Since he refix’d the Moslem’s sway, | |
And now he led the Mussulman, | |
And gave the guidance of the van | |
110 | To Alp, who well repaid the trust |
By cities levell’d with the dust; | |
And proved, by many a deed of death, | |
How firm his heart in novel faith. | |
VI | |
The walls grew weak; and fast and hot | |
115 | Against them pour’d the ceaseless shot, |
With unabating fury sent | |
From battery to battlement; | |
And thunder-like the pealing din | |
Rose from each heated culverin; | |
120 | And here and there some crackling dome |
Was fired before the exploding bomb: | |
And as the fabric sank beneath | |
The shattering shell’s volcanic breath, | |
In red and wreathing columns flash’d | |
125 | The flame, as loud the ruin crash’d, |
Or into countless meteors driven, | |
Its earth-stars melted into heaven; | |
Whose clouds that day grew doubly dun, | |
Impervious to the hidden sun, | |
130 | With volumed smoke that slowly grew |
To one wide sky of sulphurous hue. | |
VII | |
But not for vengeance, long delay’d, | |
Alone, did Alp, the renegade, | |
The Moslem warriors sternly teach | |
135 | His skill to pierce the promised breach: |
Within these walls a maid was pent | |
His hope would win without consent | |
Of that inexorable sire, | |
Whose heart refused him in its ire, | |
140 | When Alp, beneath his Christian name, |
Her virgin hand aspired to claim. | |
In happier mood, and earlier time, | |
While unimpeach’d for traitorous crime, | |
Gayest in gondola or hall, | |
145 | He glitter’d through the Carnival; |
And tuned the softest serenade | |
That e’er on Adria’s waters play’d | |
At midnight to Italian maid. | |
VIII | |
And many deem’d her heart was won; | |
150 | For sought by numbers, given to none, |
Had young Francesca’s hand remain’d | |
Still by the church’s bonds unchain’d: | |
And when the Adriatic bore | |
Lanciotto to the Paynim shore, | |
155 | Her wonted smiles were seen to fail, |
And pensive wax’d the maid and pale; | |
More constant at confessional, | |
More rare at masque and festival; | |
Or seen at such, with downcast eyes, | |
160 | Which conquer’d hearts they ceased to prize: |
With listless look she seems to gaze: | |
With humbler care her form arrays; | |
Her voice less lively in the song; | |
Her step, though light, less fleet among | |
165 | The pairs, on whom the Morning’s glance |
Breaks, yet unsated with the dance. | |
IX | |
Sent by the state to guard the land, | |
(Which, wrested from the Moslem’s hand, | |
While Sobieski tamed his pride | |
170 | By Buda’s wall and Danube’s side, |
The chiefs of Venice wrung away | |
From Patra to Eubœa’s bay,) | |
Minotti held in Corinth’s towers | |
The Doge’s delegated powers, | |
175 | While yet the pitying eye of Peace |
Smiled o’er her long forgotten Greece: | |
And ere that faithless truce was broke | |
Which freed her from the unchristian yoke, | |
With him his gentle daughter came; | |
180 | Nor there, since Menelaus’ dame |
Forsook her lord and land, to prove | |
What woes await on lawless love, | |
Had fairer form adorn’d the shore | |
Than she, the matchless stranger, bore. | |
X | |
185 | The wall is rent, the ruins yawn; |
And, with to-morrow’s earliest dawn, | |
O’er the disjointed mass shall vault | |
The foremost of the fierce assault. | |
The bands are rank’d; the chosen van | |
190 | Of Tartar and of Mussulman, |
The full of hope, misnamed ‘forlorn,’ | |
Who hold the thought of death in scorn, | |
And win their way with falchion’s force, | |
Or pave the path with many a corse, | |
195 | O’er which the following brave may rise, |
Their stepping-stone – the last who dies! | |
XI | |
‘Tis midnight: on the mountains brown | |
The cold, round moon shines deeply down; | |
Blue roll the waters, blue the sky | |
200 | Spreads like an ocean hung on high, |
Bespangled with those isles of light, | |
So wildly, spiritually bright; | |
Who ever gazed upon them shining | |
And turn’d to earth without repining, | |
205 | Nor wish’d for wings to flee away, |
And mix with their eternal ray? | |
The waves on either shore lay there | |
Calm, clear, and azure as the air; | |
And scarce their foam the pebbles shook, | |
210 | But murmur’d meekly as the brook. |
The winds were pillow’d on the waves; | |
The banners droop’d along their staves, | |
And, as they fell around them furling, | |
Above them shone the crescent curling; | |
215 | And that deep silence was unbroke, |
Save where the watch his signal spoke, | |
Save where the steed neigh’d oft and shrill, | |
And echo answer’d from the hill, | |
And the wide hum of that wild host | |
220 | Rustled like leaves from coast to coast, |
As rose the Muezzin’s voice in air | |
In midnight call to wonted prayer; | |
It rose, that chanted mournful strain, | |
Like some lone spirit’s o’er the plain: | |
225 | ’Twas musical, but sadly sweet, |
Such as when winds and harp-strings meet, | |
And take a long unmeasured tone, | |
To mortal minstrelsy unknown. | |
It seem’d to those within the wall | |
230 | A cry prophetic of their fall: |
It struck even the besieger’s ear | |
With something ominous and drear, | |
An undefined and sudden thrill, | |
Which makes the heart a moment still, | |
235 Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed | |
Of that strange sense its silence framed; | |
Such as a sudden passing-bell | |
Wakes, though but for a stranger’s knell. | |
XII | |
The tent of Alp was on the shore; | |
240 | The sound was hush’d, the prayer was o’er; |
The watch was set, the night-round made, | |
All mandates issued and obey’d: | |
’Tis but another anxious night, | |
His pains the morrow may requite | |
245 | With all revenge and love can pay, |
In guerdon for their long delay. | |
Few hours remain, and he hath need | |
Of rest, to nerve for many a deed | |
Of slaughter; but within his soul | |
250 | The thoughts like troubled waters roll. |
He stood alone among the host; | |
Not his the loud fanatic boast | |
To plant the crescent o’er the cross, | |
Or risk a life with little loss, | |
255 | Secure in paradise to be |
By Houris loved immortally: | |
Nor his, what burning patriots feel, | |
The stern exaltedness of zeal, | |
Profuse of blood, untired in toil, | |
260 | When battling on the parent soil. |
He stood alone – a renegade | |
Against the country he betray’d; | |
He stood alone amidst his band, | |
Without a trusted heart or hand: | |
265 | They follow’d him, for he was brave, |
And great the spoil he got and gave; | |
They crouch’d to him, for he had skill | |
To warp and wield the vulgar will: | |
But still his Christian origin | |
270 | With them was little less than sin. |
They envied even the faithless fame | |
He earn’d beneath a Moslem name; | |
Since he, their mightiest chief, had been | |
In youth a bitter Nazarene. | |
275 | They did not know how pride can stoop, |