HERE let us stand—windows, and roofs, and leads | |
| Alive with clinging thousands—what a scene! | |
| And in the midst, above that sea of heads, | |
| Glooms the black Guillotine. | |
| |
| A scene like that in the Eternal City, | 5 |
| When on men’s hearts the Arena feasted high— | |
| While myriads of dark faces, void of pity, | |
| Looked on to see them die. | |
| |
| How the keen Gallic eyes dilate and glare! | |
| The flexible brows and lips grimace and frown— | 10 |
| How the walls tremble to their shout, whene’er | |
| That heavy steel comes down! | |
| |
| ’Tis nearly over—twenty heads have rolled, | |
| One after one, upon the block—while cheers | |
| And yells and curses howled by hate untold | 15 |
| Rang in their dying ears. | |
| |
| One more is left—and now amid a storm | |
| Of angry sound from that great human Hive | |
| They rear upright a dizened ghastly form, | |
| Mangled, yet still alive. | 20 |
| |
| Like one emerging from a deadly swoon, | |
| His eyes unclose upon that living plain— | |
| Those livid, snaky eyes!—he shuts them soon, | |
| Never to ope again. | |
| |
| As that forlorn, last, wandering gaze they took, | 25 |
| Perhaps those cruel eyes, in hopeless mood, | |
| Sought in their agony, one pitying look | |
| ’Mid that vast multitude. | |
| |
| Sought, but in vain,—inextricably mixed | |
| On square and street and housetop—he surveys | 30 |
| A hundred thousand human eyes, all fixed | |
| In one fierce, pitiless gaze. | |
| |
| Down to the plank! the brutal headsmen tear | |
| Those blood-glued rags—nay, spare him needless pain. | |
| One cry! God grant that we may never hear | 35 |
| A cry like that again! | |
| |
| A pause—and the axe falls on Robespierre. | |
| That trenchant blade hath done its office well— | |
| Hark to the mighty roar! Down, Murderer— | |
| Down to thy native Hell! | 40 |
| |
| Again that terrible shout! till suburb far | |
| And crowded dungeon marvel what it mean— | |
| Hurrah! and louder, louder yet, hurrah | |
| For the good Guillotine! | |
| |
| And breasts unladen heave a longer breath— | 45 |
| And parting footsteps echo fast and light— | |
| Our Foe is lodged in the strong Prison of Death! | |
| Paris shall sleep to-night. | |
| |
