Yes! with the peal of cymbal and of gong,
He comes,-the Moslem treads those ancient halls!
But all is stillness there, as Death had long
Been lord alone within those gorgeous walls.
And half that silence of the grave appals
The conqueror's heart. Ay, thus with Triumph's hour,
Still comes the boding whisper, which recalls
A thought of those impervious clouds that low'r
O'er Grandeur's path, a sense of some far mightier Power
"The owl upon Afrasiab's towers hath sung
Her watch-song, and around th' imperial throne
The spider weaves his web !" 21 Still darkly hung
That verse of omen, as a prophet's tone,
O'er his flush'd spirit. Years on years have flown
To prove its truth: kings pile their domes in air
That the coil'd snake may bask on sculptured stone,
And nations clear the forest, to prepare
For the wild fox and wolf more stately dwellings there!
But thou! that on thy ramparts proudly dying,
As a crown'd leader in such hours should die,
Upon thy pyre of shiver'd spears art lying,
With the heavens o'er thee for a canopy,
And banners for thy shroud !-No tear, no sigh,
Shall mingle with thy dirge; for thou art now
Beyond vicissitude! Lo! rear'd on high,
The Crescent blazes, while the Cross must bow;
But where no change can reach-there, Constantine, art thou!
"After life's fitful fever thou sleep'st well!"
We may not mourn thee!-Sceptred chiefs, from whom
The earth received her destiny, and fell
Before them trembling-to a sterner doom
Have oft been call'd. For them the dungeon's gloom,
With its cold, starless midnight, hath been made More fearful darkness, where, as in a tomb, Without a tomb's repose, the chain bath weigh'd Their very soul to dust, with each high power decay'd.
But gaze thou not on these; though heaven's own hues,
In their soft clouds and radiant tracery vie;
Though tints of sun-born glory may suffuse
Arch, column, rich mosaic: pass thou by
The stately tombs, where Eastern Cæsars lie,
Beneath their trophies; pause not here, for know,
A deeper source of all sublimity
Lives in man's bosom, than the world can show,
In nature or in art, above, around, below.
Turn thou to mark (tho' tears may dim thy gaze)
The steel-clad group before yon altar-stone;
Heed not, tho' gems and gold around it blaze,
Those heads unhelm'd, those kneeling forms alone,
Thus bow'd, look glorious here. The light is thrown
Full from the shrine on one, a nation's lord,
A sufferer!-but his task shall soon be done-
E'en now, as Faith's mysterious cup is pour'd,
See to that noble brow, peace, not of earth, restored!
The rite is o'er. The band of brethren part,
Once-and but once-to meet on earth again!
Each, in the strength of a collected heart,
To dare what man may dare-and know 'tis vain!
The rite is o'er and thou, majestic fane !
The glory is departed from thy brow!
Be clothed with dust !-the Christian's farewell strain Hath died within thy walls; thy Cross must bow; Thy kingly tombs be spoil'd; thy golden shrines laid low!
The streets grow still and lonely-and the star,
The last bright lingerer in the path of morn,
Gleams faint; and in the very lap of war,
As if young Hope with Twilight's ray were born,
Awhile the city sleeps :-her throngs, o'erworn
With fears and watchings, to their homes retire;
Nor is the balmy air of dayspring torn
With battle-sounds; 17 the winds in sighs expire,
And Quiet broods in mists, that veil the sunbeam's fire..
The city sleeps !-ay, on the combat's eve,
And by the scaffold's brink, and midst the swell
Of angry seas, hath Nature won reprieve
Thus from her cares. The brave have slumber'd well,
And e'en the fearful, in their dungeon-cell,
Chain'd between Life and Death!-Such rest be thine,
For conflicts wait thee still!-Yet who can tell
In that brief hour, how much of Heaven may shine
Full on thy spirit's dream?-Sleep, weary Constantine!
Doth the blast rise?—the clouded East is red,
As if a storm were gathering; and I hear
What seems like heavy rain-drops, or the tread,
The soft and smother'd step, of those that fear
Surprise from ambush'd foes. Hark! yet more near
It comes, a many-toned and mingled sound;
A rustling, as of winds where boughs are sear,
A rolling, as of wheels that shake the ground
From far; a heavy rush, like seas that burst their bound!
Wake, wake! They come from sea and shore ascending
In hosts your ramparts! Arm ye for the day!
Who now may sleep amidst the thunders rending,
Thro' tower and wall, a path for their array?
Hark! how the trumpet cheers them to the prey,
With its wild voice, to which the seas reply!
And the earth rocks beneath their engine's sway,
And the far hills repeat their battle-cry,
Till that fierce tumult seems to shake the vaulted sky!
They fail not now, the generous band, that long
Have ranged their swords around a falling throne;
Still in those fearless men the walls are strong,
Hearts such as rescue empires are their own!
-Shall those high energies be vainly shown?
No! from their towers th' invading tide is driven
Back, like the Red Sea waves, when God hath blown
With his strong winds !18-the dark-brow'd ranks are rivenShout, warriors of the Cross !-for victory is of Heaven
-Again the Crescent host is rushing,
he waves foam, as on the galleys sweep,
their fires and darts, tho' blood is gushing
meir sides, as rivers to the deep.
there yet is hope-th' ascent is steep.
2 high no shaft descends in vain !—
that fall swell up the mangled heap,
noat, the dying and the slain,
earful bridge th' assailants mount again!
read mingling, in that awful hour, sounds !-the savage tone Lor, the cannon's peal, the shower arts, the crash of walls o'erthrown, ambour's beat !-man's voice alone ! Ye may not catch the cry Tousands-prayer, and shriek, and moan, that fierce hurricane sweeps by, eded sum earth pays for victory!
Oh! happy in their homes the noble dead!
The seal is set on their majestic fame;
Earth has drunk deep the generous blood they shed,
Fate has no power to dim their stainless name!
They may not, in one bitter moment, shame
Long glorious years; from many a lofty stem
Fall graceful flowers, and eagle hearts grow tame,
And stars drop, fading, from the diadem;
But the bright past is theirs-there is no change for them!
Where art thou, Constantine?-Where Death is reaping
His sevenfold harvest! Where the stormy light,
Fast as th' artillery's thunderbolts are sweeping,
Throws meteor-bursts o'er battle's noonday-night?
Where the towers rock and crumble from their height,
As to the earthquake, and the engines ply
Like red Vesuvio; and where human might
Confronts all this, and still brave hearts beat high,
While scymetars ring loud on shivering panoply.
Where art thou, Constantine?-Where Christian blood
Hath bathed the walls in torrents, and in vain!
Where Faith and Valour perish in the flood,
Whose billows, rising o'er their bosoms, gain
Dark strength each moment: where the gallant slain
Around the banner of the Cross lie strew'd,
Thick as the vine-leaves on the autumnal plain;
Where all, save one high spirit, is subdued,
And through the breach press on th' o'erwhelming multitude.
Now is he battling mist a host alone.
As the last cedar ste
Of mountain-storm
Its forest-brethren
And he hath cast
With its imperia An iron ransom And win, what A soldier's death
green array!
le robe away,
s; that his sword
chain may pay,
te may yet accord,-
I now left an empire's lord?
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