Canto IV

While thus sequestered from the train of State,
Their glorious interests sagely they debate,
At leisure o’er the princely science stray,
Combat and conquest and imperial sway,
The Seine with terror saw the chiefs combined
Spread on his banks their banners to the wind.

Anxious the king, from Henry distant far,
Bewailed the uncertain destiny of war;
His cheering aid irresolute he needs,
For victory follows still where Bourbon leads.
With triumph the confederate bands beheld
His weak dismay, and eager sought the field ;
Chilled every dreadful hour with fresh alarms,
He saw the o’erwhelming torrent of their arms,
And prone to change, and hasty to repent,
Regrets his absence whom himself had sent.
Joyeuse’s brother! drew the factious sword;
By turns a soldier and a saint was he,
Now all for arms, and now a devotee,
Preferred, as when inclined his wavering soul,
One hour the helmet, and the next the cowl.
He left the scenes of penitence and tears,
To bark sedition in the Leaguers’ ears,
And bathed remorseless in his country’s blood,
The hand just then devoted to his God.

Of all the chiefs for valor most renowned,
Whose prowess shed despair and horror round,
Whose puissant arms the boldest might appall,
The first in feats of glory was d’Aumale.
Sprung from the far-famed heroes of Lorraine,
King, laws, and peace alike were his: disdain;
The noblest youths his daring steps pursue,
With them incessant to the field he flew,
Now in still march, now shouting from afar,
By day, by night, he urged the varying war,
Assailed the unguarded foe on every side,
And with their blood the dusty champaign dyed.
So from proud Athos or Imaus’ height,
Where earth, sea, air lie stretched before the sight,
With headlong speed the rapid eagle flies,
And vultures dart along the gloomy skies ;
With hungry beaks the feathered spoil they rend,
Resistless on the bleating flocks descend,
And soaring to their airy cliffs convey
With screams of cruel joy, the living prey.

Fired on a time and frantic with the thirst
Of glory, to the royal tent he pierced;
Dark was the night and sudden the surprise,
Around the camp a panic horror flies;
The torrent of his arms o’erlooks the mound,
And the big deluge threatens all around.
But when the day-star raised his glimmering urn,
Came Mornay to announce his lord’s return;
With joyful speed the impatient chief drew near,
When the rough din smote loudly on his ear,
Amazed he flies, sees terror and distress
In the king’s troops, nor even in Bourbon’s less,
“And are you vanquished, and is this,” he cried,
“Ts this the glorious welcome you provide
For Henry, for your Henry?’ At that name
Their hearts were flushed again with valor’s glowing flame.
So when the Sabine arms drove trembling home
Even to the capital, the bands of Rome,
His guardian god their mighty founder hailed,
And in the name of Stator Jove prevailed.
“Let him,” they cry, “let Henry lead the fight,
And we must conquer in our Henry’s sight.”
Keen as the flash that cleaves the stormy cloud,
In the mid camp the dazzling hero stood,
Impetuous to the foremost ranks he flies,
Death in his hand, and lightning in his eyes;
The ambitious chiefs crowd fast around his shield,
At once he shifts the fortune of the field,
His stern approach the pale confederates shun,
As stars diminished fade before the sun.
D’Aumale enraged tries every art in vain
To rally their disordered files again;
His voice a while their timorous flight withheld,
But Henry’s drove them headlong o’er the field;
His awful front strikes terror through the foe,
Their chief unites them, and their fears o’erthrow:
Till even d’Aumale reluctant borne along
Obeys the o’erwhelming torrent of the throng.
Incumbered thus with many a winter’s snow,
Some rock forsakes the mountain’s lofty brow,
And wrapt in sheets of ice, rolls o’er the vale below.

He shows to the besieging powers around
His front so long with matchless glory crowned,
Bursts through the multitude, and loathing life,
Seeks in despair once more the mortal strife;
Restrains a while the victor’s rapid course,
Till weak, and baffled by superior force,
Each moment he expects the fatal meed,
Death, the just wages of his hardy deed.

But Discord, for her darling chief afraid,
Flies swift to save him, for she needs his aid,
Between her champion and the foe, she held
Her massy, broad, impenetrable shield,
Whose sight, or rage, or terror can convey,
Omen of death, and meteor of dismay.
Offspring of Hell! from her infernal cave
Then first she came, to succor and to save,
Then first her hand, dire instrument of death,
Redeemed from instant fate a hero’s breath.
Forth from the field; her minion, covered o’er
With wounds unfelt amid his toil, she bore,
His anguish with a lenient hand allayed,
And staunched the blood that in her cause was shed.
But while her labors to his limbs impart
Their wonted health, her venom taints his heart.
Thus tyrants oft, with treacherous pity, stay
The wretched doom, and spare but to betray ;
Act by his arm the purpose of their hate
And dark revenge, then yield him to his fate.

Bold to achieve, nor fraught with wisdom less
To catch the auspicious moment of success,
Victorious Henry urged the important blow,
And with new fury pressed the astonished foe.
Close in their walls their dire disgrace they mourn,
And dread the assault, and tremble in their turn.
Even Valois now, to martial deeds inspired
The troops, himself by Henry’s actions fired;
Laughs at all pain, despises all alarms,
And owns even toil and danger have their charms.
No secret feuds the jarring chiefs confound,
Their brave attempts were all with glory crowned;
Horror, where’er they march, their way prepares,
The ramparts tremble, and the foe despairs.
Where now shall Mayenne deep sorrowing seek redress,
His troops, a people groaning in distress!
The weeping orphan here her sire demands,
There brethren claim their brother at his hands;
Each mourns the present, dreads the future most,
And disaffection rends the murmuring host.
Some counsel flight, surrender some prefer,
But all renounce unanimous the war;
So light the feeble vulgar, and so near
Their headstrong rashness is allied to fear.
Their ruin he beheld already wrought,
A thousand plans perplex his laboring thought;
When Discord by her snaky locks confessed,
Stood forth revealed and thus the chief addressed:

“August descendant of an awful line,
Whose vengeful cause unites thee firm to mine;
Formed by my counsel, nursed beneath my care,
Know thy protectress, and her voice revere.
Shall wretches base as these thy fears excite,
Who freeze with horror at a loss so slight?
Slaves of my power, and vassals of my will,
Even now our great designs they shall fulfil;
Let but my breath their dastard bosoms fire,
They court the combat, and with joy expire.”

She spoke, and rapid as the lightning’s flight,
Glanced through the clouds, and vanished from his sight.
Around the French she saw confusion lower,
And hailed the sight, and blessed the welcome hour ;
The teeming earth grew barren as she passed,
And the bright blossoms withered at the blast;
Flat in the furrow lies the blighted ear,
Pale and half quenched the sickening stars appear;
Beneath her bursts the thunder’s sullen sound,
And death-like horror seized the nations round.

Dark scowling o’er the flowery vales below,
A whirlwind snatched her to the banks of Po.

Toward Rome at length her baleful eye she rolled,
Rome, the world’s dread, and Discord’s fane of old,
Imperial Rome, by destiny designed,
In peace, in war, the mistress of mankind.
By conquest first she stretched her wide domain,
And all earth’s monarchs wore her galling chain;
On arms alone her solid empire grew,
And the world crouched where’er her eagle flew.
More peaceful art her modern rule supports,
Now even her conquerors tremble in her courts;
Deep rooted in their hearts her power she sees,
And needs no thunder but her own decrees.

High on that gorgeous wreck of ancient war,
Where Mars for ages drove his rattling car,
A pontiff now maintains his priestly state,
And fills the throne where once the Cesars sate.
There wandering heedless of the mighty dead,
Monastic feet on Cato’s ashes tread,
On God’s own altar there the throne they raise,
And one despotic hand the cross and sceptre sways.

There first His infant Church the Almighty placed, i
By turns with zeal rejected, or embraced ;
There heaven’s high will His first apostle taught,
In native truth and singleness of thought.
Scarce meaner praise his successors acquired,
And they were honored most, who least aspired ;
No foppery then their modest brow adorned,
All praise but virtue, and all wealth they scorned,
And flew with rapture from their low abode,
To die triumphant in the cause of God.
Depraved at length they scorned their humble state,
And heaven, for man’s offences, made them great;
Ambition then profaned the sacred shrine
And human power was grafted on divine ;
The lurking dagger and the poisoning bowl
Were the dark basis of their new control.
Vicegerents of the Lord, His holy place
With brutal lust they blushed not to disgrace,
Till Rome, oppressed beneath their hateful reign,
Sighed for her idol gods and pagan rites again.
A wiser race more modern times beheld,
Who crimes like these or wrought not or concealed:
Then kings appealed to Rome’s decisive power,
And chose their umpire, whom they feared before;
Humility once more and meekness shone
Renewed, beneath the proud pontific crown.
But pious fraud and priestcraft in these days
Are Rome’s chief virtue, and her worthiest praise.

Now in the pomp of apostolic state
Supreme, and crowned with empire, Sixtus sate;
If fraud and churlish insolence might claim
Renown, no monarch bore a fairer name.
Long time he skulked beneath the driveller’s part
Disguised, and owed his greatness to his art;
Long seemed unworthy what he sighed to gain,
And shunned it long the surer to obtain.

Deep in his palace, secret and unseen,
Dwelt dark-veiled Policy, mysterious queen ;
Unsocial interest and ambition joined
Of yore, to spawn this pelt of humankind.
Her smiles a free, untroubled soul expressed,
Though cares unnumbered swarmed within her breast ;
Keen were her haggard eyes, nor knew to close
Their wakeful lids, nor would admit repose;
Thick woven films o’er Europe’s sight she spreads,
Confounds her counsels, and her kings misleads ;
Calls truth itself to testify a fraud,
And stamps imposture with the seal of God.

When first the phantom Discord met her view,
With instant rapture to her arms she flew;
Then smiled a ghastly grin, but sighing soon,
As one o’erwhelmed with sorrow, thus begun:
“T see, alas! those happy times no more,
When thoughtless multitudes adored my power,
When Europe credulous obeyed my laws,
And mixed with mine religion’s sacred cause.
I spoke, and kings from their exalted seat
Came trembling down, and worshipped at my feet;
High on the echoing Vatican I stood,
And breathed my wars, and launched my storms abroad.
Even life and death confessed my proud domain,
And monarchs reigned by me, or ceased to reign.
Now France subdues my lightnings e’er they fly,
And quenched and smothered, in my grasp they die.
Religion’s friend, she thwarts my slighted arms,
And breaks my philtres, and dispels my charms;
Truth’s borrowed guise in vain did I display,
She first discerned, and tore the mask away.
But oh! what joy could I delude her now,
At last avenge my sufferings on my foe.
Come then! my lightnings with thy torch restore,
And France shall feel us, and the world once more;
Our bonds again, earth’s haughty lords shall wear,
Again”—she spoke, and pierced by yielding air.

Remote from Rome, where vanity and pride
In temples sacred to themselves reside,
Concealed from sight, within her humble cell,
Religion, pensive maid, delights to dwell.
There angels hover round her calm abode,
And waft her raptures to the throne of God.
Meanwhile, the sanction of her injured name
The oppressor’s wrong and tyrant’s fury claim;
Yet doomed to suffer, no revenge she knows,
But melts in silent blessings on her foes.
Her artless charms their modest lustre shroud
Forever from the vain tumultuous crowd,
Who without faith their impious vows prefer,
And pray to fortune, while they kneel to her.
In Henry she beheld her future son,
And knew the fates had marked him for her own,
With sighs to speed the destined hour she strove,
And viewed and watched him with a seraph’s love.

Sudden the fiends their awful foe surprise;
The captive lifts to heaven her streaming eyes;
In vain—for heaven to prove her virtue sure
And steadfast faith, resigns her to their power.
Soon in her snowy veil and holy weeds
The monsters muffle their detested heads,
Then fired with hope, and glorying in their might,
Stretch swift to Paris their impetuous flight.

Deep in the Sorbonne, in august debate,
The sage expounders of heaven’s dictates sate.
Their faith unshaken, loyalty unfeigned,
The judges and the examples of the land;
Swayed by no error, by no fear controlled,
Each bore an upright heart, was masculine and bold.
Alas! what human virtue never errs—
Behold the tempter! Policy appears;
Smooth was the melting flattery of her tongue,
And on her artful lips persuasion hung.
The dazzling mitre and the sweeping train,
With ease allure the ambitious and the vain;
With secret bribes the miser’s voice she buys,
With decent praise, the learned and the wise;
And shook with sounding threats the coward’s soul.

Their counsels now with riot they disgrace,
Truth heard the din alarmed, and fled the place.
When thus a sage the general voice expressed,
“Kings are the creatures of the Church confessed ;
Chastised or pardoned as her laws decree,
That Church, and guardians of those laws, are we;
Annulled and cancelled are the vows we swore;
Such is our will! and Valois reigns no more.”
Scarce was the cursed decree pronounced aloud,
When ruthless Discord copied it in blood,
And signed and sworn the fatal record stood.

Then swift from church to church, with eager speed
The fiend divulges their adventurous deed;
Where’er she came her saintly garb bespoke
Esteem, and sage and holy was her look.
Forth from their gloomy cells, she calls amain
The meagre slaves of voluntary pain;
“Behold in me religion’s self,” she cries,
“Assert my rights, and let your zeal arise,
’Tis I approach you, ’tis my voice you hear,
For proof, mark well the flaming sword I bear,
Of tempered lightning is that edge divine,
And God’s own hand intrusted it to mine.
Emerge, my children! from this silent gloom,
The time for action now and high exploit is come.
Go forth, and teach the lukewarm wavering crowd,
To slay their king if they would serve their God.
Think how the ministry by special grace
Was given of old to Levi’s holy race;
Jehovah’s self pronounced that glory due
To their deserts, when Israel’s sons they slew.
Where are, alas! those times of triumph fled,
When by the brothers’ arm the victim bled?
Ye priests devout, your spirit was their guide,
’Twas by your hands alone Coligny died;
’Twas then the slaughter raged, go forth, explain
My voice abroad, and let it rage again.”

She spoke, and waved the signal; every heart
Throbbed with the poison of the beldam’s art.
To Paris next their solemn march she led,
High o’er the midst the bannered cross was spread,
And hymns and holy songs they chanted loud,
As heaven itself their impious cause avowed.
Even on their knees their frenzy they declare,
And mix a pious curse in every prayer:
Bold in the pulpit, timorous in the field,
With uncouth arm the ponderous sword they wield,
Their penitential shirts the zealots hide
Beneath their cankered armor’s clumsy pride;
And thus the inglorious band in foul array
Through tides of gazing rabble sped their way,
While high in effigy portrayed they bore
Their God, the God of peace, their crazy troop before.

Mayenne with the pomp of public praise adorned
Their wild attempt, which in his heart he scorned.
For well he knew fanatic rage would pass
For sound religion with the common class,
Nor wanted he the princely craft, to court
And soothe the follies of the meaner sort.
The soldier laughed, the sage with frowns surveyed
Their antic pageantry and mad parade,
The many rend the skies with loud applause,
And hail the reverend bulwarks of their cause.
Their daring rashness first to fear gave way,
And frenzy now succeeds to their dismay.
The spirit thus that rules the obedient main,
Can lull the waves to rest, or wake the storm again.

Now Discord from the tribe of Valois’s foes,
Twice eight, the rankest of the faction chose,
Slaves of the queen, who yet presumed to guide
The car of state, like monarchs, at her side,
While pride and perfidy, revenge and death,
With streams of slaughter marked the road beneath.
Mayenne blushed to see the paltry minions stand
So near himself, his equals in command,
But fellowship in guilt all rank destroys,”
As great the wretch who serves, as who employs.
So when the winds, fierce tyrants of the deep,
The Seine or Rhone with rapid fury sweep,
Black rises from below the stagnant mud,
And stains the silver surface of the flood.
So when the flames some destined town invade,
And on the plain the smoking towers are spread,
The mingling metals in one mass are rolled,
And worthless dross incrusts the purest gold.

Themis alone uninfluenced by their crimes,
Escapes the foul contagion of the times ;
With her, nor hope of power nor fear prevail,
But still well-poised she trimmed the steady scale,
No spots the lustre of her shrine impair,
But justice finds a sacred refuge there.

There, foes to vice, and equity their guide,
An awful senate o’er the laws preside,
With patriot candor watchful to secure
The people’s privilege and monarch’s power;
True to the crown, yet anxious for the State,
Tyrants alike and rebels are their hate;
Firm their allegiance still, though free and brave,
They scorn to sink the subject to the slave,
Rome and the Roman power full well they know,

Chosen from the League, furious troops beset
The portal, and invade the still retreat ;
Bussy,' than whom no chief might better claim
That bad pre-eminence, their leader came,
And thus the ruffian, proud of the command
He bore, bespoke the venerable band:

“Ye, who for pay the law’s vile drudgery bear,
And doze, and dream, plebeians as you are,
Of kings committed to your guardian care,
Yet still when public feuds and broils prevail,
Set the mean trappings of your rank to sale,
Timorous in war, in peace a blustering train,
Hear what your lords, the commonwealth, ordain.
Societies were formed ere kings were made,
We claim the rights our ancestors betrayed,
The people whom your arts enslaved before,
Discern the cheat, and will be slaves no more.
Truce with the pomp of titles then, away
With every sound of arbitrary sway,
Draw from the people’s rights your power alone,
Friends of the State, nor bondsmen of the throne.”

He spoke, and scorn appeared in every eye,
Nor censure else vouchsafed they, or reply.
So when of old within her ruined wall
Rome in dismay received the conquering Gaul,
Undaunted still her awful senate sate,
Calm as in peace, nor trembled at their fate.

“Tyrants,” he cried with fury, “though not free
From secret dread, obey or follow me.”
Then famed for worth and fearless of his foes,
Their honored chief, illustrious Harlay rose,
And claimed his fetters with so stern a tone,
As for their hands he sought them, not his own.
At once his hoary brethren of the laws,
Ambitious victims in the royal cause,
And proud to share their Harlay’s glorious pains,
With outstretched arms received the traitor’s chains.
The gathering multitude around them roars,
And crowds attend them to those dreary towers,
Where vengeance, undistinguishing in blood,
Too oft confounds the guilty and the good.

Thus sinks the State beneath their lawless power,
The Sorbonne’s fallen, the senate is no more.
But why this throng? that universal yell?
The fatal scaffold, and the torturing wheel?
Say for whose punishment this pomp’s designed?
For theirs—the first, the noblest of mankind.
So fare the just in Paris, such reward
For patriots here, and heroes is prepared.
Yet hapless sufferers, no disgrace invades
Your honest fame, nor blush your injured shades,
Your fate was glorious, and whoe’er like you
Dies for his king, shall die with glory, too.

O’erjoyed meanwhile, and revelling in blood,
Amidst her bands triumphant Discord stood,
Self-satisfied, with well-contented air,
Saw thousands leagued against their monarch’s life,
Yet even themselves divided and at strife,
Dupes of her power, and servants of her hate,
Push the mad war, and urge their country’s fate,
Tumult within, and danger all without,
While havoc smote the realm, and marched it round about.