The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 4Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron
General
The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 4
Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron
Poetry
[_Exit._
SCENE III.--_The summit of the Jungfrau Mountain._
_Enter_ FIRST DESTINY.
The Moon is rising broad, and round, and bright;
And here on snows, where never human foot[139]
Of common mortal trod, we nightly tread,
And leave no traces: o'er the savage sea,
The glassy ocean of the mountain ice,
We skim its rugged breakers, which put on
The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam,
Frozen in a moment[140]--a dead Whirlpool's image:
And this most steep fantastic pinnacle,
The fretwork of some earthquake--where the clouds 10
Pause to repose themselves in passing by--
Is sacred to our revels, or our vigils;
Here do I wait my sisters, on our way
To the Hall of Arimanes--for to-night
Is our great festival[141]--'tis strange they come not.
_A Voice without, singing._
The Captive Usurper,
Hurled down from the throne,
Lay buried in torpor,
Forgotten and lone;
I broke through his slumbers, 20
I shivered his chain,
I leagued him with numbers--
He's Tyrant again!
With the blood of a million he'll answer my care,
With a Nation's destruction--his flight and despair![142]
_Second Voice, without._
The Ship sailed on, the Ship sailed fast,
But I left not a sail, and I left not a mast;
There is not a plank of the hull or the deck,
And there is not a wretch to lament o'er his wreck;
Save one, whom I held, as he swam, by the hair, 30
And he was a subject well worthy my care;
A traitor on land, and a pirate at sea--[143]
But I saved him to wreak further havoc for me!
FIRST DESTINY, _answering._
The City lies sleeping;
The morn, to deplore it,
May dawn on it weeping:
Sullenly, slowly,
The black plague flew o'er it--
Thousands lie lowly;
Tens of thousands shall perish; 40
The living shall fly from
The sick they should cherish;
But nothing can vanquish
The touch that they die from.
Sorrow and anguish,
And evil and dread,
Envelope a nation;
The blest are the dead,
Who see not the sight
Of their own desolation; 50
This work of a night--
This wreck of a realm--this deed of my doing--
For ages I've done, and shall still be renewing!
_Enter the_ SECOND _and_ THIRD DESTINIES.
_The Three._
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