[205] The army of Mohammed the Second, at the siege of Constantinople, was thronged with fanatics of all sects and nations, who were not enrolled amongst the regular troops.

The Sultan himself marched upon the city from Adrianople; but his army must have been principally collected in the Asiatic provinces, which he had previously visited.

[206]

“Huc vina, et unguenta, et nimium breves
Flores amœnæ ferre jube rosæ.”—Horace.

[207] The castle of the Seven Towers is mentioned in the Byzantine history, as early as the sixth century of the Christian era, as an edifice which contributed materially to the defence of Constantinople; and it was the principal bulwark of the town on the coast of the Propontis, in the later periods of the empire. For a description of this building, see Pouqueville’s Travels.

[208] An allusion to the Roman custom of carrying in procession, at the funerals of their great men, the images of their ancestors.

[209] The following was the ceremony of consecration with which Decius devoted himself in battle:—He was ordered by Valerius, the Pontifex Maximus, to quit his military habit, and put on the robe he wore in the senate. Valerius then covered his head with a veil, commanded him to put forth his hand under his robe to his chin, and, standing with both feet upon a javelin, to repeat these words:—“O Janus, Jupiter, Mars, Romulus, Bellona! and ye, Lares and Novensiles! All you heroes who dwell in heaven! and all ye gods who rule over us and our enemies—especially ye gods of hell!—I honour you, invoke you, and humbly entreat you to prosper the arms of the Romans, and to transfer all fear and terror from them to their enemies; and I do, for the safety of the Roman people, and their legions, devote myself, and with myself the army and auxiliaries of the enemy, to the infernal gods, and the goddess of the earth.” Decius then, girding his robe around them, mounted his horse, and rode full speed into the thickest of the enemy’s battalions. The Latins were, for a while, thunderstruck at this spectacle; but at length recovering themselves, they discharged a shower of darts, under which the Consul fell.

[210] See Gibbon’s animated description of the arrival of five Christian ships, with men and provisions, for the succour of the besieged, not many days before the fall of Constantinople.—Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, vol. xii. p. 215.

[211] “The summits of the lofty rocks in the Carnatic, particularly about the Ghauts, are sometimes covered with the bamboo tree, which grows in thick clumps, and is of such uncommon aridity that, in the sultry season of the year, the friction occasioned by a strong dry wind will literally produce sparks of fire, which, frequently setting the woods in a blaze, exhibit to the spectator stationed in a valley surrounded by rocks, a magnificent though imperfect circle of fire.”—Notes to Kindersley’s Specimens of Hindoo Literature.

[212] Those who steer their westward course through the middle of the Propontis may at once descry the high lands of Thrace and Bithynia, and never lose sight of the lofty summit of Mount Olympus, covered with eternal snows.—Decline and Fall, &c. vol. iii. p. 8.

[213] Mohammed II. was greatly addicted to the study of astrology. His calculations in this science led him to fix upon the morning of the 29th of May, as the fortunate hour for a general attack upon the city.

[214] Constantine Palæologus was betrothed to a Georgian princess, and the very spring which witnessed the fall of Constantinople had been fixed upon as the time for conveying the imperial bride to that city.

[215] Many of the adherents of Constantine, in his last noble stand for the liberties, or rather the honour, of a falling empire, were foreigners, and chiefly Italians.

[216] This and the next line are an almost literal translation from a beautiful song of Goethe’s:—

“Kennst du das land, wo die zitronen bluhn
Mit dunkeln laub die gold orangen gluhn?” etc.

[217] The idea expressed in this stanza is beautifully amplified in Schiller’s poem, “Das Lied der Glocke.”

[218] It is said to be a Greek superstition that the plague is announced by the heavy rolling of an invisible chariot, heard in the streets at midnight; and also by the appearance of a gigantic spectre, who summons the devoted person by name.

[219] Many instances of such banquets, given and shared by persons resolved upon death, might be adduced from ancient history. That of Vibius Virius, at Capua, is amongst the most memorable.

[220] For a minute description of the marbles, jaspers, and porphyries, employed in the construction of St Sophia, see The Decline and Fall, &c., vol. vii. p. 120.

[221] The assault of the city took place at daybreak, and the Turks were strictly enjoined to advance in silence, which had also been commanded, on pain of death, during the preceding night. This circumstance is finely alluded to by Miss Baillie, in her tragedy of Constantine Palæologus:—

“Silent shall be the march; nor drum, nor trump, Nor clash of arms, shall to the watchful foe Our near approach betray: silent and soft As the pard’s velvet foot on Libya’s sands, Slow stealing with crouch’d shoulders on her prey.” Constantine Palæologus, act iv.

“The march and labour of thousands” must, however, as Gibbon observes, “have inevitably produced a strange confusion of discordant clamours, which reached the ears of the watchmen on the towers.”

[222] “After a conflict of two hours, the Greeks still maintained and preserved their advantage,” says Gibbon. The strenuous exertions of the janizaries first turned the fortune of the day.

[223] “A circumstance that distinguishes the siege of Constantinople is the union of the ancient and modern artillery. The bullet and the battering-ram were directed against the same wall; nor had the discovery of gunpowder superseded the use of the liquid and inextinguishable fire.”—Decline and Fall, &c., vol. xii., p. 213.

[224] “The immediate loss of Constantinople may be ascribed to the bullet, or arrow, which pierced the gauntlet of John Justiniani, (a Genoese chief.) The sight of his blood and exquisite pain appalled the courage of the chief, whose arms and counsels were the firmest rampart of the city.”—Decline and Fall, &c., vol. xii. p. 229.

[225] Mohammed II., on entering, after his victory, the palace of the Byzantine emperors, was strongly impressed with the silence and desolation which reigned within its precincts. “A melancholy reflection on the vicissitudes of human greatness forced itself on his mind, and he repeated an elegant distich of Persian poetry: ‘The spider has wove his web in the imperial palace, and the owl hath sung her watch-song on the towers of Afrasiab.’”—Decline and Fall, &c., vol. xii. p. 240.

[226] One of the ceremonies by which the battle of Platæa was annually commemorated was, to crown with wine a cup called the Bowl of Liberty, which was afterwards poured forth in libation.

[227] The Comneni were amongst the most distinguished of the families who filled the Byzantine throne in the declining years of the Eastern Empire.

ANNOTATION ON “THE LAST CONSTANTINE.”

[It may seem necessary to mention that “The Last Constantine” first appeared in a volume (Murray, 1823) along with “Belshazzar’s Feast,” the “Siege of Valencia,” and some lyrical miscellanies.

“The present publication appears to us, (Dr Morehead in Constable’s Magazine, Sept. 1823,) in every respect superior to any thing Mrs Hemans has yet written: more powerful in particular passages—more interesting in the narrative part—as pathetic and delicate in the reflective—as elaborately faultless in its versification—as copious in imagery. Of the longer poems, ‘The Last Constantine’ is our favourite.... The leading features of Constantine’s character seem to be taken from the unequal, but, on the whole, admirable play of Constantine Palæologus, by the gifted rival of our authoress, Joanna Baillie; and the picture of that enduring and Christian courage which, in the midst of a ruined city and a fallen state, sustained the last of the Cæsars, when all earthly hope and help had failed him, is eminently touching and poetical. The following stanzas appear to us particularly beautiful:—

‘Sounds from the waters, sounds upon the earth,
Sounds in the air, of battle,’ etc.

The following stanzas, too, in which the leading idea of Constantine’s character is still more fully brought out, are likewise excellent:—

‘It was a sad and solemn task to hold
Their midnight watch on that beleaguer’d wall,’ etc.

These are splendid passages, justly conceived, admirably expressed, full of eloquence and melody; and the poem contains many others equally beautiful. As we have already hinted, the story might have been better told—or rather, there is scarcely any story at all; but the reader is borne down the stream of pensive reflection so gently, and so easily, that he scarcely perceives the want of it.”]

THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS;

OR, THE MEETING ON THE FIELD OF GRUTLI.

[It was in the year 1308 that the Swiss rose against the tyranny of the bailiffs appointed over them by Albert of Austria. The field called the Grutli, at the foot of the Seelisberg, and near the boundaries of Uri and Unterwalden, was fixed upon by three spirited yeomen, Walter Furst, (the father-in-law of William Tell,) Werner Stauffacher, and Erni (or Arnold) Melchthal, as their place of meeting to deliberate on the accomplishment of their projects.

“Hither came Furst and Melchthal, along secret paths over the heights, and Stauffacher in his boat across the Lake of the Four Cantons. On the night preceding the 11th of November 1307, they met here, each with ten associates, men of approved worth; and while at this solemn hour they were wrapt in the contemplation that on their success depended the fate of their whole posterity, Werner, Walter, and Arnold held up their hands to heaven, and in the name of the Almighty, who has created man to an inalienable degree of freedom, swore jointly and strenuously to defend that freedom. The thirty associates heard the oath with awe; and with uplifted hands attested the same God, and all his saints, that they were firmly bent on offering up their lives for the defence of their injured liberty. They then calmly agreed on their future proceedings, and for the present each returned to his hamlet.”—Planta’s History of the Helvetic Confederacy.

On the first day of the year 1308, they succeeded in throwing off the Austrian yoke, and “it is well attested,” says the same author, “that not one drop of blood was shed on this memorable occasion, nor had one proprietor to lament the loss of a claim, a privilege, or an inch of land. The Swiss met on the succeeding Sabbath, and once more confirmed by oath their ancient, and (as they fondly named it) their perpetual league.”]

I.

’Twas night upon the Alps. The Senn’s wild horn,[228]
Like a wind’s voice, had pour’d its last long tone,
Whose pealing echoes, through the larch-woods borne,
To the low cabins of the glens made known
That welcome steps were nigh. The flocks had gone
By cliff and pine bridge to their place of rest;
The chamois slumber’d, for the chase was done;
His cavern-bed of moss the hunter press’d,
And the rock-eagle couch’d high on his cloudy nest.

II.

Did the land sleep? The woodman’s axe had ceased
Its ringing notes upon the beech and plane;
The grapes were gather’d in; the vintage feast
Was closed upon the hills, the reaper’s strain
Hush’d by the streams; the year was in its wane,
The night in its mid watch—it was a time
E’en mark’d and hallow’d unto slumber’s reign;
But thoughts were stirring, restless and sublime,
And o’er his white Alps moved the spirit of the clime.

III.

For there, where snows, in crowning glory spread,
High and unmark’d by mortal footstep lay;
And there, where torrents, mid the ice-caves fed,
Burst in their joy of light and sound away;
And there, where freedom, as in scornful play,
Had hung man’s dwellings midst the realms of air,
O’er cliffs the very birthplace of the day—
Oh! who would dream that tyranny could dare
To lay her withering hand on God’s bright works e’en there?

IV.

Yet thus it was. Amidst the fleet streams gushing
To bring down rainbows o’er their sparry cell,
And the glad heights, through mist and tempest rushing
Up where the sun’s red fire-glance earliest fell,
And the fresh pastures where the herd’s sweet bell
Recall’d such life as Eastern patriarchs led;
There peasant men their free thoughts might not tell
Save in the hour of shadows and of dread,
And hollow sounds that wake to Guilt’s dull stealthy tread.

V.

But in a land of happy shepherd homes,
On its green hills in quiet joy reclining,
With their bright hearth-fires, midst the twilight glooms,
From bowery lattice through the fir-woods shining—
A land of legends and wild songs, entwining
Their memory with all memories loved and blest—
In such a land there dwells a power, combining
The strength of many a calm but fearless breast;
And woe to him who breaks the Sabbath of its rest!

VI.

A sound went up—the wave’s dark sleep was broken—
On Uri’s lake was heard a midnight oar—
Of man’s brief course a troubled moment’s token
Th’ eternal waters to their barriers bore;
And then their gloom a flashing image wore
Of torch-fires streaming out o’er crag and wood,
And the wild falcon’s wing was heard to soar
In startled haste—and by that moonlight flood,
A band of patriot men on Grutli’s verdure stood.

VII.

They stood in arms: the wolf-spear and the bow
Had waged their war on things of mountain race;
Might not their swift stroke reach a mail-clad foe?
—Strong hands in harvest, daring feet in chase,
True hearts in fight, were gather’d on that place
Of secret council. Not for fame or spoil
So met those men in Heaven’s majestic face:
To guard free hearths they rose, the sons of toil,
The hunter of the rocks, the tiller of the soil.

VIII.

O’er their low pastoral valleys might the tide
Of years have flow’d, and still, from sire to son,
Their names and records on the green earth died,
As cottage lamps, expiring one by one
In the dim glades, when midnight hath begun
To hush all sound. But silent on its height,
The snow mass, full of death, while ages run
Their course, may slumber, bathed in rosy light,
Till some rash voice or step disturb its brooding might.

IX.

So were they roused. Th’ invading step had pass’d
Their cabin thresholds, and the lowly door,
Which well had stood against the Fohnwind’s blast,[229]
Could bar Oppression from their home no more.
Why, what had she to do where all things wore
Wild grandeur’s impress? In the storm’s free way,
How dared she lift her pageant crest before
Th’ enduring and magnificent array
Of sovereign Alps, that wing’d their eagles with the day?

X.

This might not long be borne: the tameless hills
Have voices from the cave and cataract swelling,
Fraught with His name whose awful presence fills
Their deep lone places, and for ever telling
That He hath made man free! and they, whose dwelling
Was in those ancient fastnesses, gave ear;
The weight of sufferance from their hearts repelling,
They rose—the forester—the mountaineer—
Oh! what hath earth more strong than the good peasant spear?

XI.

Sacred be Grutli’s field! Their vigil keeping
Through many a blue and starry summer night—
There, while the sons of happier lands were sleeping,
Had those brave Switzers met; and in the sight
Of the just God, who pours forth burning might
To gird the oppress’d, had given their deep thoughts way,
And braced their spirits for the patriot fight,
With lovely images of homes that lay
Bower’d midst the rustling pines, or by the torrent spray.

XII.

Now had endurance reach’d its bounds! They came
With courage set in each bright earnest eye,
The day, the signal, and the hour to name,
When they should gather on their hills to die,
Or shake the glaciers with their joyous cry
For the land’s freedom. ’Twas a scene combining
All glory in itself—the solemn sky,
The stars, the waves their soften’d light enshrining,
And man’s high soul supreme o’er mighty Nature shining.

XIII.

Calmly they stood, and with collected mien,
Breathing their souls in voices firm but low—
As if the spirit of the hour and scene,
With the woods’ whisper and the waves’ sweet flow,
Had temper’d in their thoughtful hearts the glow
Of all indignant feeling. To the breath
Of Dorian flute, and lyre-note soft and slow,
E’en thus of old, the Spartan from its sheath
Drew his devoted sword, and girt himself for death.

XIV.

And three, that seem’d as chieftains of the band,
Were gather’d in the midst on that lone shore
By Uri’s lake. A father of the land,[230]
One on his brow the silent record wore
Of many days, whose shadows had pass’d o’er
His path among the hills, and quench’d the dreams
Of youth with sorrow. Yet from memory’s lore
Still his life’s evening drew its loveliest gleams,
For he had walk’d with God, beside the mountain streams.

XV.

And his gray hairs, in happier times, might well
To their last pillow silently have gone,
As melts a wreath of snow. But who shall tell
How life may task the spirit? He was one
Who from its morn a freeman’s work had done,
And reap’d his harvest, and his vintage press’d,
Fearless of wrong; and now, at set of sun,
He bow’d not to his years, for on the breast
Of a still chainless land he deem’d it much to rest.

XVI.

But for such holy rest strong hands must toil,
Strong hearts endure! By that pale elder’s side,
Stood one that seem’d a monarch of the soil,
Serene and stately in his manhood’s pride—
Werner,[231] the brave and true! If men have died
Their hearths and shrines inviolate to keep,
He was a mate for such. The voice that cried
Within his breast, “Arise!” came still and deep
From his far home, that smiled e’en then in moonlight sleep.

XVII.

It was a home to die for! As it rose
Through its vine foliage, sending forth a sound
Of mirthful childhood, o’er the green repose
And laughing sunshine of the pastures round;
And he, whose life to that sweet spot was bound,
Raised unto Heaven a glad yet thoughtful eye,
And set his free step firmer on the ground,
When o’er his soul its melodies went by,
As, through some Alpine pass, a breeze of Italy.

XVIII.

But who was he that on his hunting-spear
Lean’d, with a prouder and more fiery bearing?
His was a brow for tyrant hearts to fear,
Within the shadow of its dark locks wearing
That which they may not tame—a soul declaring
War against earth’s oppressors. Midst that throng
Of other mould he seem’d, and loftier daring,
One whose blood swept high impulses along,
One that should pass, and leave a name for warlike song—

XIX.

A memory on the mountains!—one to stand,
When the hills echo’d with the deepening swell
Of hostile trumpets, foremost for the land,
And in some rock defile, or savage dell,
Array her peasant children to repel
Th’ invader, sending arrows for his chains!
Ay, one to fold around him, as he fell,
Her banner with a smile—for through his veins
The joy of danger flow’d, as torrents to the plains.

XX.

There was at times a wildness in the light
Of his quick-flashing eye; a something born
Of the free Alps, and beautifully bright,
And proud, and tameless, laughing fear to scorn!
It well might be!—Young Erni’s step had worn[232]
The mantling snows on their most regal steeps,
And track’d the lynx above the clouds of morn,
And follow’d where the flying chamois leaps
Across the dark blue rifts, th’ unfathom’d glacier deeps.

XXI.

He was a creature of the Alpine sky,
A being whose bright spirit had been fed
Midst the crown’d heights of joy and liberty,
And thoughts of power. He knew each path which led
To the rock’s treasure caves, whose crystal shed
Soft light o’er secret fountains. At the tone
Of his loud horn the Lammer-Geyer[233] had spread
A startled wing—for oft that peal had blown
Where the free cataract’s voice was wont to sound alone.

XXII.

His step had track’d the waste, his soul had stirr’d
The ancient solitudes—his voice had told
Of wrongs to call down heaven.[234] That tale was heard
In Hasli’s dales, and where the shepherds’ fold
Their flocks in dark ravine and craggy hold
On the bleak Oberland; and where the light
Of day’s last footsteps bathes in burning gold
Great Righi’s cliffs; and where Mount Pilate’s height
Casts o’er his glassy lake the darkness of his might.

XXIII.

Nor was it heard in vain. There all things press
High thoughts on man. The fearless hunter pass’d,
And, from the bosom of the wilderness,
There leapt a spirit and a power to cast
The weight of bondage down—and bright and fast,
As the clear waters, joyously and free,
Burst from the desert rock, it rush’d at last,
Through the far valleys; till the patriot three
Thus with their brethren stood, beside the Forest-Sea.[235]

XXIV.

They link’d their hands, they pledged their stainless faith
In the dread presence of attesting Heaven,
They bound their hearts to suffering and to death,
With the severe and solemn transport given
To bless such vows. How nobly man had striven,
How man might strive, and vainly strive, they knew,
And call’d upon their God, whose arm had riven
The crest of many a tyrant, since He blew
The foaming sea-wave on, and Egypt’s might o’erthrew.

XXV.

They knelt, and rose in strength. The valleys lay
Still in their dimness, but the peaks which darted
Into the bright mid air, had caught from day
A flush of fire, when those true Switzers parted,
Each to his glen or forest, steadfast-hearted,
And full of hope. Not many suns had worn
Their setting glory, ere from slumber started
Ten thousand voices, of the mountains born—
So far was heard the blast of freedom’s echoing horn!

XXVI.

The ice-vaults trembled, when that peal came rending
The frozen stillness which around them hung;
From cliff to cliff the avalanche descending
Gave answer, till the sky’s blue hollow rung;
And the flame-signals through the midnight sprung
From the Surennen rocks, like banners streaming
To the far Seelisberg; whence light was flung
On Grutli’s field, till all the red lake gleaming
Shone out, a meteor-heaven in its wild splendour seeming.

XXVII.

And the winds toss’d each summit’s blazing crest,
As a host’s plumage; and the giant pines,
Fell’d where they waved o’er crag and eagle’s nest,
Heap’d up the flames. The clouds grew fiery signs,
As o’er a city’s burning towers and shrines,
Reddening the distance. Wine-cups, crown’d and bright,
In Werner’s dwelling flow’d; through leafless vines
From Walter’s hearth stream’d forth the festive light,
And Erni’s blind old sire gave thanks to heaven that night.

XXVIII.

Then on the silence of the snows there lay
A Sabbath’s quiet sunshine—and its bell
Fill’d the hush’d air awhile, with lonely sway;
For the stream’s voice was chain’d by winter’s spell,
The deep wood-sounds had ceased. But rock and dell
Rang forth, ere long, when strains of jubilee
Peal’d from the mountain churches, with a swell
Of praise to Him who stills the raging sea—
For now the strife was closed, the glorious Alps were free!

[228] Senn, the name given to a herdsman among the Swiss Alps.

[229] Fohnwind, the south-east wind, which frequently lays waste the country before it.

[230] Walter Furst, the father-in-law of Tell.

[231] Werner Stauffacher, who had been urged by his wife to rouse and unite his countrymen for the deliverance of Switzerland.

[232] Erni, Arnold Melchthal.

[233] The Lammer-Geyer, the largest kind of Alpine eagle.

[234] The eyes of his aged father had been put out by the orders of the Austrian governor.

[235] Forest-Sea—the lake of the Four Cantons is frequently so called.