A DAY of clouds and darkness! a day of wrath and woe! | |
| The war of elements above, the strife of men below! | |
| Through the air ring shout and outcry,—through the street a red tide pours,— | |
| To the booming of the cannon the ancient city roars; | |
| For wilder than the tempest is human passion’s strife, | 5 |
| And deadlier than the elements the waste of human life: | |
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| No breathing time for pity, ’tis the long stern tug of might, | |
| The war of poor against the rich, and both against the right; | |
| Each street and lane the artillery sweeps,—the rifle enfilades, | |
| With stone and bar, with beam and spar, they pile the barricades; | 10 |
| And women, fiends with blood-specked arms, fierce eye and frenzied mien, | |
| Cry “Up the Red Republic!” and “Up the Guillotine!” | |
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| Now forth and on them, Garde Mobile! stout heart, firm hand, quick eye! | |
| No mercy know, no quarter show, to pity is to die! | |
| To the last worst fate of cities—the murder and the rape, | 15 |
| ’Tis yours to give one answer, the sabre and the grape: | |
| There is lust and hate and murder—they have filled rebellion’s cup, | |
| And to the God of Vengeance the city’s cry goes up! | |
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| And more and more, on, on they pour; there’s the battery’s thicker flame, | |
| And the quicker ring of musketry, and the rifle’s deadlier aim; | 20 |
| Go, hurry to the Assembly,—for the bravest chiefs are there,— | |
| Bedeau and Brea, and Cavaignac and Lamoriciere. | |
| And in and out the frequent scout goes hastening as he may; | |
| “At the Rue d’Antoine the Garde Mobile have the better of the day”— | |
| “Some succour to the Port au Ble—they scarce can hold their own”— | 25 |
| “Help, help! or all is over at the Barriere du Trone!” | |
| And out and forth, east, west, and north, the hurrying chiefs advance, | |
| To combat with the combatants, and to die, if needs, for France. | |
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| Who come toward the barricade with steady steps and slow, | |
| With prayers and tears, and blessings to aid them as they go? | 30 |
| Among the armed nor armor the little cohort boasts, | |
| Their leader is their Prelate, their trust the Lord of Hosts. | |
| And the brave Archbishop tells them in voice most sweet and deep | |
| How the Good Shepherd layeth down His life to save the sheep: | |
| How some short years of grief and tears were no great price to give | 35 |
| That peace might come from discord, and bid these rebels live: | |
| Rebels so precious in His eyes, the He, Whose word is fate, | |
| Alone could make, alone redeem, alone regenerate! | |
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| One moment’s lull of firing, and near and nearer goes | |
| That candidate for martyrdom to the midmost of his foes; | 40 |
| And on he went, with love unspent, toward the rifled line, | |
| As calm in faith, in sight of death, as in his Church’s shrine: | |
| And the war closed deadlier round him, and more savage rose the cheer, | |
| And the bullets whistled past him, but still he knew no fear: | |
| And calmer grew his visage, and brighter grew his eye, | 45 |
| He could not save his people, for his people he could die: | |
| And, following in the holy steps of Him that harrowed hell, | |
| By death crushed death, by falling upraised the men that fell. | |
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| They bear him from his passion, for the prize of peace is won: | |
| His warfare is accomplished, his godlike errand run: | 50 |
| They kneel before his litter, in the midst of hottest strife; | |
| They ask his prayers, the uttermost, who gave for them his life. | |
| So, offering up his sacrifice to God with free accord, | |
| The city’s Martyr Bishop went home to see his Lord! | |
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| Now God be praised that even yet His promise doth not fail! | 55 |
| The gates of hell can nevermore against His Church prevail: | |
| When human ties are slackened, and earthly kingdoms rock, | |
| And thrones and sceptres crumble, like potsherd in the shock: | |
| There’s that unearthly, though on earth, that ne’er shall be o’erthrown; | |
| Laud to the King of Martyrs for the Victory of His own! | 60 |
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