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A Night Piece
(July, 1863)
No sleep. The sultriness pervades the
air
And binds the brain -a dense oppression, such
As tawny tigers feel in matted shades,
Vexing their
blood and making apt for ravage.
Beneath the stars
the roofy desert spreads
Vacant as Libya. All is
hushed near by.
Yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed
surf
Of muffled sound, the atheist roar of riot.
Yonder, where parching Sirius set in drought
Balefully glares red Arson -there -and there.
The
town is taken by its rats -ship-rats
And rats of the
wharves. All civil charms
And priestly spells which
late held hearts in awe -
Fear-bound, subjected to a
better sway
Than sway of self; these like a dream
dissolve,
And man rebounds whole aeons back in
nature.
Hail to the low dull rumble, dull and dead,
And ponderous drag that shakes the wall.
Wise Draco
comes, deep in the midnight roll
Of black artillery;
he comes, though late;
In code corroborating Calvin's
creed
And cynic tyrannies of honest kings;
He
comes, nor parleys; and the town, redeemed,
Gives
thanks devout; nor, being thankful, heeds
The grimy
slur on the Republic's faith implied,
Which holds
that Man is naturally good,
And -more -is Nature's
Roman, never to be scourged.
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