Poems (Greenwell)/The White Crusade
THE WHITE CRUSADE—Italy 1860."And the earth helped the woman."—Rev. xii. 16.
Long, long the foot of pride Trode down the human heart from hour to hour With iron heel, and ever on the side Of tyrants there was power;
Till seventy summers back, A Cry went up by night to God for food; A raven's cry, a lion's, on the track Of rapine and of blood;
And Freedom at the sound Stirred where she lay within her grave for dead, And rose up from the earth, and gazed around Like one disquieted.
As one that hath been dead Four days, she rose up from her grave; she woke Bound round with grave-clothes, hands, and feet, and head; Yet when she rose she spoke:
Like Lazarus from the tomb She rose, and stood upright; like him a while She walked with men,—yet on her cheek no bloom, And on her lip no smile.
As one that sleeping shakes Beneath a ghastly slumber-coil, will seem To wake at dead of night, yet only wakes Into a fearful dream;
She woke into a world Of wreck and ruin; winds and waves that roared, Men's hearts that failed, and goodliest treasures hurled To monsters overboard.
They called her, but she shrank; She stretched her hands to bless, and, lo! a stain Of blood upon each palm! She groaned, and sank Into her grave again.
Yet 'mid the tumult fierce That gathered as she fell, was faintly heard From fainting lips—a blessing or a curse— And yet a treasured word;—
And still from land to land The whisper grew, and still the murmur sped By look, by sign, by pressure of the hand, "The maiden is not dead,"
And some would watch for hours Beside her tomb, until they seemed to hear Beneath the winter's ice, the summer's flowers, A breathing low and clear.
The nations spake: "But who Shall roll away this heavy stone, by day And night close sealed and watched?" They came, and lo! The stone was rolled away!
And clothed in raiment white From head to feet, was seated on the stone A Shining Form, that earth had given to light Without a travail-groan.
No blood on brow or palm, Or on her robe, but in her steadfast eye, And on her lips, a summons clear and calm: "Who loves, knows how to die."
She hath a smile for foes, A smile for friends; and yet her breast is bare, And bare her feet, and on the way she goes Lies the red burning share.
She wakes, perchance to show Of wounds received in houses of her friends,—to weep. Like Rachel, o'er her sons brought forth in woe. Yet nevermore to sleep!