Where er we flew they follow'd on, Nor left us with the morning sun; Behind I saw them, scarce a rood, At daybreak winding through the wood, And through the night had heard their feet Their stealing, rustling step repeat. Oh! how I wish'd for spear or sword, At least to die amidst the horde, And perish-if it must be so- At bay, destroying many a foe. When first my courser's race begun, I wish'd the goal already won;
But now I doubted strength and speed. Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed Had nerved him like the mountain roe; Nor faster falls the blinding snow Which whelms the peasant near the door Whose threshold he shall cross no more, Bewilder'd with the dazzling blast, Than through the forest-paths he pass'd- Untired, untamed, and worse than wild; All furious as a favour'd child Balk'd of its wish; or fiercer still- A woman piqued-who has her will.
'The wood was pass'd; 'twas more than
But chill the air, although in June; Or it might be my veins ran cold- Proiong'd endurance tames the bold; And I was then not what I seem, But headlong as a wintry stream, And wore my feelings out before
I well could count their causes o'er : And what with fury, fear, and wrath, The tortures which beset my path, Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress, Thus bound in nature's nakedness; Sprung from a race whose rising blood, When stirr'd beyond its calmer mood, And trodden hard upon, is like The rattlesnake's, in act to strike, What marvel if this worn-out trunk Beneath its woes a moment sunk? The earth gave way, the skies roll'd round, 1 seem'd to sink upon the ground; But err'd, for I was fastly bound.
My heart turn'd sick, my brain grew sore, And throbb'd awhile, then beat no more: The skies spun like a mighty wheel; I saw the trees like drunkards reel, And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes, Which saw no further: he who dies Can die no more than then I died. O'ertortured by that ghastly ride, I felt the blackness come and go, And strove to wake; but could not make My senses climb up from below: I felt as on a plank at sea,
When all the waves that dash o'er thee At the same time upheave and whelm, And hurl thee towards a desert realm.
My undulating life was as The fancied lights that flitting pass Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when Fever begins upon the brain;
But soon it pass'd, with little pain,
But a confusion worse than such : I own that I should deem it much Dying, to feel the same again; And yet I do suppose we must Feel far more ere we turn to dust: No matter; I have bared my brow Full in Death's face-before-and now.
'My thoughts came back; where was I? Cold,
And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse Life reassumed its lingering hold, And throb by throb; till grown a pang Which for a moment could convulse, My blood reflow'd, though thick and My ear with uncouth noises rang, [chill;
My heart began once more to thrill; My sight return'd, though dim, alas! And thicken'd, as it were with glass. Methought the dash of waves was nigh; There was a gleam, too, of the sky Studded with stars ;-it is no dream; The wild horse swims the wilder stream! The bright, broad river's gushing tide Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide, And we are half-way, struggling o'er To yon unknown and silent shore. The waters broke my hollow trance, And with a temporary strength
My stiffen'd limbs were rebaptized. My courser's broad breast proudly braves, And dashes off the ascending waves, And onward we advance ! We reach the slippery shore at length,
A haven I but little prized, For all behind was dark and drear, And all before was night and fear. How many hours of night or day In those suspended pangs I lay, I could not tell; I scarcely knew If this were human breath I drew
'With glossy skin, and dripping mane,
And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain Up the repelling bank.
We gain the top; a boundless plain Spreads through the shadow of the night, And onward, onward, onward seems, Like precipices in our dreams,
To stretch beyond the sight; And here and there a speck of white, Or scatter'd spot of dusky green, In masses broke into the light, As rose the moon upon my right: But nought distinctly seen
In the dim waste would indicate The omen of a cottage gate; No twinkling taper from afar Stood like a hospitable star ; Not even an ignis-fatuus rose To make him merry with my woes: That very cheat had cheer'd me then! Although detected, welcome still, Reminding me, through every ill, Of the abodes of men.
'Onward we went, but slack and slow; His savage force at length o'erspent, The drooping courser, faint and low, Or feebly foaming went.
A sickly infant had had power
To guide him forward in that hour;
But useless all to me :
His new-born tameness nought avail'd,
My limbs were bound; my force had fail'd, Perchance, had they been free.
With feeble effort still I tried To rend the bonds so starkly tied- But still it was in vain ;
My limbs were only wrung the more, And soon the idle strife gave o'er,
Which but prolong'd their pain : The dizzy race seem'd almost done, Although no goal was nearly won : Some streaks announced the coming sun- How slow, alas, he came ! Methought that mist of dawning grey, Would never dapple into day; How heavily it roll'd away-
Before the eastern flame Rose crimson, and deposed the stars, And call'd the radiance from their cars, And fill'd the earth, from his deep throne, With lonely lustre, all his own.
'Up rose the sun: the mists were curl'd Back from the solitary world Which lay around-behind-before: What booted it to traverse o'er
Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute, Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot,
Lay in the wild luxuriant soil; No sign of travel-none of toil; The very air was mute;
And not an insect's shrill small horn, Nor matin bird's new voice, was borne From herb nor thicket. Many a werst, Panting as if his heart would burst, The weary brute still stagger'd on; And still we were-or seem'd-alone : At length, while reeling on our way, Methought I heard a courser neigh, From out yon tuft of blackening firs. Is it the wind those branches stirs ? No, no! from out the forest prance
A trampling troop; I see them come!
In one vast squadron they advance!
strove to cry-my lips were dumb. The steeds rush on in plunging pride; But where are they the reins to guide? A thousand horse-and none to ride! With flowing tail, and flying mane, Wide nostrils, never stretch'd by pain, Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscarr'd by spur or rod, A thousand horse, the wild, the free, Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
Came thickly thundering on, As if our faint approach to meet; The sight re-nerved my courser's feet, A moment staggering, feebly fleet, A moment, with a faint low neigh, He answer'd, and then fell; With gasps and glazing eyes he lay, And reeking limbs immoveable,
His first and last career is done! On came the troop-they saw him stoop, They saw me strangely bound along
His back with many a bloody thong They stop-they start-they snuff the air Gallop a moment here and there, Approach, retire, wheel round and round, Then plunging back with sudden bound, Headed by one black mighty steed, Who seem'd the patriarch of his breed. Without a single speck or hair Of white upon his shaggy hide: They snort- they foam-neigh - aside,
And backward to the forest fly, By instinct, from a human eye.-
They left me there to my despair, Link'd to the dead and stiffening wretch, Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, Relieved from that unwonted weight, From whence I could not extricate Nor him, nor me ;--and there we lay, The dying on the dead! I little deem'd another day
Would see my houseless, helpless head.
'And there from morn till twilight bou I felt the heavy hours toil round, With just enough of life to see My last of suns go down on me, In hopeless certainty of mind, That makes us feel at length resign'd To that which our foreboding years Present the worst and last of fears: Inevitable-even a boon,
Nor more unkind for coming soon: Yet shunn'd and dreaded with such care. As if it only were a snare
That prudence might escape: At times both wish'd for and implore At times sought with self-pointed sac Yet still a dark and hideous close To even intolerable woes,
And welcome in no shape.
And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure, They who have revell'd beyond measure In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure, Die calm, or calmer, oft than he Whose heritage was misery:
For he who hath in turn run through All that was beautiful and new,
Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave; And, save the future (which is view'd Not quite as men are base or good, But as their nerves may be endued), With nought perhaps to grieve :- The wretch still hopes his woes must end, And Death, whom he should deem his Appears to his distemper'd eyes, [friend, Arrived to rob him of his prize, The tree of his new Paradise. To-morrow would have given him all, Repaid his pangs, repair'd his fall: To-morrow would have been the first Of days no more deplored or curst, But bright, and long, and beckoning years, Seen dazzling through the mist of tears, Guerdon of many a painful hour; To-morrow would have given him power To rule, to shine, to smite, to save- And must it dawn upon his grave?
'The sun was sinking-still I lay Chain'd to the chill and stiffening steed; I thought to mingle there our clay, And my dim eyes of death had need, No hope arose of being freed:
I cast my last looks up the sky,
And there between me and the sun I saw the expecting raven fly,
Who scarce would wait till both should die, Ere his repast begun;
He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more, And each time nearer than before; I saw his wing through twilight flit, And once so near me he alit
I could have smote, but lack'd the strength;
But the slight motion of my hand, And feeble scratching of the sand, The exerted throat's faint struggling noise, Which scarcely could be call'd a voice, Together scared him off at length.-
I know no more-my latest dream Is something of a lovely star Which fix'd my dull eyes from afar,
And went and came with wandering beam, And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense Sensation of recurring sense,
And then subsiding back to death, And then again a little breath,
A little thrill, a short suspense,
An icy sickness curdling o'er
My heart, and sparks that cross'd my brainA gasp, a throb, a start of pain,
A sigh, and nothing more.
'I woke Where was I?-Do I see A human face look down on me? And doth a roof above me close? Do these limbs on a couch repose? Is this a chamber where I lie? And is it mortal, yon bright eye, That watches me with gentle glance I close my own again once more, As doubtful that the former trance Could not as yet be o'er.
A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tall, Sate watching by the cottage wall; The sparkle of her eye I caught, Even with my first return of thought; For ever and anon she threw
A prying, pitying glance on me With her black eyes so wild and free : I gazed, and gazed, until I knew No vision it could be,-
But that I lived, and was released From adding to the vulture's feast: And when the Cossack maid beheld My heavy eyes at length unseal'd, She smiled-and I essay'd to speak,
But fail'd-and she approach'd, and made With lip and finger signs that said, I must not strive as yet to break The silence, till my strength should be Enough to leave my accents free; And then her hand on mine she laid, And smooth'd the pillow for my head, And stole along on tiptoe tread,
And gently oped the door, and spake In whispers-ne'er was voice so sweet! Even music follow'd her light feet ;
But those she call'd were not awake, And she went forth; but, ere she pass'd, Another look on me she cast,
Another sign she made, to say That I had nought to fear, that all Were near, at my command or call, And she would not delay
Her due return :-while she was gone, Methought I felt too much alone.
'She came with mother and with sire- What need of more !-I will not tire With long recital of the rest
Since I became the Cossack's guest. They found me senseless on the plain- They bore me to the nearest hut- They brought me into life again- Me-one day o'er their realm to reign! Thus the vain fool who strove to glut His rage, refining on my pain,
Sent me forth to the wilderness,
Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone,
To pass the desert to a throne,
What mortal his own doom may guess?Let none despond, let none despair?
THE foundation of the following story will be found partly in Lieutenant Bligh's 'Narrate of the Mutiny and Seizure of the Bounty, in the South Seas, in 1789;' and partly in Marine" a Account of the Tonga Islands.'
THE morning watch was come; the vessel lay Her course, and gently made her liquid way; The cloven billow flash'd from off her prow In furrows form'd by that majestic plough; The waters with their world were all before; Behind, the South Sea's many an islet shore. The quiet night, now dappling, 'gan to wane, Dividing darkness from the dawning main; The dolphins, not unconscious of the day, Swam high, as eager of the coming ray; The stars from broader beams began to creep, And lift their shining eyelids from the deep; The sail resumed its lately shadow'd white, And the wind flutter'd with a freshening flight; The purpling ocean owns the coming sun, But ere he break-a deed is to be done.
The gallant chief within his cabin slept, Secure in those by whom the watch was kept: His dreams were of old England's welcome shore,
Of toils rewarded, and of dangers o'er; His name was added to the glorious roll Of those who search the storm-surrounded Pole. The worst was over, and the rest seem'd sure, And why should not his slumber be secure?
Alas! his deck was trod by unwilling feet. And wilder hands would hold the vessel's she Young hearts, which languish'd for some su isle,
Where summer years and summer women s Men without country, who, too long estrarge Had found no native home, or found it change And, half uncivilized, preferr'd the cave Of some soft savage to the uncertain wave The gushing fruits that nature gave until d The wood without a path but where they w The field o'er which promiscuous Plenty para Her horn; the equal land without a lord; The wish-which ages have not yet subdued In man-to have no master save his mood: The earth, whose mine was on its face, uns The glowing sun and produce all its gold: The freedom which can call each grot a here: The general garden, where all steps may ro Where Nature owns a nation as her child, Exulting in the enjoyment of the wild; Their shells, their fruits, the only wealth ta Their unexploring navy, the canoe; Their sport, the dashing breakers and the ch Their strangest sight, an European face - Such was the country which these strang yearn'd
To see again; a sight they dearly earn'd.
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