The Revolt Of Islam. - Canto 4.

1.     The old man took the oars, and soon the bark     Smote on the beach beside a tower of stone;     It was a crumbling heap, whose portal dark     With blooming ivy-trails was overgrown;     Upon whose floor the spangling sands were strown,     And rarest sea-shells, which the eternal flood,     Slave to the mother of the months, had thrown     Within the walls of that gray tower, which stood     A changeling of man's art nursed amid Nature's brood.     2.     When the old man his boat had anchored,     He wound me in his arms with tender care,     And very few, but kindly words he said,     And bore me through the tower adown a stair,     Whose smooth descent some ceaseless step to wear     For many a year had fallen. - We came at last     To a small chamber, which with mosses rare     Was tapestried, where me his soft hands placed     Upon a couch of grass and oak-leaves interlaced.     3.     The moon was darting through the lattices     Its yellow light, warm as the beams of day -     So warm, that to admit the dewy breeze,     The old man opened them; the moonlight lay     Upon a lake whose waters wove their play     Even to the threshold of that lonely home:     Within was seen in the dim wavering ray     The antique sculptured roof, and many a tome     Whose lore had made that sage all that he had become.     4.     The rock-built barrier of the sea was past, -     And I was on the margin of a lake,     A lonely lake, amid the forests vast     And snowy mountains: - did my spirit wake     From sleep as many-coloured as the snake     That girds eternity? in life and truth,     Might not my heart its cravings ever slake?     Was Cythna then a dream, and all my youth,     And all its hopes and fears, and all its joy and ruth?     5.     Thus madness came again, - a milder madness,     Which darkened nought but time's unquiet flow     With supernatural shades of clinging sadness;     That gentle Hermit, in my helpless woe,     By my sick couch was busy to and fro,     Like a strong spirit ministrant of good:     When I was healed, he led me forth to show     The wonders of his sylvan solitude,     And we together sate by that isle-fretted flood.     6.     He knew his soothing words to weave with skill     From all my madness told; like mine own heart,     Of Cythna would he question me, until     That thrilling name had ceased to make me start,     From his familiar lips - it was not art,     Of wisdom and of justice when he spoke -     When mid soft looks of pity, there would dart     A glance as keen as is the lightning's stroke     When it doth rive the knots of some ancestral oak.     7.     Thus slowly from my brain the darkness rolled,     My thoughts their due array did re-assume     Through the enchantments of that Hermit old;     Then I bethought me of the glorious doom     Of those who sternly struggle to relume     The lamp of Hope o'er man's bewildered lot,     And, sitting by the waters, in the gloom     Of eve, to that friend's heart I told my thought -     That heart which had grown old, but had corrupted not.     8.     That hoary man had spent his livelong age     In converse with the dead, who leave the stamp     Of ever-burning thoughts on many a page,     When they are gone into the senseless damp     Of graves; - his spirit thus became a lamp     Of splendour, like to those on which it fed;     Through peopled haunts, the City and the Camp,     Deep thirst for knowledge had his footsteps led,     And all the ways of men among mankind he read.     9.     But custom maketh blind and obdurate     The loftiest hearts; - he had beheld the woe     In which mankind was bound, but deemed that fate     Which made them abject, would preserve them so;     And in such faith, some steadfast joy to know,     He sought this cell: but when fame went abroad     That one in Argolis did undergo     Torture for liberty, and that the crowd     High truths from gifted lips had heard and understood;     10.     And that the multitude was gathering wide, -     His spirit leaped within his aged frame;     In lonely peace he could no more abide,     But to the land on which the victor's flame     Had fed, my native land, the Hermit came:     Each heart was there a shield, and every tongue     Was as a sword of truth - young Laon's name     Rallied their secret hopes, though tyrants sung     Hymns of triumphant joy our scattered tribes among.     11.     He came to the lone column on the rock,     And with his sweet and mighty eloquence     The hearts of those who watched it did unlock,     And made them melt in tears of penitence.     They gave him entrance free to bear me thence.     'Since this,' the old man said, 'seven years are spent,     While slowly truth on thy benighted sense     Has crept; the hope which wildered it has lent     Meanwhile, to me the power of a sublime intent.     12.     'Yes, from the records of my youthful state,     And from the lore of bards and sages old,     From whatsoe'er my wakened thoughts create     Out of the hopes of thine aspirings bold,     Have I collected language to unfold     Truth to my countrymen; from shore to shore     Doctrines of human power my words have told,     They have been heard, and men aspire to more     Than they have ever gained or ever lost of yore.     13.     'In secret chambers parents read, and weep,     My writings to their babes, no longer blind;     And young men gather when their tyrants sleep,     And vows of faith each to the other bind;     And marriageable maidens, who have pined     With love, till life seemed melting through their look,     A warmer zeal, a nobler hope, now find;     And every bosom thus is rapt and shook,     Like autumn's myriad leaves in one swoln mountain-brook.     14.     'The tyrants of the Golden City tremble     At voices which are heard about the streets;     The ministers of fraud can scarce dissemble     The lies of their own heart, but when one meets     Another at the shrine, he inly weets,     Though he says nothing, that the truth is known;     Murderers are pale upon the judgement-seats,     And gold grows vile even to the wealthy crone,     And laughter fills the Fane, and curses shake the Throne.     15.     'Kind thoughts, and mighty hopes, and gentle deeds     Abound, for fearless love, and the pure law     Of mild equality and peace, succeeds     To faiths which long have held the world in awe,     Bloody and false, and cold: - as whirlpools draw     All wrecks of Ocean to their chasm, the sway     Of thy strong genius, Laon, which foresaw     This hope, compels all spirits to obey,     Which round thy secret strength now throng in wide array.     16.     'For I have been thy passive instrument' -     (As thus the old man spake, his countenance     Gleamed on me like a spirit's) - 'thou hast lent     To me, to all, the power to advance     Towards this unforeseen deliverance     From our ancestral chains - ay, thou didst rear     That lamp of hope on high, which time nor chance     Nor change may not extinguish, and my share     Of good, was o'er the world its gathered beams to bear.     17.     'But I, alas! am both unknown and old,     And though the woof of wisdom I know well     To dye in hues of language, I am cold     In seeming, and the hopes which inly dwell,     My manners note that I did long repel;     But Laon's name to the tumultuous throng     Were like the star whose beams the waves compel     And tempests, and his soul-subduing tongue     Were as a lance to quell the mailed crest of wrong.     18.     'Perchance blood need not flow, if thou at length     Wouldst rise, perchance the very slaves would spare     Their brethren and themselves; great is the strength     Of words - for lately did a maiden fair,     Who from her childhood has been taught to bear     The Tyrant's heaviest yoke, arise, and make     Her sex the law of truth and freedom hear,     And with these quiet words - "for thine own sake     I prithee spare me;" - did with ruth so take     19.     'All hearts, that even the torturer who had bound     Her meek calm frame, ere it was yet impaled,     Loosened her, weeping then; nor could be found     One human hand to harm her - unassailed     Therefore she walks through the great City, veiled     In virtue's adamantine eloquence,     'Gainst scorn, and death and pain thus trebly mailed,     And blending, in the smiles of that defence,     The Serpent and the Dove, Wisdom and Innocence.     20.     'The wild-eyed women throng around her path:     From their luxurious dungeons, from the dust     Of meaner thralls, from the oppressor's wrath,     Or the caresses of his sated lust     They congregate: - in her they put their trust;     The tyrants send their armed slaves to quell     Her power; - they, even like a thunder-gust     Caught by some forest, bend beneath the spell     Of that young maiden's speech, and to their chiefs rebel.     21.     'Thus she doth equal laws and justice teach     To woman, outraged and polluted long;     Gathering the sweetest fruit in human reach     For those fair hands now free, while armed wrong     Trembles before her look, though it be strong;     Thousands thus dwell beside her, virgins bright,     And matrons with their babes, a stately throng!     Lovers renew the vows which they did plight     In early faith, and hearts long parted now unite,     22.     'And homeless orphans find a home near her,     And those poor victims of the proud, no less,     Fair wrecks, on whom the smiling world with stir,     Thrusts the redemption of its wickedness: -     In squalid huts, and in its palaces     Sits Lust alone, while o'er the land is borne     Her voice, whose awful sweetness doth repress     All evil, and her foes relenting turn,     And cast the vote of love in hope's abandoned urn.     23.     'So in the populous City, a young maiden     Has baffled Havoc of the prey which he     Marks as his own, whene'er with chains o'erladen     Men make them arms to hurl down tyranny, -     False arbiter between the bound and free;     And o'er the land, in hamlets and in towns     The multitudes collect tumultuously,     And throng in arms; but tyranny disowns     Their claim, and gathers strength around its trembling thrones.     24.     'Blood soon, although unwillingly, to shed     The free cannot forbear - the Queen of Slaves,     The hoodwinked Angel of the blind and dead,     Custom, with iron mace points to the graves     Where her own standard desolately waves     Over the dust of Prophets and of Kings.     Many yet stand in her array - "she paves     Her path with human hearts," and o'er it flings     The wildering gloom of her immeasurable wings.     25.     'There is a plain beneath the City's wall,     Bounded by misty mountains, wide and vast,     Millions there lift at Freedom's thrilling call     Ten thousand standards wide, they load the blast     Which bears one sound of many voices past,     And startles on his throne their sceptred foe:     He sits amid his idle pomp aghast,     And that his power hath passed away, doth know -     Why pause the victor swords to seal his overthrow?     26.     'The tyrant's guards resistance yet maintain:     Fearless, and fierce, and hard as beasts of blood,     They stand a speck amid the peopled plain;     Carnage and ruin have been made their food     From infancy - ill has become their good,     And for its hateful sake their will has wove     The chains which eat their hearts. The multitude     Surrounding them, with words of human love,     Seek from their own decay their stubborn minds to move.     27.     'Over the land is felt a sudden pause,     As night and day those ruthless bands around,     The watch of love is kept: - a trance which awes     The thoughts of men with hope; as when the sound     Of whirlwind, whose fierce blasts the waves and clouds confound,     Dies suddenly, the mariner in fear     Feels silence sink upon his heart - thus bound,     The conquerors pause, and oh! may freemen ne'er     Clasp the relentless knees of Dread, the murderer!     28.     'If blood be shed, 'tis but a change and choice     Of bonds, - from slavery to cowardice     A wretched fall! - Uplift thy charmed voice!     Pour on those evil men the love that lies     Hovering within those spirit-soothing eyes -     Arise, my friend, farewell!' - As thus he spake,     From the green earth lightly I did arise,     As one out of dim dreams that doth awake,     And looked upon the depth of that reposing lake.     29.     I saw my countenance reflected there; -     And then my youth fell on me like a wind     Descending on still waters - my thin hair     Was prematurely gray, my face was lined     With channels, such as suffering leaves behind,     Not age; my brow was pale, but in my cheek     And lips a flush of gnawing fire did find     Their food and dwelling; though mine eyes might speak     A subtle mind and strong within a frame thus weak.     30.     And though their lustre now was spent and faded,     Yet in my hollow looks and withered mien     The likeness of a shape for which was braided     The brightest woof of genius, still was seen -     One who, methought, had gone from the world's scene,     And left it vacant - 'twas her lover's face -     It might resemble her - it once had been     The mirror of her thoughts, and still the grace     Which her mind's shadow cast, left there a lingering trace.     31.     What then was I? She slumbered with the dead.     Glory and joy and peace, had come and gone.     Doth the cloud perish, when the beams are fled     Which steeped its skirts in gold? or, dark and lone,     Doth it not through the paths of night unknown,     On outspread wings of its own wind upborne     Pour rain upon the earth? The stars are shown,     When the cold moon sharpens her silver horn     Under the sea, and make the wide night not forlorn.     32.     Strengthened in heart, yet sad, that aged man     I left, with interchange of looks and tears,     And lingering speech, and to the Camp began     My war. O'er many a mountain-chain which rears     Its hundred crests aloft, my spirit bears     My frame; o'er many a dale and many a moor,     And gaily now meseems serene earth wears     The blosmy spring's star-bright investiture,     A vision which aught sad from sadness might allure.     33.     My powers revived within me, and I went,     As one whom winds waft o'er the bending grass,     Through many a vale of that broad continent.     At night when I reposed, fair dreams did pass     Before my pillow; - my own Cythna was,     Not like a child of death, among them ever;     When I arose from rest, a woful mass     That gentlest sleep seemed from my life to sever,     As if the light of youth were not withdrawn for ever.     34.     Aye as I went, that maiden who had reared     The torch of Truth afar, of whose high deeds     The Hermit in his pilgrimage had heard,     Haunted my thoughts. - Ah, Hope its sickness feeds     With whatsoe'er it finds, or flowers or weeds!     Could she be Cythna? - Was that corpse a shade     Such as self-torturing thought from madness breeds?     Why was this hope not torture? Yet it made     A light around my steps which would not ever fade.