And thither took with him his infant babe 910
And one domestic for their common needs,
An aged woman. It consoled him here
To attend upon the orphan and perform
The office of a nurse to his young child,
Which, after a short time, by some mistake 915
Or indiscretion of the father, died.
The tale I follow to its recess
Of suffering or of peace, I know not which —
Theirs be the blame who caused the woe, not mine.
From that time forth he never uttered word 920
To any living. An inhabitant
Of that same town in which the pair had left
So lively a remembrance of their griefs,
By chance of business coming within reach
Of his retirement, to the spot repaired 925
With the intent to visit him; he reached
The house and only found the matron there,
Who told him that his pains were thrown away,
For that her master never uttered word
To living soul — not even to her. Behold, 930
While they were speaking Vaudracour approached,
But, seeing some one there, just as his hand
Was stretched towards the garden-gate, he shrunk
And like a shadow glided out of view.
Shocked at his savage outside, from the place 935
The visitor retired.
Thus lived the youth,
Cut off from all intelligence with man,
And shunning even the light of common day.
Nor could the voice of freedom, which through France 940
Soon afterwards resounded, public hope,
Or personal memory of his own deep wrongs,
Rouze him, but in those solitary shades
His days he wasted, an imbecile mind.
BOOK TENTH.
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE AND FRENCH REVOLUTION
IT was a beautiful and silent day
That overspread the countenance of earth,
Then fading, with unusual quietness,
When from the Loire I parted, and through scenes
Of vineyard, orchard, meadow-ground and tilth, 5
Calm waters, gleams of sun, and breathless trees,
Towards the fierce metropolis turned my steps
Their homeward way to England. From his throne
The King had fallen; the congregated host —
Dire cloud, upon the front of which was written 10
The tender mercies of the dismal wind
That bore it — on the plains of Liberty
Had burst innocuously. Say more, the swarm
That came elate and jocund, like a band
Of eastern hunters, to enfold in ring 15
Narrowing itself by moments, and reduce
To the last punctual spot of their despair,
A race of victims — so they seemed — themselves
Had shrunk from sight of their own task, and fled
In terror. Desolation and dismay 20
Remained for them whose fancies had grown rank
With evil expectations: confidence
And perfect triumph to the better cause.
The state, as if to stamp the final seal
On her security, and to the world 25
Shew what she was, a high and fearless soul —
Or rather in a spirit of thanks to those
Who had stirred up her slackening faculties
To a new transition — had assumed with joy
The body and the venerable name 30
Of a republic. Lamentable crimes,
‘Tis true, had gone before this hour — the work
Of massacre, in which the senseless sword
Was prayed to as a judge — but these were past,
Earth free from them for ever (as was thought), 35
Ephemeral monsters, to be seen but once,
Things that could only shew themselves and die.
This was the time in which, enflamed with hope,
To Paris I returned. Again I ranged,
More eagerly than I had done before, 40
Through the wide city, and in progress passed
The prison where the unhappy monarch lay,
Associate with his children and his wife
In bondage, and the palace, lately stormed
With roar of cannon and a numerous host. 45
I crossed — a black and empty area then —
The square of the Carousel, a few weeks back
Heaped up with dead and dying, upon these
And other sights looking as doth a man
Upon a volume whose contents he knows 50
Are memorable but from him locked up,
Being written in a tongue he cannot read,
So that he questions the mute leaves with pain,
And half upbraids their silence. But that night
When on my bed I lay, I was most moved 55
And felt most deeply in what world I was;
My room was high and lonely, near the roof
Of a large mansion or hotel, a spot
That would have pleased me in more quiet times —
Nor was it wholly without pleasure then. 60
With unextinguished taper I kept watch,
Reading at intervals. The fear gone by
Pressed on me almost like a fear to come.
I thought of those September massacres,
Divided from me by a little month, 65
And felt and touched them, a substantial dread
(The rest was conjured up from tragic fictions,
And mournful calendars of true history,
Remembrances and dim admonishments):
‘The horse is taught his manage, and the wind 70
Of heaven wheels round and treads in his own steps;
Year follows year, the tide returns again,
Day follows day, all things have second birth;
The earthquake is not satisfied at once’ —
And in such way I wrought upon myself, 75
Until I seemed to hear a voice that cried
To the whole city, ‘Sleep no more!’ To this
Add comments of a calmer mind — from which
I could not gather full security —
But at the best it seemed a place of fear, 80
Unfit for the repose of night,
Defenceless as a wood where tigers roam.
Betimes next morning to the Palace-walk
Of Orleans I repaired, and entering there
Was greeted, among divers other notes, 85
By voices of the hawkers in the crowd
Brawling, Denunciation of the crimes
Of Maximilian Robespierre. The speech
Which in their hands they carried was the same
Which had been recently pronounced — the day 90
When Robespierre, well known for what mark
Some words of indirect reproof had been
Intended, rose in hardihood, and dared
The man who had ill surmise of him
To bring his charge in openness. Whereat, 95
When a dead pause ensued and no one stirred,
In silence of all present, from his seat
Louvet walked singly through the avenue
And took his station in the Tribune, saying,
‘I, Robespierre, accuse thee!’ ‘Tis well known 100
What was the issue of that charge, and how
Louvet was left alone without support
Of his irresolute friends, but these are things
Of which I speak only as they were storm
Or sunshine to my individual mind, 105
No further. Let me than relate that now —
In some sort seeing with my proper eyes
That liberty, and life, and death, would soon
To the remotest corners of the land
Lie in the arbitre
ment of those who ruled 110
The capital city; what was struggled for,
And by what combatants victory must be won;
The indecision on their part whose aim
Seemed best, and the straightforward path of those
Who in attack or in defence alike 115
Were strong through their impiety — greatly I
Was agitated. Yea, I could almost
Have prayed that throughout earth upon all souls
Worthy of liberty, upon every soul
Matured to live in plainness and in truth, 120
The gift of tongues might fall, and men arrive
From the four quarters of the winds to do
For France what without help she could not do,
A work of honour — think not that to this
I added, work of safety: from such thought, 125
And the least fear about the end of things,
I was as far as angels are from guilt.
Yet did I grieve, nor only grieved, but thought
Of opposition and of remedies:
An insignificant stranger and obscure, 130
Mean as I was, and little graced with powers
Of eloquence even in my native speech,
And all unfit for tumult and intrigue,
Yet would I willingly have taken up
A service at this time for cause so great, 135
However dangerous. Inly I revolved
How much the destiny of man had still
Hung upon single persons; that there was,
Transcendent to all local patrimony,
One nature as there is one sun in heaven; 140
That objects, even as they are great, thereby
Do come within the reach of humblest eyes;
That man was only weak through his mistrust
And want of hope, where evidence divine
Proclaimed to him that hope should be most sure; 145
That, with desires heroic and firm sense,
A spirit thoroughly faithful to itself,
Unquenchable, unsleeping, undismayed,
Was as an instinct among men, a stream
That gathered up each petty straggling rill 150
And vein of water, glad to be rolled on
In safe obedience; that a mind whose rest
Was where it ought to be, in self-restraint,
In circumspection and simplicity,
Fell rarely in entire discomfiture 155
Below its aim, or met with from without
A treachery that defeated it or foiled.
On the other side, I called to mind those truths
Which are the commonplaces of the schools,
A theme for boys, too trite even to be felt, 160
Yet with revelation’s liveliness
In all their comprehensive bearings known
And visible to philosophers of old,
Men who, to business of the world untrained,
Lived in the shade; and to Harmodius known, 165
And his compeer Aristogiton; known
To Brutus — that tyrannic power is weak,
Hath neither gratitude, nor faith nor love,
Nor the support of good or evil men,
To trust in; that the godhead which is ours 170
Can never utterly be charmed or stilled;
That nothing hath a natural right to last
But equity and reason; that all else
Meets foes irreconcilable, and at best
Doth live but by variety of disease. 175
Well might my wishes be intense, my thoughts
Strong and perturbed, not doubting at that time —
Creed which ten shameful years have not annulled —
But that the virtue of one paramount mind 180
Would have abashed those impious crests, have quelled
Outrage and bloody power, and in despite
Of what the people were through ignorance
And immaturity, and in the teeth
Of desperate opposition from without, 185
Have cleared a passage for just government,
And left a solid birthright to the state,
Redeemed according to example given
By ancient lawgivers. In this frame of mind
Reluctantly to England I returned, 190
Compelled by nothing less than absolute want
Of funds for my support; else, well assured
That I both was and must be of small worth,
No better than an alien in the land,
I doubtless should have made a common cause 195
With some who perished, haply perished too —
A poor mistaken and bewildered offering,
Should to the breast of Nature have gone back,
With all my resolutions, all my hopes,
A poet only to myself, to men 200
Useless, and even, belov`ed friend, a soul
To thee unknown.
When to my native land,
After a whole year’s absence, I returned,
I found the air yet busy with the stir 205
Of a contention which had been raised up
Against the traffickers in Negro blood,
An effort which, though baffled, nevertheless
Had called back old forgotten principles
Dismissed from service, had diffused some truths, 210
And more of virtuous feeling, through the heart
Of the English people. And no few of those,
So numerous — little less in verity
Than a whole nation crying with one voice —
Who had been crossed in this their just intent 215
And righteous hope, thereby were well prepared
To let that journey sleep awhile, and join
Whatever other caravan appeared
To travel forward towards Liberty
With more success. For me that strife had ne’er 220
Fastened on my affections, nor did now
Its unsuccessful issue much excite
My sorrow, having laid this faith to heart,
That if France prospered good men would not long
Pay fruitless worship to humanity, 225
And this most rotten branch of human shame
(Object, as seemed, of superfluous pains)
Would fall together with its parent tree.
Such was my then belief — that there was one,
And only one, solicitude for all. 230
And now the strength of Britain was put forth
In league with the confederated host;
Not in my single self alone I found,
But in the minds of all ingenuous youth,
Change and subversion from this hour. No shock 235
Given to my moral nature had I known
Down to that very moment — neither lapse
Nor turn of sentiment — that might be named
A revolution, save at this one time:
All else was progress on the self-same path 240
On which with a diversity of pace
I had been travelling; this, a stride at once
Into another region. True it is,
‘Twas not concealed with what ungracious eyes
Our native rulers from the very first 245
Had looked upon regenerated France;
Nor had I doubted that this day would come —
But in such contemplation I had thought
Of general interests only, beyond this
Had never once foretasted the event. 250
Now had I other business, for I felt
The ravage of this most unnatural strife
In my own heart; there lay it like a weight,
At enmity with all the tenderest springs
Of my enjoyments. I, who with the breeze 255
Had played, a green leaf on the blessed tree
Of my beloved country — nor had wished
For happier fortune than to wither
there —
Now from my pleasant station was cut off,
And tossed about in whirlwinds. I rejoiced, 260
Yes, afterwards, truth painful to record,
Exulted in the triumph of my soul
When Englishmen by thousands were o’erthrown,
Left without glory on the field, or driven,
Brave hearts, to shameful flight. It was a grief — 265
Grief call it not, ‘twas any thing but that —
A conflict of sensations without name,
Of which he only who may love the sight
Of a village steeple as I do can judge,
When in the congregation, bending all 270
To their great Father, prayers were offered up
Or praises for our country’s victories,
And, ‘mid the simple worshippers perchance
I only, like an uninvited guest
Whom no one owned, sate silent — shall I add, 275
Fed on the day of vengeance yet to come!
Oh, much have they to account for, who could tear
By violence at one decisive rent
From the best youth in England their dear pride,
Their joy, in England. This, too, at a time 280
In which worst losses easily might wear
The best of names; when patriotic love
Did of itself in modesty give way
Like the precursor when the deity
Is come, whose harbinger he is — a time 285
In which apostacy from ancient faith
Seemed but conversion to a higher creed;
Withal a season dangerous and wild —
A time in which Experience would have plucked
Flowers out of any hedge to make thereof 290
A chaplet, in contempt of his grey locks.
Ere yet the fleet of Britain had gone forth
On this unworthy service, whereunto
The unhappy counsel of a few weak men
Had doomed it, I beheld the vessels lie — 295
A brood of gallant creatures — on the deep
I saw them in their rest, a sojourner
Through a whole month of calm and glassy days
In that delightful island which protects
Their place of convocation. There I heard 300
Each evening, walking by the still sea-shore,
A monitory sound which never failed —
The sunset cannon. When the orb went down
In the tranquillity of Nature, came
That voice — ill requiem — seldom heard by me 305
Without a spirit overcast, a deep
Imagination, thought of woes to come,
And sorrow for mankind, and pain of heart.
In France, the men who for their desperate ends
Had plucked up mercy by the roots were glad 310
Of this new enemy. Tyrants, strong before
In devilish pleas, were ten times stronger now,
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