Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 046.djvu/788

In private life he was an upright man,
The best and trustiest of the Queen's divan;
He 'mid the rest e'en like a virtue shone,
And still was call'd straight-forward Rousillon.

Others there were that seem'd preferr'd, because
They scorn'd religion's, or their country's laws.
Some had deserved to lose their knightly spurs,
And some were heathen image-worshippers,
Whose priests from their success began to try
For restoration of their tyranny.

There was an orator of giant force,
That like a meteor ran a zig-zag course;
A mind to fathom Nature's secrets deep,
That could the flaming bounds of space o'erleap;
A voice that now fell soft as dropping snow,
And now was as a sting or sudden blow;
The poet's fancy, the logician's skill,
Persuasion, passion, irony at will,
Were his: but he to vanity was thrall,
And wanting moral power, he wanted all.
He was as variable as the weather,
True to no party for two weeks together.
Like a mad bull at this or that he strook,
And damaged any cause he undertook.
Although he for himself could only feel,
His theme was evermore the commonweal.
As on his word no party could rely,
He was a mischievous neutrality,
And to cajole or rail was left at large,
A patriot rampant at the public charge.

There was a demagogue, of vulgar race,
Who sway'd a great part of the populace.
Coarse, clever, vigorous, licentious, vain—
The Athenian Cleon lived in him again.
He wore a black cap, and a mantle green,
And was a rebel—loyal to the Queen.
He made his bears at will look pleased or grim,
And ruled the council—through their fear of him.
His accents in the senate fiercely rung,
And at his betters boldly wagg'd his tongue.
He could work wonders like his priestly crew,
Unlike in this—his miracles were true;
For he obtain'd the spoils of war in peace,
And from his mob he shore a golden fleece.
He served and ruled the placemen of the court,
Who were content to be his mock and sport.
Degenerate Sicily! where was thy shame,
To let thy Queen be only Queen in name?
To let thine ancient laws be trampled down,
And miscreants spoil thine altar and the crown?
Was there no valour, virtue, in the land,
To save the nation from a clown's command?

Valour there was, and virtue; for a time
Both were disarmed by the force of crime—
Disarm'd, not subdued;—at any cost
Determined to retrieve the field they lost.
Good order's champions, far and near renown'd,
Ne'er lost their faith, but hope in patience found.