Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series, page 163
And once I was well versed in the forgotten
Etruscan letters, and — were I so minded —
Could make their hieroglyphics plainer than
Your alphabet.
Arn. And wherefore do you not?
Cæs. It answers better to resolve the alphabet
Back into hieroglyphics. Like your statesman,
And prophet, pontiff, doctor, alchymist,
Philosopher, and what not, they have built
More Babels, without new dispersion, than
The stammering young ones of the flood’s dull ooze, 110
Who failed and fled each other. Why? why, marry,
Because no man could understand his neighbour.
They are wiser now, and will not separate
For nonsense. Nay, it is their brotherhood,
Their Shibboleth — their Koran — Talmud — their
Cabala — their best brick-work, wherewithal
They build more — —
Arn. (interrupting him). Oh, thou everlasting sneerer!
Be silent! How the soldier’s rough strain seems
Softened by distance to a hymn-like cadence!
Listen!
Cæs. Yes. I have heard the angels sing. 120
Arn. And demons howl.
Cæs. And man, too. Let us listen:
I love all music.
Song of the Soldiers within.
The black bands came over
The Alps and their snow;
With Bourbon, the rover,
They passed the broad Po.
We have beaten all foemen,
We have captured a King,
We have turned back on no men,
And so let us sing! 130
Here’s the Bourbon for ever!
Though penniless all,
We’ll have one more endeavour
At yonder old wall.
With the Bourbon we’ll gather
At day-dawn before
The gates, and together
Or break or climb o’er
The wall: on the ladder,
As mounts each firm foot, 140
Our shout shall grow gladder,
And Death only be mute.
With the Bourbon we’ll mount o’er
The walls of old Rome,
And who then shall count o’er
The spoils of each dome?
Up! up with the Lily!
And down with the Keys!
In old Rome, the seven-hilly,
We’ll revel at ease. 150
Her streets shall be gory,
Her Tiber all red,
And her temples so hoary
Shall clang with our tread.
Oh, the Bourbon! the Bourbon!
The Bourbon for aye!
Of our song bear the burden!
And fire, fire away!
With Spain for the vanguard,
Our varied host comes; 160
And next to the Spaniard
Beat Germany’s drums;
And Italy’s lances
Are couched at their mother;
But our leader from France is,
Who warred with his brother.
Oh, the Bourbon! the Bourbon!
Sans country or home,
We’ll follow the Bourbon,
To plunder old Rome. 170
Cæs. An indifferent song
For those within the walls, methinks, to hear.
Arn. Yes, if they keep to their chorus. But here comes
The general with his chiefs and men of trust.
A goodly rebel.
Enter the Constable Bourbon “cum suis,” etc., etc.
Phil. How now, noble Prince,
You are not cheerful?
Bourb. Why should I be so?
Phil. Upon the eve of conquest, such as ours,
Most men would be so.
Bourb. If I were secure!
Phil. Doubt not our soldiers. Were the walls of adamant,
They’d crack them. Hunger is a sharp artillery. 180
Bourb. That they will falter is my least of fears.
That they will be repulsed, with Bourbon for
Their chief, and all their kindled appetites
To marshal them on — were those hoary walls
Mountains, and those who guard them like the gods
Of the old fables, I would trust my Titans; —
But now — —
Phil. They are but men who war with mortals.
Bourb. True: but those walls have girded in great ages,
And sent forth mighty spirits. The past earth
And present phantom of imperious Rome 190
Is peopled with those warriors; and methinks
They flit along the eternal City’s rampart,
And stretch their glorious, gory, shadowy hands,
And beckon me away!
Phil. So let them! Wilt thou
Turn back from shadowy menaces of shadows?
Bourb. They do not menace me. I could have faced,
Methinks, a Sylla’s menace; but they clasp,
And raise, and wring their dim and deathlike hands,
And with their thin aspen faces and fixed eyes
Fascinate mine. Look there!
Phil. I look upon 200
A lofty battlement.
Bourb. And there!
Phil. Not even
A guard in sight; they wisely keep below,
Sheltered by the grey parapet from some
Stray bullet of our lansquenets, who might
Practise in the cool twilight.
Bourb. You are blind.
Phil. If seeing nothing more than may be seen
Be so.
Bourb. A thousand years have manned the walls
With all their heroes, — the last Cato stands
And tears his bowels, rather than survive
The liberty of that I would enslave. 210
And the first Cassar with his triumphs flits
From battlement to battlement.
Phil. Then conquer
The walls for which he conquered and be greater!
Bourb. True: so I will, or perish.
Phil. You can not.
In such an enterprise to die is rather
The dawn of an eternal day, than death.
[Count Arnold and Cæsar advance.
Cæs. And the mere men — do they, too, sweat beneath
The noon of this same ever-scorching glory?
Bourb. Ah!
Welcome the bitter Hunchback! and his master,
The beauty of our host, and brave as beauteous, 220
And generous as lovely. We shall find
Work for you both ere morning.
Cæs. You will find,
So please your Highness, no less for yourself.
Bourb. And if I do, there will not be a labourer
More forward, Hunchback!
Cæs. You may well say so,
For you have seen that back — as general,
Placed in the rear in action — but your foes
Have never seen it.
Bourb. That’s a fair retort,
For I provoked it: — but the Bourbon’s breast
Has been, and ever shall be, far advanced 230
In danger’s face as yours, were you the devil.
Cæs. And if I were, I might have saved myself
The toil of coming here.
Phil. Why so?
Cæs. One half
Of your brave bands of their own bold accord
Will go to him, the other half be sent,
More swiftly, not less surely.
Bourb. Arnold, your
Slight crooked friend’s as snake-like in his words
As his deeds.
Cæs. Your Highness much mistakes me.
The first snake was a flatterer — I am none;
And for my deeds, I only sting when stung. 240
Bourb. You are brave, and that’s enough for me; and quick
In speech as sharp in action — and that’s more.
I am not alone the soldier, but the soldiers’
Comrade.
Cæs. They are but bad company, your Highness;
And worse even for their friends than foes, as being
More permanent acquaintance.
Phil. How now, fellow!
Thou waxest insolent, beyond the privilege
Of a buffoon.
Cæs. You mean I speak the truth.
I’ll lie — it is as easy: then you’ll praise me
For calling you a hero.
Bourb. Philibert! 250
Let him alone; he’s brave, and ever has
Been first, with that swart face and mountain shoulder,
In field or storm, and patient in starvation;
And for his tongue, the camp is full of licence,
And the sharp stinging of a lively rogue
Is, to my mind, far preferable to
The gross, dull, heavy, gloomy execration
Of a mere famished sullen grumbling slave,
Whom nothing can convince save a full meal,
And wine, and sleep, and a few Maravedis, 260
With which he deems him rich.
Cæs. It would be well
If the earth’s princes asked no more.
Bourb. Be silent!
Cæs. Aye, but not idle. Work yourself with words!
You have few to speak.
Phil. What means the audacious prater?
Cæs. To prate, like other prophets.
Bourb. Philibert!
Why will you vex him? Have we not enough
To think on? Arnold! I will lead the attack
To-morrow.
Arn. I have heard as much, my Lord.
Bourb. And you will follow?
Arn. Since I must not lead.
Bourb. ‘Tis necessary for the further daring
Of our too needy army, that their chief
Plant the first foot upon the foremost ladder’s
First step.
Cæs. Upon its topmost, let us hope:
So shall he have his full deserts.
Bourb. The world’s
Great capital perchance is ours to-morrow.
Through every change the seven-hilled city hath
Retained her sway o’er nations, and the Cæsars
But yielded to the Alarics, the Alarics
Unto the pontiffs. Roman, Goth, or priest.
Still the world’s masters! Civilised, barbarian,
Or saintly, still the walls of Romulus
Have been the circus of an Empire. Well!
‘Twas their turn — now ‘tis ours; and let us hope
That we will fight as well, and rule much better.
Cæs. No doubt, the camp’s the school of civic rights.
What would you make of Rome?
Bourb. That which it was.
Cæs. In Alaric’s time?
Bourb. No, slave! in the first Cæsar’s,
Whose name you bear like other curs — —
Cæs. And kings!
‘Tis a great name for blood-hounds.
Bourb. There’s a demon
In that fierce rattlesnake thy tongue. Wilt never
Be serious?
Cæs. On the eve of battle, no; —
That were not soldier-like. ‘Tis for the general
To be more pensive: we adventurers
Must be more cheerful. Wherefore should we think?
Our tutelar Deity, in a leader’s shape,
Takes care of us. Keep thought aloof from hosts!
If the knaves take to thinking, you will have
To crack those walls alone.
Bourb. You may sneer, since
‘Tis lucky for you that you fight no worse for ‘t.
Cæs. I thank you for the freedom; ‘tis the only 300
Pay I have taken in your Highness’ service.
Bourb. Well, sir, to-morrow you shall pay yourself.
Look on those towers; they hold my treasury:
But, Philibert, we’ll in to council. Arnold,
We would request your presence.
Arn. Prince! my service
Is yours, as in the field.
Bourb. In both we prize it,
And yours will be a post of trust at daybreak.
Cæs. And mine?
Bourb. To follow glory with the Bourbon.
Good night!
Arn. (to Cæsar). Prepare our armour for the assault,
And wait within my tent.
[Exeunt Bourbon, Arnold, Philibert, etc.
Cæs. (solus).Within thy tent! 310
Think’st thou that I pass from thee with my presence?
Or that this crooked coffer, which contained
Thy principle of life, is aught to me
Except a mask? And these are men, forsooth!
Heroes and chiefs, the flower of Adam’s bastards!
This is the consequence of giving matter
The power of thought. It is a stubborn substance,
And thinks chaotically, as it acts,
Ever relapsing into its first elements.
Well! I must play with these poor puppets: ‘tis 320
The Spirit’s pastime in his idler hours.
When I grow weary of it, I have business
Amongst the stars, which these poor creatures deem
Were made for them to look at. ‘Twere a jest now
To bring one down amongst them, and set fire
Unto their anthill: how the pismires then
Would scamper o’er the scalding soil, and, ceasing
From tearing down each other’s nests, pipe forth
One universal orison! ha! ha
