Miscellaneous Writings and Speeches - Volume 3, Thomas Badington Macaulay [e books for reading txt] 📗

in order meet, And place the highest in degree Nearest th' imperial canopy. Beneath its broad and gorgeous fold, With naked swords and shields of gold, Stood the seven princes of the tribes of Nod. Upon an ermine carpet lay Two tiger cubs in furious play, Beneath the emerald throne where sat the signed of God.

Over that ample forehead white The thousandth year returneth. Still, on its commanding height, With a fierce and blood-red light, The fiery token burneth. Wheresoe'er that mystic star Blazeth in the van of war, Back recoil before its ray Shield and banner, bow and spear, Maddened horses break away From the trembling charioteer. The fear of that stern king doth lie On all that live beneath the sky: All shrink before the mark of his despair, The seal of that great curse which he alone can bear. Blazing in pearls and diamonds' sheen. Tirzah, the young Ahirad's bride, Of humankind the destined queen, Sits by her great forefather's side. The jetty curls, the forehead high, The swan like neck, the eagle face, The glowing cheek, the rich dark eye, Proclaim her of the elder race. With flowing locks of auburn hue, And features smooth, and eye of blue, Timid in love as brave in arms, The gentle heir of Seth askance Snatches a bashful, ardent glance At her majestic charms; Blest when across that brow high musing flashes A deeper tint of rose, Thrice blest when from beneath the silken lashes Of her proud eye she throws The smile of blended fondness and disdain Which marks the daughters of the house of Cain.

All hearts are light around the hall Save his who is the lord of all. The painted roofs, the attendant train, The lights, the banquet, all are vain. He sees them not. His fancy strays To other scenes and other days. A cot by a lone forest's edge, A fountain murmuring through the trees, A garden with a wildflower hedge, Whence sounds the music of the bees, A little flock of sheep at rest Upon a mountain's swarthy breast. On his rude spade he seems to lean Beside the well remembered stone, Rejoicing o'er the promised green Of the first harvest man hath sown. He sees his mother's tears; His father's voice he hears, Kind as when first it praised his youthful skill. And soon a seraph-child, In boyish rapture wild, With a light crook comes bounding from the hill, Kisses his hands, and strokes his face, And nestles close in his embrace. In his adamantine eye None might discern his agony; But they who had grown hoary next his side, And read his stern dark face with deepest skill, Could trace strange meanings in that lip of pride, Which for one moment quivered and was still. No time for them to mark or him to feel Those inward stings; for clarion, flute, and lyre, And the rich voices of a countless quire, Burst on the ear in one triumphant peal. In breathless transport sits the admiring throng, As sink and swell the notes of Jubal's lofty song.

"Sound the timbrel, strike the lyre, Wake the trumpet's blast of fire, Till the gilded arches ring. Empire, victory, and fame, Be ascribed unto the name Of our father and our king. Of the deeds which he hath done, Of the spoils which he hath won, Let his grateful children sing. When the deadly fight was fought, When the great revenge was wrought, When on the slaughtered victims lay The minion stiff and cold as they, Doomed to exile, sealed with flame, From the west the wanderer came. Six score years and six he strayed A hunter through the forest shade. The lion's shaggy jaws he tore, To earth he smote the foaming boar, He crushed the dragon's fiery crest, And scaled the condor's dizzy nest; Till hardy sons and daughters fair Increased around his woodland lair. Then his victorious bow unstrung On the great bison's horn he hung. Giraffe and elk he left to hold The wilderness of boughs in peace, And trained his youth to pen the fold, To press the cream, and weave the fleece. As shrunk the streamlet in its bed, As black and scant the herbage grew, O'er endless plains his flocks he led Still to new brooks and postures new. So strayed he till the white pavilions Of his camp were told by millions, Till his children's households seven Were numerous as the stars of heaven. Then he bade us rove no more; And in the place that pleased him best, On the great river's fertile shore, He fixed the city of his rest. He taught us then to bind the sheaves, To strain the palm's delicious milk, And from the dark green mulberry leaves To cull the filmy silk. Then first from straw-built mansions roamed O'er flower-beds trim the skilful bees; Then first the purple wine vats foamed Around the laughing peasant's knees; And olive-yards, and orchards green, O'er all the hills of Nod were seen.

"Of our father and our king Let his grateful children sing. From him our race its being draws, His are our arts, and his our laws. Like himself he bade us be, Proud, and brave, and fierce, and free. True, through every turn of fate, In our friendship and our hate. Calm to watch, yet prompt to dare; Quick to feel, yet firm to bear; Only timid, only weak, Before sweet woman's eye and cheek. We will not serve, we will not know, The God who is our father's foe. In our proud cities to his name No temples rise, no altars flame. Our flocks of sheep, our groves of spice, To him afford no sacrifice. Enough that once the House of Cain Hath courted with oblation vain The sullen power above. Henceforth we bear the yoke no more; The only gods whom we adore Are glory, vengeance, love.

"Of our father and our king Let his grateful children sing. What eye of living thing may brook On his blazing brow to look? What might of living thing may stand Against the strength of his right hand? First he led his armies forth Against the Mammoths of the north, What time they wasted in their pride Pasture and vineyard far and wide. Then the White River's icy flood Was thawed with fire and dyed with blood, And heard for many a league the sound Of the pine forests blazing round, And the death-howl and trampling din Of the gigantic herd within. From the surging sea of flame Forth the tortured monsters came; As of breakers on the shore Was their onset and their roar; As the cedar-trees of God Stood the stately ranks of Nod. One long night and one short day The sword was lifted up to slay. Then marched the firstborn and his sons O'er the white ashes of the wood, And counted of that savage brood Nine times nine thousand skeletons.

"On the snow with carnage red The wood is piled, the skins are spread. A thousand fires illume the sky; Round each a hundred warriors lie. But, long ere half the night was spent, Forth thundered from the golden tent The rousing voice of Cain. A thousand trumps in answer rang And fast to arms the warriors sprang O'er all the frozen plain. A herald from the wealthy bay Hath come with tidings of dismay. From the western ocean's coast Seth hath led a countless host, And vows to slay with fire and sword All who call not on the Lord. His archers hold the mountain forts; His light armed ships blockade the ports; His horsemen tread the harvest down. On twelve proud bridges he hath passed The river dark with many a mast, And pitched his mighty camp at last Before the imperial town.

"On the south and on the west, Closely was the city prest. Before us lay the hostile powers. The breach was wide between the towers. Pulse and meal within were sold For a double weight of gold. Our mighty father had gone forth Two hundred marches to the north. Yet in that extreme of ill We stoutly kept his city still; And swore beneath his royal wall, Like his true sons to fight and fall.

"Hark, hark, to gong and horn, Clarion, and fife, and drum, The morn, the fortieth morn, Fixed for the great assault is come. Between the camp and city spreads A waving sea of helmed heads. From the royal car of Seth Was hung the blood-reg flag of death: At sight of that thrice-hallowed sign Wide flew at once each banner's fold; The captains clashed their arms of gold; The war cry of Elohim rolled Far down their endless line. On the northern hills afar Pealed an answering note of war. Soon the dust in whirlwinds driven, Rushed across the northern heaven. Beneath its shroud came thick and loud The tramp as of a countless crowd; And at intervals were seen Lance and hauberk glancing sheen; And at intervals were heard Charger's neigh and battle word.

"Oh what a rapturous cry From all the city's thousand spires arose, With what a look the hollow eye Of the lean watchman glared upon the foes, With what a yell of joy the mother pressed The moaning baby to her withered breast; When through the swarthy cloud that veiled the plain Burst on his children's sight the flaming brow of Cain!"

There paused perforce that noble song; For from all the joyous throng, Burst forth a rapturous shout which drowned Singer's voice and trumpet's sound. Thrice that stormy clamour fell, Thrice rose again with mightier swell. The last and loudest roar of all Had died along the painted wall. The crowd was hushed; the minstrel train Prepared to strike the chords again; When on each ear distinctly smote A low and wild and wailing note. It moans again. In mute amaze Menials, and guests, and harpers gaze. They look above, beneath, around, No shape doth own that mournful sound. It comes not from the tuneful quire; It comes not from the feasting peers. There is no tone of earthly lyre So soft, so sad, so full of tears. Then a strange horror came on all Who sate at that high festival. The far famed harp, the harp of gold, Dropped from Jubal's trembling hold. Frantic with dismay the bride Clung to her Ahirad's side. And the corpse-like hue of dread Ahirad's haughty face o'erspread. Yet not even in that agony of awe Did the young leader of the fair-haired race From Tirzah's shuddering grasp his hand withdraw, Or turn his eyes from Tirzah's livid face. The tigers to their lord retreat, And crouch and whine beneath his feet. Prone sink to earth the golden shielded seven. All hearts are cowed save his alone Who sits upon the emerald throne; For he hath heard Elohim speak from heaven. Still thunders in his ear the peal; Still blazes on his front the seal: And on the soul of the proud king No terror of created thing From sky, or earth, or hell, hath power Since that unutterable hour.

He rose to speak, but paused, and listening stood, Not daunted, but in sad and curious mood, With knitted brow, and searching eye of fire. A deathlike silence sank on all around, And through the boundless space was heard no sound, Save the soft tones of that mysterious lyre. Broken, faint, and low, At first the numbers flow. Louder, deeper, quicker, still Into one fierce peal they swell, And the echoing palace fill With a strange funereal yell. A voice comes forth. But what, or where? On the earth, or in the air? Like the midnight winds that blow Round a lone cottage in the snow, With howling swell and sighing fall, It wails along the trophied hall. In such