He pass'd—Another, with a Nero's frown64
Shading the quick light of impatient eyes,
Strides on—and casts his sceptre, clattering, down,
And from the sceptre rushingly arise
Fierce sparks; along the heath they hissing run,
And the dull earth glows lurid as a sun.
And there is heard afar the hollow crash65
Of ruin;—wind-borne, on the flames are driven:
But where, round falling shrines, they coil and flash,
A seraph's hand extends a scroll from heaven,
And the rude shape cries loud, "Behold, ye blind,
I who have trampled Men have freed the Mind!"
So laughing grim, pass'd the Destroyer on;66
And, after two pale shadows, to the sound
Of lutes more musical than Helicon,
A manlike Woman march'd:—The graves around
Yawn'd, and the ghosts of Knighthood, more serene
In death, arose, and smiled upon the Queen.
With her (at either hand) two starry forms67
Glide—than herself more royal—and the glow
Of their own lustre, each pale phantom warms
Into the lovely life the angels know,
And as they pass, each Fairy leaves its cell,
And Gloriana calls on Ariel!
Yet she, unconscious as the crescent queen68
Of orbs whose brightness makes her image bright,
Haught and imperious, through the borrow'd sheen,
Claims to herself the sovereignty of light;
And is herself so stately to survey,
That orbs which lend, but seem to steal, the ray.
Elf-land divine, and Chivalry sublime,69
Seem there to hold their last high jubilee—
One glorious Sabbat of enchanted Time,
Ere the dull spell seals the sweet glamoury.
And all those wonder-shapes in subject ring
Kneel where the Bard still sits beside the King.
Slow falls a mist, far booms a labouring wind,70
As into night reluctant fades the Dream;
And lo, the smouldering embers left behind
From the old sceptre-flame, with blood-red beam,
Kindle afresh, and the thick smoke-reeks go
Heavily up from marching fires below.
Hark! through sulphureous cloud the jarring bray71
Of trumpet-clangours—the strong shock of steel;
And fitful flashes light the fierce array
Of faces gloomy with the calm of zeal,
Or knightlier forms, on wheeling chargers borne;
Gay in despair, and meeting zeal with scorn.
Forth from the throng came a majestic Woe,72
That wore the shape of man—"And I"—It said
"I am thy Son; and if the Fates bestow
Blood on my soul and ashes on my head;
Time's is the guilt, though mine the misery—
This teach me, Father—to forgive and die!"
But here stern voices drown'd the mournful word,73
Crying—"Men's freedom is the heritage
Left by the Hero of the Diamond Sword,"
And others answer'd—"Nay, the knightly age
Leaves, as its heirloom, knighthood, and that high
Life in sublimer life called loyalty."