On Marengo's Plains
THE Night OF E ASTER E VE IN THE Y EAR 1175
O N Marengo's plains is beating the moonlight: dark between
The Bormida and Tanaro a forest, dimly seen,
Tosses and moans — a forest of halberds, steeds, and men.
Fleeing from Alexandria, from the ramparts stormed in vain.
Lo, Alexandria's watch-fires down, down from Apennine
On the dreadful rout and ruin of the Ghibelline Emperor shine;
From Tortona flash the watch-fires of the League their answering light,
And a song of triumph echoes through the calm and gracious night.
" Trapped lies the Swabian tyrant, the Lion of the North,
By Latin swords! To hills and seas, O watch-fires, flash it forth!
To-morrow is Christ's Easter; and ere to-morrow's done
How gloriously shall triumph the Roman folk, O Sun!"
The white-haired Hohenzollern hears that exultant cry;
With head bowed o'er his mighty sword he ponders: " Must we die
At the hand of these base traders, who but yesterday did dare
To gird round their sleek bellies swords only knights may wear?"
And Speier's lordly prelate, whose bursting wine-butts store
The fruit of five-score vales, whose stalls hold canons full five-score,
Bemoans: " O stately towers of my own cathedral shrine,
Within ye who on Christmas Eve shall chant the Mass divine?"
And Detpold, Count of Palatine, whose golden tresses stream
Adown his slender neck, whereon the rose and lily gleam,
Thinks: " Thro' the dark go singing the pixies of the Rhine,
While my little Thekla slumbers beneath the white moonshine."
His Grace the Lord Archbishop of Mayence groans: " I bear
By my steel mace the sacred oil: therein all men may share;
But, oh, that yonder sumpter-mules, each with its precious load
Of Italian silver, were at least safe up the Alpine road!"
And the Count of Tyrol murmurs: " My son, to-morrow's dawn
On Alpine heights shall greet thee, on thee my hound shall fawn.
Thine are they both: thy father, like stag by village swains
Entrapped, shall fall with severed throat on these grey Lombard plains."
Alone within the middle of the camp, his charger nigh,
The Emperor stood gazing up at the midnight sky:
O'er his grey head were passing the silent stars; behind,
The Banner of the Empire hung flapping in the wind.
On either flank Bohemia's and Poland's monarchs wait:
Two warrior-kings, twin pillars of the Holy Roman State.
When the stars grew dim and weary, when the Alpine summits shone
Rose-red at dawn, then haughtily Caesar commands: " March on!"
" To horse, ye loyal vassals! Thou, Wittelsbach, display
Our sacred standard in the eyes of the Lombard League this day!
Herald, go shout: " The Roman Caesar doth pass, divine
Heir of the godlike Julius, of Trajan's royal line! " "
How rapidly, how joyously the German bugles blow
From regiment to regiment 'twixt Tanaro and Po,
When in the Eagle's presence th' Italian vassals cast
Their courage from them and bent low in awe — while Caesar passed!
O N Marengo's plains is beating the moonlight: dark between
The Bormida and Tanaro a forest, dimly seen,
Tosses and moans — a forest of halberds, steeds, and men.
Fleeing from Alexandria, from the ramparts stormed in vain.
Lo, Alexandria's watch-fires down, down from Apennine
On the dreadful rout and ruin of the Ghibelline Emperor shine;
From Tortona flash the watch-fires of the League their answering light,
And a song of triumph echoes through the calm and gracious night.
" Trapped lies the Swabian tyrant, the Lion of the North,
By Latin swords! To hills and seas, O watch-fires, flash it forth!
To-morrow is Christ's Easter; and ere to-morrow's done
How gloriously shall triumph the Roman folk, O Sun!"
The white-haired Hohenzollern hears that exultant cry;
With head bowed o'er his mighty sword he ponders: " Must we die
At the hand of these base traders, who but yesterday did dare
To gird round their sleek bellies swords only knights may wear?"
And Speier's lordly prelate, whose bursting wine-butts store
The fruit of five-score vales, whose stalls hold canons full five-score,
Bemoans: " O stately towers of my own cathedral shrine,
Within ye who on Christmas Eve shall chant the Mass divine?"
And Detpold, Count of Palatine, whose golden tresses stream
Adown his slender neck, whereon the rose and lily gleam,
Thinks: " Thro' the dark go singing the pixies of the Rhine,
While my little Thekla slumbers beneath the white moonshine."
His Grace the Lord Archbishop of Mayence groans: " I bear
By my steel mace the sacred oil: therein all men may share;
But, oh, that yonder sumpter-mules, each with its precious load
Of Italian silver, were at least safe up the Alpine road!"
And the Count of Tyrol murmurs: " My son, to-morrow's dawn
On Alpine heights shall greet thee, on thee my hound shall fawn.
Thine are they both: thy father, like stag by village swains
Entrapped, shall fall with severed throat on these grey Lombard plains."
Alone within the middle of the camp, his charger nigh,
The Emperor stood gazing up at the midnight sky:
O'er his grey head were passing the silent stars; behind,
The Banner of the Empire hung flapping in the wind.
On either flank Bohemia's and Poland's monarchs wait:
Two warrior-kings, twin pillars of the Holy Roman State.
When the stars grew dim and weary, when the Alpine summits shone
Rose-red at dawn, then haughtily Caesar commands: " March on!"
" To horse, ye loyal vassals! Thou, Wittelsbach, display
Our sacred standard in the eyes of the Lombard League this day!
Herald, go shout: " The Roman Caesar doth pass, divine
Heir of the godlike Julius, of Trajan's royal line! " "
How rapidly, how joyously the German bugles blow
From regiment to regiment 'twixt Tanaro and Po,
When in the Eagle's presence th' Italian vassals cast
Their courage from them and bent low in awe — while Caesar passed!
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