, than await, The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate,-- Numbered by hordes, a human capital, A live estate, existing but for thrall, Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward For the first courtier in the Czar's regard; While their immediate owner never tastes 310 His sleep, _sans_ dreaming of Siberia's wastes: Better succ.u.mb even to their own despair, And drive the Camel--than purvey the Bear.

VII.

But not alone within the h.o.a.riest clime Where Freedom dates her birth with that of Time, And not alone where, plunged in night, a crowd Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud[eb], The dawn revives: renowned, romantic Spain Holds back the invader from her soil again.

Not now the Roman tribe nor Punic horde[ec] 320 Demands her fields as lists to prove the sword; Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth Pollute the plains, alike abhorring both[ed]; Nor old Pelayo[303] on his mountain rears The warlike fathers of a thousand years.

That seed is sown and reaped, as oft the Moor Sighs to remember on his dusky sh.o.r.e.

Long in the peasant's song or poet's page Has dwelt the memory of Abencerrage; The Zegri[304], and the captive victors, flung 330 Back to the barbarous realm from whence they sprung.

But these are gone--their faith, their swords, their sway, Yet left more anti-christian foes than they[ee]; The bigot monarch, and the butcher priest[305], The Inquisition, with her burning feast, The Faith's red "Auto," fed with human fuel, While sate the catholic Moloch, calmly cruel, Enjoying, with inexorable eye,[ef]

That fiery festival of Agony!

The stern or feeble sovereign, one or both 340 By turns; the haughtiness whose pride was sloth; The long degenerate n.o.ble; the debased Hidalgo, and the peasant less disgraced, But more degraded; the unpeopled realm; The once proud navy which forgot the helm; The once impervious phalanx disarrayed; The idle forge that formed Toledo's blade; The foreign wealth that flowed on every sh.o.r.e, Save hers who earned it with the native's gore; The very language which might vie with Rome's, 350 And once was known to nations like their homes, Neglected or forgotten:--such _was_ Spain; But such she is not, nor shall be again.

These worst, these _home_ invaders, felt and feel The new Numantine soul of old Castile[eg], Up! up again! undaunted Tauridor!

The bull of Phalaris renews his roar[eh]; Mount, chivalrous Hidalgo! not in vain Revive the cry--"Iago! and close Spain!"[306]

Yes, close her with your armed bosoms round, 360 And form the barrier which Napoleon found,-- The exterminating war, the desert plain, The streets without a tenant, save the slain; The wild Sierra, with its wilder troop[ei]

Of vulture-plumed Guerrillas, on the stoop[ej]

For their incessant prey; the desperate wall Of Saragossa, mightiest in her fall; The Man nerved to a spirit, and the Maid Waving her more than Amazonian blade[307]; The knife of Arragon, Toledo's steel; 370 The famous lance of chivalrous Castile[308]; The unerring rifle of the Catalan; The Andalusian courser in the van; The torch to make a Moscow of Madrid; And in each heart the spirit of the Cid:-- Such have been, such shall be, such are. Advance, And win--not Spain! but thine own freedom, France!

VIII.

But lo! a Congress[309]! What! that hallowed name Which freed the Atlantic! May we hope the same For outworn Europe? With the sound arise, 380 Like Samuel's shade to Saul's monarchic eyes, The prophets of young Freedom, summoned far From climes of Was.h.i.+ngton and Bolivar; Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes, Whose thunder shook the Philip of the seas[310]; And stoic Franklin's energetic shade, Robed in the lightnings which his hand allayed; And Was.h.i.+ngton, the tyrant-tamer, wake, To bid us blush for these old chains, or break.

But _who_ compose this Senate of the few 390 That should redeem the many? _Who_ renew This consecrated name, till now a.s.signed To councils held to benefit mankind?

Who now a.s.semble at the holy call?

The blest Alliance, which says three are all!

An earthly Trinity! which wears the shape Of Heaven's, as man is mimicked by the ape.

A pious Unity! in purpose one-- To melt three fools to a Napoleon[ek].

Why, Egypt's G.o.ds were rational to these; 400 Their dogs and oxen knew their own degrees, And, quiet in their kennel or their shed, Cared little, so that they were duly fed; But these, more hungry, must have something more-- The power to bark and bite, to toss and gore.

Ah, how much happier were good aesop's frogs Than we! for ours are animated logs, With ponderous malice swaying to and fro, And crus.h.i.+ng nations with a stupid blow; All dully anxious to leave little work 410 Unto the revolutionary stork.

IX.

Thrice blest Verona! since the holy three With their imperial presence s.h.i.+ne on thee!

Honoured by them, thy treacherous site forgets[el]

The vaunted tomb of "all the Capulets!"[311]

Thy Scaligers--for what was "Dog the Great,"

"Can Grande,"[312] (which I venture to translate,) To these sublimer pugs? Thy poet too, Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new;[313]

Thine amphitheatre, where Romans sate; 420 And Dante's exile sheltered by thy gate; Thy good old man, whose world was all within Thy wall, nor knew the country held him in;[314]

Would that the royal guests it girds about Were so far like, as never to get out!

Aye, shout! inscribe![315] rear monuments of shame, To tell Oppression that the world is tame!

Crowd to the theatre with loyal rage, The comedy is not upon the stage; The show is rich in ribandry and stars, 430 Then gaze upon it through thy dungeon bars; Clap thy permitted palms, kind Italy, For thus much still thy fettered hands are free!

X.