The Evil Prophet
1.
With that my passionate discourse I brake;
Too fast the thought, too strong the feeling came.
Composed the Old Man listen'd while I spake,
Nor moved to wrath, nor capable of shame;
And when I ceased, unalter'd was his mien,
His hard eye unabash'd, his front serene.
2.
Hard is it error from the mind to weed,
He answer'd, where it strikes so deep a root.
Let us to other argument proceed,
And if we may, discover what the fruit
Of this long strife,—what harvest of great good
The World shall reap for all this cost of blood!
3.
Assuming then a frown as thus he said,
He stretch'd his hand from that commanding height;
Behold, quoth he, where thrice ten thousand dead
Are laid, the victims of a single fight!
And thrice ten thousand more at Ligny lie,
Slain for the prelude to this tragedy!
4.
This but a page of the great book of war,—
A drop amid the sea of human woes!—
Thou canst remember when the Morning Star
Of Freedom on rejoicing France arose,
Over her vine-clad hills and regions gay,
Fair even as Phosphor, who foreruns the day.
5.
Such and so beautiful that Star's uprise;
But soon the glorious dawn was overcast:
A baleful track it held across the skies,
Till now, through all its fatal changes past,
Its course fulfill'd, its aspects understood,
On Waterloo it hath gone down in blood.
6.
Where now the hopes with which thine ardent youth
Rejoicingly to run its race began?
Where now the reign of Liberty and Truth,
The Rights Omnipotent of Equal Man,
The principles should make all discord cease,
And bid poor human-kind repose at length in peace?
7.
Behold the Bourbon to that throne by force
Restored, from whence by fury he was cast:
Thus to the point where it began its course,
The melancholy cycle comes at last;
And what are all the intermediate years?—
What but a bootless waste of blood and tears!
8.
The peace which thus at Waterloo ye won,
Shall it endure with this exasperate foe?
In gratitude for all that ye have done,
Will France her ancient enmity forego?
Her wounded spirit, her envenom'd will
Ye know,—and ample means are left her still.
9.
What though the tresses of her strength be shorn;
The roots remain untouch'd; and as of old
The bondsman Samson felt his power return
To his knit sinews, so shall ye behold
France, like a giant fresh from sleep, arise
And rush upon her slumbering enemies.
10.
Woe then for Belgium! for this ill-doom'd land,
The theatre of strife through every age!
Look from this eminence, whereon we stand,—
What is the region round us but a stage
For the mad pastime of Ambition made,
Whereon War's dreadful drama may be play'd?
11.
Thus hath it been from history's earliest light,
When yonder by the Sabis Cæsar stood,
And saw his legions, raging from the fight,
Root out the noble nation they subdued;
Even at this day the peasant findeth there
The relics of that ruthless massacre.
12.
Need I recall the long religious strife?
Or William's hard-fought fields? or Marlborough's fame,
Here purchased at such lavish price of life,—
Or Fontenoy, or Fleurus' later name?
Wherever here the foot of man may tread,
The blood of man hath on that spot been shed.
13.
Shall then Futurity a happier train
Unfold, than this dark picture of the past?
Dreamst thou again of some Saturnian reign,
Or that this ill-compacted realm should last?
Its wealth and weakness to the foe are known,
And the first shock subverts its baseless throne.
14.
O wretched country, better should thy soil
Be laid again beneath the invading seas,
Thou goodliest masterpiece of human toil,
If still thou must be doom'd to scenes like these!
O Destiny inexorable and blind!
O miserable lot of poor mankind!
15.
Saying thus, he fix'd on me a searching eye
Of stern regard, as if my heart to reach
Yet gave he now no leisure to reply;
For ere I might dispose my thoughts for speech,
The Old Man, as one who felt and understood
His strength, the theme of his discourse pursued.
16.
If we look farther, what shall we behold
But every where the swelling seeds of ill,
Half-smother'd fires, and causes manifold
Of strife to come; the powerful watching still
For fresh occasion to enlarge his power,
The weak and injured waiting for their hour?
17.
Will the rude Cossack with his spoils bear back
The love of peace and humanizing art?
Think ye the mighty Moscovite shall lack
Some specious business for the ambitious heart?
Or the black Eagle, when she moults her plume,
The form and temper of the Dove assume?
18.
From the old Germanic chaos hath there risen
A happier order of establish'd things?
And is the Italian Mind from papal prison
Set free to soar upon its native wings?
Or look to Spain, and let her Despot tell
If there thy high-raised hopes are answer'd well!
19.
At that appeal my spirit breathed a groan;
But he triumphantly pursued his speech:
O Child of Earth, he cried with loftier tone,
The present and the past one lesson teach;
Look where thou wilt, the history of man
Is but a thorny maze, without a plan!
20.
The winds which have in viewless heaven their birth,
The waves which in their fury meet the clouds,
The central storms which shake the solid earth,
And from volcanoes burst in fiery floods,
Are not more vague, and purportless, and blind,
Than is the course of things among mankind!
21.
Rash hands unravel what the wise have spun;
Realms which in story fill so large a part,
Rear'd by the strong, are by the weak undone;
Barbarians overthrow the works of art,
And what force spares is sapp'd by sure decay,—
So earthly things are changed and pass away.
22.
And think not thou thy England hath a spell,
That she this general fortune should elude;
Easier to crush the foreign foe, than quell
The malice which misleads the multitude,
And that dread malady of erring zeal,
Which like a cancer eats into the commonweal.
23.
The fabric of her power is undermined;
The earthquake underneath it will have way,
And all that glorious structure, as the wind
Scatters a summer cloud, be swept away;
For Destiny, on this terrestrial ball,
Drives on her iron car, and crushes all.
24.
Thus as he ended, his mysterious form
Enlarged, grew dim, and vanish'd from my view.
At once on all sides rush'd the gather'd storm,
The thunders roll'd around, the wild winds blew,
And as the tempest round the summit beat,
The whole frail fabric shook beneath my feet.
With that my passionate discourse I brake;
Too fast the thought, too strong the feeling came.
Composed the Old Man listen'd while I spake,
Nor moved to wrath, nor capable of shame;
And when I ceased, unalter'd was his mien,
His hard eye unabash'd, his front serene.
2.
Hard is it error from the mind to weed,
He answer'd, where it strikes so deep a root.
Let us to other argument proceed,
And if we may, discover what the fruit
Of this long strife,—what harvest of great good
The World shall reap for all this cost of blood!
3.
Assuming then a frown as thus he said,
He stretch'd his hand from that commanding height;
Behold, quoth he, where thrice ten thousand dead
Are laid, the victims of a single fight!
And thrice ten thousand more at Ligny lie,
Slain for the prelude to this tragedy!
4.
This but a page of the great book of war,—
A drop amid the sea of human woes!—
Thou canst remember when the Morning Star
Of Freedom on rejoicing France arose,
Over her vine-clad hills and regions gay,
Fair even as Phosphor, who foreruns the day.
5.
Such and so beautiful that Star's uprise;
But soon the glorious dawn was overcast:
A baleful track it held across the skies,
Till now, through all its fatal changes past,
Its course fulfill'd, its aspects understood,
On Waterloo it hath gone down in blood.
6.
Where now the hopes with which thine ardent youth
Rejoicingly to run its race began?
Where now the reign of Liberty and Truth,
The Rights Omnipotent of Equal Man,
The principles should make all discord cease,
And bid poor human-kind repose at length in peace?
7.
Behold the Bourbon to that throne by force
Restored, from whence by fury he was cast:
Thus to the point where it began its course,
The melancholy cycle comes at last;
And what are all the intermediate years?—
What but a bootless waste of blood and tears!
8.
The peace which thus at Waterloo ye won,
Shall it endure with this exasperate foe?
In gratitude for all that ye have done,
Will France her ancient enmity forego?
Her wounded spirit, her envenom'd will
Ye know,—and ample means are left her still.
9.
What though the tresses of her strength be shorn;
The roots remain untouch'd; and as of old
The bondsman Samson felt his power return
To his knit sinews, so shall ye behold
France, like a giant fresh from sleep, arise
And rush upon her slumbering enemies.
10.
Woe then for Belgium! for this ill-doom'd land,
The theatre of strife through every age!
Look from this eminence, whereon we stand,—
What is the region round us but a stage
For the mad pastime of Ambition made,
Whereon War's dreadful drama may be play'd?
11.
Thus hath it been from history's earliest light,
When yonder by the Sabis Cæsar stood,
And saw his legions, raging from the fight,
Root out the noble nation they subdued;
Even at this day the peasant findeth there
The relics of that ruthless massacre.
12.
Need I recall the long religious strife?
Or William's hard-fought fields? or Marlborough's fame,
Here purchased at such lavish price of life,—
Or Fontenoy, or Fleurus' later name?
Wherever here the foot of man may tread,
The blood of man hath on that spot been shed.
13.
Shall then Futurity a happier train
Unfold, than this dark picture of the past?
Dreamst thou again of some Saturnian reign,
Or that this ill-compacted realm should last?
Its wealth and weakness to the foe are known,
And the first shock subverts its baseless throne.
14.
O wretched country, better should thy soil
Be laid again beneath the invading seas,
Thou goodliest masterpiece of human toil,
If still thou must be doom'd to scenes like these!
O Destiny inexorable and blind!
O miserable lot of poor mankind!
15.
Saying thus, he fix'd on me a searching eye
Of stern regard, as if my heart to reach
Yet gave he now no leisure to reply;
For ere I might dispose my thoughts for speech,
The Old Man, as one who felt and understood
His strength, the theme of his discourse pursued.
16.
If we look farther, what shall we behold
But every where the swelling seeds of ill,
Half-smother'd fires, and causes manifold
Of strife to come; the powerful watching still
For fresh occasion to enlarge his power,
The weak and injured waiting for their hour?
17.
Will the rude Cossack with his spoils bear back
The love of peace and humanizing art?
Think ye the mighty Moscovite shall lack
Some specious business for the ambitious heart?
Or the black Eagle, when she moults her plume,
The form and temper of the Dove assume?
18.
From the old Germanic chaos hath there risen
A happier order of establish'd things?
And is the Italian Mind from papal prison
Set free to soar upon its native wings?
Or look to Spain, and let her Despot tell
If there thy high-raised hopes are answer'd well!
19.
At that appeal my spirit breathed a groan;
But he triumphantly pursued his speech:
O Child of Earth, he cried with loftier tone,
The present and the past one lesson teach;
Look where thou wilt, the history of man
Is but a thorny maze, without a plan!
20.
The winds which have in viewless heaven their birth,
The waves which in their fury meet the clouds,
The central storms which shake the solid earth,
And from volcanoes burst in fiery floods,
Are not more vague, and purportless, and blind,
Than is the course of things among mankind!
21.
Rash hands unravel what the wise have spun;
Realms which in story fill so large a part,
Rear'd by the strong, are by the weak undone;
Barbarians overthrow the works of art,
And what force spares is sapp'd by sure decay,—
So earthly things are changed and pass away.
22.
And think not thou thy England hath a spell,
That she this general fortune should elude;
Easier to crush the foreign foe, than quell
The malice which misleads the multitude,
And that dread malady of erring zeal,
Which like a cancer eats into the commonweal.
23.
The fabric of her power is undermined;
The earthquake underneath it will have way,
And all that glorious structure, as the wind
Scatters a summer cloud, be swept away;
For Destiny, on this terrestrial ball,
Drives on her iron car, and crushes all.
24.
Thus as he ended, his mysterious form
Enlarged, grew dim, and vanish'd from my view.
At once on all sides rush'd the gather'd storm,
The thunders roll'd around, the wild winds blew,
And as the tempest round the summit beat,
The whole frail fabric shook beneath my feet.
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