And 'midst high hearts I leave thee, on a shore
Where mercy's home hath been from days of yore.
Thus to its earthly form the spirit cried,
Then turn'd to follow its celestial guide,
But with a downcast mien, a pensive sigh,
A lingering step, and oft reverted eye,
As when a child's reluctant feet obey
Its mother's voice, and slowly leave its play.
Night o'er the earth her dewy veil had cast,
When from th' eternal city's towers they pass'd,
And, rising in their flight, on that proud dome,
Whose walls enshrine the guardian saint of Rome,
Lo! where a cherub-form sublimely tower'd,
But dreadful in his glory! sternly lower'd
Wrath in his kingly aspect: One he seem'd
Of the bright seven, whose dazzling splendour beam'd
On high amidst the burning lamps of heaven,
Seen in the dread, o'erwhelming visions given
To the rapt seer of Patmos. Wheels of fire
Seem'd his fierce eyes, all kindling in their ire,
And his loose tresses, floating as he stood,
A comet's glare, presaging woe and blood.
He waved his sword; its red, terrific light,
With fearful radiance tinged the clouds of night,
While his left hand sustain'd a shield, so vast,
Far o'er the Vatican beneath was cast
Its broad, protecting shadow. As the plume
Of the strong eagle spreads in sheltering gloom
O'er its young brood, as yet untaught to soar;
And while, all trembling at the whirlwind's roar,
Each humbler bird shrinks cowering in its nest,
Beneath that wing of power, and ample breast,
They sleep unheeding; while the storm on high
Breaks not their calm and proud security.
In the second canto, Basville enters Paris with his angelic guide, at the moment preceding the execution of Louis XVI.
The air was heavy, and the brooding skies
Look'd fraught with omens, as to harmonize
With his pale aspect. Through the forest round
Not a leaf whisper’d, and the only sound
