Where War took on its deadliest, dreadfullest guise,
The love of Peace possessed thee. Those closed eyes
Frowned back Bellona's long solicitings.
Peace smiles on them, though lid on lid now lies.
Peace smiles in love, and weeps in true lament,
Mourner for one who, worn and trouble-bent,
Yet with firm hand held fast the Janus gates,
A despot's aid to the dove-carrier lent.
Therefore the hearts of freemen to thee warmed
Great Autocrat, because the strong man armed,
And irresponsible, kept sheathed the sword,—
By Glory's glittering lure unmoved, uncharmed.
In uncheered isolation, fear-beset,
Who shall divine what longing, what regret,
Ached in the heart within that Titan frame,
How oft with anguish those stern eyes were wet?
Pinnacled in thy peril-compassed post,
With Terror like a grey and boding ghost
Haunted continually, of what avail
The boundless realm, the huge embattled host?—
Of what avail to solace, gladden, bless?
From wife's endearment or from child's caress
Starting dread shaken, Power sees danger lurk,
In Peace more menacing than in War's fierce press.
But this man spurned not Peace in fear, nor shook
In his allegiance to her; but would brook
The fierce revilings of her angry foes
Rather than face her with unfriendly look.
"Otus and Ephialtes held the chain"[1]
That bound the mighty Mars. So through his reign
He helped to hold the god in "fetters bound,"
The fierce false god who raged and roared in vain.
So Peace beside his bed chief mourner stands,
The Great White Tsar late lord of limitless lands,—
And on that broad brave breast, now still in death,
Lays her own olive-branch with reverent hands.