Were crowded with the bravest youth of France, And all the promptest of her spirits, linked In gallant soldiership, and posting on
To meet the war upon her frontier bounds. Yet at this very moment do tears start
Into mine eyes: I do not say I weep
I wept not then, but tears have dimmed my sight, In memory of the farewells of that time, Domestic severings, female fortitude At dearest separation, patriot love And self-devotion, and terrestrial hope, Encouraged with a martyr's confidence; Even files of strangers merely seen but once, And for a moment, men from far with sound Of music, martial tunes, and banners spread, Entering the city, here and there a face, Or person singled out among the rest, Yet still a stranger and beloved as such; Even by these passing spectacles my heart Was oftentimes uplifted, and they seemed Arguments sent from Heaven to prove the cause Good, pure, which no one could stand up against, Who was not lost, abandoned, selfish, proud, Mean, miserable, wilfully depraved, Hater perverse of equity and truth.
Among that band of Officers was one, Already hinted at, of other mould · A patriot, thence rejected by the rest, And with an oriental loathing spurned, As of a different caste. A meeker man Than this lived never, nor a more benign, Meek though enthusiastic. Injuries Made him more gracious, and his nature then Did breathe its sweetness out most sensibly, As aromatic flowers on Alpine turf,
When foot bath crushed them. He through the events Of that great change wandered in perfect faith, As through a book, an old romance, or tale Of Fairy, or some dream of actions wrought Behind the summer clouds. By birth he ranked With the most noble, but unto the poor Among mankind he was in service bound, As by some tie invisible, oaths professed To a religious order. Man he loved
As man; and, to the mean and the obscure, And all the homely in their homely works, Transferred a courtesy which had no air Of condescension; but did rather seem A passion and a gallantry, like that Which he, a soldier, in his idler day Had paid to woman: somewhat vain he was, Or seemed so, yet it was not vanity, But fondness, and a kind of radiant joy Diffused around him, while he was intent On works of love or freedom, or revolved Complacently the progress of a cause, Whereof he was a part: yet this was meek And placid, and took nothing from the man
That was delightful. Oft in solitude With him did I discourse about the end Of civil government, and its wisest forms; Of ancient loyalty, and chartered rights, Custom and habit, novelty and change;
Of self-respect, and virtue in the few For patrimonial honour set apart, And ignorance in the labouring multitude. For he, to all intolerance indisposed, Balanced these contemplations in his mind; And I, who at that time was scarcely dipped Into the turmoil, bore a sounder judgment Than later days allowed; carried about me, With less alloy to its integrity,
The experience of past ages, as, through help Of books and common life, it makes sure way To youthful minds, by objects over near Not pressed upon, nor dazzled or misled By struggling with the crowd for present ends.
But though not deaf, nor obstinate to find Error without excuse upon the side Of them who strove against us, more delight We took, and let this freely be confessed, In painting to ourselves the miseries Of royal courts, and that voluptuous life Unfeeling, where the man who is of soul The meanest thrives the most; where dignity, True personal dignity, abideth not;
A light, a cruel, and vain world cut off From the natural inlets of just sentiment, From lowly sympathy and chastening truth; Where good and evil interchange their names, And thirst for bloody spoils abroad is paired With vice at home. We added dearest themes Man and his noble nature, as it is
The gift which God has placed within his power, His blind desires and steady faculties Capable of clear truth, the one to break Bondage, the other to build liberty On firm foundations, making social life, Through knowledge spreading and imperishable, As just in regulation, and as pure As individual in the wise and good.
We summoned up the honourable deeds Of ancient Story, thought of each bright spot, That would be found in all recorded time, Of truth preserved and error passed away; Of single spirits that catch the flame from Heaven, And how the multitudes of men will feed And fan each other; thought of sects, how keen They are to put the appropriate nature on, Triumphant over every obstacle
Of custom, language, country, love, or hate, And what they do and suffer for their creed, How far they travel, and how long endure; How quickly mighty Nations have been formed, From least beginnings; how, together locked
By new opinions, scattered tribes have made One body, spreading wide as clouds in heaven. To aspirations then of our own minds Did we appeal; and, finally, beheld A living confirmation of the whole Before us, in a people from the depth Of shameful imbecility uprisen,
Fresh as the morning star. Elate we looked Upon their virtues; saw, in rudest men, Self-sacrifice the firmest; generous love, And continence of mind, and sense of right, Uppermost in the midst of fiercest strife.
Oh, sweet it is, in academic groves,
Or such retirement, Friend! as we have known In the green dales beside our Rotha's stream, Greta, or Derwent, or some nameless rill, To ruminate, with interchange of talk, On rational liberty, and hope in man, Justice and peace. But far more sweet such toil Toil, say I, for it leads to thoughts abstruse If nature then be standing on the brink Of some great trial, and we hear the voice Of one devoted,-one whom circumstance Hath called upon to embody his deep sense In action, give it outwardly a shape, And that of benediction to the world. Then doubt is not, and truth is more than truth, A hope it is, and a desire; a creed
When those two vessels with their daring freight, For the Sicilian Tyrant's overthrow, Sailed from Zacynthus, - philosophic war, Led by Philosophers. With harder fate, Though like ambition, such was he, O Friend! Of whom I speak. So Beaupuis (let the name Stand near the worthiest of Antiquity) Fashioned his life; and many a long discourse, With like persuasion honoured, we maintained: He, on his part, accoutred for the worst. He perished fighting, in supreme command, Upon the borders of the unhappy Loire, For liberty, against deluded men, His fellow-countrymen; and yet most blessed In this, that he the fate of later times Lived not to see, nor what we now behold, Who have as ardent hearts as he had then.
Along that very Loire, with festal mirth Resounding at all hours, and innocent yet Of civil slaughter, was our frequent walk; Or in wide forests of continuous shade,
Lofty and over-arched, with open space Beneath the trees, clear footing many a mile- A solemn region. Oft amid those haunts, From earnest dialogues I slipped in thought, And let remembrance steal to other times, When, o'er those interwoven roots, moss-clad, And smooth as marble or a waveless sea,
Some Hermit, from his cell forth-strayed, might pace In sylvan meditation undisturbed;
As on the pavement of a Gothic church Walks a lone Monk, when service hath expired, In peace and silence. But if e'er was heard,- Heard, though unseen, -a devious traveller, Retiring or approaching from afar With speed and echoes loud of trampling hoofs From the hard floor reverberated, then It was Angelica thundering through the woods Upon her palfrey, or that gentle maid Erminia, fugitive as fair as she. Sometimes methought I saw a pair of knights Joust underneath the trees, that as in storm Rocked high above their heads; anon, the din Of boisterous merriment, and music's roar, In sudden proclamation, burst from haunt Of Satyrs in some viewless glade, with dance Rejoicing o'er a female in the midst,
A mortal beauty, their unhappy thrall. The width of those huge forests, unto me
A novel scene, did often in this way
Master my fancy while I wandered on
With that revered companion. And sometimes- When to a convent in a meadow green,
By a brook-side, we came, a roofless pile, And not by reverential touch of Time Dismantled, but by violence abrupt — In spite of those heart-bracing colloquies, In spite of real fervour, and of that Less genuine and wrought up within myself- I could not but bewail a wrong so harsh, And for the Matin-bell to sound no more Grieved, and the twilight taper, and the cross High on the topmost pinnacle, a sign (How welcome to the weary traveller's eyes!) Of hospitality and peaceful rest.
And when the partner of those varied walks Pointed upon occasion to the site Of Romorentin, home of ancient kings, To the imperial edifice of Blois,
Or to that rural castle, name now slipped From my remembrance, where a lady lodged, By the first Francis wooed, and bound to him In chains of mutual passion, from the tower, As a tradition of the country tells, Practised to commune with her royal knight By cressets and love-beacons, intercourse 'Twixt her high-seated residence and his Far off at Chambord on the plain beneath; Even here, though less than with the peaceful nouso Religious, 'mid those frequent monuments
Of Kings, their vices and their better deeds, Imagination, potent to inflame
At times with virtuous wrath and noble scorn, Did also often mitigate the force Of civic prejudice, the bigotry,.
So call it, of a youthful patriot's mind;
And on these spots with many gleams I looked Of chivalrous delight. Yet not the less, Hatred of absolute rule, where will of one Is law for all, and of that barren pride In them who, by immunities unjust, Between the sovereign and the people stand, His helper and not theirs, laid stronger hold Daily upon me, mixed with pity too
And love; for where hope is, there love will be For the abject multitude. And when we chanced One day to meet a hunger-bitten girl, Who crept along fitting her languid gait Unto a heifer's motion, by a cord
Tied to her arm, and picking thus from the lane Its sustenance, while the girl with pallid hands Was busy knitting in a heartless mood Of solitude, and at the sight my friend
In agitation said, ""Tis against that
That we are fighting," I with him believed
That a benignant spirit was abroad Which might not be withstood, that poverty Abject as this would in a little time
Be found no more, that we should see the earth Unthwarted in her wish to recompense The meek, the lowly, patient child of toil. All institutes for ever blotted out That legalized exclusion, empty pomp Abolished, sensual state and cruel power, Whether by edict of the one or few; And finally, as sum and crown of all, Should see the people having a strong hand In framing their own laws; whence better days To all mankind. But, these things set apart, Was not this single confidence enough To animate the mind that ever turned
A thought to human welfare? That henceforth Captivity by mandate without law
Should cease; and open accusation lead To sentence in the hearing of the world, And open punishment, if not the air
Be free to breathe in, and the heart of man
Dread nothing. From this height I shall not stoop
To humbler matter that detained us oft In thought or conversation, public acts, And public persons, and emotions wrought Within the breast, as ever-varying winds Of record or report swept over us; But I might here; instead, repeat a tale,* Told by my Patriot friend, of sad events, That prove to what low depth had struck the roots, How widely spread the boughs, of that old tree Which, as a deadly mischief, and a foul And black dishonour, France was weary of.
Oh, happy time of youthful lovers, (thus The story might begin). Oh, balmy time, In which a love-knot, on a lady's brow, Is fairer than the fairest star in Heaven! So might-and with that prelude did begin The record; and, in faithful verse, was given The doleful sequel.
On a strong river boldly hath been launched; And from the driving current should we turn To loiter wilfully within a creek,
Howe'er attractive, Fellow voyager!
Wouldst thou not chide? Yet deem not my pains lost For Vandracour and Julia (so were named
The ill-fated pair) in that plain tale will draw Tears from the hearts of others, when their own Shall beat no inore. Thou, also, there mayst read, At leisure, how the enamoured youth was driven, By public power abased, to fatal crime, Nature's rebellion against monstrous law; How, between heart and heart, oppression thrust Her mandates, severing whom true love had joined, Harassing both; until he sank and pressed The couch his fate had made for him; supine, Save when the stings of viperous remorse, Trying their strength, enforced him to start up, Aghast and prayerless. Into a deep wood
He fled, to shun the haunts of human kind; There dwelt, weakened in spirit more and more;
Nor could the voice of Freedom, which through France Full speedily resounded, public hope,
Or personal memory of his own worst wrongs, Rouse him; but, hidden in those gloomy shades, His days he wasted, - -an imbecile mind.
"See "Vandracour and Julia," ante p. 104.
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE (CONTINUED).
It was a beautiful and silent day
That overspread the countenance of earth, Then fading with unusual quietness,—
A day as beautiful as e'er was given
To soothe regret, though deepening what it soothed, When by the gliding Loire I paused, and cast Upon his rich domains, vineyard and tilth, Green meadow-ground, and many-coloured woods, Again, and yet again, a farewell look;
Then from the quiet of that scene passed on, Bound to the fierce Metropolis. From his throne The King had fallen, and that invading host- Presumptuous cloud, on whose black front was written The tender mercies of the dismal wind That bore it —on the plains of Liberty' Had burst innocuous. Say in bolder words, They
who had come elate as eastern hunters Banded beneath the Great Mogul, when he Erewhile went forth from Agra or Lahore, Rajahs and Omrahs in his train, intent To drive their prey inclosed within a ring Wide as a province, but, the signal given, Before the point of the life-threatening spear Narrowing itself by moments- they, rash men, Had seen the anticipated quarry turned Into avengers, from whose wrath they fled In terror. Disappointment and dismay Remained for all whose fancies had run wild With evil expectations; confidence And perfect triumph for the better cause.
The State, as if to stamp the final seal On her security, and to the world
Show what she was, a high and fearless soul, Exulting in defiance, or heart-stung By sharp resentment, or belike to taunt With spiteful gratitude the baffled League, That had stirred up her slackening faculties To a new transition, when the King was crushed, Spared not the empty throne, and in proud haste Assumed the body and venerable name Of a Republic. Lamentable crimes, "Tis true, had gone before this hour, dire work Of massacre, in which the senseless sword Was prayed to as a judge; but these were past, Earth free from them for ever, as was thought,— Ephemeral monsters, to be seen but once! Things that could only show themselves and die.
Cheered with this hope, to Paris I returned, And ranged, with ardour heretofore unfelt, The spacious city, and in progress passed The prison where the unhappy Monarch lay, Associate with his children and his wife In bondage; and the palace, lately stormed With roar of cannon by a furious host.
I crossed the square (an empty area then!) Of the Carrousel, where so late had lain The dead, upon the dying heaped, and gazed On this and other spots, as doth a man Upon a volume whose contents he knows Are memorable, but from him locked up, Being written in a tongue he cannot read, So that he questions the mute leaves with pain, And half upbraids their silence. But that night I felt most deeply in what world I was, What ground I trod on, and what air I breathed. High was my room and lonely, near the roof Of a large mansion or hotel, a lodge That would have pleased me in more quiet times; Nor was it wholly without pleasure then. With unextinguished taper I kept watch, Reading at intervals; the fear gone by Pressed on me almost like a fear to come. I thought of those September massacres, Divided from me by one little month,
Saw them and touched: the rest was conjured up From tragic fictions or true history, Remembrances and dim admonishinents. The horse is taught his manage, and no star
Of wildest course but treads back his own steps; For the spent hurricane the air provides
As fierce a successor; the tide retreats But to return out of its hiding-place
In the great deep; all things have second birth; The earthquake is not satisfied at once; And in this way I wrought upon myself, Until I seemed to hear a voice that cried, To the whole city, "Sleep no more." The trance Fled with the voice to which it had given birth; But vainly comments of a calmer mind Promised soft peace and sweet forgetfulness. The place, all hushed and silent as it was, Appeared unfit for the repose of night, Defenceless as a wood where tigers roam.
With early morning towards the Palace-walk
Of Orleans eagerly I turned; as yet The streets were still not so those long Arcades; There, mid a peal of ill-matched sounds and cries, That greeted me on entering, I could hear Shrill voices from the hawkers in the throng, Bawling, "Denunciation of the Crimes Of Maximilian Robespierre;" the hand, Prompt as the voice held forth a printed speech, The same that had been recently pronounced, When Robespierre, not ignorant for what mark Some words of indirect reproof had been Intended, rose in hardihood, and dared The man who had an ill surmise of hinı To bring his charge in openness; whereat, When a dead pause ensued, and no one stirred, In silence of all present, from his seat Louvet walked single through the avenue, And took his station in the Tribune, saying, "I, Robespierre, accuse thee!" Well is known The inglorious issue of that charge, and how He, who had launched the startling thunderbolt, The one bold man, whose voice the attack had sounded, Was left without a follower to discharge His perilous duty, and retire lamenting That Heaven's best aid is wasted upon men Who to themselves are false.
Of which I speak, only as they were storm Or sunshine to my individual mind, No further. Let me then relate that now In some sort seeing with my proper cyes That Liberty, and Life, and Death would soon To the remotest corners of the land Lie in the arbitrament of those who ruled The capital City; what was struggled for, And by what combatants victory must be won; The indecision on their part whose aim
Seemed best, and the straightforward path of those Who in attack or in defence were strong Through their impiety—my inmost soul Was agitated; yea, I could almost
Have prayed that throughout earth upon all men, By patient exercise of reason made Worthy of liberty, all spirits fill
With zeal expanding in Truth's holy light, The gift of tongues might fall, and power arrive From the four quarters of the winds to do For France, what without help she could not do, A work of honour; think not that to this I added, work of safety: from all doubt
Or trepidation for the end of things Far was I, far as angels are from guilt.
Yet did I grieve, nor only grieved, but thought Of opposition and of remedies:
An insignificant stranger and obscure, And one, moreover, little graced with power Of eloquence even in my native speech; 3R
And all unfit for tumult or intrigue, Yet would I at this time with willing heart Have undertaken for a cause so great Service however dangerous. I revolved, How much the destiny of Man had still Hung upon single persons; that there was, Transcendent to all local patrimony,
One nature, as there is one sun in heaven; That objects, even as they are great, thereby Do come within the reach of humblest eyes; That man is only weak through his mistrust And want of hope where evidence divine Proclains to him that hope should be most sure; Nor did the inexperience of my youth Preclude conviction, that a spirit strong In hope, and trained to noble aspirations, A spirit throughly faithful to itself, Is for Society's unreasoning herd A domineering instinct, serves at once For way and guide, a fluent receptacle That gathers up each petty straggling rill And vein of water, glad to be rolled on In safe obedience; that a mind, whose rest Is where it ought to be, in self-restraint, In circumspection and simplicity, Falls rarely in entire discomfiture Below its aim, or meets with, from without, A treachery that foils it or defeats; And, lastly, if the means on human will, Frail human will, dependent should betray Him who too boldly trusted them, I felt That 'mid the loud distractions of the world A sovereign voice subsists within the soul, Arbiter undisturbed of right and wrong, Of life and death, in majesty severe Enjoining, as may best promote the aims Of truth and justice, either sacrifice, From whatsoever region of our cares Or our infirm affections Nature pleads, Earnest and blind, against the stern decree.
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