Selected Poems (55 page)

Till even the scaffold
¹
echoes with their jest!

Yet not the joy to which it seems akin –

It may deceive all hearts, save that within.

Whate’er it was that flash’d on Conrad, now

455

A laughing wildness half unbent his brow:

And these his accents had a sound of mirth,

As if the last he could enjoy on earth;

Yet ’gainst his nature – for through that short life,

Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife.

XIV

460

‘Corsair! thy doom is named – but I have power

To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour.

Thee would I spare – nay more – would save thee now,

But this – time – hope – nor even thy strength allow;

But all I can, I will: at least delay

465

The sentence that remits thee scarce a day.

More now were ruin – even thyself were loth

The vain attempt should bring but doom to both.’

‘Yes! – loth indeed: – my soul is nerved to all,

Or fall’n too low to fear a further fall:

470

Tempt not thyself with peril; me with hope

Of flight from foes with whom I could not cope:

Unfit to vanquish – shall I meanly fly,

The one of all my band that would not die?

Yet there is one – to whom my memory clings

475

Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs.

My sole resources in the path I trod

Were these – my bark – my sword – my love – my God!

The last I left in youth – he leaves me now –

And Man but works his will to lay me low.

480

I have no thought to mock his throne with prayer

Wrung from the coward crouching of despair;

It is enough – I breathe – and I can bear.

My sword is shaken from the worthless hand

That might have better kept so true a brand;

485

My bark is sunk or captive – but my love –

For her in sooth my voice would mount above:

Oh! she is all that still to earth can bind –

And this will break a heart so more than kind,

And blight a form – till thine appear’d, Gulnare!

490

Mine eye ne’er ask’d if others were as fair.’

‘Thou lov’st another then? – but what to me

Is this – ’tis nothing – nothing e’er can be:

But yet – thou lov’st – and – Oh! I envy those

Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose,

495

Who never feel the void – the wandering thought

That sighs o’er visions – such as mine hath wrought.’

‘Lady – methought thy love was his, for whom

This arm redeem’d thee from a fiery tomb.’

‘My love stern Seyd’s! Oh – No – No – not my love -

500

Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once strove

To meet his passion – but it would not be.

I felt – feel – love dwells with – with the free.

I am a slave, a favour’d slave at best,

To share his splendour, and seem very blest!

505

Oft must my soul the question undergo,

Of – ‘Dost thou love?’ and burn to answer, ‘No!’

Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain,

And struggle not to feel averse in vain;

But harder still the heart’s recoil to bear,

510

And hide from one – perhaps another there.

He takes the hand I give not – nor withhold –

Its pulse nor check’d – nor quicken’d – calmly cold:

And when resign’d, it drops a lifeless weight

From one I never loved enough to hate.

515

No warmth these lips return by his imprest,

And chill’d remembrance shudders o’er the rest.

Yes – had I ever proved that passion’s zeal,

The change to hatred were at least to feel:

But still – he goes unmourn’d – returns unsought –

520

And oft when present – absent from my thought.

Or when reflection comes – and come it must –

I fear that henceforth ’twill but bring disgust;

I am his slave – but, in despite of pride,

‘Twere worse than bondage to become his bride.

525

Oh! that this dotage of his breast would cease!

Or seek another and give mine release,

But yesterday – I could have said, to peace!

Yes – if unwonted fondness now I feign,

Remember – captive! ’tis to break thy chain;

530

Repay the life that to thy hand I owe;

To give thee back to all endear’d below,

Who share such love as I can never know.

Farewell – morn breaks – and I must now away:

‘Twill cost me dear – but dread no death to-day!’

XV

535

She press’d his fetter’d fingers to her heart,

And bow’d her head, and turn’d her to depart,

And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.

And was she here? and is he now alone?

What gem hath dropp’d and sparkles o’er his chain?

540

The tear most sacred, shed for others’ pain,

That starts at once – bright – pure – from Pity’s mine,

Already polish’d by the hand divine!

Oh! too convincing – dangerously dear –

In woman’s eye the unanswerable tear!

545

That weapon of her weakness she can wield,

To save, subdue – at once her spear and shield:

Avoid it – Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs

Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers!

What lost a world, and bade a hero fly?

550

The timid tear in Cleopatra’s eye.

Yet be the soft triumvir’s fault forgiven,

By this – how many lose not earth – but heaven!

Consign their souls to man’s eternal foe,

And seal their own to spare some wanton’s woe.

XVI

555

’Tis morn – and o’er his alter’d features play

The beams – without the hope of yesterday.

What shall he be ere night? perchance a thing

O’er which the raven flaps her funeral wing:

By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt,

560

While sets that sun, and dews of evening melt,

Chill – wet – and misty round each stiffen’d limb,

Refreshing earth – reviving all but him! –

Canto the Third

‘Come vedi – ancor non m’abbandona.’

D
ANTE
.

I

Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,

Along Morea’s hills the setting sun;

Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,

But one unclouded blaze of living light!

5

O’er the hush’d deep the yellow beam he throws,

Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows.

On old Ægina’s rock, and Idra’s isle,

The god of gladness sheds his parting smile;

O’er his own regions lingering, loves to shine,

10

Though there his altars are no more divine.

Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss

Thy glorious gulf, unconquer’d Salamis!

Their azure arches through the long expanse

More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance,

15

And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,

Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven;

Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,

Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.

On such an eve, his palest beam he cast,

20

When – Athens! here thy Wisest look’d his last.

How watch’d thy better sons his farewell ray,

That closed their murder’d sage’s
¹
latest day!

Not yet - not yet - Sol pauses on the hill -

The precious hour of parting lingers still;

25

But sad his light to agonising eyes,

And dark the mountain’s once delightful dyes:

Gloom o’er the lovely land he seem’d to pour,

The land, where Phoebus never frown’d before;

But ere he sank below Cithæron’s head,

30

The cup of woe was quaff’d – the spirit fled;

The soul of him who scorn’d to fear or fly –

Who lived and died, as none can live or die!

But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain,

The queen of night asserts her silent reign.
²

35

No murky vapour, herald of the storm,

Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form;

With cornice glimmering as the moon-beams play,

There the white column greets her grateful ray,

And, bright around with quivering beams beset,

40

Her emblem sparkles o’er the minaret:

The groves of olive scatter’d dark and wide

Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide,

The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,

The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk,
³

45

And, dun and sombre ’mid the holy calm,

Near Theseus’ fane yon solitary palm,

All tinged with varied hues arrest the eye –

And dull were his that pass’d them heedless by.

Again the Ægean, heard no more afar,

50

Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war;

Again his waves in milder tints unfold

Their long array of sapphire and of gold,

Mix’d with the shades of many a distant isle,

That frown – where gentler ocean seems to smile.
¹

II

55

Not now my theme – why turn my thoughts to thee?

Oh! who can look along thy native sea,

Nor dwell upon thy name, whate’er the tale,

So much its magic must o’er all prevail?

Who that beheld that Sun upon thee set,

60

Fair Athens! could thine evening face forget?

Not he – whose heart nor time nor distance frees,

Spell-bound within the clustering Cyclades!

Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain,

His Corsair’s isle was once thine own domain –

65

Would that with freedom it were thine again!

III

The Sun hath sunk – and, darker than the night,

Sinks with its beam upon the beacon height

Medora’s heart – the third day’s come and gone –

With it he comes not – sends not – faithless one!

70

The wind was fair though light; and storms were none.

Last eve Anselmo’s bark return’d, and yet

His only tidings that they had not met!

Though wild, as now, far different were the tale

Had Conrad waited for that single sail.

75

The night-breeze freshens – she that day had pass’d

In watching all that Hope proclaim’d a mast;

Sadly she sate – on high – Impatience bore

At last her footsteps to the midnight shore,

And there she wander’d, heedless of the spray

80

That dash’d her garments oft, and warn’d away:

She saw not – felt not this – nor dared depart,

Nor deem’d it cold - her chill was at her heart;

Till grew such certainty from that suspense –

His very Sight had shock’d from life or sense!

85

It came at last – a sad and shatter’d boat,

Whose immates first beheld whom first they sought;

Some bleeding – all most wretched – these the few –

Scarce knew they how escaped –
this
all they knew.

In silence, darkling, each appear’d to wait

90

His fellow’s mournful guess at Conrad’s fate:

Something they would have said; but seem’d to fear

To trust their accents to Medora’s ear.

She saw at once, yet sunk not – trembled not –

Beneath that grief, that loneliness of lot,

95

Within that meek fair form, were feelings high,

That deem’d not till they found their energy.

While yet was Hope – they soften’d – flutter’d – wept –

All lost – that softness died not – but it slept;

And o’er its slumber rose that Strength which said,

100

‘With nothing left to love – there’s nought to dread.’

’Tis more than nature’s; like the burning might

Delirium gathers from the fever’s height.

‘Silent you stand – nor would I hear you tell

What – speak not – breathe not – for I know it well –

105

Yet would I ask – almost my lip denies

The – quick your answer – tell me where he lies.’

‘Lady! we know not – scarce with life we fled;

But here is one denies that he is dead:

He saw him bound; and bleeding – but alive.’

110

She heard no further – ’twas in vain to strive –

So throbb’d each vein – each thought – till then withstood;

Her own dark soul – these words at once subdued:

She totters – falls – and senseless had the wave

Perchance but snatch’d her from another grave;

115

But that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes,

They yield such aid as Pity’s haste supplies:

Dash o’er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew,

Raise – fan – sustain – till life returns anew;

Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave

120

That fainting form o’er which they gaze and grieve;

Then seek Anselmo’s cavern, to report

The tale too tedious – when the triumph short.

IV

In that wild council words wax’d warm and strange

With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge;

125

All, save repose or flight: still lingering there

Breathed Conrad’s spirit, and forbade despair;

Whate’er his fate – the breasts he form’d and led

Will save him living, or appease him dead.

Woe to his foes! there yet survive a few,

130

Whose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true.

V

Within the Haram’s secret chamber sate

Stern Seyd, still pondering o’er his Captive’s fate;

His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell,

Now with Gulnare, and now in Conrad’s cell;

135

Here at his feet the lovely slave reclined

Surveys his brow – would soothe his gloom of mind:

While many an anxious glance her large dark eye

Sends in its idle search for sympathy,

His only bends in seeming o’er his beads
¹

140

But inly views his victim as he bleeds.

‘Pacha! the day is thine; and on thy crest

Sits Triumph - Conrad taken - fall’n the rest!

His doom is fix’d – he dies: and well his fate

Was earn’d – yet much too worthless for thy hate:

145

Methinks, a short release, for ransom told

With all his treasure, not unwisely sold;

Report speaks largely of his pirate-hoard –