XXXIV.

He dared not kill the infidels with fire
Or steel, in Europe: the slow agonies
Of legal torture mock'd his keen desire :

So he made truce with those who did despise
The expiation and the sacrifice,

That, though detested, Islam's kindred creed Might crush for him those deadlier enemies; For fear of God did in his bosom breed A jealous hate of man, an unreposing need.

XXXV.

"Peace! Peace!" he cried, "when we are dead, the day

Of judgment comes, and all shall surely know
Whose God is God, each fearfully shall pay
The errors of his faith in endless woe!
But there is sent a mortal vengeance now
On earth, because an impious race had spurn'd
Him whom we all adore,-a subtile foe,

By whom for ye this dread reward was earn'd, And kingly thrones, which rest on faith, nigh overturn'd.

XXXVI.

"Think ye, because ye weep, and kneel, and pray, That God will lull the pestilence? it rose Even from beneath his throne, where, many a day His mercy soothed it to a dark repose: It walks upon the earth to judge his foes, And what are thou and I, that he should deign To curb his ghastly minister, or close The gates of death, ere they receive the twain Who shook with mortal spells his undefended reign!

XXXVII.

"Ay, there is famine in the gulf of hell, Its giant worms of fire for ever yawn,Their lurid eyes are on us! those who fell By the swift shaft of pestilence ere dawn, Are in their jaws! they hunger for the spawn Of Satan, their own brethren, who were sent To make our souls their spoil. See! see! they fawn Like dogs, and they will sleep with luxury spent, When those detested hearts their iron fangs have rent!

XXXVIII.

"Our God may then lull Pestilence to sleep:
Pile high the pyre of expiation now!

A forest's spoil of boughs, and on the heap
Pour venomous gums, which sullenly and slow,
When touch'd by flame, shall burn, and melt, and
flow,

A stream of clinging fire,-and fix on high
A net of iron, and spread forth below

A couch of snakes, and scorpions, and the fry
Of centipedes and worms, earth's hellish progeny!

XXXIX.

"Let Laon and Laone on that pyre, Link'd tight with burning brass, perish!-then pray That, with this sacrifice, the withering ire Of Heaven may be appeased." He ceased, and they A space stood silent, as far, far away The echoes of his voice among them died; And he knelt down upon the dust, alway Muttering the curses of his speechless pride, Whilst shame, and fear, and awe, the armies did divide.

Morn came,-among those sleepless multitudes, Madness, and Fear, and Plague, and Famine stil Heap'd corpse on corpse, as in autumnal woods The frosts of many a wind with dead leaves fill Earth's cold and sullen brooks; in silence, still The pale survivors stood; ere noon, the fear Of Hell became a panic, which did kill Like hunger or disease, with whispers drear, As "Hush! hark! Come they yet? Just Heaven! thine hour is near!" XLV.

And Priests rush'd through their ranks, some counterfeiting

The rage they did inspire, some mad indeed
With their own lies; they said their god was waiting
To see his enemies writhe, and burn, and bleed,-
And that, till then, the snakes of Hell had need
Of human souls-three hundred furnaces
Soon blazed through the wide City, where with
speed.

Men brought their infidel kindred to appease God's wrath, and while they burn'd, knelt round on quivering knees.

XLVI.

The noontide sun was darken'd with that smoke, The winds of eve dispersed those ashes gray, The madness which these rites had lull'd, awoke Again at sunset.-Who shall dare to say

The deeds which night and fear brought forth, or weigh

In balance just the good and evil there?

He might man's deep and searchless heart display, And cast a light on those dim labyrinths, where Hope, near imagined chasms, is struggling with despair.

XLVII.

"Tis said, a mother dragg'd three children then, To those fierce flames which roast the eyes in the head,

And laugh'd and died; and that unholy men, Feasting like fiends upon the infidel dead, Look'd from their meal, and saw an Angel tread The visible floor of Heaven, and it was she! And, on that night, one without doubt or dread Came to the fire, and said, "Stop, I am he! Kill me!" they burn'd them both with hellish mockery.

XLVIII.

And, one by one, that night, young maidens came, Beauteous and calm, like shapes of living stone Clothed in the light of dreams, and by the flame Which shrank as overgorged, they laid them down,| And sung a slow sweet song, of which alone One word was heard, and that was Liberty; And that some kiss'd their marble feet, with moan Like love, and died, and then that they did die With happy smiles, which sunk in white tranquillity.

CANTO XI.

I.

SHE saw me not-she heard me not-alone
Upon the mountain's dizzy brink she stood;
She spake not, breathed not, moved not-there
was thrown

Over her look, the shadow of a mood
Which only clothes the heart in solitude,

A thought of voiceless depth;-she stood alone; Above, the Heavens were spread;-below, the flood Was murmuring in its caves;-the wind had blown Her hair apart, through which her eyes and forehead shone.

II.

A cloud was hanging o'er the western mountains;
Before its blue and moveless depth were flying
Gray mists pour'd forth from the unresting fountains
Of darkness in the North :-the day was dying:-
Sudden, the sun shone forth, its beams were lying
Like boiling gold on Ocean, strange to see,
And on the shatter'd vapors, which defying

The power of light in vain, toss'd restlessly

III.

It was a stream of living beams, whose bank On either side by the cloud's cleft was made; And where its chasms that flood of glory drank, Its waves gush'd forth like fire, and as if sway'd By some mute tempest, roll'd on her; the shade Of her bright image floated on the river Of liquid light, which then did end and fadeHer radiant shape upon its verge did shiver; Aloft, her flowing hair like strings of flame did quiver

IV.

I stood beside her, but she saw me notShe look'd upon the sea, and skies, and earth; Rapture, and love, and admiration wrought A passion deeper far than tears, or mirth, Or speech, or gesture, or whate'er has birth From common joy; which, with the speechless feeling That led her there united, and shot forth From her far eyes, a light of deep revealing, All but her dearest self from my regard concealing.

V.

Her lips were parted, and the measured breath Was now heard there;-her dark and intricate eyes Orb within orb, deeper than sleep or death, Absorb'd the glories of the burning skies, Which, mingling with her heart's deep ecstasies, Burst from her looks and gestures ;—and a light Of liquid tenderness like love, did rise From her whole frame, an atmosphere which quite Array'd her in its beams, tremulous and soft and bright.

VI.

She would have clasp'd me to her glowing frame; Those warm and odorous lips might soon have shed On mine the fragrance and the invisible flame Which now the cold winds stole;-she would have laid

Upon my languid heart her dearest head; I might have heard her voice, tender and sweet; Her eyes mingling with mine, might soon have fed My soul with their own joy.-One moment yet I gazed-we parted then, never again to meet!

VII.

Never but once to meet on Earth again! She heard me as I fled-her eager tone Sunk on my heart, and almost wove a chain Around my will to link it with her own, So that my stern resolve was almost gone. "I cannot reach thee! whither dost thou fly? My steps are faint-Come back, thou dearest oneReturn, ah me! return"-the wind past by On which those accents died, faint, far, and lingeringly.

VIII.

Woe! woe! that moonless midnight-Want and Pest
Were horrible, but one more fell doth rear,
As in a hydra's swarming lair, its crest
Eminent among those victims-even the Fear
Of Hell: each girt by the hot atmosphere
Of his blind agony, like a scorpion stung
By his own rage upon his burning bier
Of circling coals of fire; but still there clung

Each of that multitude alone, and lost

To sense of outward things, one hope yet knew ;
As on a foam-girt crag some seaman tost,
Stares at the rising tide, or like the crew
Whilst now the ship is splitting through and through;
Each, if the tramp of a far steed was heard,
Started from sick despair, or if there flew
One murmur on the wind, or if some word

XV.

"Ye Princes of the Earth, ye sit aghast Amid the ruin which yourselves have made; Yes, desolation heard your trumpet's blast, And sprang from sleep!-dark Terror has obey'd Your bidding-O, that I whom ye have made Your foe, could set my dearest enemy free From pain and fear! but evil casts a shade, Which cannot pass so soon, and Hate must be The nurse and parent still of an ill progeny.

XVI.

"Ye turn to Heaven for aid in your distress;
Alas, that ye, though mighty and the wise,
Who, if ye dared, might not aspire to less
Than ye conceive of power, should fear the lies
Which thou, and thou, didst frame for mysteries
To blind your slaves :-consider your own thought,
An empty and a cruel sacrifice

Ye now prepare, for a vain idol wrought

stirr❜d.

XI.

Why became cheeks wan with the kiss of death
Paler from hope? they had sustain'd despair.
Why watch'd those myriads with suspended breath
Sleepless a second night? they are not here
The victims, and hour by hour, a vision drear,
Warm corpses fall upon the clay-cold dead;
And even in death their lips are wreathed with
fear.-

The crowd is mute and moveless-overhead Silent Arcturus shines-ha! hear'st thou not the tread

XII.

Of rushing feet? laughter? the shout, the scream,
Of triumph not to be contain'd? see! hark!
They come, they come, give way! alas, ye deem
Falsely 'tis but a crowd of maniacs stark
Driven, like a troop of spectres, through the dark,|
From the choked well, whence a bright death-fire |
sprung,

A lurid earth-star, which dropp'd many a spark From its blue train, and spreading widely, clung To their wild hair, like mist the topmost pines among.

XIII.

And many from the crowd collected there, Join'd that strange dance in fearful sympathies; There was the silence of a long despair, When the last echo of those terrible cries Came from a distant street, like agonies Stifled afar.-Before the Tyrant's throne All night his aged Senate sate, their eyes In stony expectation fix'd; when one Sudden before them stood, a Stranger and alone.

XIV.

Dark Priests and haughty Warriors gazed on him With baffled wonder, for a hermit's vest Conceal'd his face; but when he spake, his tone, Ere yet the matter did their thoughts arrest, Earnest, benignant, calm, as from a breast Void of all hate or terror, made them start; For as with gentle accents he address'd His speech to them, on each unwilling heart Unusual awe did fall-a spirit-quelling dart.

brought.

XVII.

"Ye seek for happiness-alas, the day! Ye find it not in luxury nor in gold, Nor in the fame, nor in the envied sway For which, O willing slaves to Custom old! Severe task-mistress! ye your hearts have sold. Ye seek for peace, and when ye die, to dream No evil dreams: all mortal things are cold And senseless then; if aught survive, I deem It must be love and joy, for they immortal seem.

XVIII.

"Fear not the future, weep not for the past.
O, could I win your ears to dare be now
Glorious, and great, and calm! that ye would cast
Into the dust those symbols of your woe,
Purple, and gold, and steel! that ye would go
Proclaiming to the nations whence ye came,
That Want, and Plague, and Fear, from slavery
flow;

And that mankind is free, and that the shame
Of royalty and faith is lost in freedom's fame.

XIX.

"If thus, 'tis well-if not, I come to say
That Laon"-while the Stranger spoke, among
The Council sudden tumult and affray
Arose, for many of those warriors young
Had on his eloquent accents fed and hung

Like bees on mountain-flowers; they knew the truth,

And from their thrones in vindication sprung; The men of faith and law then without ruth Drew forth their secret steel, and stabb'd each ardent youth.

XX.

They stabb'd them in the back and sneer'd-a slave Who stood behind the throne, those corpses drew Each to its bloody, dark, and secret grave; And one more daring raised his steel anew To pierce the Stranger: "What hast thou to do With me, poor wretch ?"-Calm, solemn, and severe, That voice unstrung his sinews, and he threw His dagger on the ground, and pale with fear, Sate silently-his voice then did the Stranger rear