Lucile Part 39

CANTO VI.

I.

Man is born on a battle-field. Round him, to rend Or resist, the dread Powers he displaces attend, By the cradle which Nature, amidst the stern shocks That have shatter'd creation, and shapen it, rocks.

He leaps with a wail into being; and lo!

His own mother, fierce Nature herself, is his foe.

Her whirlwinds are roused into wrath o'er his head: 'Neath his feet roll her earthquakes: her solitudes spread To daunt him: her forces dispute his command: Her snows fall to freeze him: her suns burn to brand: Her seas yawn to engulf him: her rocks rise to crush: And the lion and leopard, allied, lurk to rush On their startled invader.

In lone Malabar, Where the infinite forest spreads breathless and far, 'Mid the cruel of eye and the stealthy of claw (Striped and spotted destroyers!) he sees, pale with awe, On the menacing edge of a fiery sky, Grim Doorga, blue-limb'd and red-handed, go by, And the first thing he worships is Terror.

Anon, Still impell'd by necessity hungrily on, He conquers the realms of his own self-reliance, And the last cry of fear wakes the first of defiance.

From the serpent he crushes its poisonous soul; Smitten down in his path see the dead lion roll!

On toward Heaven the son of Alcmena strides high on The heads of the Hydra, the spoils of the lion: And man, conquering terror, is worshipp'd by man.

A camp has the world been since first it began!

From his tents sweeps the roving Arabian; at peace, A mere wandering shepherd that follows the fleece; But, warring his way through a world's destinies, Lo from Delhi, from Bagdadt, from Cordova, rise Domes of empiry, dower'd with science and art, Schools, libraries, forums, the palace, the mart!

New realms to man's soul have been conquer'd. But those Forthwith they are peopled for man by new foes!

The stars keep their secrets, the earth hides her own, And bold must the man be that braves the Unknown!

Not a truth has to art or to science been given, But brows have ached for it, and souls toil'd and striven; And many have striven, and many have fail'd, And many died, slain by the truth they a.s.sail'd, But when Man hath tamed Nature, a.s.serted his place And dominion, behold! he is brought face to face With a new foe--himself!

Nor may man on his shield Ever rest, for his foe is ever afield, Danger ever at hand, till the armed Archangel Sound o'er him the trump of earth's final evangel.

II.

Silence straightway, stern Muse, the soft cymbals of pleasure, Be all bronzen these numbers, and martial the measure!

Breathe, sonorously breathe, o'er the spirit in me One strain, sad and stern, of that deep Epopee Which thou, from the fashionless cloud of far time, Chantest lonely, when Victory, pale, and sublime In the light of the aureole over her head, Hears, and heeds not the wound in her heart fresh and red.

Blown wide by the blare of the clarion, unfold The shrill clanging curtains of war!

And behold A vision!

The antique Heraclean seats; And the long Black Sea billow that once bore those fleets, Which said to the winds, "Be ye, too, Genoese!"

And the red angry sands of the chafed Cheronese; And the two foes of man, War and Winter, allied Round the Armies of England and France, side by side Enduring and dying (Gaul and Briton abreast!) Where the towers of the North fret the skies of the East.

III.

Since that sunrise which rose through the calm linden stems O'er Lucile and Eugene, in the garden of Ems, Through twenty-five seasons encircling the sun, This planet of ours on its pathway hath gone, And the fates that I sing of have flowed with the fates Of a world, in the red wake of war, round the gates Of that doom'd and heroical city, in which (Fire crowning the rampart, blood bathing the ditch!), At bay, fights the Russian as some hunted bear, Whom the huntsmen have hemm'd round at last in his lair.

IV.

A fang'd, arid plain, sapp'd with underground fire, Soak'd with snow, torn with shot, mash'd to one gory mire!

There Fate's iron scale hangs in horrid suspense, While those two famished ogres--the Siege, the Defence, Face to face, through a vapor frore, dismal, and dun, Glare, scenting the breath of each other.

The one Double-bodied, two-headed--by separate ways Winding, serpent-wise, nearer; the other, each day's Sullen toil adding size to,--concentrated, solid, Indefatigable--the bra.s.s-fronted, embodied, And audible [Greek text omitted] gone sombrely forth To the world from that Autocrat Will of the north!

V.

In the dawn of a moody October, a pale Ghostly motionless vapor began to prevail Over city and camp; like the garment of death Which (is formed by) the face it conceals.

'Twas the breath War, yet drowsily yawning, began to suspire; Wherethrough, here and there, flash'd an eye of red fire, And closed, from some rampart beginning to bellow Hoa.r.s.e challenge; replied to anon, through the yellow And sulphurous twilight: till day reel'd and rock'd And roar'd into dark. Then the midnight was mock'd With fierce apparitions. Ring'd round by a rain Of red fire, and of iron, the murtherous plain Flared with fitful combustion; where fitfully fell Afar off the fatal, disgorged scharpenelle, And fired the horizon, and singed the coil'd gloom With wings of swift flame round that City of Doom.

VI.

So the day--so the night! So by night, so by day, With stern patient pathos, while time wears away, In the trench flooded through, in the wind where it wails, In the snow where it falls, in the fire where it hails Shot and sh.e.l.l--link by link, out of hardship and pain, Toil, sickness, endurance, is forged the bronze chain Of those terrible siege-lines!

No change to that toil Save the mine's sudden leap from the treacherous soil.

Save the midnight attack, save the groans of the maim'd, And Death's daily obolus due, whether claim'd By man or by nature.

VII.

Time pa.s.ses. The dumb, Bitter, snow-bound, and sullen November is come.

And its snows have been bathed in the blood of the brave; And many a young heart has glutted the grave: And on Inkerman yet the wild bramble is gory, And those bleak heights henceforth shall be famous in story.

VIII.

The moon, swathed in storm, has long set: through the camp No sound save the sentinel's slow sullen tramp, The distant explosion, the wild sleety wind, That seems searching for something it never can find.

The midnight is turning: the lamp is nigh spent: And, wounded and lone, in a desolate tent Lies a young British soldier whose sword...

In this place, However, my Muse is compell'd to retrace Her precipitous steps and revert to the past.

The shock which had suddenly shatter'd at last Alfred Vargrave's fantastical holiday nature, Had sharply drawn forth to his full size and stature The real man, conceal'd till that moment beneath All he yet had appear'd. From the gay broider'd sheath Which a man in his wrath flings aside, even so Leaps the keen trenchant steel summon'd forth by a blow.

And thus loss of fortune gave value to life.

The wife gain'd a husband, the husband a wife, In that home which, though humbled and narrow'd by fate, Was enlarged and enn.o.bled by love. Low their state, But large their possessions.

Sir Ridley, forgiven By those he unwittingly brought nearer heaven By one fraudulent act, than through all his sleek speech The hypocrite brought his own soul, safe from reach Of the law, died abroad.

Cousin John, heart and hand, Purse and person, henceforth (honest man!) took his stand By Matilda and Alfred; guest, guardian, and friend Of the home he both shared and a.s.sured, to the end, With his large lively love. Alfred Vargrave meanwhile Faced the world's frown, consoled by his wife's faithful smile.

Late in life he began life in earnest; and still, With the tranquil exertion of resolute will, Through long, and laborious, and difficult days, Out of manifold failure, by wearisome ways, Work'd his way through the world; till at last he began (Reconciled to the work which mankind claims for man), After years of unwitness'd, unwearied endeavor, Years impa.s.sion'd yet patient, to realize ever More clear on the broad stream of current opinion The reflex of powers in himself--that dominion Which the life of one man, if his life be a truth, May a.s.sert o'er the life of mankind. Thus, his youth In his manhood renew'd, fame and fortune he won Working only for home, love, and duty.

One son Matilda had borne him; but scarce had the boy, With all Eton yet fresh in his full heart's frank joy, The darling of young soldier comrades, just glanced Down the glad dawn of manhood at life, when it chanced That a blight sharp and sudden was breath'd o'er the bloom Of his joyous and generous years, and the gloom Of a grief premature on their fair promise fell: No light cloud like those which, for June to dispel, Captious April engenders; but deep as his own Deep nature. Meanwhile, ere I fully make known The cause of this sorrow, I track the event.

When first a wild war-note through England was sent, He, transferring without either token or word, To friend, parent, or comrade, a yet virgin sword, From a holiday troop, to one bound for the war, Had march'd forth, with eyes that saw death in the star Whence others sought glory. Thus fighting, he fell On the red field of Inkerman; found, who can tell By what miracle, breathing, though shatter'd, and borne To the rear by his comrades, pierced, bleeding, and torn.

Where for long days and nights, with the wound in his side, He lay, dark.

IX.

But a wound deeper far, undescried, The young heart was rankling; for there, of a truth, In the first earnest faith of a pure pensive youth, A love large as life, deep and changeless as death, Lay ensheath'd: and that love, ever fretting its sheath, The frail scabbard of life pierced and wore through and through.

There are loves in man's life for which time can renew All that time may destroy. Lives there are, though, in love, Which cling to one faith, and die with it; nor move, Though earthquakes may shatter the shrine.

Whence or how Love laid claim to this young life, it matters not now.

X.