What though the stern proconsul's grinding rule Close followed on the legion's merciless sword? Laws, arts, and culture, in that rigid school, Evoked a nation from each savage horde. And when at last her crimes, reacting, wrought Their curse upon herself, to her, supine And helpless, the barbarian spoiler brought, With fire and sword, new life to her decline. Theodoric, Clovis, Charles, your endless strife, From Weser's marsh to Naples' laughing bay, Was but the throe that marked the nascent life Emerging from the worn-out world's decay. Ye were, amid that elemental war, But straws to show its course. Ye toiled, and won, Or lost; your people bled--yet slow and far The mighty cause of man pressed ever on. Long has that travail been. Kings, Kaisers, Popes, The stern Crusader and the pirate Dane, Each, centered in his own ambitious hopes, But helped the cause he labored to restrain. Hildebrand's voice sets Christendom on fire; 'Neath Frederic's plow sinks Milan's lofty wall; Unnumbered victims glut De Montfort's ire; From Ecclin's dungeon shrieks the night appall. If the tide ebbs, 'tis but to flow again. Each fierce convulsion gains some vantage ground. Man's fettered limbs grow stronger, and the chain Falls link by link at each tumultuous bound. The timid burgher dons the helm and shield, The wretched hind reluctant grasps the bow, To fight their master's quarrels. Courtrai's field And Sempach's hill that lesson's worth may show. The restless soul still yearns for things unknown; It chafes against its bondage, points the way That leads to freedom, but the sword alone Makes good the dreams that else would but betray. See, Luther speaks, and Europe flies to arms: Her stubborn fight outlasts a hundred years; A thousand fields her richest life-blood warms, Yet gain the vanquished more than pays their tears. If Orange and Gustavus conquering died, Not Coligny nor Hampden fell in vain, For one domain escaped the furious tide, And peace made that one desolate--chivalrous Spain! So, when the traitorous truth was whispered round,-- Equality for man on earth as heaven,-- It was but speculation's idlest sound, Till by the sword the time-worn bonds were riven. Though Moscow, Leipzig, Waterloo, might seem To roll the tide back, they but marked its flood; Nor could the Holy Allies' darkest scheme Restore the wrongs so well effaced in blood. The end is not yet. God's mysterious way Evolves its purpose in its destined time. Vainly we seek its fated march to stay: All things subserve it--wisdom, folly, crime. We are his instruments. The past has fled For us. We suffer for the future dim. Then sternly face the darkness round us spread, Do each his duty--leave the rest to Him! RALPH WALDO EMERSON.