Chapter 41

the Army in motion, with ladders to scale the walls_;[238] BOURBON _with a white scarf over his armour, foremost_.

_Chorus of Spirits in the air_.

I.

'Tis the morn, but dim and dark.[do] Whither flies the silent lark? Whither shrinks the clouded sun? Is the day indeed begun? Nature's eye is melancholy O'er the city high and holy: But without there is a din Should arouse the saints within, And revive the heroic ashes Round which yellow Tiber dashes. 10 Oh, ye seven hills! awaken, Ere your very base be shaken!

II.

Hearken to the steady stamp! Mars is in their every tramp! Not a step is out of tune, As the tides obey the moon! On they march, though to self-slaughter, Regular as rolling water, Whose high-waves o'ersweep the border Of huge moles, but keep their order, 20 Breaking only rank by rank. Hearken to the armour's clank! Look down o'er each frowning warrior, How he glares upon the barrier: Look on each step of each ladder, As the stripes that streak an adder.

III.

Look upon the bristling wall, Manned without an interval! Round and round, and tier on tier, Cannon's black mouth, shining spear, 30 Lit match, bell-mouthed Musquetoon, Gaping to be murderous soon; All the warlike gear of old, Mixed with what we now behold, In this strife 'twixt old and new, Gather like a locusts' crew. Shade of Remus! 'tis a time Awful as thy brother's crime! Christians war against Christ's shrine:-- Must its lot be like to thine? 40

IV.

Near--and near--and nearer still, As the Earthquake saps the hill, First with trembling, hollow motion, Like a scarce awakened ocean, Then with stronger shock and louder, Till the rocks are crushed to powder,-- Onward sweeps the rolling host! Heroes of the immortal boast! Mighty Chiefs! eternal shadows! First flowers of the bloody meadows 50 Which encompass Rome, the mother Of a people without brother! Will you sleep when nations' quarrels Plough the root up of your laurels? Ye who weep o'er Carthage burning, Weep not--_strike_! for Rome is mourning![239]

V.

Onward sweep the varied nations! Famine long hath dealt their rations. To the wall, with hate and hunger, Numerous as wolves, and stronger, 60 On they sweep. Oh, glorious City! Must thou be a theme for pity? Fight, like your first sire, each Roman! Alaric was a gentle foeman, Matched with Bourbon's black banditti! Rouse thee, thou eternal City; Rouse thee! Rather give the torch With thine own hand to thy porch,[dp] Than behold such hosts pollute Your worst dwelling with their foot. 70

VI.

Ah! behold yon bleeding spectre! Ilion's children find no Hector; Priam's offspring loved their brother; Rome's great sire forgot his mother, When he slew his gallant twin, With inexpiable sin. See the giant shadow stride O'er the ramparts high and wide! When the first o'erleapt thy wall, Its foundation mourned thy fall. 80 Now, though towering like a Babel, Who to stop his steps are able? Stalking o'er thy highest dome, Remus claims his vengeance, Rome!

VII.

Now they reach thee in their anger: Fire and smoke and hellish clangour Are around thee, thou world's wonder! Death is in thy walls and under. Now the meeting steel first clashes, Downward then the ladder crashes, 90 With its iron load all gleaming, Lying at its foot blaspheming! Up again! for every warrior Slain, another climbs the barrier. Thicker grows the strife: thy ditches Europe's mingling gore enriches. Rome! although thy wall may perish, Such manure thy fields will cherish, Making gay the harvest-home; But thy hearths, alas! oh, Rome!-- 100 Yet be Rome amidst thine anguish, Fight as thou wast wont to vanquish!

VIII.

Yet once more, ye old Penates! Let not your quenched hearts be Atés! Yet again, ye shadowy Heroes, Yield not to these stranger Neros! Though the son who slew his mother Shed Rome's blood, he was your brother: 'Twas the Roman curbed the Roman;-- Brennus was a baffled foeman. 110 Yet again, ye saints and martyrs, Rise! for yours are holier charters! Mighty Gods of temples falling, Yet in ruin still appalling! Mightier Founders of those altars, True and Christian,--strike the assaulters! Tiber! Tiber! let thy torrent Show even Nature's self abhorrent. Let each breathing heart dilated Turn, as doth the lion baited! 120 Rome be crashed to one wide tomb, But be still the Roman's Rome![240]

[BOURBON, ARNOLD, CÆSAR, _and others, arrive at the foot of the wall_. ARNOLD _is about to plant his ladder_.

_Bourb._ Hold, Arnold! I am first.

_Arn._ Not so, my Lord.

_Bourb._ Hold, sir, I charge you! Follow! I am proud Of such a follower, but will brook no leader. [BOURBON _plants his ladder, and begins to mount_. Now, boys! On! on! [_A shot strikes him, and_ BOURBON _falls_.

_Cæs._ And off!

_Arn._ Eternal powers! The host will be appalled,--but vengeance! vengeance!

_Bourb._ 'Tis nothing--lend me your hand.

[BOURBON _takes_ ARNOLD _by the hand, and rises; but as he puts his foot on the step, falls again_.

Arnold! I am sped. Conceal my fall[241]--all will go well--conceal it! Fling my cloak o'er what will be dust anon; 130 Let not the soldiers see it.

_Arn._ You must be Removed; the aid of----

_Bourb._ No, my gallant boy! Death is upon me. But what is _one_ life? The Bourbon's spirit shall command them still. Keep them yet ignorant that I am but clay, Till they are conquerors--then do as you may.

_Cæs._ Would not your Highness choose to kiss the cross? We have no priest here, but the hilt of sword May serve instead:--it did the same for Bayard[242].

_Bourb._ Thou bitter slave! to name _him_ at this time! 140 But I deserve it.

_Arn._ (_to_ CÆSAR). Villain, hold your peace!

_Cæs._ What, when a Christian dies? Shall I not offer A Christian "Vade in pace[243]?"

_Arn._ Silence! Oh! Those eyes are glazing which o'erlooked the world, And saw no equal.

_Bourb._ Arnold, shouldst thou see France----But hark! hark! the assault grows warmer--Oh! For but an hour, a minute more of life, To die within the wall! Hence, Arnold, hence! You lose time--they will conquer Rome without thee.

_Arn._ And without _thee_.

_Bourb._ Not so; I'll lead them still 150 In spirit. Cover up my dust, and breathe not That I have ceased to breathe. Away! and be Victorious.

_Arn._ But I must not leave thee thus.

_Bourb._ You must--farewell--Up! up! the world is winning. [BOURBON _dies_.

_Cæs._ (_to_ ARNOLD). Come, Count, to business.

_Arn._ True. I'll weep hereafter.

[ARNOLD _covers_ BOURBON'S _body with a mantle, mounts the ladder, crying_

The Bourbon! Bourbon! On, boys! Rome is ours!

_Cæs._ Good night, Lord Constable! thou wert a Man.

[CÆSAR _follows_ ARNOLD; _they reach the battlement;_ ARNOLD _and_ CÆSAR _are struck down_.

_Cæs._ A precious somerset! Is your countship injured?

_Arn._ No. [_Remounts the ladder_.

_Cæs._ A rare blood-hound, when his own is heated! And 'tis no boy's play. Now he strikes them down! 160 His hand is on the battlement--he grasps it As though it were an altar; now his foot Is on it, and----What have we here?--a Roman? The first bird of the covey! he has fallen [_A man falls_. On the outside of the nest. Why, how now, fellow?

_Wounded Man_. A drop of water!

_Cæs._ Blood's the only liquid Nearer than Tiber.

_Wounded Man_. I have died for Rome. [_Dies_.

_Cæs._ And so did Bourbon, in another sense. Oh, these immortal men! and their great motives! But I must after my young charge. He is 170 By this time i' the Forum. Charge! charge! [CÆSAR _mounts the ladder; the scene closes_.