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Alfred Austin - The Human Tragedy ACT IV
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 Where Spiaggiascura shone, a little speck;
 Which, as the vessel ever westward bore,
 Past deep smooth creek, past jutting cape and neck
 Laced with white foam, still plainer, larger, grew,
 Until it stood, its very self, in view.

  Yes! there the little city, and yes, there
 The marble chapel straight afront the sea,
 Whither he carried her Spring posies fair,
 Had heard the humming of the truant bee,
 Pale butterflies seen flickering everywhere,
 Before Madonna with her bent the knee,
 Brought love and ache where all was peace before,
 And given his heart away for evermore.

 Straining his gaze, and with the bodily eye
 Coupling perchance fond fancy`s quick—fooled ken,
 Once, twice—there! there!—he thought he could descry
 The very beck, the very mountain glen,
 Where, while the lark shrilled loud, he saw her try
 To reach the tantalising thorn, and then
 Atiptoe tried once more, but only shook
 Its snow down on herself and on the brook.

 Quickly he glanced to see if, like to him,
 She recognised the first dear place of old.
 But she saw nothing now but misty rim
 Of tears that down her cheeks slow—trickling rolled,
 And, save to her soul`s sight, all else was dim:
 While he could only stand by and behold,
 Speechless, her speechless pain, nor breathe one throe
 Of all he felt, to share or soothe her woe.

 There knelt she, mute and motionless, until
 Again Spiaggiascura fainter grew,—
 The vessel through the west waves arrowing still,—
 Slow dwindled to a speck, then quick to view
 Was lost behind a seaward—jutting hill.
 Then up she got, and softly near him drew,
 While he, scarce knowing what to say, or how,
 Asked her who watched Madonna`s chapel now.

 ``You must not talk to me of that,`` she said,
 ``I cannot bear it. Let us shred some lint,
 Whereof will much be needed; or, instead,
 You might, so please you, whittle wood for splint,
 And I that simpler task, or ply my thread.``
 So down they sate, offering or taking hint,
 And working busily. But she no more,
 That day, cast look or thought toward the shore.

 Anon she said, ``Pray tell me who are those
 That have on Paris this dread carnage brought
 Anew, and count their own compatriots foes.
 They must be very wicked.`` Then he thought:
 How shall I make her understand the woes
 Of either camp, and why the twain have fought,
 When even they who scan the horizon wide
 Of human passion can but take a side?

 ``Listen!`` he said, ``and you yourself shall judge
 If one or other merely wicked be,
 Or if mischance hath haply wreaked its grudge
 On both, and forced this joint extremity.
 When conscience sees clear, conscience need not budge:
 But there are times it cannot clearly see
 This way, or that, and then it strives to stand,
 Holding an even balance in its hand.

 ``No easy task, Olympia! even when
 The solitary conscience thus is tried.
 When conscience shocks with second conscience, then
 Where shall we find third conscience to decide?
 This is the last perplexity of men,
 For which, you know, the red—robed martyrs died,
 Men holy deemed have men deemed holy given
 To pain and death, unpitied and unshriven.

 ``I hope you do not think me wicked, dear!
 Because my conscience jars your conscience so,
 That we have been apart this many a year,
 Who might have been together.`` ``O no! no!``
 Quick, she rejoined. ``That, you need never fear.
 I always think of you as good, and know,
 Whether your conscience be Christ`s foe or friend,
 His Precious Blood will save you at the end.``

 She ceased. And he made haste not to reply,
 For all his soul was trembling. When he spake,
 `Twas with a quivering voice and filmy eye.
 ``Sweet words, Olympia, that much mend my ache;
 And I am glad to hear them ere I die.
 I would have given up all things for your sake,
 Save what none can give, yet themselves remain
 A gift worth having,—candour without stain.

 ``Yet what a Human Tragedy is here!
 We have not clashed on battlefield, but ours,
 Pathos, and pain, and many a wasteful tear,
 Dropped silent through the barren—moving hours.
 Tragic enough! when one, that one holds dear,
 Buds not, despite love`s coaxing sun and showers!
 But we, though one, keep two, for conscience` sake,
 Not dying sooth, but living at the stake.

 ``There was no help,—there now can be no cure.
 Withal, who stanched my wounds and bathed my brow?
 Who, if not you, the pitiful, the pure,
 Forgetting all except compassion`s vow?
 Yet, as before the Cause that can allure
 Service like yours I bow my head, allow,
 Allow, Olympia!—for indeed `tis true—
 That they with whom I served were upright too.

 ``See then, my child, the Tragedy, and see
 What feeds it. Love, Religion, Country, all
 That deepest, dearest, most enduring be,
 That make us noble, and that hold us thrall,—
 Once gone, the beasts were no more gross than we,—
 `Tis these for which the victims fastest fall,
 Man`s self, in days that are as days that were,
 Suppliant alike and executioner!

 ``Now once again this Tragedy, this jar
 Of conscience against conscience, hath, meseems,
 In Paris struck the lurid light of war.
 Haply, they slay for straws, they die for dreams.
 But things that seem must still be things that are
 To half—experienced man, who perforce deems
 He doth not dream, but knows not, nor can know,
 Till death brings sleep or waking, is it so.

 ``Another dream, another watchword `tis,
 This strident Commune shrills upon the wind,
 Which to it Love, Religion, Country, is,—
 Level Equality for all Mankind.
 Hence once again the man—made bullets whiz
 `Gainst man man—made. I can but lag behind,
 Sceptic, yet see withal the dupes that die
 For falsest faith are somewhat more than I!``

 Thus mournfully he spoke; then slowly she:
 ``I think I understand. But tell me why
 Are not the poor content still poor to be,
 Since mainly `twas for them that Christ did die?
 And equal? What is equal? Are not we
 All equal in the great Superior`s eye?
 Are they not blest that weep and suffer wrong?
 And is it not peril to be rich and strong?``

 Out of another world they seemed to come,
 These humble words and doctrines obsolete;
 So that their very strangeness made him dumb.
 ``Alas!`` he said at length. ``You but repeat
 Saws long rejected by mankind; though some
 Still mumble them, when gasp they toward the seat
 Of wealth, or place, or power, as boys bear
 Pebbles within their mouth, to faster fare.

 ``Yours, dear, the teaching I myself did learn,
 When on my upraised gaze my mother`s shone.
 I find none better wheresoe`er I turn,
 None truer, fitter; but `tis gone, clean gone.
 Men will not have it so. The candid spurn,
 The hypocrite ignore, what children con
 Only to find it fable. `Tis a world,
 Where Christ`s meek banner longwhile hath been furled.

 ``Man stands upon the hilltops in the dawn,
 With veiling mists below him; and he sees
 Only the Heaven of Heavens sublimely drawn
 Above his ken, and blue immensities.
 Slow melt the mists; then, comely breadths of lawn,
 Forests, and lakes, and many—pastured leas,
 Cities and herds of people, labour, mirth,
 He scans, and all the kingdoms of the earth.

 ``O gorgeous vision! dazzling wonderland!
 Swift he descends to share it. Then he hears
 Sounds that at first he scarce can understand,
 Discord, and taunt, and dismal drip of tears;
 Love sobbing with her fresh gift in her hand,
 Because none takes; menace, reproaches, jeers;
 Greed munching refuse, jealous to repel;
 And melancholy toll of funeral bell.

 ``Then, desolate of heart, he deems it best
 To reascend the hilltops; and he goes,
 With gaze upon the ground and panting breast.
 But, as he mounts, mists round him once more close;
 And when he turns to see if from the crest
 Earth still looks fair, it blurred and doubtful grows;
 While now in heaven glooms something dark afar,
 Only, with here and there a flickering star.``

 He ceased; and ceased the swishing of the wave,
 Which to the end accompanied his speech.
 Furled were the sails, and mute the vessel drave,
 Through folds of still smooth water, to the beach.
 Olympia to the crew blest rosaries gave,
 While Godfrid had a word and vail for each,
 As stood they, honest sea—folk, cap in hand.
 And then the pair were softly rowed to land.

 And soon on roaring lungs through burrows black
 They were being swiftly borne; past towering crags
 That seemed to frown on their presumptuous track,
 And whither, save the chamois` or the stag`s,
 No foot hath ever clambered and come back;
 Past gentler cliffs where waved the iris—flags,
 And vineyard terraces, that catch the blaze
 Of the south sun, with pastures at their base.

 Then imperceptibly the mountains waned
 To hills, the gorges unto valleys spread,
 The valleys out to plains, and nought remained
 Of that fair Italy from which they fled.
 Nature grew less, man more, and use profaned
 The bare—stripped homes of beauty, as they sped
 Past populous cities, level stretch of fields,
 Blank as the desert save for what it yields.

 Thus all one day they journeyed, all one night,
 Halting but seldom, and with brief delay:
 Noting at first,—to both familiar sight,—
 The kepi—ed umpires of Mentana`s fray,
 That changed at length to leathern helmets bright.
 Whereat Olympia asked him, ``Who be they?``
 ``These are,`` he said, ``who late from France`s hand
 Struck sword, and now for ransom hold the land.``

 Thence onward saw they sentries none but these,
 Then scattered groups of comrades, next close files,
 Last, armies, bivouacked `neath boughs of trees,
 Along straight road that seemed to stretch for miles.
 Then Godfrid said: ``That Paris is, one sees
 Where lights begin to twinkle in long aisles.
 We shall be there ere long.`` And, just as night
 Mastered the day, they halted, to alight.

 Straight to her bourne, through many a dim—lit street,
 Her he conducted, till at length they stood
 Before its portal. Then for journey sweet
 He thanked her, adding that he promptly should
 Unto the Convent bend anew his feet,
 To see the Mother of the sisterhood.
 Then the gate opened; and she, paler grown,
 Passed in, and he was in the street alone.

 Then quick his steps he bent through narrow ways,
 Built in the times when grew up side by side
 Palace and hovel, and in all men`s gaze
 Sleek splendour feasted while lean misery died,
 To those famed thoroughfares, with lights ablaze,
 Far—stretching, vast, monotonous in pride,
 Imperial aediles framed, to baulk the claws
 Of Freedom, and replace its ravished laws.

 But siege, and sordid famine, and the yoke
 Of foeman`s fork, humiliation, rage
 At turncoat Fortune`s contumelious stroke,
 Iconoclastic group, had swept the stage
 Of pasteboard pomp; and erst where harlot folk,
 Train—bearing eunuchs to a sensual age,
 Pandars, and purple parasites that glut
 Their maw with slaver, used to swarm and strut;

 And lustful song and jest obscene passed round,
 And sexless things, with faces falsely fresh,
 And cold limbs feigning wantonness, were crowned
 By senile satyrs, as they wove the mesh
 Of palsy premature o`er young and sound,
 Ere haggling for the price of rented flesh;
 While jingling gold, and sniggering mock, and gird
 At God and man, in unison were heard;—

 Hence now had sneaked the comfortable crew;
 Or if one slunk along with eyes askance,
 He strove to make him viewless to the view,
 And, crawling to his hole, there bide till chance
 The days for warm—furred vermin should renew.
 There was no light lewd song, no pornic dance.
 The streets seemed half—ashamed and half—aghast,
 And night`s sparse lamps blinked drowsy as he passed.

 What few here held the ways were those whose tramp
 Held it as victors: proletarian hordes,
 Wealth in its jealous terror strives to cramp
 Within the limits penury affords;
 Driving them back to their own barbarous camp
 With the unsteady aid of hireling swords,
 Or coaxing them with golden bounties lest
 They should swarm down, and rudely seize the rest.

 But these had broken through the flimsy line
 Of strained Civilisation, and now strode,
 Grim apparitions,—with its dainties fine
 And gauds abandoned making their abode,
 And littering all the spot, like bristly swine,
 Where lately lay its lapdogs snugly stowed;
 And twisting to stern need of force and fear
 Its gilded toys, soft beds, and silken gear.

 These ever and anon his footsteps stayed,
 With short sharp challenge. Whereupon he told
 His simple tale, and asked if they could aid
 His search for friends who fought within their fold.
 Some bade him pass; some churlish answer made,
 Some courteous; none gave tidings that consoled.
 And fitful throat afar from sleepless bed
 Bellowed, and whistling missile burst o`erhead.

 Some scanned him with suspicious, hateful eyes,
 Since in each lineament, soft—curving jaw,
 Lithe gait, fair garb, slow questions, calm replies,
 Hands that ne`er grasped or trowel, file, or saw,
 A son of those cursed sires they viewed, whose cries
 Of need or menace to their sires were law,
 In days when these drew water and hewed wood,
 And men to men denied their brotherhood.

 And some, lest they should smite him, turned on heel,
 And spat a curse upon the ground; while some
 Pushed him aside with curt retort of steel.
 Whereat, for very sadness, he was dumb;
 Well knowing in his heart that he could feel
 Most wofully for woe, past or to come,
 And the sole privilege he prized or sought
 Was power to cure the wrongs that others wrought.

 At length one,—then another,—then a third,—
 Sware to have seen them: a most goodly pair,
 She lustrous—dark as plume of ebon bird,
 He blond, robust, with grizzled beard and hair.
 But nought of either had they seen or heard,
 Since Paris, first aroused, had from its lair
 Burst out, on myrmidon of priest and king
 Leaping, to rend, and—curse on it!—missed its spring.

 Further, none helped him. But, desisting not,
 Still to his search he eachwhere craved reply;
 Till he was greeted by a scowling knot
 With ``See his Teuton face! A spy! A spy!``
 Whereat armed rabble shuffled to the spot,
 And loud reviled him. But with quiet eye
 And front he scanned them, as in Delian wood
 Apollo `mong the satyrs might have stood.

 To base gesticulation, wordy spite,
 Mute he remained, and but surveyed them still
 From the lone perch of sorrow`s fearless height:
 Affronting by confronting them, until,
 Like hounds that egg each other on to bite
 By barking, clamour giving heart to kill,
 Closer they hemmed him, and, ferocious made
 By their own throats, their hands upon him laid.

 Then because blood heats quickly, he, unarmed,
 Flashed them aside, and as the foremost fell,
 The rest shrank back that lately round him swarmed,
 And clear he stood, still ready to repel.
 Yet not for long his mien their rage had charmed,
 But that more swift than pen or tongue can tell,
 One bustled to the front, and ere the crowd
 Could set its teeth afresh, exclaimed aloud:

 ``Hold, citizens! This man is Freedom`s friend,
 Of English stock, no Teuton, and no spy.
 I saw him at Mentana rout and rend
 The Pope—King`s wolves. You doubt it? Well then, try!``
 Then turning quick to Godfrid, ``Pray, sir, lend
 Best confirmation that I do not lie.
 Show them your breast! I know the foeman`s steel
 There gashed a rent that ne`er will wholly heal.``

 ``Good comrade!`` Godfrid said, ``I scarce recall
 Your Southern face; yet what you say is so,
 And yours the land I have loved best of all,
 After my own. My breast I need not show.
 The thrust you speak of when you saw me fall,
 Hath left its brand. Enough for these to know
 I say it; and what wounds I feel or felt,
 Fighting for Freedom, their compatriots dealt.``

 ``Not ours!`` they loud protested, timely shame
 Awaking chivalry; ``not Frenchmen those,
 No countrymen of ours! And in the name
 Of France we hail you friend and them as foes.
 But since for you hath Freedom`s mountain flame
 Once served for rousing beacon, how is it glows
 Its watchfire now in vain, and that you stand,
 There, with no answering weapon in your hand?

 ``See! arms here are! Quick! don them, and come fight
 For Cause far purer than you yet have known,
 That of Mankind and Universal Right!``
 But he forbore to take them, and with tone,
 Strange contrast unto theirs, said, ``Would I might!
 But if I cannot make your thoughts my own,
 How can I, honest, share your sword, and strike,
 For striking`s sake, at foe and friend alike?

 ``Forgive me! I to neither camp belong.
 For, brothers mine, I fear you miss your way,
 Aiming at too much right through too much wrong.``
 ``Pah! `tis a casuist,`` some began to say;
 ``Wails with the weak, but battens with the strong,
 And takes a brief alike from night and day:``
 While others sneered, ``Do whelps belie their bed?
 Look at his smooth white hands and dainty head!``

 Upon the morrow, fourth day from the eve
 He for Olympia had her Convent found,
 Thither once more, no longer loth to leave
 A plainly bootless quest, he gravely wound.
 But now he wore, conspicuous round his sleeve,
 A blood—red Cross upon a snow—white ground;
 Emblem and shield, through fratricidal fray,
 Of those who stanch the blood they cannot stay.

 There it was ordered he should daily come,
 Soon after sunrise, to the Convent yard,
 Where, of the sisters, were there always some
 Ready to start for rampart, gate, or ward.
 And henceforth, every morn, at roll of drum,
 With them he sallied forth, a constant guard,
 Doing their hests till fire and fight grew slack
 At dusk, then led them to their cloister back.

 Oftenest Olympia came, and with her one,
 Now two, now more, but not unoft alone,
 Since that, in pairs, the work could best be done;
 And thus, ere long, it had to custom grown
 They should together start at rise of sun,
 Together find the spot where gash and moan
 Craved pity`s presence most, together learn
 To—morrow`s post, together should return.

 Oftenest their steps were bent—since loudest there
 Was heard the awakening cannon`s surly sound,—
 Along the way presumptuous fribbles dare
 To call Elysian, past the boastful ground
 Where slaughter`s storied Arch confronts the air,
 And splendour`s palaced alleys radiate round,
 That house new wealth`s gross pomp and surfeit sleep,
 Onward to Neuilly`s gate and Maillot`s sweep.

 And there, `mid hiss of shell, and quick hot hail
 That was its own unwarning messenger,
 Oft minding of Mentana`s closing tale,
 Godfrid moved active, followed still by her
 As by wan shadow; she composed but pale,
 He flushed, as one whom curbed—in instincts spur,
 And whose majestic port seemed far more fit
 To lead to carnage than to wait on it.

 At times a sullen unexpected lull
 On the demoniac din awhile would fall,
 Fierce—baying fort growl low, and then wax dull,
 And rifle—rattle cease from ditch and wall.
 Then Godfrid and Olympia, glad to cull
 A passing respite from the thick of brawl,
 As in the happier days, their wallet shared
 Under some new—leafed tree rage yet had spared.

 Then, seizing the brief chance, the birds would sing
 Their love—song in the branches of young May,
 And round the cannon`s jaw and cold bright ring,
 Grimly reposing, butterflies would play,
 Sipping the sun, at peace with everything.
 The fume of mortal fury rolled away,
 Leaving the blue heaven bare, till half—closed eyes
 Might deem the earth as happy as the skies.

 And Godfrid, pointing through the shimmering air,
 Shimmering and still, would say, ``Look, sister mine!
 Doth Mont Valérien, perched up peaceful there,
 Not mind you often of the Aventine?
 One well might deem it, too, a hill of prayer.
 Il Priorato`s convent wall, the shrine
 Of Sant` Alessio, and—there! leftward, see
 Sabina`s Church, with Dominic`s lemon—tree!``

 But, as he pointed, lo! quick puff of smoke,
 And, in it, for an instant, flash of light,
 And loud the claustral—seeming fortress spoke,
 Bellowing its summons to renew the fight.
 Then straight each dozing throat of war awoke,
 And hoarse bayed back; while muskets` mongrel spite,
 At the big war—dogs` signal to begin,
 With short sharp yaps accompanied the din.

 Then Godfrid and Olympia started up,
 As May`s sweet birds crouched silent, prompt to lend
 Once more the helping hand, the timely cup.
 But when day`s ending brought awhile to end
 This daily rage, and, homeward bound to sup,
 Would the unwounded in disorder wend,
 As each one willed, he oft sought news again
 Of Gilbert, questioning knots of armëd men.

 One eve when fight had even fiercer been
 Than its fierce wont, and vantage had been gained
 At point the assailants long had strained to win,
 A stripling, with the day`s work smoked and stained,
 Of Gascon speech, blue eye, and tawny skin,
 Hearing him put the question some disdained,
 Some could not answer, forward pushed, and said,
 ``That pair are with the captive or the dead.

 ``Stalwart, intrepid, fair,—I mind them well,
 And saw them with these eyes, that morn accurst,
 When, ruin—lured by treachery or by hell,
 We from yet open city pell—mell burst
 To strangle wrong. Know you where Flourens fell,
 Gay, gallant Flourens, of the foremost first?
 There, in the river`s bend I saw them both,—
 Have seen not since.`` Then with a guttural oath,

 Which every throat around took up;—a deep
 Chorus of curses,—``You may stay your search,``
 He laughed aloud; ``they have been drugged to sleep
 With leaden dose, their backs against a church.``
 Then others growled: ``Why on your left arm keep
 That tame badge, leaving vengeance in the lurch?
 Grasp with the right, man! if you want to aid,
 Not the smooth scalpel, but the jaggëd blade.``

 Thereat he turned away, and strode along,
 She at his side; both, though perturbed with fear,
 Striving with help of silence to be strong.
 But when they reached the Convent, and could hear
 The nuns within, singing the even—song,
 He stopped, and gravely said: ``To—morrow, dear,
 I cannot come with you. I must pass out
 Straight to Versailles, to solve this dreadful doubt.``

 Just then a half—intoxicated band
 Trolled by, and mocked her with a gesture foul,
 She saw not, seeing would not understand,
 And passed within. But Godfrid, with a scowl
 Of startled ire and ready—flashing hand,
 Rolled two in mire; whose comrades with a growl
 Of sottish rage their pieces cocked and raised
 Against him and each other, drunk and dazed.

 Swift as the lightning leaps from unguessed sheath,
 A blade was flashed on high, then swooping down,
 Scaring and scattering backward those beneath,
 Swept space for Godfrid, while each stumbling clown
 Muttered a muzzy curse betwixt his teeth.
 ``Away, ye sots! ye blots on our renown!
 Is this a time to hiccup and carouse?
 Hence home! and hide in sleep your shameless brows!``

 Cowed, they slunk off; and, before Godfrid, stood
 Gilbert and Miriam both! both, quick embraced
 In the wide—opening arms of brotherhood:
 One closely curved round Miriam`s nestling waist,
 She the while babbling all the joy she could,
 The other upon Gilbert`s shoulder placed
 With firm fond grip; each gazing upon each,
 But all alike yet mendicants for speech.

 But Godfrid first found words to tell his tale,
 Quickly as words could say it: how he came
 Thither from Italy with prosperous sail,
 Olympia`s escort, cherishing the aim
 To find them, but till then without avail;
 How he felt sure, since none had heard their name,
 They had gone homeward,—till that eve, he said,
 News he had heard, to fear them ta`en or dead.

 ``No fabled news! Your Gascon lad spoke true.
 We but an hour ago repassed the wall
 From which we sallied forth, a motley crew,
 A wasted month since. We saw Flourens fall.
 My turn came next, though I was but struck through
 The foot and lamed. But we contrived to crawl
 Among thick river—canes, and, crouched from sight,
 There passed a dripping day and famished night.

 ``Neither upon the morrow might we move;
 For we could hear the foe`s feet all around,
 Prowling through copse and brushwood—bank, to prove
 If living thing still lurked upon the ground:
 And oft would bullet cleave a clean straight groove
 Through the dense cane—stems with a swishing sound,
 We lying close, and praying, scarcely loth,
 The ball that found out one would find out both.

 ``On the third morning we no more heard steel
 Beating the covert; but we still lay close.
 For I was helpless yet with smarting heel,
 And with long hunger numb and comatose.
 Then Miriam crept along, and scraped a meal
 From field hard by, of roots and refuse gross,—
 What she could find,—and thus for two days more,
 What flesh and blood at bay can bear, we bore.

 ``But what an endless tale! as long as were
 Those nights and days that came, withal, to end.
 Now, thanks once more to Miriam`s craft and care,
 And subtle help of friend succeeding friend,
 I hale am yet again, and here to share
 Defence`s bitter dregs, or, should Heaven send
 New hope to our extreme, with breast as meet
 To swim to victory as to stem defeat.

 ``Plague on the long—lost weeks, wherein I lay
 At Suresnes, then at Courbevoie, hearing still
 The cannon bellow and the bugle bray,
 My weakness chafing hourly at my will.
 I convalescent days since, but to—day
 We slipped the lines, and more by luck than skill;
 For though the bloodhounds failed to do us hurt,
 They put their fangs, you see, through Miriam`s skirt.``

 ``A tasteless morsel!`` Miriam laughing said,
 Spreading the riddled folds; as Godfrid drew
 Her arm through his, and, Gilbert following, led
 Along the pavement, trodden now by few,
 To his own hearth. ``Come, I have board and bed
 For both, if rough; not rough perhaps to you,
 My dauntless Miriam, and your wounded wight.
 Come, Gilbert! You are mine, at least to—night.``

 Thus as they strolled, he sought, in leisured walk,
 To scan both closely, but the while to hide
 His anxious scrutiny with cheerful talk:
 Fancying, withal, in Gilbert he descried
 A generous plant which, flowering, runs to stalk,
 A lavish stream whose bed is wellnigh dried
 By its too copious flowing, a quick fire
 Burnt by the very wind of its desire.

 He looked a nobler and completer type
 Of those one saw around; who, since that he
 Was nobler, could more keenly feel the stripe
 Of contumelious destiny, and be
 For madness and for misery yet more ripe:
 Like them, by war, and want, and gloomy glee
 Of vain resistance, famine, failure, hate,
 Fevered to fiery point prescribed by Fate.

 She was less changed, and change in her had wrought
 But summer`s growth of loveliness; for though
 Her steps had been with those that frenzied fought,
 Hers still was woman`s work; to come or go,
 As Gilbert swayed. And so she had but caught
 From this weird hour the purple—crimson glow
 That comes upon dark streams when red suns set,
 And day and night at twilight tryst have met.

 Once round his board, them craftily he strove
 To lead in thought towards Italy, with speech
 Which, momentary theme eschewing, wove,
 Far—off but well within affection`s reach,
 A glowing tale of how the dear land throve,
 But hinting how it needed still from each,
 Who loved it still, exclusive heart and soul;—
 Keeping it wholesome, having made it whole.

 Close—watching if their blood were taking fire,
 In hers he marked infection wax apace,
 And saw her glance at Gilbert to inquire
 His thought. But he, like one that lends his face,
 But hath elsewhere his ear and his desire,
 Sate cold as listening statue in his place:
 Whereat the warm flush faded from her cheek;
 Then Godfrid knew that he in vain would speak.

 So still avoiding discord and distress,
 He lured discourse, with subtly—wandering wing,
 To ruins softened by the sun`s caress;
 Saying at length: ``Will you, dear Miriam, sing
 One of those songs of love and simpleness,
 Such as in happy Capri often ring
 Up goat—browsed cleft?`` Whereat, without stringed aid,
 In her own tongue she sang this serenade.

 Sleep! lady fair!
 O but thy couch should be
 The fleeciest cloudlet of the summer air,
 The softest billow of the summer sea,
 Or that unforsaken nest
 I keep warm within my breast,
 For thee, for thee!

 Dream, lady sweet!
 The moon and planets bright
 Now thread thy slumber with unsounding feet,
 Now lure thy fancy with unshaped delight:
 As my spirit fain would steep
 Thine, when only half asleep,
 This night, this night!

 Wake, lady mine!
 See! are awake the flowers,
 Their chalices begemmed with dewy wine,
 And, buoyed on song, the moist lark trills and towers.
 Wake! If thou must be away,
 Nightly, let at least the day
 Be ours, be ours!

 Discordant with the gently closing notes,
 A swelling roar of demon music stormed
 The night without, growled by a thousand throats,
 Hoarse, hirsute, ragged, in armed phalanx formed
 Round wain designed for autumn`s sickled oats,
 Now piled with human forms life lately warmed,
 Death—blanched and bloodless, swaying with each jar,
 And jolted by each jolt, of the rude car.

 And, guttering in the smoked air, torches flared
 Upon their upturned faces; clotted beard,
 Limp necks, dead—weighted arms, and breasts half—bared,
 Feet with the blood they fell and died in smeared,
 And lidless eyes that saw not but still stared,—
 Blind—orbed, mute—mouthed, dull—nostrilled, and deaf—eared:
 While, with notes deep as sullen—sounding surge,
 The tramping mourners trolled a vengeful dirge.

 Thus o`er the stony street the exposed dead,
 Dirged by the living, vengeful moved along:
 Godfrid with folded arms and downcast head,
 Gilbert, stern—hearkening to the chanted wrong,
 Miriam, heart—torn `twixt sympathy and dread,
 Each gazing down upon the marching throng.
 Which passed, they nothing said, since each one guessed
 The other`s thought, and straight retired to rest.

 And ever narrower closed the iron ring
 Around the city, stronger, as it shrank;
 To desperation`s ever—shortening spring
 Presenting stouter barrier, front and flank.
 One gap there was: but this the Teuton King
 Held for his own, and with the sabre`s clank,
 Valid as though `twere waved on high to strike,
 Warned off besiegers and besieged alike.

 And Godfrid and Olympia, still close—bound
 By their and others` sorrow, moved intent
 On lulling anguish whereso`er `twas found,
 And finding it, alas! where`er they went.
 For slaughter seemed to spring from out the ground,
 And wounds and wailing from some secret vent
 Of Heaven down—poured: their wedded help, withal,
 Not spent but strengthened by woe`s constant call.

 Now scared no longer by the bellowing quake
 Of fulgurating smoke, in gardened street
 Bold birds descanted gleeful pipe and shake,
 And you could catch their love—notes `twixt the beat
 Of hatred`s feverish pulse. Syringa`s flake,
 Laburnum`s golden chains, the lilac`s sweet,
 Hanging unheeded o`er each vacant bench,
 Mingled their perfume with war`s sulphurous stench.

  ``O that we were in some moist Alpine valley,``
 Loud, once in momentary lull, he sighed,
 ``Where orchards bloom, and runnels swift that sally
 From far—up cleft in sheltering mountain side
 Trip smiling past the door of pine—wood châlet;
 Where cattle—bells make music far and wide,
 Where pale—blue crocuses the green meads dapple,
 And I could build you, dear, another chapel.``

 ``O yes!`` she cried. ``Or rather that we were
 Back, back at Spiaggiascura! `Tis, you know,
 The Month of Mary, and is no one there
 To give her of the round thorn`s blossoming snow,
 To scour the hill for cyclamens, to bear
 Jonquil, and rose, and all sweet things that blow,
 To her immaculate feet, and never cease
 Importuning her ears for love and peace.

 ``But this will soon be over, will it not?``
 Gravely she asked. ``Yes, very soon!`` he said.
 And as he said it, through his heart there shot
 The unhallowed thought that when no more the dead
 And dying linked his life with hers, his lot
 Would be once more his widowed world to tread
 Alone, without her! and it then required
 All virtue`s will to wish the strife expired.

 ``And those you love?`` she added. ``What of them?``
 Meaning thereby, as well he understood,
 Gilbert and Miriam. ``I as lief might stem,``
 He answered sadly, ``ocean at its flood,
 As them withstand. Yet, let us not condemn.
 They think they die for human brotherhood.
 So far, their lives seemed charmed.`` ``Heaven grant they may
 Still be!`` she said. ``For both, our Sisters pray.``

 She face to face with neither had been brought,
 Since that he daily studied to evade,
 With false male instinct, meeting none had sought,
 And, happening, woman`s tact had simple made.
 Yet kept he closest watch where Gilbert fought
 And Miriam followed, by the trusty aid
 Of eyes well paid, and bound, by orders curt,
 To seek him straight, should either suffer hurt.

 Beneath his roof he held them, keeping now
 From vain expostulation. But, one night,
 Gilbert the moment absent, Miriam`s brow,
 Temples, and cheek, turned suddenly as white
 As dark waves sundered by a surging prow;
 And with a cry that stifled seemed by fright,
 And hands stretched out to help the eyes that fail,
 She swooned upon the ground, and lay there pale.

  By her he knelt, and on her bloodless face
 Dashed water, till she opened wide her eyes,
 And murmuring it was needless to unlace
 Her bodice now, for she should shortly rise,
 Vowed, ``It is but the strangeness of the place,
 Some need of mountain air, of native skies.
 Now lift me up; it will be over soon;
 And tease not Gilbert with this foolish swoon.

 ``You will not,—will you? `Twould but harass more
 His heart already harassed overmuch.
 Promise me, Godfrid! Promise, I implore!``
 And she besought him so with voice and touch,
 And eyes with tearful pathos brimming o`er,
 That he, but vulnerable stuff to such,
 To give the asked—for pledge was feeling fain,
 When a suspicion flashed across his brain.

 Why this importunate violence of fear?
 Why thus so anxiously his help discard?
 And whence that swoon, more fit for luxury`s sphere,
 In one stern—nurtured as the hawk or pard?
 ``Miriam!`` he said, ``you ought not to be here!
 For you have now another life to guard.
 Answer me straight! You solitary bear
 A sacred secret Gilbert ought to share!``

  Again the paleness of the sky—peaks` snow
 Spread o`er her face an instant, ere it took
 The crimson flush they wear at sunset`s glow;
 And she exclaimed, with supplicating look,
 ``You will not tell him? For he must not know!
 Promise me, Godfrid! Oh! I could not brook
 To clog his stroke just as we near Fate`s shore.
 Can you not wait? You see `twill soon be o`er!``

 That instant Gilbert entered, with a gaze
 Which, fixed on far—off anguish, noted not
 Pallor and pain in life`s familiar ways,
 And in the world`s woe home distress forgot;
 And, ere from horror`s dizzying amaze
 Godfrid his thoughts could steady, from the spot,
 Saying, ``Come, Miriam! deepens now the fight;``
 Had with her passed into the hurtling night.

 But when they had gone, and Godfrid nought could hear
 Save hungry boom of death, then left alone
 With his own self and formless ghosts of fear,
 He fancied in each gust of battle blown
 Over the roof by echoing atmosphere,
 To catch now Gilbert`s cry, now Miriam`s groan,
 Or in the rattling pane and quaking street
 To hear the scamper of their flying feet.

 Outward he rushed, unterrified by such,
 For terror in his heart: his one sole thought,
 Amid the crackling hurricane, to touch
 The barrier where he knew that Gilbert fought;
 To search it, force his way to front, and clutch
 The arm that should be sheltering her it brought
 Full face to face with death, and shame the sire,
 Since deaf the husband, from its jaws of fire.

 But as he reached the point he strained for, lo!
 Defence had vanished from it, and it stood
 Naked to night, empty of friend and foe,
 Horribly silent as some haunted wood.
 Aghast he paused; then, turning quick to go,
 Though without thought or purpose whither should
 His feet next fly, by something lying prone
 Across his path, was tripped, and forward thrown.

 He fell upon his hands in warm wet slop,
 That splashed up in his face and neck, and sprawled
 At first he scarce knew where, then lay atop
 Of that which threw him; but, as back he crawled,
 Placing one hand upon it for a prop,
 Wherewith to raise himself, he felt, appalled,
 A human form beneath his touch, whose clothes
 Got with his own entangled as he rose.

 Then, touch befooling sight to see, he thought
 That in that tumbled heap he plain could trace
 The figure of the combatant he sought,—
 The arm, the hand, the head, the hair, the face.
 And, fumbling in his pouch, he struck, distraught,
 A fearful light, which, fluttered by the pace
 At which he lowered it through the air, went out,
 Leaving him once again in dark and doubt.

 So this time carefully he knelt him down
 Hard by the face ere striking light, which then
 Flashed suddenly upon the visage brown
 Of—no, not Gilbert! but, scanned close again,
 Of a poor, low—browed, famished—featured clown,
 Lying as he might lie with reaping men
 At mid—day meal; a face which, though unknown,
 Through death seemed kindred and familiar grown.

 With thankful gasp he scrambled from his knees,
 And, at that moment, the short match burnt out;
 Yet not before he saw, quick as one sees
 Landscape by lightning, dotted thick about,
 Dead shapes of men, like felled but unbarked trees:
 Whereat instinctively he gave a shout,
 Listening for answer. But came no reply,
 Of living groan or dying agony.

 Then he paused silently among the dead,
 Transfixed there by the scene which he could see
 More plainly for the darkness, and by dread
 Stamped on his brain for ever instantly.
 When hark! he thought, he heard a shuffling tread,
 Then saw a shifting light that seemed to be
 Coming anear him slowly; so he cried
 Aloud once more, and a man`s voice replied.

 And moving toward the light, the light towards him,
 He met a wizened thing, blear, hunchback, spare,
 One of wealth`s pariahs, who, when night grows grim,
 In to—day`s offal for to—morrow`s fare
 Grope with a pointed stick and lantern dim.
 Him foul, with fairest words, he begged to bear
 The link before him, so that one by one
 He might the corpses scan, omitting none.

 Then picking through the dead his way, he bent
 Over each body, and with dread renewed
 At each fresh trial, while that other lent
 Careless his light, the wan blank faces viewed,
 Fearfully searching every lineament,
 Lest death had chance the well—known look imbued
 With its own strangeness; and, at times, again
 Stooping, to make more certain of his ken.

  But terror found not what it sought, and thence,
 Hastily dropping guerdon, straight he fled,
 With horror at his heels, each separate sense
 Sharpened to keen acquaintance with the dead.
 Nor paused he till he reached the portal whence
 His steps had started; mounting, with new dread,
 To his own hearth, lest haply he should there
 Find waiting summons, to make doubt despair.

 There found he line from Miriam, saying, ``I send
 This line by messenger,—a last farewell;
 For we are face to face now with the end.
 How yet we live unscathed, I cannot tell;
 Brought finally to bay, our ranks defend
 The routed Commune`s topmost citadel,
 At Belleville, compassed round by foe that gives
 Nothing but death to anything that lives.

 ``Seek for our bodies, claim them if you may,
 Gilbert`s and mine, and for the love you bore
 Unto us both, across the bright blue bay
 Row them, yourself, back unto Capri`s shore,
 And within hearing of the murmuring spray
 Make us a grave; and see you strew it o`er
 Sometimes with flowers from Tuoro Grande`s brow.
 I never loved you, brother, more than now.``

 Again he hurried outward, hope and dread
 Lending joint wings. But as into the street,
 He passed, he heard his name by some one said,
 And, close behind, the sound of hastening feet.
 Turning, he saw Olympia! ``Oh! not dead!
 Not dead!`` she cried, with rapture that was sweet
 Unto his ear even in that bitter hour,
 Asserting `mid worst woe love`s lasting power!

 ``Dead? No, dear love!`` he with prompt lips replied,
 And arms instinctively outstretched to fold
 Her form to his, then sudden to his side
 Dropped mindful, empty, reverently cold.
 ``But why, Olympia! deemed you I had died?``
 He asked, in accents tender, but less bold.
 ``Because you did not come to me,`` she said,
 ``And so I thought you must indeed be dead.``

 Again love`s swift electric current ran
 From the heart`s battery to the moving hands,
 Tingling to fondle. But, man checked by man,
 Flesh paused, the noble serf of soul`s commands.
 ``I did not come to you, because you can
 Do nothing more,`` he said. ``Infuriate bands
 Nor see nor spare. I felt, `mid rage like theirs,
Source
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