One who, methought, had gone A vision which aught sad from sadness from the world's scene, might allure. And quickly common hopes made freemen understood. IV I sate beside him while the morning beam Crept slowly over Heaven, and talked with him Our bands outsprung, and seized their arms-we sped Towards the sound: our tribes were gathering far. Those sanguine slaves, amid ten thousand dead Stabbed in their sleep, trampled in treacherous war Of those immortal hopes, a glorious The gentle hearts whose power their theme! Which led us forth, until the stars grew dim: And all the while methought his voice did swim As if it drowned in remembrance were Of thoughts which make the moist eyes overbrim: At last, when daylight 'gan to fill the air, He looked on me, and cried in wonder, "Thou art here!" V Then, suddenly, I knew it was the youth In whom its earliest hopes my spirit found; But envious tongues had stained his spotless truth, And thoughtless pride his love in silence bound, And shame and sorrow mine in toils had wound, Whilst he was innocent, and I deluded; The truth now came upon me, on the ground Tears of repenting joy, which fast intruded, Fell fast, and o'er its peace our mingling spirits brooded. VI Thus while with rapid lips and earnest eyes We talked, a sound of sweeping conflict, spread As from the earth, did suddenly arise; From every tent, roused by that clamour dread, lives had sought to spare. VII Like rabid snakes that sting some gentle child Who brings them food when winter false and fair Allures them forth with its cold smiles, so wild They rage among the camp;-they overbear The patriot host-confusion, then despair Descends like night-when "Laon!" one did cry: Like a bright ghost from Heaven, that shout did scare The slaves, and, widening through the vaulted sky, Seemed sent from Earth to Heaven in sign of victory. VIII In sudden panic those false murderers fled, Like insect tribes before the northern gale: But, swifter still, our hosts encom passèd Their shattered ranks, and in a craggy vale, Where even their fierce despair might nought avail, Hemmed them around!-And then revenge and fear Made the high virtue of the patriots fail: One pointed on his foe the mortal spear |