In the mid watches of the night, when deep
Impenetrable shades with dark embrace
Infolding, wrapped me in their gloomy shroud-
And fell no peaceful light from far, pale stars,
That round their circuits, with stupendous sweep,
Move on in silence, and mark out the years
Of heaven's unmeasured cycles ;—when a fierce,
Wild-roaring tempest ranged the midnight sky,
And howling winds, with loud and dismal dirge,
And angry voices, rocked my dwelling frail-
I dreamed a dream.
In swift succession passed
The scenes before my vision-aye, so swift,
That with those moments to compare our own,
Were to compare our years with moments. We
Are strange, nay, awful beings--who may know
Himself, what dread, surprising mysteries
Within him lie, unseen and all involved
In shadows dim, that hide that viewless land?
What doth the Spirit, when the body sleeps)
Where is the immortal, when the mortal part
Is locked in slumber? Whither strays the mind
While disenthralled from sense? The intellect
Needs not to rest-the immaterial thought
Can surely never tire:-Oh! fathomless
Existence! what are we, and what art thou?
The sun was setting-clouds had robed the heav'ns,
Save where his beams the sinking orb had shed
Around and cleared his pathway; o'er him hung
Their vapory volumes, bright as burnished gold,
Like banners waving 'mid sepulchral pomp.
A boundless plain in solemn stillness lay
Outstretched before me, covered thick with flowers
And blooming herbage, far as eye could reach.
No living thing was there-a solitude
It seemed a wide, green wilderness, whereon
The slanting rays, throughout its lone extent,
Were poured, in splendor, from the glowing west.
Methought I stood upon this verdant plain,
Not knowing whence I came, or wherefore there,
And gazed around in fear and trembling awe.
Anon I tried to move, but motionless
Remained, fast bound and riveted to earth,
Like rigid marble on its moveless base.
Now quickly, in my dream, the day was gone,
And night drew on, and fitful winds, with hoarse
And sullen whispers, stirred the restless air.
The shades fell darker, blackness tangible
Seemed creeping coldly by with clammy touch.
A moment passed, and then the heavens again
Grew bright, and round the far horizon's edge
Wide lambent flames uprose; the inky clouds
Turned red above me, and with scarlet dyes
Became like blood, as if surcharged with fire.
And now the skies, which like a furnace blazed,
Were sheeted o'er with light, and to and fro,
Those lurid flames, with hot sulphureous breath,
Careering, moved in ghastly, glittering files,
And dazzling squadrons, 'neath whose parching breath
The flowers withered-vegetation died,
And all that plain was now a burning sea,
Whose fiery waves, like melted hills, upheaved
Their glittering crests, and, rolling, licked the sky.
Amazed I looked, much wondering what might mean
Such change as this, or why this direful scene.
But while thus musing, something to my mind,
For sound I heard not, whispered fearfully:
"Behold the world of Elemental flame!
Behold the dwelling of primeval fire!"
Then all was changed, and quick as nimblest thought
The molten lake and skies had fled away.
Upon the summit of a hill that rose,
With rugged sides, precipitous and bare,
I sat reclining;-strangely low and sweet
And thrilling sounds were ringing in my ear.
In mute astonishment, again, methought
I looked in silent wonderment around,
Above, beneath, but naught did recognize
Of time or place. High on her throne the moon
Was shining; soft and clear her light appeared,
But brighter far than e'er my waking hours
Had known ;-'t was like the light of day that breaks
Triumphing from the east; magnificent
The radiant mantle which her silver rays
Wove over all that greeted then my eyes!
There in the distance lay a city ;-vast
Its walls and lofty; far on either hand
It stretched away, and glimmering by its side
A river broad as mightiest flood that rolls
To Ocean's waves, tremendous, swept along.
And on its waters, what seemed ships, did ride,
Whose sails, outspread to catch the breeze of night,
Gleamed faintly;-boats and fairy barques flew o'er
The gliding current on their snowy wings.
The city! oh, what thought has e'er conceived
Of such a city! Not the capitals
Where eastern monarchs dwell in royal state,
Not India's seat of empire may compare
With that in glory;-columns, giant towers,
And massive arches stood in long array
And dim perspective; palaces were there,
And heaven-high temples, fanes, and regal domes
Of wondrous beauty-aught so passing fair
Earth never saw-and ponderous gates of brass
Wide open stood, through which methought I gazed
Adown interminable streets, where grand
And glorious structures lifted up their forms
Against the sky in majesty severe.
Thus lay the city, bathed in living light,
That light mysterious, whose unearthly glare
Revealed the wonders of that solemn scene.
And, as I listened, sounds of revelry
I heard, and strains of gay, glad music, songs
And shouts of merriment, and trumpet-tones
That rent the air, and clarion notes and clang
Of distant cornets blended all in one,
That stirred my spirit with unwonted joy.
Was it some carnival or festal hour
Of mirth and gladness?—thronging myriads
Of living beings, unaware of fate,
Intoxicate with wild and thoughtless joy,
Led on the dance along those regal ways
And spacious avenues;-ah! hapless ones,
Ye did not know what doom was drawing near!
For then, I dreamed, a dusky shadow stole
Athwart th' horizon, and a fearful shape
Or Thing of Darkness on its utmost bound
I saw uprising with terrific frown,
It seemed a WALL, enormous, black, and grim!
And reared its horrid form far up the sky
That hung above those fated beings, whose
Destruction terrible was coming fast.
For this huge wall of Darkness then, I thought,
Begirt the city, and its murky folds
Drew near and nearer still; and as with slow
And steady march, the Blackness moving, cast
His deep'ning shadows on the city's verge,
A sudden terror seized the countless host,
And pale alarm sat on each phantom-face
Of all that multitude; and then, a cry
That stayed the bounding pulses in my veins,
And froze my heart—a shriek, a frightful groan
Burst on my ear, and racked the very vault
Of heaven! ah, me! what fears did then invade
That spectral throng, (for still I seemed to know,
Yet not to see it all,) as towering high
Crept on the foldings of that monstrous wall!
One fearful look, and then, in frantic haste
They turned and fled-but whither could they flee?
On! on! the fiend of Darkness still did move
In silence. Faded now the light; the moon
No longer shone; the river too, had ceased
To flow, nor moved his stagnant waters more.
Oh! then thy ruin lingered not, thou proud,
Bright city of my dream! thy final day,
Thy last dread hour had come !—a murmuring noise—
A hollow roar smote on the air, and lo!
The Wall fell in !-a smothered sound, and all
Was still, and all was whelmed in rayless night!
So died the city-so my dream was done.
I AM not writing the eulogy of Robespierre. I would not here question the verdict which later historians have passed on the general tenor of his political life. His real policy, an impenetrable mystery to his own age, defies the closest scrutiny, alike of friends and foes. The "reign of terror," than which France knows no darker page in all her revolutionary annals, was a theatre well adapted for the display of those energies, which caused even the master-spirits or his own age to relinquish the long cherished objects of personal ambition. Stained by crimes of glaring enormity he may have been, and doubtless was; but the immense power he wielded, the part he played in the destinies of France, aye, even the verdict which condemns him, attest full well his greatness. He may have been a curse to France, but on this we pass no judgment. We speak of Robespierre the man, his virtues and his crimes; the day of his glory, and the hour of his death.
Like many, who have attained the highest honors of church and state, Maximilian Robespierre was of humble birth, and his earlier years were not spent amid the enfeebling luxuries of the court. Poverty, and the necessary exertion which his humble sphere demanded, disciplined him to that manly self-reliance, that dependence on his
own internal resources, which characterized his later and more mature efforts, and by which, he was enabled to overcome the numerous obstacles which the absence of wealth or family connections opposed to his success. Habituated by his early indigence to the utmost frugality, he never coveted wealth; and even when, as virtual dictator of France, he could command uncounted millions, he limited his expenditure to the trifling sum of eight shillings a day. This was unquestionably one of the sources of his power, and one which few of his contemporaries possessed.
His first appearance attracted but little attention amid the busy crowd who thronged the councils and the courts of France. His personal appearance was far from prepossessing. His voice was harsh and broken. But ere long the humble advocate of Arras stood forth as the acknowledged compeer of Mirabeau and Danton. By his abilities, his energy and his perseverance, he attained an influence in the Assembly and the Communes, which rendered his sanction not only important, but in many cases necessary, to the success of political
As an orator, his power did not consist in compliance with the formal rules of art, but in, at least, an apparent sincerity and earnestness. In the Constituent Assembly he never expressed a hasty opinion, and was consequently, firm and decided in his position and equally firm in expressing his opinions, when once they had been formed. Still, says one, he not unfrequently displayed eloquence of no common kind. Lord Brougham speaks of his "producing passages of eloquence possessing merit of the highest order," and of his putting forth occasional powers of oratory "unequaled, save by Demosthenes." His speeches were rendered effectual by that impressive solemnity and conclusive reasoning which evince the presence of an earnest and powerful mind. Yet it is not as an orator, but as a revolutionary statesman, that he is best known to the world.
His mysterious conduct at the festival de l'Etre Suprême led many to suppose that long suppressed passion had temporarily usurped the throne of reason; yet it is more probable that the unrestrained revelry of that occasion threw him off his guard, for he seems to have strangely forgotten the critical position in which he stood. But whatever explanation may be offered for his conduct at the festival, it was a fatal misstep. His frequent executions had aroused suspicions that he, too, was faithless to the government; and that very night, while, amid the bacchanalian licence of that sacred festival, he thoughtlessly disclosed the long buried secrets of his soul, and with a maniac chuckle, named the guillotined victims of sated revenge, hostile eyes were watching his every motion; hostile ears were treasuring his slightest whisper. Yet Robespierre thought himself free from danger, and firmly believed that none dared to oppose his will, or question either the justice of his motives, or his attachment to France.
But Robespierre had reached the zenith of his glory. The tide was turning. Scarce a single month had elapsed, when the bitter inrectives of Billaud Varennes warned him of his coming doom.
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