Classic Poem

I.

This is a barren, desolate scene,
Grim and grey, with scarce a tree,
Gashed with many a wild ravine
Far away as the eye can see;
Ne'er a home for miles to be found,
Save where huddled on some grim peak
A village clinging in fear looks round
Over the country vast and bleak,
As if it had fled from the lower ground,
Refuge from horrors there to seek.

II.

Over the spare and furzy soil
With never a waving grain-field sowed,
Raggedly winds with weary toil
The shining band of dusty road, —
Down through the river's rocky bed,
That is white and dry with summer's drought,
Or climbing some sandy hillock's head,
Over and under, in and out,
Like a struggling thing by madness led,
That wanders along in fear and doubt.

III.

What are those spots on yon sandy slope
Where the green is frayed and tattered with grey?
Are they only rocks — or sheep that crop
The meagre pasture? — one scarce can say.
This seems not a place for flowers — but behold!
How the lupine spreads its pink around,
And the clustered ginestra squanders its gold
As if it loved this barren ground;
And surely that bird is over-bold
That dares to sing o'er that grave-like mound.

IV.

It is dead and still in the middle noon;
The sand-beds shine with a blending light,
The cicali dizzen the air with their tune,
And the sunshine seems like a curse to smite;
The mountains around their shoulders bare
Gather a thin and shadowy veil,
And shrink from the fierce and scorching glare —
And close to the grass so withered and pale
Hovering quivers the glassy air,
And the lizards pant in their emerald mail.

V.

Think of this place in the dreary gloom
Of an autumn twilight, when the sun
Hiding in banks of clouds goes down,
And silence and shadow are coming on; —
White mists crawl — one lurid light
Glares from the west through a broken cloud —
Rack hurries above — the dubious night
Is creeping along with its spectral crowd;
Would it, I ask, be a startling sight
To meet a ghost here than in a shroud?

VI.

One of the thousand murdered men
Who have stained the blasted soil with blood?
Does the lupine get its colour then
From some victim pashed to death in the mud?
Has the yellow-ginestra the hue of the gold
From the traveller here in terror torn?
Was yon bird but a sprite, singing so bold,
That in life a maiden's form had worn,
And at night steals back in its shape of old
To haunt the darkness pale and forlorn?

VII.

Look at that castle whose ruins crown
The rocky crest of yonder height,
Still frowning over the squalid town,
That cowers beneath as if in affright.
From his eyrie there to gluThis beak
The robber swooped to his shuddering prey,
And the ghosts of the past still haunt the peak
Though robber and baron have passed away.
And, hark! was that the owl's long shriek,
Or a ghost's that flits through the ruins grey?

VIII.

'Tis blood and gold wherever I gaze,
And tangled brambles, stiff and grey, —
A scowling, ugly, terrified place,
A spot for murder and deadly fray.
On such a barren, desolate heath,
When shadows were deepening all around,
The sisters weird before Macbeth
Rising, hovered along the ground,
And echoed his inward thought of death,
And vanished again behind a mound.

IX.

Such were the thoughts that filled my breast,
Wandering here one lonely night,
When sudden behind a rock's dark crest
Uprose a shape of portentous height.
A coal-black plume from his helmet flowed,
His eyes in the vizor's shadow gleamed,
And here and there a steel-flash showed
An outline vague and dim that seemed
To hover along the dusky road
Like a thing that is neither real nor dreamed.

X.

In his hand he bore a mighty spear,
Tall as a pine and stained with blood.
Transfixed in horror and ghastly fear,
With knocking knees I before him stood.
" Who and what art thou? " I cried,
" Monstrous figure, of noiseless tread,
That out of the darkness thus dost stride? "
The black plume shook on the lofty head —
A hollow voice from the helm replied —
Hollow and vague like the voice of the dead.

XI.

" Ghino di Tacco was my name!
I come to answer your sneering thought!
Start not! Listen before you blame!
The fool condemns what he knoweth not.
Call me robber or call me knight,
But listen to me while my tale I tell.
I struck, the oppressed and weak to right:
My blows on the strong and cruel fell.
For vengeance I struck! If my hand was light
Ask Benincasa — down in hell.

XII.

" On the slopes of Arbia's banks arose
The little castle that gave me birth,
When my father's strongest, bitterest foes —
The Santafiori — cursed the earth.
Him they hated, for he was brave;
Him they hunted, for he was good.
The bandit was strong the weak to save,
The blows of his heavy sword were rude;
But treason dug for him his grave,
And the Santafiori boughThis blood.

XIII.

" Ah that wild and terrible night! "
Here the spectre his great spear raised;
And his coal-like eyes, with angry light,
Like a furnace roused by the blast, out blazed.
" Screams of women, and groans and sighs,
Clashing of steel, a swirl of flame,
Mixed with a tumult of savage cries,
Woke me. I shouted my father's name:
When sudden, before my terrified eyes,
Through the smoke a pale shape swiftly came.

XIV.

" 'Twas my mother. She seized me in her arms,
And forth she rushed in the stormy night.
Her strained eyes glared so in wild alarm,
They scared me, I uttered a shriek of fright.
" Silence, my child, for your life!" she said.
Then swift we stole down the hillside bare,
And up again through the dark wood fled;
While the sky was lit by a lurid glare,
And the great trees, roaring overhead,
Hurtled and heaved in the bleak night air.

XV.

" To yonder castle that frowns above,
By many a devious path we went;
And nurtured there with pious love
My growing days as a boy were spent.
Night by night, when tolled for the dead
The great tower-bell, at its solemn call,
My mother, in black, with a mournful tread,
And with her a lady, dark and tall,
My childish fearful footsteps led
To a shrine built into the tower's thick wall.

XVI.

" Before a crucifix there a light
Burnt dim and sad in the gloomy shade.
And oft, in the solemn silent night,
Weeping, they kneeled with me and prayed.
One night the lady came alone.
" Where is my mother?" in fear, I cried.
Then, with a kiss and a broken tone,
" Poor child!" the lady in black replied.
And I knew by her voice my mother was gone,
And my heart grew still as it had died.

XVII.

" Years went on. My wondering heart
Strove through the shadowy veil to pierce.
I wandered many an hour apart,
And my boyish spirit grew dark and fierce.
" Whose," I cried, " is that heavy spear,
And that blood-stained shirt against the wall?"
" Your father's, she said." " Why hang they there?"
" Ask me not now — 'twould your heart appal!
When you are able that spear to bear,
Vengeance is yours — you shall then know all."

XVIII.

" " Vengeance is yours; — day after day
These words in secret I brooded o'er.
They cast their shade on my boyish play,
Through my dreams a painful path they wore.
I longed for manhood. Within me grew.
A craving desire the key to gain
To this terrible mystery. Muscle and thew
I strove to strengthen with might and main;
For my father's spear was heavy, I knew,
And my boyish attempts to wield it vain.

XIX.

" Panting, I hacked at the mountain oak,
Till it fell with a heavy crash and groan;
The gnashing wild-boar felt my stroke —
By his heels I dragged him home alone;
Daily at tilt and sword I tried
My growing strength. I laughed at fear.
Danger to me was as a bride,
The sound of whose voice I leaped to hear.
Till at last, with a thrill of manhood's pride,
I brandished aloft my father's spear.

XX.

" Fiercely I cried, as its weight I shook,
" Read me the riddle — these arms are strong —
Longer delay I will not brook;
This heart is bold — it has waited long.
That night I started in wild surprise;
For a voice cried out, in my dreaming ear,
" Son of a murdered man, arise!
The hour is come!" " Behold me here!"
I answered; — and there, before my eyes,
Was the form of the lady standing near.

XXI.

" Sternly she took me by the hand,
And straight to the chapel my steps she led,
I saw the spear by the altar stand;
The bloody shirt was across it spread.
The open Evangel before me stood.
" There," as she grasped my arm, she cried,
" Are the last red drops of your father's blood,
When under the headsman's axe he died.
For know that he fell not in battle feud,
As a soldier falls, aThis comrade's side.

XXII.

" " Vainly he fought in that fearful fray
When his castle was stormed; but a faithful few
Bore him, senseless and wounded, away, —
And a bandit's life thenceforth he knew.
From lair to lair, o'er the mountains steep,
Like a wounded lion, they tracked his way.
His sword drank blood; — but in his sleep
The Santafiori seized their prey.
They dared not kill; but their plot was deep, —
And a base judge gave him to death for pay.

XXIII.

" " Ere on the scaffold fell his head,
He called a vassal, and said, " This spear,
And the shirt my murdered blood makes red,
Are the heritage of Ghino dear.
When he can bear and wield it well,
Tell him the tale of his father's death;
How he shall use iThis heart will tell.
I bless him now with my latest breath.
Say to his mother — — " His voice here fell —
Your mother is sleeping this stone beneath.

XXIV.

" " Struck, as by death, when she heard his fate
She fell, for her strength with her hope had fled.
On her grave you stand. I, forced to wait,
Tell you for her the words of the dead.
See! the Evangel is under your hand!
Swear to revenge your father's fame!
Burn on your heart, as with a brand,
Benincasa's accursed name!
Seek him in Rome — where the plot was planned
That doomed your father to death and shame!

XXV.

" " Bind that bloody shirt to your heart!
Lift the spear! The bell strikes one —
The gates are open — at once depart,
And never return till your duty's done.
This is no longer a home for you —
You look like your father standing there, —
If in your veins his blood runs true
You know what there is to do and dare.
Go! if this story thrill you through,
Swear to revenge your father. Swear!

XXVI.

" " Go! When that villain's head you bring,
Bridge shall fall, and portcullis rise,
And the bells of Radicofani ring;
But never till then dare meet these eyes.
The light burned dim as thus she spoke;
I grasped the spear with a thrill of rage;
I struck my clenched hand on the book
And swore my oath on the holy page,
Never again on the place to look
Till his blood my vengeance should assuage.

XXVII.

" The grinding bridge with a clang went down,
The tempest roared — the lightning flashed —
The wind through the great gate sucked such a groan
As my horse's hoofs on its pavement dashed.
Four hundred horsemen were at my side —
One word, and their swift swords left the sheath,
And crossed with a clash. Vengeance! they cried —
To Rome! Then over the sandy heath
Closely we galloped, a long fierce ride
To Rome, with the settled purpose of death.

XXVIII.

" Alone at the Campidoglio's base
I stood. The hated shape was there;
The Senator's foul and ugly face,
That brought my father to his despair;
The cursed, livid, hideous head,
With flabby mouth, and streamy eyes —
He heard in the hall my armed tread.
He looked with a leer of cold surprise,
And " What do you seek of me?" he said.
" A debt!" I answered, " a bloody prize!"

XXIX.

" He started and trembled in ghastly fright,
For a terrible memory on him smote, —
My father I seemed to his bleary sight.
" Villain," I said, as I grasped his throat,
" Go down to hell in your despair!"
A strangled gasp from his lips there came,
" Save me! oh God!" — " Go! Judas, bear
To God your deeds of crime and shame!
Turrino di Tacco is waiting there!
The mercy you meted to him — reclaim!"

XXX.

" I plunged my dagger into his heart, —
His head from his bleeding trunk I hewed, —
His vassals terrified stood apart
As I strode through the gathering multitude, —
I stuck that head on my father's spear.
" Room!" I cried, as my sword I drew;
" He meets the fate of this villain here
Who hinders my path!' They saw and knew
Death in my eyes. They left me clear
My path, and I strode in safety through.

XXXI.

" Swift to the castle's bridge I sped.
" Down with the drawbridge, men of mine!"
High up I lifted the ghastly head.
" Down with the bridge! You know, the sign."
Clang went the chains with a clattering din.
The castle's lady I found in prayer
At the lonely shrine as I entered in.
She lifted her eyes. " You, Ghino! where
Is the traitor's head?" " He died in his sin;"
And I flung the head on the pavement there.

XXXII.

" Then through Siena rose a cry,
But the Santafiori strove in vain;
From the eyrie of Radicofam
I swooped and swept them from hill and plain.
Their castles I burned, their lands laid waste,
Refuge they sought in the city's wall,
The cup they had proffered was theirs to taste;
I saw my foes before me fall,
But a price on my bandit head was placed.

XXXIII.

" Yet never, a bandit though I was,
Was my sword disgraced by useless crime;
With the weak and poor I made my cause,
And my deeds were sung in many a rhyme.
At my table the beggar found a feast,
Though the cruel baron felt my sword;
I sheared the ambitious worldly priest,
But the ruined peasanThis farm restored;
Cursed by the proud — by the humble blessed —
I broke no promise in act or word.

XXXIV.

" There rots my castle on yonder height! —
Mortal! this promise of you I claim,
Tell the story I tell to-night
Whenever you mention Di Tacco's name. "
" I promise, " I cried. The figure bowed
His lofty stature and clinched his spear,
And slow, like the mist of a fading cloud,
In the shadow I watched it disappear.
And my heart in my bosom beat aloud
With a feeling of mystery, doubt, and fear.