No More Learning

Nor these alone; Columbia feels no less 680
Fresh speculations follow each success;
And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain
Her mild per-centage from exhausted Spain.
Not without Abraham's seed can Russia march;
Tis gold, not steel, that rears the conqueror's arch.
Two Jews, a chosen people, can command
In every realm their Scripture-promised land:--
Two Jews, keep down the Romans,[341] and uphold
The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old:
Two Jews,--but not Samaritans--direct 690
The world, with all the spirit of their sect.
What is the happiness of earth to them?
A congress forms their "New Jerusalem,"
Where baronies and orders both invite--
Oh, holy Abraham! dost thou see the sight?
Thy followers mingling with these royal swine,
Who spit not "on their Jewish gaberdine,"
But honour them as portion of the show--
(Where now, oh Pope! is thy forsaken toe?
Could it not favour Judah with some kicks? 700
Or has it ceased to "kick against the pricks? ")
On Shylock's shore behold them stand afresh,
To cut from Nation's hearts their "pound of flesh. "


XVI.

Strange sight this Congress! destined to unite
All that's incongruous, all that's opposite.
I speak not of the Sovereigns--they're alike,
A common coin as ever mint could strike;
But those who sway the puppets, pull the strings,
Have more of motley than their heavy kings.
Jews, authors, generals, charlatans, combine, 710
While Europe wonders at the vast design:
There Metternich, power's foremost parasite,
Cajoles; there Wellington forgets to fight;
There Chateaubriand[342] forms new books of martyrs;
And subtle Greeks[343] intrigue for stupid Tartars;
There Montmorenci, the sworn foe to charters,[344]
Turns a diplomatist of great eclat,
To furnish articles for the "Debats;"
Of war so certain--yet not quite so sure
As his dismissal in the "Moniteur. " 720
Alas! how could his cabinet thus err!
Can Peace be worth an ultra-minister?
He falls indeed, perhaps to rise again,
"Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain. [345]"


XVII.

Enough of this--a sight more mournful woos
The averted eye of the reluctant Muse.
The Imperial daughter, the Imperial bride,[346]
The imperial Victim--sacrifice to pride;
The mother of the Hero's hope, the boy,
The young Astyanax of Modern Troy;[347] 730
The still pale shadow of the loftiest Queen
That Earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen;
She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour,
The theme of pity, and the wreck of power.
Oh, cruel mockery! Could not Austria spare
A daughter? What did France's widow there?
Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave,
Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave.
But, no,--she still must hold a petty reign,
Flanked by her formidable chamberlain; 740
The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes[348]
Must watch her through these paltry pageantries.
What though she share no more, and shared in vain,
A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne,
Which swept from Moscow to the southern seas!
Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of cheese,
Where Parma views the traveller resort,
To note the trappings of her mimic court.