He cared not what he soften’d, but subdued; | |
The evil passions of his youth had made | |
Him value less who loved – than what obey’d. | |
XVII | |
555 | Around him mustering ranged his ready guard. |
Before him Juan stands – ‘Are all prepared?’ | |
‘They are – nay more – embark’d: the latest boat | |
Waits but my chief—’ | |
‘My sword, and my capote.’ | |
Soon firmly girded on, and lightly slung, | |
560 | His belt and cloak were o’er his shoulders flung: |
‘Call Pedro here!’ He comes – and Conrad bends, | |
With all the courtesy he deign’d his friends; | |
‘Receive these tablets, and peruse with care, | |
Words of high trust and truth are graven there; | |
565 | Double the guard, and when Anselmo’s bark |
Arrives, let him alike these orders mark: | |
In three days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shine | |
On our return – till then all peace be thine!’ | |
This said, his brother Pirate’s hand he wrung, | |
570 | Then to his boat with haughty gesture sprung. |
Flash’d the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke, | |
Around the waves’ phosphoric | |
They gain the vessel – on the deck he stands, – | |
Shrieks the shrill whistle – ply the busy hands – | |
575 | He marks how well the ship her helm obeys, |
How gallant all her crew – and deigns to praise. | |
His eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turn – | |
Why doth he start, and inly seem to mourn? | |
Alas! those eyes beheld his rocky tower, | |
580 | And live a moment o’er the parting hour; |
She – his Medora – did she mark the prow? | |
Ah! never loved he half so much as now! | |
But much must yet be done ere dawn of day – | |
Again he mans himself and turns away; | |
585 | Down to the cabin with Gonsalvo bends, |
And there unfolds his plan – his means – and ends; | |
Before them burns the lamp, and spreads the chart, | |
And all that speaks and aids the naval art; | |
They to the midnight watch protract debate; | |
590 | To anxious eyes what hour is ever late? |
Meantime, the steady breeze serenely blew, | |
And fast and falcon-like the vessel flew; | |
Pass’d the high headlands of each clustering isle | |
To gain their port – long – long ere morning smile: | |
595 | And soon the night-glass through the narrow bay |
Discovers where the Pacha’s galleys lay. | |
Count they each sail – and mark how there supine | |
The lights in vain o’er heedless Moslem shine. | |
Secure, unnoted, Conrad’s prow pass’d by, | |
600 | And anchor’d where his ambush meant to lie; |
Screen’d from espial by the jutting cape, | |
That rears on high its rude fantastic shape. | |
Then rose his band to duty – not from sleep – | |
Equipp’d for deeds alike on land or deep; | |
605 | While lean’d their leader o’er the fretting flood, |
And calmly talk’d – and yet he talk’d of blood! |
Canto the Second | |
‘Conosceste i dubiosi desiri?’ | |
D | |
I | |
In Coron’s bay floats many a galley light, | |
Through Coron’s lattices the lamps are bright, | |
For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night: | |
A feast for promised triumph yet to come, | |
5 | When he shall drag the fetter’d Rovers home; |
This hath he sworn by Alla and his sword, | |
And faithful to his firman and his word, | |
His summon’d prows collect along the coast, | |
And great the gathering crews, and loud the boast; | |
10 | Already shared the captives and the prize, |
Though far the distant foe they thus despise; | |
’Tis but to sail – no doubt to-morrow’s Sun | |
Will see the Pirates bound – their haven won! | |
Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will, | |
15 | Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill. |
Though all, who can, disperse on shore and seek | |
To flesh their glowing valour on the Greek; | |
How well such deed becomes the turban’d brave – | |
To bare the sabre’s edge before a slave! | |
20 | Infest his dwelling – but forbear to slay, |
Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day, | |
And do not deign to smite because they may! | |
Unless some gay caprice suggests the blow, | |
To keep in practice for the coming foe. | |
25 | Revel and rout the evening hours beguile, |
And they who wish to wear a head must smile; | |
For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer, | |
And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear. | |
II | |
High in his hall reclines the turban’d Seyd; | |
30 | Around – the bearded chiefs he came to lead. |
Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff - | |
Forbidden draughts, ’tis said, he dared to quaff, | |
Though to the rest the sober berry’s juice | |
The slaves bear round for rigid Moslems’ use; | |
35 | The long chibouque’s |
While dance the Almas | |
The rising morn will view the chiefs embark; | |
But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark: | |
And revellers may more securely sleep | |
40 | On silken couch than o’er the rugged deep; |
Feast there who can – nor combat till they must, | |
And less to conquest than to Korans trust; | |
And yet the numbers crowded in his host | |
Might warrant more than even the Pacha’s boast. | |
III | |
45 | With cautious reverence from the outer gate |
Slow stalks the slave, whose office there to wait, | |
Bows his bent head – his hand salutes the floor, | |
Ere yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore: | |
‘A captive Dervise from the pirate’s nest | |
50 | Escaped, is here – himself would tell the rest.’ |
He took the sign from Seyd’s assenting eye, | |
And led the holy man in silence nigh. | |
His arms were folded on his dark-green vest, | |
His step was feeble, and his look deprest; | |
55 | Yet worn he seem’d of hardship more than years, |
And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears. | |
Vow’d to his God – his sable locks he wore, | |
And these his lofty cap rose proudly o’er: | |
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown, | |
60 | And wrapt a breast bestow’d on heaven alone; |
Submissive, yet with self-possession mann’d, | |
He calmly met the curious eyes that scann’d; | |
And question of his coming fain would seek, | |
Before the Pacha’s will allow’d to speak. | |
IV | |
65 | ‘Whence com’st thou, Dervise?’ |
‘From the outlaw’s den, | |
A fugitive –’ | |
‘Thy capture where and when?’ | |
‘From Scalanovo’s port to Scio’s isle, | |
The Saick was bound; but Alla did not smile | |
Upon our course – the Moslem merchant’s gains | |
70 | The Rovers won: our limbs have worn their chains. |
I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast, | |
Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost; | |
At length a fisher’s humble boat by night | |
Afforded hope, and offer’d chance of flight; | |
75 | I seized the hour, and find my safety here – |
With thee – most mighty Pacha! who can fear?’ | |
‘How speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared, | |
Their plunder’d wealth, and robber’s rock, to guard? | |
Dream they of this our preparation, doom’d | |
80 | To view with fire their scorpion nest consumed?’ |
‘Pacha! the fetter’d captive’s mourning eye, | |
That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy; | |
I only heard the reckless waters roar, | |
Those waves that would not bear me from the shore; | |
85 | I only mark’d the glorious sun and sky, |
Too bright – too blue – for my captivity; | |
And felt – that all which Freedom’s bosom cheers, | |
Must break my chain before it dried my tears. | |
This may’st thou judge, at least, from my escape, | |
90 | They little deem of aught in peril’s shape; |
Else vainly had I pray’d or sought the chance | |
That leads me here – if eyed with vigilance: | |
The careless guard that did not see me fly, | |
May watch as idly when thy power is nigh: | |
95 | Pacha! – my limbs are faint – and nature craves |
Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves: | |
Permit my absence – peace be with thee! Peace | |
With all around! – now grant repose – release.’ | |
‘Stay, Dervise! I have more to question – stay, | |
100 | I do command thee – sit – dost hear? – obey! |
More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring; | |
Thou shalt not pine where all are banqueting: | |
The supper done – prepare thee to reply, | |
Clearly and full – I love not mystery.’ | |
105 | ’Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man, |
Who look’d not lovingly on that Divan; | |
Nor show’d high relish for the banquet prest, | |
And less respect for every fellow guest. | |
‘Twas but a moment’s peevish hectic past | |
110 | Along his cheek, and tranquillised as fast: |
He sate him down in silence, and his look | |
Resumed the calmness which before forsook: | |
The feast was usher’d in – but sumptuous fare | |
He shunn’d as if some poison mingled there. | |
115 | For one so long condemn’d to toil and fast, |
Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast. | |
‘What ails thee, Dervise? eat – dost thou suppose | |
This feast a Christian’s? or my friends thy foes? | |
Why dost thou shun the salt? that sacred pledge, | |
120 | Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre’s edge, |
Makes even contending tribes in peace unite, | |
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight!’ | |
‘Salt seasons dainties – and my food is still | |
The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill; | |
125 | And my stern vow and order’s |
To break or mingle bread with friends or foes; | |
It may seem strange – if there be aught to dread, | |
That peril rests upon my single head; | |
But for thy sway – nay more – thy Sultan’s throne, | |
130 | I taste nor bread nor banquet – save alone; |
Infringed our order’s rule, the Prophet’s rage | |
To Mecca’s dome might bar my pilgrimage.’ | |
‘Well – as thou wilt – ascetic as thou art – | |
One question answer; then in peace depart. | |
135 | How many? – Ha! it cannot sure be day? |
What star – what sun is bursting on the bay? | |
It shines a lake of fire! – away – away! | |
Ho! treachery! my guards! my scimitar! | |
The galleys feed the flames – and I afar! | |
140 | Accursed Dervise! – these thy tidings – thou |
Some villain spy – seize – cleave him – slay him now!’ | |
Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light, | |
Nor less his change of form appall’d the sight: | |
Up rose that Dervise – not in saintly garb, | |
145 | But like a warrior bounding on his barb, |
Dash’d his high cap, and tore his robe away – | |
Shone his mail’d breast, and flash’d his sabre’s ray! | |
His close but glittering casque, and sable plume, |