But morning dawn'd heavy upon me. I rose to bring my Prince heaven-utter'd counsel.

Hear my counsel, O King! and send forth thy Generals; the command of Heaven is upon thee!

Then do thou command, O King! to shut up this Assembly in their final home;

Let thy soldiers possess this city of rebels, that threaten to bathe their feet

In the blood of Nobility, trampling the heart and the head; let the Bastille devour

These rebellious seditious; seal them up, O Anointed! in everlasting chains.'

He sat down: a damp cold pervaded the Nobles, and monsters of worlds unknown

Swam round them, watching to be deliverèd -- when Aumont, whose chaos-born soul

Eternally wand'ring, a comet and swift-falling fire, pale enter'd the chamber.

Before the red Council he stood, like a man that returns from hollow graves:--

`Awe-surrounded, alone thro' the army, a fear and a with'ring blight blown by the north,

The Abbé de Sieyes from the Nation's Assembly, O Princes and Generals of France,

Unquestionèd, unhinderèd! Awe-struck are the soldiers; a dark shadowy man in the form

Of King Henry the Fourth walks before him in fires; the captains like men bound in chains

Stood still as he pass'd: he is come to the Louvre, O King, with a message to thee!

The strong soldiers tremble, the horses their manes bow, and the guards of thy palace are fled!'

Uprose awful in his majestic beams Bourbon's strong Duke; his proud sword, from his thigh

Drawn, he threw on the earth: the Duke of Bretagne and the Earl of Bourgogne

Rose inflam'd, to and fro in the chamber, like thunder-clouds ready to burst.

`What damp all our fires, O spectre of Henry!' said Bourbon, `and rend the flames

From the head of our King? Rise, Monarch of France! command me, and I will lead

This army of superstition at large, that the ardour of noble souls, quenchless,

May yet burn in France, nor our shoulders be plough'd with the furrows of poverty.'

Then Orleans, generous as mountains, arose and unfolded his robe, and put forth

His benevolent hand, looking on the Archbishop, who changèd as pale as lead,

Would have risen but could not: his voice issuèd harsh grating; instead of words harsh hissings

Shook the chamber; he ceas'd abash'd. Then Orleans spoke; all was silent.

He breath'd on them, and said: `O Princes of fire, whose flames are for growth, not consuming,

Fear not dreams, fear not visions, nor be you dismay'd with sorrows which flee at the morning!