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, | |
685 | 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, | |
690 | 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! | |
695 | 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, | |
700 | 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 | |
705 | 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, | |
710 | 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 | |
715 | 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, | |
720 | 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 | |
725 | 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 | |
730 | 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, | |
735 | 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 | |
740 | 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 | |
745 | 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, | |
750 | 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; | |
755 | 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; | |
760 | To-morrow would have given him power |
To rule, to shine, to smite, to save – | |
And must it dawn upon his grave? | |
XVIII | |
‘The sun was sinking – still I lay | |
Chain’d to the chill and stiffening steed, | |
765 | 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 | |
770 | 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; | |
775 | 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, | |
780 | 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 | |
785 | 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, | |
790 | 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 brain – | |
A gasp, a throb, a start of pain, | |
795 | A sigh, and nothing more. |
XIX | |
‘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? | |
800 | 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 | |
805 | 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; | |
810 | 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, – | |
815 | 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, | |
820 | 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; | |
825 | 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! | |
830 | 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, | |
835 | 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. | |
XX | |
840 | ‘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 – | |
845 | 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, | |
850 | Sent me forth to the wilderness, |
Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone, | |
To pass the desert to a throne, – |