Part 1 — XXXVIII SCENE IN VENICE

Black Demons hovering o'er his mitred head, To Cæsar's Successor the Pontiff spake;[112] "Ere I absolve thee, stoop! that on thy neck Levelled with earth this foot of mine may tread." Then he, who to the altar had been led, 5 He, whose strong arm the Orient could not check, He, who had held the Soldan[113] at his beck, Stooped, of all glory disinherited, And even the common dignity of man!— Amazement strikes the crowd: while many turn 10 Their eyes away in sorrow, others burn With scorn, invoking a vindictive ban From outraged Nature; but the sense of most In abject sympathy with power is lost.

Unless to Peter's Chair the viewless wind[114] Must come and ask permission when to blow, What further empire would it have? for now A ghostly Domination, unconfined As that by dreaming Bards to Love assigned, 5 Sits there in sober truth—to raise the low, Perplex the wise, the strong to overthrow; Through earth and heaven to bind and to unbind!— Resist—the thunder quails thee!—crouch—rebuff Shall be thy recompense! from land to land 10 The ancient thrones of Christendom are stuff For occupation of a magic wand, And 'tis the Pope that wields it:—whether rough Or smooth his front, our world is in his hand![115]