New Year's Eve in Exile, 1854

The flower and chivalry of many lands
Betrothed to Martyrdom as to a Bride, —

Warriors of Freedom who for heritage
Wear on their brows a mark as curst as Cain's, —

Had met together, a strange companie!
But brothers, battling in one sacred cause.

They were heroic souls who had lain life's all
On Freedom's hungry Altar, and gone forth

Clad in the spirit of self-sacrifice,
To roam a thankless world with homeless hearts, —

Men who had tost on Danger's wildest waves,
For whom a radiant Victory ever shone,

Like Hero on her watch-tower with her torch,
Lighting her lover through the shadow of death, —

Men who had broken Battle's burning lines,
Dealing life with their looks, death with their hands,

And strode like Salamanders through War's flame;
And in the last stern charge of desperate valour,

On Death's scythe dasht with force that turn'd its edge.
Some were but youths, yet with such manhood flusht,

By eager leaps to catch at lordlier life,
They had attain'd the old heroic stature.

Some had grown grey with battle, some with years,
And there were ancient Sorrows grand as kings

Of an old peerless line. Such silent Griefs
And Sufferings crown'd for immortality.

Earnest as fire they sate, and reverent
As though a God were present in their midst;

Stern, but serene and hopeful, prayerful, brave,
As Cromwell's Ironsides on a battle-eve;

Each individual life as clencht and knit,
As though beneath their robes their fingers clutch t

The weapon sworn to strike a Tyrant down,
That would not flash except to light his fall.

Such proud Belief did lift their kindling brows,
Such glowing purpose hunger'd in their eyes,

With fire enough to set a world in flames.
'No servile souls, that at your fix'd look,

Like meek worms, writhe into their darkening holes.
And One up-rose to word the Thought that ran

Hot to their hearts and glittering to their brows;
An old man, with the mournfull'st, thin, grey hair;

The lines of suffering in his face seem'd drawn
Tight with the mortal tug of Agony;

But with sad majesty he smiled, and splendour
Broke sweetly from the furrows of his face,

As wrinkles on the waters laugh with light.
Dilating as a Prophet's wings of flame

Flutter' d within him — all his aspect burn'd
With an unearthly fire. He was caught up

The mount Transfiguration, with eyes fixt
On air, as though he talkt with one beyond.

He stood there looking down the unseen time,
Like some hoar Hill that lifts its solemn peak

To catch the unrisen Morn, while all the plains
Are drowsed and darkling. He already sunn'd

Him in the glory of the coming day.
And his words swept their yielding, springing hearts,

As strong winds take a field of billowing corn.
" The merry bells are jubilant To-night

Through all the land of Exile; blithe wine laughs
Its bubbling laughter, — winking gem-like eyes,

And leaps up in the beaker like red lips
Whose kisses storm the inner gates of bliss.

But not with mirth, and song, and dainty feast,
We meet to hold our solemn festival.

We wait the wine of Freedom: when it runs,
We shall wax merry, too, — perchance grow drunken —

They keep it ripening to such mellow age!
And we shall banquet like Immortals fed

By Hebe's hand at the Ambrosial feasts.
The New Year flashes on us sadly grand,

Leaps in our midst with ringing armour on,
Strikes a mail'd hand in ours, and bids us arm

Ere the first trumpet sound the onset hour.
Dense darkness lies on Europe's winter-world.

Stealthy and grim the Bear comes creeping on,
Out of the North, and all the Peoples sleep

By Freedom's smouldering watch-fire: there is none
To snatch the brand, and dash it in his face.

Old England sleeps, and still the Bear creeps on.
Ah! she forge tteth how, in the old years,

The great hearts of her glorious Commonwealth
Sent thunder-throbbings through the lands, and gave

them
Such a new pulse of nobler life: and when

Their sumless Venture wreckt, and o'er them roll'd
The wormwood waters of defeat and death,

How in their pleading hands they held the Babe %
And Orphan Liberty, and bade her rear it

For love of them, and for its own sweet sake.
And England slinks behind the nations now.

Dim is her Beacon Despots paled to see
Burn on them through the dark, like God's stern eye.

Her battle-armour rusteth in her halls,
And the old mighty arm that struck such blows

For Right and Freedom, hangeth listless now.
A dry-rot eats her life; her God is Mammon!

God Mars no longer leaps into her heart,
As in a chariot driving down to battle.

Her ancient fame and valour have become
A tale that's told us of forgotten times —

Some fabled Kraken slumbering in its sea!
O! for the voice of Milton once again,

To make the lion-eyes lighten, and her heart
As tremblingly alive as is a Star,

Till in her naked strength majestical
She walkt the sun-road of her glorious way.

But England sleeps — the Ruin still rolls on.
Earth crouches 'neath the shuddering wings of Fear.

Silent, and very calm, Freedom lies husht,
And listens like a panting thing pursued,

Heark'ning, heart-stifled, for the stealthiest tread
Of One that hunts like Tarquin for Lucrece.

'Tis midnight now, and all the creeping things,
And Birds of Darkness, ply their ghastly work;

Life gropes and stumbles among gaping graves,
And Freedom's worshippers fall headless, while

They bend to give their hearts up at her shrine!
But God's in heaven, and yet the day shall dawn —

Break from the dark upon her golden wings,
Her quick, ripe splendours rend and burn the gloom,

Her living tides of glory burst, and foam,
And hurry along the darksome streets of night.

Cloud after cloud shall light a rainbow-roof,
And build a Triumph-Arch for conquering Day

To flash her beauty — trail her grandeurs through,
And take the world in her white arms of light.

And Earth shall fling aside her mask of gloom,
And lift her tearful face. O there will be

Blood on it thick as dews! The Children's blood
Splasht in the Mother's face! And there must be

A red sunrise of retribution yet!
A mighty future is about to break

The hush o' the world — the waiting gloom in heaven.
The New Year cometh with a magic key,

To ope some radiant chamber in Time's palace.
Our Martyrs have not sown such seed in vain!

Beneath old Winter's snows a world of hope
Lies ripening, and shall richly run to flowers,

When earth shall kindle as a countenance
Alive with love, and all the soul alight!

O come, thou Spring of God, and at thy voice
The balmy blood shall beat in bud and leaf!

And come, thou mellow rain, fall on it warm,
And fondle it with kisses, drop rich tears;

And blow, thou sweet Spring- wind, and make it stir
With secret rapture — budding tenderly,

With all the glory of its folded bloom,
And all its fragrance striving for the light.

God, what a Spring and Harvest yet shall crown
The dark, dern Deluge of Calamity!

Then come, thou grand New Year, in silence come
Across the white snows, and the winter-land.

Come, great Deliverer, call the peoples up, —
Up from the Egypt of their slavery!

King out the death-knell of old Tyranny —
'Tis rotten ripe! the heart of half the world

Doth beat and burst to hurry it into hell.
Stride o'er the Present, grand as some huge wave

Should rush across Panama at a leap,
And make two Seas one perfect world of waters.

So link our great Past to a nobler Future,
And set our new world singing on its way,

With sunshine freighted, like a heart of bliss,
Her Life's rich tide at Glory's high flood-mark.

A little while, and we shall yet return
Each to the Fatherland, like kings to conquest.

Light breaks there! in the East: it grows, and soon
Shall Freedom's sun roll up the Heaven of Life.

We may not see God's face, yet at our side
He combats for us, with his vizor down.

But no more words — like weeds they sap the soul
Of richness that should fill the fruit of deeds.

Henceforth let lips be dumb, as Bravery —
Her parley done — had shub her gates, to ope not

Save for the shouts that chariot Victory forth.
We are all ready! We have waited long!

God strike the hour, Ho! let the trumpets ring! "
He ceased. One shout ran thro' the night, and struck

Heaven's boss of stars, and like a ship went down
In the lone sea of silence flowing round.

In touching majesty the Stars lookt down,
As tho' they yearn'd to them with answering pulse,

And with invisible speed the world roll'd on.