名人诗歌|The Last Caesar（三）

I see him as men saw him oncea face

Of true Napoleon pallor； round the eyes

The wrinkled care； mustache spread pinion-wise，

Pointing his smile with odd sardonic^{1 grace}

As wearily he turns him in his place，

And bends before the hoarse^{2 Parisian cries}

Then vanishes， with glitter of gold-lace

And trumpets^{3 blaring to the patient skies.}

Not thus he vanished later！ On his path

The Furies waited for the hour and man，

Foreknowing that they waited not in vain.

Then fell the day， O day of dreadful wrath^4！

Bow down in shame， O crimson^{5-girt Sedan！}

Weep， fair Alsace！ weep， loveliest Lorraine！

So mused^{6 I， sitting underneath7 the trees}

In that old garden of the Tuileries，

Watching the dust of twilight^{8 sifting9 down}

Through chestnut^{10 boughs11 just toucht with autumn's brown}

Not twilight yet， but that illusive^{12 bloom}

Which holds before the deep-etched shadows come；

For still the garden stood in golden mist，

Still， like a river of molten amethyst^13，

The Seine slipt through its spans of fretted^{14 stone，}

And， near the grille that once fenced in a throne，

The fountains still unbraided to the day

The unsubstantial silver of their spray.

A spot to dream in， love in， waste one's hours！

Temples and palaces， and gilded^{15 towers，}

And fairy terraces！and yet， and yet

Here in her woe^{16 came Marie Antoinette，}

Came sweet Corday， Du Barry with shrill^{17 cry，}

Not learning from her betters how to die！

Here， while the Nations watched with bated breath，

Was held the saturnalia of Red Death！

For where that slim Egyptian shaft^{18 uplifts}

Its point to catch the dawn's and sunset's drifts

Of various gold， the busy Headsman stood. . . .

Place de la Concordeno， the Place of Blood！

And all so peaceful now！ One cannot bring

Imagination to accept the thing.

Lies， all of it！ some dreamer's wild romance

High-hearted， witty^{19， laughter-loving France！}

In whose brain was it that the legend grew

Of Maenads shrieking^{20 in this avenue，}

Of watch-fires burning， Famine standing^{21 guard，}

Of long-speared Uhlans in that palace-yard！

What ruder sound this soft air ever smote²²

Than a bird's twitter or a bugle's note？

What darker crimson ever splashed these walks

Than that of rose-leaves dropping from the stalks？

And yetwhat means that charred^{23 and broken wall，}

That sculptured marble， splintered， like to fall，

Looming^{24 among the trees there？ . . . And you say}

This happened， as it were， but yesterday？

And here the Commune stretched a barricade^25，

And there the final desperate stand was made？

Such things have been？ How all things change and fade！

How little lasts in this brave world below！

Love dies； hate cools； the Caesars come and go；

Gaunt Hunter fattens^{26， and the weak grow strong.}

Even Republics are not here for long！

Ah， who can tell what hour may bring the doom^27，

The lighted torch， the tocsin's heavy boom！