LORD BYRON THE PRISONER OF CHILLON |
A Fable I My hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears.[107] My limbs are bowed, though not with toil,5 But rusted with a vile repose, For they have been a dungeon's spoil, And mine has been the fate of those To whom the goodly earth and air Are banned, and barred—forbidden fare;10 But this was for my father's faith I suffered chains and courted death; That father perished at the stake For tenets he would not forsake; And for the same his lineal race15 In darkness found a dwelling-place; We were seven—who now are one, Six in youth, and one in age, Finished as they had begun, Proud of Persecution's rage;20 One in fire, and two in field, Their belief with blood have sealed[108]: Dying as their father died, For the God their foes denied;— Three were in a dungeon cast,25 Of whom this wreck is left the last. II There are seven[109] pillars of Gothic mould In Chillon's dungeons deep and old, There are seven columns massy and gray, Dim with a dull imprisoned ray,30 A sunbeam which hath lost its way, And through the crevice and the cleft Of the thick wall is fallen and left: Creeping o'er the floor so damp, Like a marsh's meteor lamp[110]:35 And in each pillar there is a ring, And in each ring there is a chain; That iron is a cankering[111] thing, For in these limbs its teeth remain, With marks that will not wear away40 Till I have done with this new day, Which now is painful to these eyes, Which have not seen the sun so rise For years—I cannot count them o'er, I lost their long and heavy score45 When my last brother drooped and died, And I lay living by his side. III They chained us each to a column stone, And we were three—yet, each alone; We could not move a single pace,50 We could not see each other's face, But with that pale and livid light That made us strangers in our sight: And thus together—yet apart, Fettered in hand, but joined in heart;55 'Twas still some solace, in the dearth Of the pure elements[112] of earth, To hearken to each other's speech, And each turn comforter to each With some new hope or legend old,60 Or song heroically bold; But even these at length grew cold. Our voices took a dreary tone, An echo of the dungeon stone, A grating sound—not full and free65 As they of yore were wont to be; It might be fancy—but to me They never sounded like our own. IV I was the eldest of the three, And to uphold and cheer the rest70 I ought to do—and did my best— And each did well in his degree. The youngest, whom my father loved, Because our mother's brow was given To him—with eyes as blue as heaven,75 For him my soul was sorely moved: And truly might it be distressed To see such bird in such a nest; For he was beautiful as day— (When day was beautiful to me80 As to young eagles being free)—
A polar day,[113] which will not see A sunset till its summer's gone, Its sleepless summer of long light, The snow-clad offspring of the sun:85 And thus he was as pure and bright, And in his natural spirit gay, With tears for naught but others' ills, And then they flowed like mountain rills, Unless he could assuage the woe90 Which he abhorred to view below. V The other was as pure of mind, But formed to combat with his kind; Strong in his frame, and of a mood Which 'gainst the world in war had stood,95 And perished in the foremost rank With joy:—but not in chains to pine: His spirit withered with their clank, I saw it silently decline— And so perchance in sooth[114] did mine:100 But yet I forced it on to cheer Those relics of a home so dear. He was a hunter of the hills, Had followed there the deer and wolf; To him this dungeon was a gulf,105 And fettered feet the worst of ills. VI Lake Leman[115] lies by Chillon's walls, A thousand feet in depth below Its massy waters meet and flow; Thus much the fathom-line was sent110 From Chillon's snow-white battlement, Which round about the wave inthrals: A double dungeon wall and wave Have made—and like a living grave. Below the surface of the lake115 The dark vault lies wherein we lay, We heard it ripple night and day; Sounding o'er our heads it knocked And I have felt the winter's spray Wash through the bars when winds were high120 And wanton in the happy sky; And then the very rock hath rocked, And I have felt it shake, unshocked, Because I could have smiled to see The death that would have set me free.125 VII I said my nearer brother pined, I said his mighty heart declined, He loathed and put away his food; It was not that 'twas coarse and rude, For we were used to hunter's fare,130 And for the like had little care: The milk drawn from the mountain goat Was changed for water from the moat,[116] Our bread was such as captive's tears Have moistened many a thousand years,135 Since man first pent his fellow-men Like brutes within an iron den; But what were these to us or him? These wasted not his heart or limb; My brother's soul was of that mould140 Which in a palace had grown cold, Had his free breathing been denied The range of the steep mountain's side; But why delay the truth?—he died. I saw, and could not hold his head,145 Nor reach his dying hand—nor dead,— Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. He died, and they unlocked his chain, And scooped for him a shallow grave150 Even from the cold earth of our cave. I begged them, as a boon, to lay His corse in dust whereon the day Might shine—it was a foolish thought, But then within my brain it wrought,155 That even in death his freeborn breast In such a dungeon could not rest. I might have spared my idle prayer— They coldly laughed—and laid him there: The flat and turfless earth above160 The being we so much did love; His empty chain above it leant, Such murder's fitting monument! VIII But he, the favourite and the flower, Most cherished since his natal hour,165 His mother's image in fair face, The infant love of all his race, His martyred father's dearest thought, My latest care, for whom I sought To hoard my life, that his might be170 Less wretched now, and one day free; He, too, who yet had held untired A spirit natural or inspired— He, too, was struck, and day by day Was withered on the stalk away.175 Oh, God! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood:— I've seen it rushing forth in blood,[117] I've seen it on the breaking ocean180 Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, I've seen the sick and ghastly bed Of Sin delirious with its dread: But these were horrors—this was woe Unmixed with such—but sure and slow;185 He faded, and so calm and meek, So softly worn, so sweetly weak, So tearless, yet so tender—kind, And grieved for those he left behind; With all the while a cheek whose bloom190 Was as a mockery of the tomb, Whose tints as gently sunk away As a departing rainbow's ray— An eye of most transparent light, That almost made the dungeon bright,195 And not a word of murmur—not A groan o'er his untimely lot,— A little talk of better days, A little hope my own to raise, For I was sunk in silence—lost200 In this last loss, of all the most; And then the sighs he would suppress Of fainting nature's feebleness, More slowly drawn, grew less and less: I listened, but I could not hear—205 I called, for I was wild with fear; I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread Would not be thus admonishÈd; I called, and thought I heard a sound— I burst my chain with one strong bound,210 And rushed to him:—I found him not, I only stirred in this black spot, I only lived—I only drew The accursed breath of dungeon-dew; The last—the sole—the dearest link215 Between me and the eternal brink, Which bound me to my failing race, Was broken in this fatal place. One on the earth, and one beneath— My brothers—both had ceased to breathe;220 I took that hand which lay so still, Alas! my own was full as chill; I had not strength to stir, or strive, But felt that I was still alive— A frantic feeling, when we know225 That what we love shall ne'er be so. I know not why I could not die, I had no earthly hope—but faith, And that forbade a selfish death.[118]230 IX What next befell me then and there I know not well—I never knew— First came the loss of light, and air, And then of darkness too: I had no thought, no feeling—none—235 Among the stones I stood a stone, And was, scarce conscious what I wist,[119] As shrubless crags within the mist; For all was blank, and bleak, and gray, It was not night—it was not day,240 It was not even the dungeon-light, So hateful to my heavy sight, But vacancy absorbing space, And fixedness—without a place; There were no stars—no earth—no time—245 No check—no change—no good—no crime— But silence, and a stirless breath Which neither was of life nor death; A sea of stagnant idleness, Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless!250 X A light broke in upon my brain,— It was the carol of a bird; It ceased, and then it came again, The sweetest song ear ever heard, And mine was thankful till my eyes255 Ran over with the glad surprise, And they that moment could not see I was the mate of misery; But then by dull degrees came back My senses to their wonted track,260 I saw the dungeon walls and floor Close slowly round me as before, I saw the glimmer of the sun Creeping as it before had done, But through the crevice where it came265 That bird was perched, as fond and tame, And tamer than upon the tree; A lovely bird, with azure wings, And song that said a thousand things, And seemed to say them all for me!270 I never saw its like before, I ne'er shall see its likeness more: It seemed like me to want a mate, But was not half so desolate, And it was come to love me when275 None lived to love me so again, And cheering from my dungeon's brink, Had brought me back to feel and think. I know not if it late were free, Or broke its cage to perch on mine,280 But knowing well captivity, Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine! Or if it were, in wingÈd guise, A visitant from Paradise; For—Heaven forgive that thought! the while285 Which made me both to weep and smile; I sometimes deemed that it might be My brother's soul[120] come down to me; But then at last away it flew, And then 'twas mortal—well I knew,290 For he would never thus have flown, And left me twice so doubly lone,— Lone—as the corse within its shroud, Lone—as a solitary cloud,[121] A single cloud on a sunny day,295 While all the rest of heaven is clear, A frown upon the atmosphere, That hath no business to appear When skies are blue, and earth is gay. XI A kind of change came in my fate,300 My keepers grew compassionate; I know not what had made them so, They were inured to sights of woe, But so it was:—my broken chain With links unfastened did remain,305 And it was liberty to stride Along my cell from side to side, And up and down, and then athwart, And tread it over every part; And round the pillars one by one,310 Returning where my walk begun. Avoiding only, as I trod, My brothers' graves without a sod; For if I thought with heedless tread My step profaned their lowly bed,315 My breath came gaspingly and thick, And my crushed heart fell blind and sick. XII I made a footing in the wall, It was not therefrom to escape, For I had buried one and all320 Who loved me in a human shape; And the whole earth would henceforth be A wider prison unto me: No child—no sire—no kin had I, No partner in my misery;325 I thought of this, and I was glad, For thought of them had made me mad; But I was curious to ascend To my barred windows, and to bend Once more, upon the mountains high,330 The quiet of a loving eye. XIII I saw them—and they were the same, They were not changed like me in frame; I saw their thousand years of snow On high—their wide long lake below,335 And the blue Rhone in fullest flow; I heard the torrents leap and gush O'er channelled rock and broken bush; I saw the white-walled distant town, And whiter sails go skimming down;340 And then there was a little isle,[122] Which in my very face did smile, The only one in view; A small green isle it seemed no more, Scarce broader than my dungeon floor,345 But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing, Of gentle breath and hue.350 The fish swam by the castle wall, And they seemed joyous each and all; The eagle rode the rising blast, Methought he never flew so fast As then to me he seemed to fly,355 And then new tears came in my eye, And I felt troubled—and would fain I had not left my recent chain; And when I did descend again, The darkness of my dim abode360 Fell on me as a heavy load; It was as is a new-dug grave, Closing o'er one we sought to save,— And yet my glance, too much oppressed, Had almost need of such a rest.365 XIV It might be months, or years, or days, I kept no count—I took no note, I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote; At last men came to set me free,370 I asked not why, and recked not where, It was at length the same to me, Fettered or fetterless to be, I learned to love despair. And thus when they appeared at last,375 And all my bonds aside were cast, These heavy walls to me had grown A hermitage—and all my own! And half I felt as they were come To tear me from a second home:380 With spiders I had friendship made, And watched them in their sullen trade, Had seen the mice by moonlight play, And why should I feel less than they? We were all inmates of one place,385 And I, the monarch of each race, Had power to kill—yet, strange to tell! In quiet we had learned to dwell— My very chains and I grew friends, So much a long communion tends390 To make us what we are:—even I Regained my freedom with a sigh.[123]
MAZEPPA I 'Twas after dread Pultowa's[124] day, When Fortune left the royal Swede. Around a slaughter'd army lay, No more to combat and to bleed. The power and glory of the war,5 Faithless as their vain votaries, men, Had pass'd to the triumphant Czar, And Moscow's walls were safe again, Until a day more dark and drear,[125] And a more memorable year,10 Should give to slaughter and to shame A mightier host and haughtier name; A greater wreck, a deeper fall, A shock to one—a thunderbolt to all. II III A band of chiefs!—alas! how few,45 Since but the fleeting of a day Had thinn'd it; but this wreck was true And chivalrous: upon the clay Each sate him down, all sad and mute, Beside his monarch and his steed,50 For danger levels man and brute,[128] And all are fellows in their need. Among the rest, Mazeppa made His pillow in an old oak's shade— Himself as rough, and scarce less old,55 The Ukraine's hetman,[129] calm and bold. But first, outspent with his long course, The Cossack prince rubb'd down his horse, And made for him a leafy bed, And smooth'd his fetlocks and his mane,60 And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein, And joy'd to see how well he fed; For until now he had the dread His wearied courser might refuse To browse beneath the midnight dews:65 But he was hardy as his lord, And little cared for bed and board; But spirited and docile too; Whate'er was to be done, would do. Shaggy and swift, and strong of limb,70 All Tartar-like he carried him; Obey'd his voice, and came to call, And knew him in the midst of all: Though thousands were around,—and Night, Without a star, pursued her flight,—75 That steed from sunset until dawn His chief would follow like a fawn. IV This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak, And laid his lance beneath his oak, Felt if his arms in order good80 The long day's march had well withstood— If still the powder fill'd the pan, And flints unloosen'd kept their lock— His sabre's hilt and scabbard felt, And whether they had chafed his belt—85 And next the venerable man, From out his haversack and can, Prepared and spread his slender stock; And to the monarch and his men The whole or portion offer'd then90 With far less of inquietude Than courtiers at a banquet would. And Charles of this his slender share With smiles partook a moment there, To force of cheer a greater show,95 And seem above both wounds and woe;— And then he said—"Of all our band, Though firm of heart and strong of hand, In skirmish, march, or forage, none Can less have said or more have done100 Than thee, Mazeppa! On the earth So fit a pain had never birth, Since Alexander's days till now, As thy Bucephalus[130] and thou: All Scythia's[131] fame to thine should yield105 For pricking on o'er flood and field." Mazeppa answer'd—"Ill betide The school wherein I learn'd to ride!" Quoth Charles—"Old Hetman, wherefore so, Since thou hast learn'd the art so well?"110 Mazeppa said—"'Twere long to tell; And we have many a league to go, With every now and then a blow, And ten to one at least the foe, Before our steeds may graze at ease115 Beyond the swift Borysthenes[132]; And, sire, your limbs have need of rest, And I will be the sentinel Of this your troop."—"But I request," Said Sweden's monarch, "thou wilt tell120 This tale of thine, and I may reap, Perchance, from this the boon of sleep; For at this moment from my eyes The hope of present slumber flies." "Well, sire, with such a hope, I'll track125 My seventy years of memory back: I think 'twas in my twentieth spring— Ay, 'twas,—when Casimir was king— John Casimir,—I was his page Six summers, in my earlier age.130 A learned monarch, faith! was he, And most unlike your majesty: He made no wars, and did not gain New realms to lose them back again; And (save debates in Warsaw's diet)135 He reign'd in most unseemly quiet; Not that he had no cares to vex, He loved the muses and the sex; And sometimes these so froward are, They made him wish himself at war;140 But soon his wrath being o'er, he took Another mistress, or new book. And then he gave prodigious fÊtes— All Warsaw gather'd round his gates To gaze upon his splendid court,145 And dames, and chiefs, of princely port: He was the Polish Solomon, So sung his poets, all but one, Who, being unpension'd, made a satire, And boasted that he could not flatter.150 It was a court of jousts and mimes,[133] Where every courtier tried at rhymes; Even I for once produced some verses, And sign'd my odes 'Despairing Thyrsis.[134]' There was a certain Palatine,[135]155 A count of far and high descent, Rich as a salt or silver mine; And he was proud, ye may divine, As if from heaven he had been sent. He had such wealth in blood and ore160 As few could match beneath the throne; And he would gaze upon his store, And o'er his pedigree would pore, Until by some confusion led, Which almost look'd like want of head,165 He thought their merits were his own. His wife was not of his opinion— His junior she by thirty years— Grew daily tired of his dominion; And, after wishes, hopes, and fears,170 To virtue a few farewell tears, A restless dream or two, some glances At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances, Awaited but the usual chances, (Those happy accidents which render175 The coldest dames so very tender,) To deck her Count with titles given, 'Tis said, as passports into heaven; But, strange to say, they rarely boast Of these, who have deserved them most.180 V "I was a goodly stripling then; At seventy years I so may say, That there were few, or boys or men, Who, in my dawning time of day, Of vassal or of knight's degree,185 Could vie in vanities with me; For I had strength, youth, gaiety, A port, not like to this ye see, But as smooth as all is rugged now; For time, and care, and war, have plough'd190 My very soul from out my brow; And thus I should be disavow'd By all my kind and kin, could they Compare my day and yesterday. This change was wrought, too, long ere age195 Had ta'en my features for his page: With years, ye know, have not declined My strength, my courage, or my mind, Or at this hour I should not be Telling old tales beneath a tree,200 With starless skies my canopy. But let me on: Theresa's form— Methinks it glides before me now, Between me and yon chestnut's bough, The memory is so quick and warm;205 And yet I find no words to tell The shape of her I loved so well. She had the Asiatic eye, Such as our Turkish neighbourhood, Hath mingled with our Polish blood,210 Dark as above us is the sky; But through it stole a tender light, Like the first moonrise of midnight; Large, dark, and swimming in the stream, Which seem'd to melt to its own beam;215 All love, half languor, and half fire, Like saints that at the stake expire, And lift their raptured looks on high As though it were a joy to die;— A brow like a midsummer lake,220 Transparent with the sun therein, When waves no murmur dare to make, And heaven beholds her face within; A cheek and lip—but why proceed? I loved her then—I love her still;225 And such as I am, love indeed In fierce extremes—in good and ill; But still we love even in our rage, And haunted to our very age With the vain shadow of the past,230 As is Mazeppa to the last. VI "We met—we gazed—I saw, and sigh'd, She did not speak, and yet replied: There are ten thousand tones and signs We hear and see, but none defines—235 Involuntary sparks of thought, Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought[136] And form a strange intelligence Alike mysterious and intense, Which link the burning chain that binds,240 Without their will, young hearts and minds: Conveying, as the electric wire, We know not how, the absorbing fire.— I saw, and sigh'd—in silence wept, And still reluctant distance kept,245 Until I was made known to her, And we might then and there confer Without suspicion—then, even then, I long'd, and was resolved to speak; But on my lips they died again,250 The accents tremulous and weak, Until one hour.—There is a game, A frivolous and foolish play, Wherewith we while away the day; It is—I have forgot the name—255 And we to this, it seems, were set, By some strange chance, which I forget: I reckon'd not if I won or lost, It was enough for me to be So near to hear, and oh! to see260 The being whom I loved the most. I watch'd her as a sentinel, (May ours this dark night watch as well!) Until I saw, and thus it was, That she was pensive, nor perceived265 Her occupation, nor was grieved Nor glad to lose or gain; but still Play'd on for hours, as if her will Yet bound her to the place, though not That hers might be the winning lot.270 Then through my brain the thought did pass Even as a flash of lightning there, That there was something in her air Which would not doom me to despair; And on the thought my words broke forth,275 All incoherent as they were— Their eloquence was little worth, But yet she listen'd—'tis enough— Who listens once will listen twice; Her heart, be sure, is not of ice,280 And one refusal no rebuff. VII "I loved, and was beloved again— They tell me, sire, you never knew Those gentle frailties; if 'tis true, I shorten all my joy or pain;285 To you 'twould seem absurd as vain; But all men are not born to reign, Or o'er their passions, or as you Thus o'er themselves and nations too. I am—or rather was—a prince,290 A chief of thousands, and could lead Them on where each would foremost bleed; But could not o'er myself evince The like control.—But to resume: I loved, and was beloved again;295 In sooth, it is a happy doom, But yet where happiest ends in pain.— We met in secret, and the hour Which led me to that lady's bower Was fiery Expectation's dower.300 My days and nights were nothing—all Except that hour which doth recall In the long lapse from youth to age No other like itself—I'd give The Ukraine back again to live305 It o'er once more—and be a page, The happy page, who was the lord Of one soft heart and his own sword, And had no other gem nor wealth Save nature's gift of youth and health.—310 We met in secret—doubly sweet, Some say, they find it so to meet; I know not that—I would have given My life but to have call'd her mine In the full view of earth and heaven;315 For I did oft and long repine That we could only meet by stealth. VIII "For lovers there are many eyes, And such there were on us;—the devil On such occasions should be civil—320 The 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 vent— But one fair night, some lurking spies325 Surprised and seized us both. The Count was something more than wroth— I was unarm'd; but if in steel, All cap-À-pie[137] from head to heel, What 'gainst their numbers could I do?—330 'Twas near his castle, far away From city or from succour near, And almost on the break of day; I did not think to see another, My moments seem'd reduced to few;335 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,340 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 such345 An accident should chance to touch Upon his future pedigree; Nor less amazed, that such a blot His noble 'scutcheon[138] should have got, While he was highest of his line;350 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;355 But with a stripling of a page— I felt—but cannot paint his rage. IX "'Bring forth the horse!'—the horse was brought; In truth, he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,360 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 undefined— 'Twas but a day he had been caught;365 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,370 Upon his back with many a thong; They loosed him with a sudden lash— Away!—away!—and on we dash!— Torrents less rapid and less rash. X "Away!—away!—My breath was gone—375 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,380 Was the wild shout of savage laughter, Which on the wind came roaring after A moment from that rabble rout: With sudden wrath I wrench'd my head, And snapp'd the cord, which to the mane385 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:390 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,395 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,400 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,405 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,410 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:415 At length I play'd them one as frank— For time at last sets all things even— And if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power Which could evade, if unforgiven,420 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;425 We sped like meteors through the sky, When with its crackling sound the night Is chequer'd with the northern light. Town—village—none were on our track, But a wild plain of far extent,430 And bounded by a forest black; And, save the scarce seen battlement On distant heights of some stronghold, Against the Tartars built of old, No trace of man: the year before435 A Turkish army had march'd o'er; And where the Spahi's[139] hoof hath trod, The verdure flies the bloody sod. The sky was dull, and dim, and gray, And a low breeze crept moaning by—440 I could have answer'd with a sigh— But fast we fled, away, away— And I could neither sigh nor pray; And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain Upon the courser's bristling mane;445 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 frame450 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:455 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,460 Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er; And in my tongue the thirst became A something fierier far than flame. XII "We near'd the wild wood—'twas so wide, I saw no bounds on either side;465 '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,470 Set thick with shrubs more young and green, Luxuriant with their annual leaves, Ere strown by those autumnal eves That nip the forest's foliage dead, Discolour'd with a lifeless red,475 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 beak480 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,485 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.490 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 tire495 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 daybreak winding through the wood,500 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—505 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 breed510 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,515 Than through the forest-paths he past— 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.520 XIII "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,525 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,530 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 like535 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;540 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,545 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,550 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,555 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;560 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 must565 Feel far more ere we turn to dust: No matter; I have bared my brow Full in Death's face—before—and now. XIV "My thoughts came back; where was I? Cold, And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse570 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[140] noises rang,575 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,580 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'er585 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 braves590 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,595 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.600 XV "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 plain605 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,610 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 indicate615 The omen of a cottage gate; No twinkling taper from afar Stood like a hospitable star; Not even an ignis-fatuus[141] rose To make him merry with my woes:620 That very cheat had cheer'd me then! Although detected, welcome still, Reminding me, through every ill, Of the abodes of men. XVI "Onward we went—but slack and slow;625 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;630 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 tried635 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.640 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 gray645 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,650 And filled the earth, from his deep throne, With lonely lustre, all his own. XVII "Up rose the sun; the mists were curl'd Back from the solitary world Which lay around—behind—before;655 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;660 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,[142] Panting as if his heart would burst,665 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.670 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.675 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 stretched by pain,680 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,685 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,690 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,695 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,700 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.705 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,710 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!715 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 see720 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 fears725 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:730 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.735 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:740 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,745 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,750 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 first755 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 power760 To rule, to shine, to smite, to save— And must it dawn upon his grave?
XVIII 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? Is this a chamber where I lie?800 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.805 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 threw810 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 released815 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 made820 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,825 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;—830 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 all835 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 "She came with mother and with sire—840 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—845 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,850 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 Borysthenes855 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 threw860 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:865 His eyes the hastening slumbers steep. And if ye marvel Charles forgot To thank his tale he wonder'd not,— The king had been an hour asleep.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,5 That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;10 And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still! And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,15 And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail, And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.20 And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
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