Like rabid snakes, that sting some gentle child Who brings them food, when winter false and fair Allures them forth with its cold smiles, so wild They rage among the camp ;-they overbear The patriot hosts-confusion, then despair Descends like night-when " Laon !" one did cry: Like a bright ghost from Heaven that shout did
The slaves, and, widening through the vaulted sky, Seemed sent from Earth to Heaven in sign of victory.
In sudden panic those false murderers fled, Like insect tribes before the northern gale : But, swifter still, our hosts encompassed Their shattered ranks, and in a craggy vale, Where even their fierce despair might nought avail, Hemmed them around!--and then revenge and Made the high virtue of the patriots fail: [fear One pointed on his foe the mortal spear- I rushed before its point, and cried, " Forbear, forbear!"
The spear transfixed my arm that was uplifted In swift expostulation, and the blood [gifted Gushed round its point: I smiled, and-"Oh! thou With eloquence which shall not be withstood, Flow thus !"-I cried in joy," thou vital flood, Until my heart be dry, ere thus the cause For which thou wert aught worthy be subduedAh, ye are pale,-ye weep,-your passions pause,"Tis well! ye feel the truth of love's benignant laws.
"Soldiers, our brethren and our friends are slain. Ye murdered them, I think, as they did sleep! Alas, what have ye done? The slightest pain Which ye might suffer, there were eyes to weep; But ye have quenched them-there were smiles to steep
Your hearts in balm, but they are lost in woe; And those whom love did set his watch to keep Around your tents truth's freedom to bestow, Ye stabbed as they did sleep-but they forgive ye
"O wherefore should ill ever flow from ill, And pain still keener pain for ever breed? We all are brethren-even the slaves who kill For hire, are men; and to avenge misdeed On the misdoer, doth but Misery feed With her own broken heart! O Earth, O Heaven! And thou, dread Nature, which to every deed And all that lives, or is to be, hath given, Even as to thee have these done ill, and are forgiven.
"Join then your hands and hearts, and let the past Be as a grave which gives not up its dead To evil thoughts."-A film then overcast My sense with dimness, for the wound, which bled Freshly, swift shadows o'er mine eyes had shed. When I awoke, I lay 'mid friends and foes, And earnest countenances on me shed The light of questioning looks, whilst one did close My wound with balmiest herbs, and soothed me to repose;
« AnteriorContinuar » |