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Alfred Austin - The Human Tragedy ACT IV
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 That you, dear child, were better at your prayers.

  ``For me there is one office left, and then
 I to your Convent will repair. For see!
 Gilbert with Miriam in defeat`s last den
 Are close shut in, and from it cannot flee,
 Even if they would; their comrades desperate men,
 Who nor to earth nor Heaven would bend the knee,
 And whom their foes, now biding vengeance` tryst,
 Would slay, if clung they to the skirt of Christ!``

 ``Then let us go there straight!`` she said, ``and save!
 It was for this Madonna sent me here.
 Can we not start at once?`` But he, the brave,
 The unshrinking, cried with pallid lips of fear,
 ``My child! I cannot take you to your grave!
 You must not come. I hold you far too dear.``
 ``Not go where you go!`` solemnly she said:
 ``I must live safe, you perilled,—perhaps dead!

 ``O Godfrid! I have lived without you long,
 And shall live ever thus, while yet I live;
 But it was Heaven`s promise made me strong,
 That when earth`s refuse should have run the sieve,
 And nought remain but spirit, for the wrong
 Love here hath suffered, love beyond would give
 Eternal compensation! If it be
 You now face death, you face it must with me!``

 ``Come then!`` he said, fear now extinct. ``Come quick!
 Each step is precious!`` Then up streets they wound,
 Where slaughter of its own work had grown sick,
 And dreadful silence followed dreadful sound.
 Men`s doors were closed; but now and then the click
 Of latch was heard, and head, sly glancing round,
 Protruded for a moment, quickly then
 Withdrawn, and latch dropped noiselessly again.

 But as they got up higher, barricade,
 Empty, except of the unnoticed dead,
 Abandoned rifle and unwielded blade,
 Grew thicker, and the ways more blocked to tread.
 And shortly, trim battalions, on parade,
 But with accoutrements splashed foul and red,
 As though through blood they had waded, held the place,
 By moody cannon flanked that gazed on space.

 And many a hand was lifted in salute,
 Returned by Godfrid, though intended less
 For him than her, who walked meek—eyed and mute,
 Her senses cloistered in her sober dress,
 And lips in prayer composedly resolute,
 Close at his side; and as the martial press
 Waxed denser, one whose garb bespoke command
 Stayed them, and said, with deprecating hand:

  ```Twere best to go no farther, sir! You stray
 Beyond our lines, and desperadoes hold
 What is beyond. At any moment may
 The bugles flourish and the drum be rolled.
 We shall attack at once. So turn back, pray!``
 And others, crowding round, like story told.
 But he, ``I thank you, gentlemen! Withal,
 You see my badge; I but obey its call.``

 So these, once more saluting, let them pass;
 And by streets staircased, intricate, they came
 To where the remnant of the rebel mass
 Waited behind last rampart, pledged to shame
 Ungenerous Fortune, deaf to shame, alas!
 For her desertion, and from juster Fame
 Extort the avowal, if unfit to live,
 Their brave death makes vindictiveness forgive!

 Just as they reached the very topmost crown
 Of the rude citadel, and came in view
 Of its defences,—in the lower town,
 From which they just had clomb, a bugle blew,
 And upward whizzed a shell, then hurtled down.
 Swiftly to arms the loitering victims flew,
 And Godfrid Gilbert saw, amid the chase,
 Hurrying with Miriam o`er the open space.

 Fast as can foot be lifted from the ground,
 Unheeding even Olympia, straight he ran,
 Shouting their names before him. At the sound
 They halted and looked back; while hastening van,
 Urged on by hastening rear, of battle, wound
 Past them, defiance now its only plan;
 Leaving them stranded, as by scudding wind
 Are hesitating leaves left loose behind.

 ``What do you here?`` asked Gilbert. ``This is not
 The place, the hour for mercy. O fly! fly!``
 ``I fly!`` cried Godfrid. ``Man! you have forgot
 Your manhood utterly. `Tis you, not I,
 Who must be dragged, if need be, from the spot;
 For, by Love`s sovran right! she shall not die!
 Do you not know she bears within her womb
 Its pledge, you now would cradle in the tomb?``

 Was it a mortal bullet from the foe,
 Or only Godfrid`s words, pierced Gilbert`s brain?
 Pallid he stood, then staggered back as though
 He a farewell had made of life and pain.
 But propped by Miriam promptly, ``Is it so?``
 Aghast he murmured. ``Tell me,—tell me plain!``
 ``It is,`` she said. ``But what untimely power
 Brings you here, Godfrid, in this final hour?``

  ``It is not final,`` he replied. ``Now quick!
 Gilbert, be calm, and do as I shall bid!
 See you yon curving wall of crumbling brick?
 Turn, when it turns to right, then straightway thrid
 A twisting alley where stone stairs stand thick,
 Until you reach an archway almost hid
 By the contiguous dwellings. Once when there,
 You will be safe. Then to my roof repair.

 ``Here is a pass, the safest you can wear,
 `Twill serve for both.`` And from his arm he took
 The Red Cross brassard rapidly, and ere
 Either could speak, the badge began to hook
 Round Gilbert`s sleeve, who still with horror`s stare
 Stood as transfixed. But Miriam cried, ``Look! look!
 See what he does. He helps us both to fly,
 And, unprotected, he remains to die!``

 ``Silence! It is not so,`` he sternly said,
 ``And if it were, what then! I bid you flee!
 The unborn shall not be mingled with the dead!``
 Then gazing round, he saw and bade them see
 A Sister bending by the upraised head
 Of dying form. ``She will suffice for me:
 That is Olympia, and her garb will sue
 For both of us, as this for both of you.``

 ``Swear you are safe!`` said Gilbert. ``Then, we go!``
 ``I swear it! Now, farewell! One moment more
 May prove too late. For I can hear the foe
 Firing more closely, and the rising roar
 Of troops advancing. But first,—see you!—throw
 Your arms away; put on this cloak I wore
 Expressly for your need. There! now depart;
 Delay, and it may be too late to start.``

 But Miriam fought for one embrace, and then
 They were gone! safe passed beyond the shattered wall.
 And Godfrid, gazing round with rapid ken,
 Beheld Olympia, still to misery`s call
 Lending her ear, deaf to the yells of men
 Maddened with battle, deaf to cannon`s brawl,
 And murmuring for pale lips, which `neath her lay,
 Prayers long unsaid, prayers now they could not say.

 He hastened towards her, and below her saw
 That timely face which, when they dubbed him spy,
 Pleaded against the rabble`s lawless law.
 ``Alas!`` she said, ``I fear that he must die!
 He spoke my tongue.`` ``In truth, he ne`er will draw
 Life`s breath again! He is dead! Now must we fly;
 For we too should be gone. In vain to wait,
 When upon mercy wrath hath clanged the gate.``

 ``And have you saved them?`` ``Yes! my badge they wear,—
 Enough for both. Now must I cling to you,
 My safeguard ever!`` ``Welcome! They who spare,
 Or slay the one, must spare or slay the two,``
 With joy she cried; ``so straight hence let us fare,
 If nought be left for pity`s touch to do.
 But lest that any fail to understand
 We two are one,—here! Godfrid! take my hand!``

 He took it. ``See, Olympia! we must make
 To the west corner, for the opening where
 Gilbert and Miriam vanished.`` As he spake,
 Shouts of fierce exultation rent the air,
 And swarming in wherever foot could take
 Or head force passage to the rebel square,
 The storming files of vengeance came apace,
 Death in their hands and fury in their face.

 Too few to guard each passage, and thus ta`en
 In rear and flank, the rebel band faced round,
 Their sole thought now to slay before being slain,
 And with lowered points fired blank across the ground
 At ranks that, blind as theirs, flashed deadly rain
 Direct on all their level barrels found
 Standing erect; both far too fierce to know
 Whether their bullets fell on friend or foe.

 And Godfrid had but time,—at last!—to fling
 His arms around the form he had loved so well,
 Thinking to save, and she to him to cling,
 When, `twixt the madness of the twain they fell:
 He pierced by ball that fought for faith of old,
 She by their shaft who `gainst all faith rebel;
 Albeit so close was this their first, last troth,
 One well—aimed bullet would have served for both.

 Thus were they found, when, rummaging among
 Mixed heaps of slain, the victors came to save
 The corpses of their brethren, ere was flung
 The refuse in one contumelious grave.
 And seeing that one who wore Christ`s habit clung,
 Even in death, to form so worldly brave,
 They touched them not, but prayed that priest or nun
 Would come and say what meet were to be done.

 Then quickly from the Convent thither sped
 The reverend Mother, with two daughters dear;
 Who, when she saw this bridal of the dead,
 Weeping, commanded, ``Put them on one bier,
 And bear them after me with gentle tread.``
 And straight she sent for him who many a year
 To them had been Heaven`s helpmate in that place,
 A venerable man, with tranquil face.

 To him, in hearing of them all, she told
 The story she herself had learnt when first,
 Six brief weeks gone, Olympia joined their fold,
 And next, how Godfrid, aiding her, had nursed
 The wounded she with deeper balm consoled;
 But from their ears withholding not the worst,—
 His strange sad unbelief, which still had kept
 The pair apart, till one in death they slept.

 The agëd pastor, thuswise as she spake,
 In silence listened, and then slowly said:
 ``My children! these two souls, for Truth`s pure sake,
 Divided were, since Faith, in him, was dead.
 Who knows? perchance it did in death awake:
 It was to save the lost Christ breathed and bled.
 Doubt watered by such prayer must somewhere bud;
 And see! he hath the baptism of blood.

 ``Therefore I dare not say Christ vainly died
 Even for him. And since the twain would lie,
 Methinks, at Spiaggiascura side by side,
 Heaven will not earth`s infirmity deny.
 So let us there one grave for both provide,
 In consecrated ground beneath the sky.
 She needs no epitaph; so let his plea,
 Dilexit multum, sole inscription be!``

 So you who go, half guided by my song,
 To Spiaggiascura, there a grave will find,
 To which the waves make music all day long,
 And wherein sleep the gentlest of their kind,
 Sheltered for ever now from hap of wrong.
 And, can it be our mortal causes find
 Immortal consequence beyond the tomb,
 He either shares her bliss, or she his doom.

 Enter the little chapel, as you pass,
 That still stands shimmering in the fragrant air,
 Though she who loved it is not there, alas!
 And, if you can, kneel down and say a prayer.
 Then seek, without, a grave amid the grass,
 With that inscription carved in marble fair;
 And falling tears will sound, if wept for woe,
 Sweeter than summer shower to those below.

 And should it be the springtime, go at morn
 Straight up the dewy dell, until you gain
 Spot you will know, and from the blossoming thorn
 That on the streamlet showers its snow—white rain,
 Pluck branch, and just as from the tree `twas torn,
 Lay it at their feet. And, lastly, will you deign
 Lend one kind thought, be such prayer not too bold,
 To him who, stammering, hath their story told.

 Gilbert and Miriam live, and strive to cope
 With grief in tutoring a baby mind,
 Named after Godfrid, that is taught to hope
 For common happiness to all Mankind.
 Surely, a blameless creed; for we must grope
 Onward to light, so long as we are blind;
 And, through the deepest night and murkiest air,
 Hope still waves torch and beckons to despair.

 But whether the unsetting day shall rise
 For which the downcast weep, the sanguine pine,
 Or, but as hitherto, in fitful skies,
 Dawn must to dark, fair will to foul decline,—
 For gentle hearts and steadfast—gazing eyes
 Thou, thou at least, wilt never cease to shine
 On wreck of things that were, or things that are,
 Love! reconciling Love! eternal Star!
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