Verona! stay--thou, spirit, come not near Now--not this time desert thy cloudy place To scare me, thus employed, with that pure face! I need not fear this audience, I make free With them, but then this is no place for thee! The thunder-phrase of the Athenian, grown Up out of memories of Marathon, Would echo like his own sword's griding screech Braying a Persian shield,--the silver speech Of Sidney's self, the starry paladin, Turn intense as a trumpet sounding in The knights to tilt,--wert thou to hear! What heart Have I to play my puppets, bear my part Before these worthies? Lo, the past is hurled In twain: up-thrust, out-staggering on the world, Subsiding into shape, a darkness rears Its outline, kindles at the core, appears Verona. 'Tis six hundred years and more Since an event. The Second Friedrich wore The purple, and the Third Honorius filled The holy chair. That autumn eve was stilled: A last remains of sunset dimly burned O'er the far forests, like a torch-flame turned By the wind back upon its bearer's hand In one long flare of crimson; as a brand, The woods beneath lay black. A single eye From all Verona cared for the soft sky. But, gathering in its ancient market-place, Talked group with restless group; and not a face But wrath made livid, for among them were Death's stanch purveyors, such as have in care To feast him. Fear had long since taken root In every breast, and now these crushed its fruit. The ripe hate, like a wine: to note the way It worked while each grew drunk! Men grave and gray Stood, with shut eyelids, rocking to and fro, [Sidenote: How her Guelfs are discomfited.] Letting the silent luxury trickle slow About the hollows where a heart should be; But the young gulped with a delirious glee Some foretaste of their first debauch in blood At the fierce news: for, be it understood, Envoys apprised Verona that her prince Count Richard of Saint Boniface, joined since A year with Azzo, Este's Lord, to thrust Taurello Salinguerra, prime in trust With Ecelin Romano, from his seat Ferrara,--over-zealous in the feat And stumbling on a peril unaware, Was captive, trammelled in his proper snare, They phrase it, taken by his own intrigue. [Sidenote: Why they entreat the Lombard League,] Immediate succor from the Lombard League Of fifteen cities that affect the Pope, For Azzo, therefore, and his fellow-hope Of the Guelf cause, a glory overcast! Men's faces, late agape, are now aghast. "Prone is the purple pavis; Este makes Mirth for the devil when he undertakes To play the Ecelin; as if it cost Merely your pushing-by to gain a post Like his! The patron tells ye, once for all, There be sound reasons that preferment fall On our beloved" ...