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Alfred Austin - The Human Tragedy ACT IIIAlfred Austin - The Human Tragedy ACT III
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Vainly, though every dear old feeling throngs Back to my breast at sight of you once more: Vainly,—though even I knelt and could adore! ``Too late! Too late! Denied to me awhile, For ever are you ravished from me now! Gone from your lips the sweetly mortal smile, And Heaven`s pure veil protects your sacred brow. You are removed so far, you would beguile My wildest vows, as did that virgin bough Your straining hand, when in the mountain glade I lent my help!… Alas! Me none will aid! ``Yet though you did abjure me, and have given Heaven all the love I once with Heaven did share, The links which knitted me to you, are riven Tighter by time, and have survived despair. I may from many sins need to be shriven; But one weight still I shall not have to bear Before the judgment—seat. My love was pure, Even as your own, and will till death endure! ``When you had sought a haven in the sky, I, from my haven driven, put forth to sea. And lo! from every tower and turret high, Rang out the glad peal, summoning to be free, Free or for ever slave, the land that I Loved not the less, because it fathered thee! Land, crowned with snow and girdled by the foam, Fair as her Florence, outraged as her Rome! ``Nay, bear with me, Olympia, bear alway, If only for the sake of olden days. Rome, still forgotten, still in fetters, lay. I against you as soon my sword would raise As `gainst the altar where you kneel and pray; And though I lift no voice of prayer or praise, In half—believing awe I bend me too, Before the Faith that fosters such as you. ``Not, not against the altar did I fling My feeble body, counting life as dross: No, but from Peter`s hampered hand to wring The carnal sword, and leave therein the Cross: That Rome, unswathed, might from the sepulchre spring, And Italy no more bewail the loss Of her first—born, but grouped around her knee Her dear ones hail,—not fair alone, but free! ``Ah! half in darkness on this earth we dwell, Not in the light, but shadow, of the truth; Confounding good with evil, heaven with hell, Misjudging rage and hate for love and ruth. But, though our souls thus vainly gnaw their shell, And manhood seem but disillusioned youth, I still must hope, the lingering dawn despite, That slow we move, through liberty, to light. ``And if there be, for close of all this ache, This panting struggle, a celestial goal, Come with me there, Olympia! I will take My blood—stained sword, and you your snow—white soul! Perchance we there shall see that each doth make Complete the other, and a godlike whole, From human vision hid, will flash to life, In that pure atmosphere where melteth strife. ``But if I needs must go, leaving you here, Pass solitary, silent, to my doom, I will await you in whatever sphere I may awake, of sunshine or of gloom. For I will never, never yield you, dear! While soul surviveth! Meanwhile, tend my tomb; But still remember, that my latest breath Blent, with your name, the cry of `Rome or Death!``` Faint came the final words, though tightly still He grasped the bladeless hilt she would release, To join his hands in prayer. ``Oh! do His will, And with the Heavenly Victor make your peace! My heart shall keep a nook for you until We meet in the Land where wrong and sorrow cease. But oh! bequeath me, ere you leave me lone, Some hope that we may meet before the Throne! ``Your words have meaning which you do not see. All betwixt Rome must choose, God`s Voice hath said, And endless Death!`` ``Then, Death,`` he cried, ``for me!`` And waved his broken brand above his head; Then dropped the hilt, and fell back heavily. Dragged down by woe, she knelt beside the bed, And on the offending hand laid sobbing cheek:— For love too strong, for martyrdom too weak! Now with light jocund step came young—eyed Morn, Dancing and singing o`er the eastern hill. The timorous twilight, blushing, fled forlorn, And in each thicket awoke pipe and trill. The world,—the old, worn world,—seemed freshly born, Eden renewed, where man might drink his fill Of brimming joy and beauty, nor e`er know His naked self, that long bequest of woe! The sluggish mountains, donning crowns of gold, Uprose to greet the morning. O`er the plain Of blight and wreck a roseate wave was rolled. Glowed in the sunlight aqueduct and fane, No longer ruined. Happy Gods of old Would soon, it seemed, their ancient seat regain, And rule once more, from oracle and shrine, A scene for mortal empire too divine! Rome, Rome itself, bathed in auroral sheen, Its domes, towers, columns, fanned by buoyant gales, Scanned from afar, one well indeed might ween A sea of sunlight flecked with joyous sails. Here, playful fountains leaped, and laughed between; There, bright—trunked stone—pines spread their sombre veils `Twixt earth and sky; the cracks in temples hoar But dimples seemed, with which they smiled once more. From narrow humid street, in open square, Sun—flooded, gathered an unwonted throng; And most where saint—crowned pillar clave the air, Or spouting column soared like voice of song. In every eye there lurked the angry glare, In every nerve the self—suppression strong, Of panther ere it leaps;—a fearful pause, Ere bounds the body, and out—curve the claws! When, all at once, from lip to lip there flew The rumour that the great Deliverer`s tread Nearer and nearer to the city drew, Striding across the prostrate tyrant`s head. Some, shimmering in the distant sunlight blue, Had seen his bayonet—tips and banners red Stream o`er the crest of the Nomentan Way; And some, `twas said, had heard his trumpets bray. Then all the people started up and took Hotly their way unto the Eastern gate. The comfortable cripple left his nook, And hobbled with the crowd. With eager gait, Dark matrons flower and lemon stall forsook; While timid maidens, fearing to be late, Awaited not their mothers, but entwined Their hands with baby boys, and ran like wind. Yes! in the sunlight, pinnacles of steel Flashed, and lithe pennons floated in the air; And from the ranks they crested rang the peal Of thunderous drum and many a clarion`s blare. But, pitying Christ! what do those notes reveal, And what these ensigns, waved anear, declare? The Pontiff`s paean sounds `neath banners black, His hellish legions tramping in their track! On,—on,—they came, with rhythmic—moving tread, His hirelings first, their Gallic prop behind; And, last, with sullen step and unraised head, A haggard, footsore file, whom Death unkind Forgot to reap; who neither fell nor fled, But, caught in toils no valour could unwind And reft of arms, now with the craven thong Linking their limbs, toiled painfully along. Just ere the vanguard of the long array The gateway reached, and bright warm bayonet—tips, Dipping beneath its vault, from sheen of day Passed, for a moment, into cold eclipse, The crowd one last look gave, then slunk away: The men with muttered curses on their lips, Women with silent anguish in their eyes, And hate, in hearts of both, that never dies! Then, to the clang of cymbals and the sound Of triumph—breathing instruments, swept on The exultant host through solitude profound: Past silent—nodding wrecks of Empire gone, Sallust`s choked garden, Caesar`s toppled mound. What though bright fountain flashed, bright sunlight shone, Loud pealed their trumpets, proudly waved their plumes, Rome`s dwellings seemed as empty as her tombs! But as they, onward moving, roused the styes Where modern squalor supersedes the reign Of ancient ruin, swarms of black—robed spies, Shavelings and sbirri, and their servile train, Began through chink and crack with stealthy eyes To peer and glance, as when from hole and drain Foul—feeding vermin thrust suspicious snout, Ere to their garbage—feast they sally out. But when they saw the Cross—Keys waving high, And heard Gaul`s pompous music fill the air, Then out they came in shoals,—a various fry: Some in brown serge, with feet and foreheads bare, And hempen cord whence hung the rosary; Some robed in white, long—bearded, comely, spare, Whose lofty brows roofed Learning and the Law; And some, black—frocked, with clenched ascetic jaw. Sudden, as though from underground they sprung, File after file, came troops of tonsured boys, To whose slim bodies gaudy cassocks clung, And who from native Freedom`s healthy joys Had, babes, been weaned, and taught an alien tongue. Their pretty voices swelled the monkish noise, Their tender forms the sabre—sounding throng, Their innocent hearts the festival of wrong! They too, the coiners of the spurious smile, That round the victor`s chariot skip and bark, Obsequious hounds, the vilest of the vile, Came thick; and those, who know not light from dark, Meek, timorous hearts, whom fear and faith beguile, And who in storm cling fast to Peter`s ark: And, last, the sceptic souls, who from them thrust Man`s genial dreams, and in the fasces trust. So the armed host, by sycophant and slave, Friar, and mendicant, and boyish band, Followed and cheered, marched on with banners brave To that famed spot on hoary Tiber`s strand, Where Papal statues arrogantly wave Over the stream forgotten Pagans spanned, And Papal gaolers, copying the gloom Of death, have carved a dungeon from a tomb. Across the bridge they streamed, a hemmed—in crowd, And up the narrow squalid Borgo passed, Till lo! the pile, whose head with sun and cloud Converses, and whose feet are planted fast In earth`s foundation, rose before them proud, Stupendous, soaring, dominant, and vast: Type of that mighty Power which claims to quell Man`s soul, and rule the realms of Heaven and Hell. Then, as a stream that finds a wider bed, Over the broad piazza loose they poured, Between the curving colonnades, and sped Up the long marble steps, defaced and scored, Though polished smooth, by many a pilgrim`s tread; Until no more the glittering cupola soared Up in the sky, and into shade they passed, Like that the sun—confronting mountains cast.  A moment more, beneath the atrium pealed Fresh music, and an army new drew near: The Church`s spiritual ranks, that wield `Gainst Satan`s host the crosier as a spear, And on their bosom wear the cross for shield: Music that ravished the submissive ear, And gorgeous companies whose pompous train Dazzled the eye and dizzy left the brain. Troops of fantastic friars, endless files Of eremites and missionaries brought From sun—scorched lands and ice—engirdled isles; Gold—mitred Abbots deep in prayer and thought, And throne—defying Prelates wreathed in smiles, Apparelled in rich copes with gems inwrought; Last, crimson—cassocked Cardinals, who curled Proudly their lips, as though they swayed the world. Sudden shrilled silver trumpets, and out—flashed, Quickly as sunlight flashes, mailëd men, Across whose doublets,—black with yellow slashed,— Glowed plates of burnished steel, that dazed the ken. Next, brazen instruments and cymbals clashed, Rending the lofty portico, and then, So dread a sight approached, that they who saw Dropped on their knees, and veiled their eyes for awe. For in mid—air, by men upborne, there came, Enthroned, a venerable man, arrayed In more than regal glory. Eyes of flame, Ravished from Juno`s bird, his pathway made, And, cushioned, shone his Triple Crown of fame. Closed were his lids, but on his features played A more than mortal radiance; and benign, O`er the crouched crowd he made the Holy Sign. When swept the long procession`s final train Into the august Temple`s pillared nave, Where statued pomp half baffles death`s disdain, And wrings its vauntful triumphs from the grave, Army and concourse poured into the fane, Distinguished now no more, but, like a wave, Over the marble pavement rippling spread, Till every slab was hid by human tread. Then, with one voice, unto the Lord of Hosts, Prince, priest, and people, Te Deum loudly sang: Who hurls the waves against earth`s granite coasts, Swells with His voice the wingless tempest`s clang, And brings to nought the Mighty`s impious boasts. High up the spacious dome their anthem rang, And in the air without, with rhythmic stroke, The accompanying cannon`s bounding pulses spoke. But with these proud Hosannas, and the boom Of insolent artillery that cleaved Rome`s arching sky, ascended too the gloom Of orphaned hearths, beds widowed, lives bereaved; Where He eternally abideth, Whom Eye hath not seen, ear heard, nor heart conceived. With sleepless eyes that scanned the nations wide, Brooding He sate, His justice by His side! END OF ACT III
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