But fate decreed not so--the Imperial Bird,
That, in his neighboring cage, unfeared, unstirred,
Had seemed to sleep with head beneath his wing,
Yet watched the moment for a daring spring;--
Well might he watch, when deeds were done, that made
His own transgressions whiten in their shade;
Well might he hope a world thus trampled o'er
By clumsy tyrants would be his once more:--
Forth from his cage the eagle burst; to light,
From steeple on to steeple[1] winged his flight,
With calm and easy grandeur, to that throne
From which a Royal craven just had flown;
And resting there, as in his eyry, furled
Those wings, whose very rustling shook the world!
What was your fury then, ye crowned array,
Whose feast of spoil, whose plundering holiday
Was thus broke up, in all its greedy mirth,
By one bold chieftain's stamp on Gallic earth!
Fierce was the cry, and fulminant the ban,--
"Assassinate, who will--enchain, who can,
"The vile, the faithless, outlawed, lowborn man!"
"Faithless!"--and this from _you_--from _you_, forsooth,
Ye pious Kings, pure paragons of truth,
Whose honesty all knew, for all had tried;
Whose true Swiss zeal had served on every side;
Whose fame for breaking faith so long was known,
Well might ye claim the craft as all your own,
And lash your lordly tails and fume to see
Such low-born apes of Royal perfidy!
Yes--yes--to you alone did it belong
To sin for ever, and yet ne'er do wrong,--
The frauds, the lies of Lords legitimate
Are but fine policy, deep strokes of state;
But let some upstart dare to soar so high
In Kingly craft, and "outlaw" is the cry!
What, tho' long years of mutual treachery
Had peopled full your diplomatic shelves
With ghosts of treaties, murdered 'mong yourselves;
Tho' each by turns was knave and dupe--what then?
A holy League would set all straight again;
Like JUNO'S virtue, which a dip or two
In some blest fountain made as good as new!
Most faithful Russia--faithful to whoe'er
Could plunder best and give him amplest share;
Who, even when vanquisht, sure to gain his ends,
For want of _foes_ to rob, made free with _friends_,[2]
And, deepening still by amiable gradations,
When foes were stript of all, then fleeced relations![3]
Most mild and saintly Prussia--steeped to the ears
In persecuted Poland's blood and tears,
And now, with all her harpy wings outspread
O'er severed Saxony's devoted head!
Pure Austria too--whose history naught repeats
But broken leagues and subsidized defeats;
Whose faith, as Prince, extinguisht Venice shows,
Whose faith, as man, a widowed daughter knows!
And thou, oh England--who, tho' once as shy
As cloistered maids, of shame or perfidy,
Art now _broke in_, and, thanks to CASTLEREAGH,
In all that's worst and falsest lead'st the way!
Such was the pure divan, whose pens and wits
The escape from Elba frightened into fits;--
Such were the saints, who doomed NAPOLEON'S life,
In virtuous frenzy, to the assassin's knife.
Pages:
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373