And hasten to the realms of night, As handmaids of the Even. * * * * * The loud shouts from the distant town, Joined in with nature's gladsome lay; The lights went glancing up and down, Riv'ling the stars--nay, seemed as they Could stoop to claim, in their high home, A sympathy with things of earth, And had from their bright mansions come, To join them in their festal mirth. For the land of the Gaul had arose in its might, And swept by as the wind of a wild, wintry night; And the dreamings of greatness--the phantoms of power, Had passed in its breath like the things of an hour. Like the violet vapors that brilliantly play Round the glass of the chemist, then vanish away, The visions of grandeur which dazzlingly shone, Had gleamed for a time, and all suddenly gone. And the fabric of ages--the glory of kings, Accounted most sacred mid sanctified things, Reared up by the hero, preserved by the sage, And drawn out in rich hues on the chronicler's page, Had sunk in the blast, and in ruins lay spread, While the altar of freedom was reared in its stead. And a spark from that shrine in the free-roving breeze, Had crossed from fair France to that isle of the seas; And a flame was there kindled which fitfully shone Mid the shout of the free, and the dark captive's groan; As, mid contrary breezes, a torch-light will play, Now streaming up brightly--now dying away. * * * * * The reptile slumbers in the stone, Nor dream we of his pent abode; The heart conceals the anguished groan, With all the poignant griefs that goad The brain to madness; Within the hushed volcano's breast, The molten fires of ruin lie;-- Thus human passions seem at rest, And on the brow serene and high, Appears no sadness. But still the fires are raging there, Of vengeance, hatred, and despair; And when they burst, they wildly pour Their lava flood of woe and fear, And in one short--one little hour, Avenge the wrongs of many a year. * * * * *