12. 
’Of rushing feet? laughter? the shout, the scream,
Of triumph not to be contained?  See! hark! 4325
They come, they come! give way!’ Alas, ye deem
Falsely—­’tis but a crowd of maniacs stark
Driven, like a troop of spectres, through the dark,
From the choked well, whence a bright death-fire sprung,
A lurid earth-star, which dropped many a spark 4330
From its blue train, and spreading widely, clung
To their wild hair, like mist the topmost pines among.

13. 
And many, from the crowd collected there,
Joined that strange dance in fearful sympathies;
There was the silence of a long despair, 4335
When the last echo of those terrible cries
Came from a distant street, like agonies
Stifled afar.—­Before the Tyrant’s throne
All night his aged Senate sate, their eyes
In stony expectation fixed; when one 4340
Sudden before them stood, a Stranger and alone.

14. 
Dark Priests and haughty Warriors gazed on him
With baffled wonder, for a hermit’s vest
Concealed his face; but when he spake, his tone,
Ere yet the matter did their thoughts arrest,—­ 4345
Earnest, benignant, calm, as from a breast
Void of all hate or terror—­made them start;
For as with gentle accents he addressed
His speech to them, on each unwilling heart
Unusual awe did fall—­a spirit-quelling dart. 4350

15. 
’Ye Princes of the Earth, ye sit aghast
Amid the ruin which yourselves have made,
Yes, Desolation heard your trumpet’s blast,
And sprang from sleep!—­dark Terror has obeyed
Your bidding—­O, that I whom ye have made 4355
Your foe, could set my dearest enemy free
From pain and fear! but evil casts a shade,
Which cannot pass so soon, and Hate must be
The nurse and parent still of an ill progeny.

16. 
’Ye turn to Heaven for aid in your distress; 4360
Alas, that ye, the mighty and the wise,
Who, if ye dared, might not aspire to less
Than ye conceive of power, should fear the lies
Which thou, and thou, didst frame for mysteries
To blind your slaves:—­consider your own thought, 4365
An empty and a cruel sacrifice
Ye now prepare, for a vain idol wrought
Out of the fears and hate which vain desires have brought.

17. 
’Ye seek for happiness—­alas, the day! 
Ye find it not in luxury nor in gold, 4370
Nor in the fame, nor in the envied sway
For which, O willing slaves to Custom old,
Severe taskmistress! ye your hearts have sold. 
Ye seek for peace, and when ye die, to dream
No evil dreams:  all mortal things are cold 4375
And senseless then; if aught survive, I deem
It must be love and joy, for they immortal seem.