Fet I did oft and long repine That we could only meet by stealth.
For lovers there are many eyes,
And such there were on us;-the devil On such occasions should be civilThe devil!-I'm loth to do him wrong, It might be some untoward saint, Who would not be at rest too long,
But to his pious bile gave ventBut one fair night, some lurking spies Surprised and seized us both.
The Count was something more than wroth: I was unarm'd; but if in steel,
All cap-à-pie from head to heel,
What 'gainst their numbers could I do?— "Twas near his castle, far away
From city or from succor near, And almost on the break of day; I did not think to see another,
My moments seem'd reduced to few; And with one prayer to Mary Mother, And, it may be, a saint or two,
As I resign'd me to my fate, They led me to the castle gate:
Theresa's doom I never knew, Our lot was henceforth separate.- An angry man, ye may opine, Was he, the proud Count Palatine; And he had reason good to be,
But he was most enraged lest such An accident should chance to touch Upon his future pedigree;
Nor less amazed, that such a blot His noble 'scutcheon should have got, While he was highest of his line; Because unto himself he seem'd The first of men, nor less he deem'd In others' eyes, and most in mine. 'Sdeath! with a page-perchance a king Had reconciled him to the thing; But with a stripling of a page- I felt but cannot paint his rage.
"Bring forth the horse!'-the horse was brought;| In truth, he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed
Who look'd as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs; but he was wild,
Wild as the wild deer, and untaught, With spur and bridle undefiled-
'Twas but a day he had been caught; And snorting, with erected mane, And struggling fiercely, but in vain, In the full foam of wrath and dread To me the desert-born was led; They bound me on, that menial throng, Upon his back with many a thong; Then losed him with a sudden lash- Away!-away!-and on we dash !- Torrents less rapid and less rash.
X. "Away!-away!-my breath was gone- I saw not where he hurried on: 'Twas scarcely yet the break of day, And on he foam'd-away !-away-
The last of human sounds which rose, As I was darted from my foes, Was the wild shout of savage laughter, Which on the wind came roaring after A moment from that rabble rout: With sudden wrath I wrenched my head, And snapp'd the cord, which to the mane Had bound my neck in lieu of rein, And, writhing half my form about, Howl'd back my curse; but 'midst the tread, The thunder of my courser's speed, Perchance they did not hear nor heed:
It vexes me for I would fain Have paid their insult back again.
I paid it well in after days:
There is not of that castle gate,
Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight, Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left; Nor of its fields a blade of grass,
Save what grows on a ridge of wall, Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall; And many a time ye there might pass, Nor dream that e'er that fortress was: I saw its turrets in a blaze,
Their crackling battlements all cleft,
And the hot lead pour down like rain From off the scorch'd and blackening roof, Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof. They little thought that day of pain, When launch'd, as on the lightning's flash, They bade me to destruction dash, That one day I should come again, With twice five thousand horse, to thank The Count for his uncourteous ride. They play'd me then a bitter prank, When, with the wild horse for my guide They bound me to his foaming flank: At length I play'd them one as frankFor time at last sets all things evenAnd if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power Which could evade, if unforgiven, The patient search and vigil long Of him who treasures up a wrong.
XI. "Away, away, my steed and I,
Upon the pinions of the wind, All human dwellings left behind; We sped like meteors through the sky, When with its crackling sound the night Is checker'd with the northern light: Town-village none were on our track,
But a wild plain of far extent, And bounded by a forest black;
And, save the scarce seen battlement On distant heights of some strong hold, Against the Tartar's built of old, No trace of man,-the year before A Turkish army had march'd o'er; And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod The verdure flies the bloody sod:The sky was dull, and dim, and gray, And a low breeze crept moaning byI could have answer'd with a sighBut fast we fled, away, awayAnd I could neither sigh nor pray; And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain Upon the courser's bristling mane:
But, snorting still with rage and fear, He flew upon his far career; At times I almost thought, indeed, He must have slacken'd in his speed; But no-my bound and slender frame Was nothing to his angry might, And merely like a spur became : Each motion which I made to free My swoln limbs from their agony
Increased his fury and affright:/ I tried my voice,-'twas faint and low, But yet he swerved as from a blow: And, starting to each accent, sprang As from a sudden trumpet's clang: Meantime my cords were wet with gore, Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er; And in my tongue the thirst became A something fierier far than flame.
"We near'd the wild wood-'twas so wide, I saw no bounds on either side; 'Twas studded with old sturdy trees, That bent not to the roughest breeze Which howls down from Siberia's waste, And strips the forest in its haste,- But these were few, and far between, Set thick with shrubs more young and Luxuriant with their annual leaves, Ere strown by those autumnal eves That nip the forest's foliage dead, Discolor'd with a lifeless red, Which stands thereon like stiffen'd gore Upon the slain when battle's o'er, And some long winter's night hath shed Its frost o'er every tombless head, So cold and stark the raven's beak May peck unpierced each frozen cheek; "Twas a wild waste of underwood, And here and there a chestnut stood, The strong oak, and the hardy pine! But far apart-and well it were, Or else a different lot were mine-
The boughs gave way, and did not tear My limbs; and I found strength to bear My wounds, already scarr'd with cold- My bonds forbade to loose my hold. We rustled through the leaves like wind, Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind; By night I heard them on the track, Their troop came hard upon our back, With their long gallop, which can tire The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire: Where'er we flew they follow'd on, Nor left us with the morning sun; Behind I saw them, scarce a rood, At day-break 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 peas ant near the door Whose threshold he shall cross no more, Bewilder'd with the dazzling blast, Than through the forest-paths he past- Untired, untamed, and worse than wild; All furious as a favor'd child Balk'd of its wish; or fiercer still- A woman piqued-who has her will.
The wood was past; 'twas more than noon, But chill the air, although in June; Or it might be my veins ran cold- Prolong'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, I 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 farther: 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 sa ne 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? Coll And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse Life reassumed its lingering hold,
And throb by throb: till grown a pang Which for a moment would convulse, My blood reflow'd, though thick and chill; My ear with uncouth noises rang,
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 hmbs 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, All 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 fo 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 gray 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!
I 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 renerved 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-swerve 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 bound, 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 Presents 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 implored. At times sought with self-pointed sword, 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 friend, Appears, to his distemper'd eyes, 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 oast my last looks up the sky,
And there between me and the sun
I saw the expecting raven fly,
Who scarce could 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 called 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 closed 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 unsealed, 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!
To-morrow the Borysthenes
May see our coursers graze at ease Upon his Turkish bank,-and never Had I such welcome for a river
As I shall yield when safely there. Comrades, good night!"-The Hetman threw His length beneath the oak-tree shade, With leafy couch already made,
A bed nor comfortless nor new
To him, who took his rest whene'er The hour arrived, no matter where:
His eyes the hastening slumbers steep, And if ye marvel Charles forgot To thank his tale, he wondered not,- The king had been an hour asleep
CHRISTIAN AND HIS COMRADES.
THE foundation of the following story will be found partly in the account of the mutiny of the Bounty in the South Seas, (in 1789,) and partly in "Mariner's 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 sheet; Young hearts, which languish'd for some sunny isle, Where summer years and summer women smile; Men without country, who, too long estranged, Had found no native home, or found it changed, And, half uncivilized, preferr'd the cave Of some soft savage to the uncertain wave- The gushing fruits that nature gave untill'd; The wood without a path but where they will'd;
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