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문학:영문학:영국:바이런 [2020/09/04 20:41]
clayeryan@gmail.com [작품 리스트]
문학:영문학:영국:바이런 [2020/10/07 14:34] (현재)
clayeryan@gmail.com
줄 1: 줄 1:
-{{keywords>영국, 낭만주의, 시인, 바이런, 조지, 고든, poem, , poet, british, english, george gorden lord byron}} 
- 
 {{indexmenu_n> 1}}  {{indexmenu_n> 1}} 
  
줄 32: 줄 30:
 《코린트의 포위》 (The Siege of Corinth) (poem) (1816) 《코린트의 포위》 (The Siege of Corinth) (poem) (1816)
 《파리시나》 (Parisina) (1816) 《파리시나》 (Parisina) (1816)
-《칠론의 죄수》 (The Prisoner Of Chillon) (1816) (text on Wikisource)+《칠론의 죄수》 (The Prisoner Of Chillon) (1816)
 《꿈》 (The Dream) (1816) 《꿈》 (The Dream) (1816)
 《프로메테우스》 (Prometheus) (1816) 《프로메테우스》 (Prometheus) (1816)
줄 82: 줄 80:
 A heart whose love is innocent! </poem> A heart whose love is innocent! </poem>
 ++++ ++++
 +
 +번역중 : [[:문학:영문학:영국:바이런:She_Walks_In_Beauty]]
  
 ++++ ++++
줄 10108: 줄 10108:
 61 Stanzas Composed During A Thunderstorm | 61 Stanzas Composed During A Thunderstorm |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Chill and mirk is the nightly blast,
 +Where Pindus' mountains rise,
 +And angry clouds are pouring fast
 +The vengeance of the skies.
  
 +Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
 +And lightnings, as they play,
 +But show where rocks our path have crost,
 +Or gild the torrent's spray.
 +
 +Is yon a cot I saw, though low?
 +When lightning broke the gloom---
 +How welcome were its shade!---ah, no!
 +'Tis but a Turkish tomb.
 +
 +Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,
 +I hear a voice exclaim---
 +My way-worn countryman, who calls
 +On distant England's name.
 +
 +A shot is fired---by foe or friend?
 +Another---'tis to tell
 +The mountain-peasants to descend,
 +And lead us where they dwell.
 +
 +Oh! who in such a night will dare
 +To tempt the wilderness?
 +And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear
 +Our signal of distress?
 +
 +And who that heard our shouts would rise
 +To try the dubious road?
 +Nor rather deem from nightly cries
 +That outlaws were abroad.
 +
 +Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!
 +More fiercely pours the storm!
 +Yet here one thought has still the power
 +To keep my bosom warm.
 +
 +While wandering through each broken path,
 +O'er brake and craggy brow;
 +While elements exhaust their wrath,
 +Sweet Florence, where art thou?
 +
 +Not on the sea, not on the sea---
 +Thy bark hath long been gone:
 +Oh, may the storm that pours on me,
 +Bow down my head alone!
 +
 +Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
 +When last I pressed thy lip;
 +And long ere now, with foaming shock,
 +Impelled thy gallant ship.
 +
 +Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
 +Hast trod the shore of Spain;
 +'Twere hard if aught so fair as thou
 +Should linger on the main.
 +
 +And since I now remember thee
 +In darkness and in dread,
 +As in those hours of revelry
 +Which Mirth and Music sped;
 +
 +Do thou, amid the fair white walls,
 +If Cadiz yet be free,
 +At times from out her latticed halls
 +Look o'er the dark blue sea;
 +
 +Then think upon Calypso's isles,
 +Endeared by days gone by;
 +To others give a thousand smiles,
 +To me a single sigh.
 +
 +And when the admiring circle mark
 +The paleness of thy face,
 +A half-formed tear, a transient spark
 +Of melancholy grace,
 +
 +Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun
 +Some coxcomb's raillery;
 +Nor own for once thou thought'st on one,
 +Who ever thinks on thee.
 +
 +Though smile and sigh alike are vain,
 +When severed hearts repine
 +My spirit flies o'er Mount and Main
 +And mourns in search of thine.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10115: 줄 10203:
 62 And Wilt Thou Weep When I Am Low? | 62 And Wilt Thou Weep When I Am Low? |
 <poem> <poem>
 +And wilt thou weep when I am low?
 +Sweet lady! speak those words again:
 +Yet if they grieve thee, say not so---
 +I would not give that bosom pain.
  
 +My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
 +My blood runs coldly through my breast;
 +And when I perish, thou alone
 +Wilt sigh above my place of rest.
 +
 +And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace
 +Doth through my cloud of anguish shine:
 +And for a while my sorrows cease,
 +To know thy heart hath felt for mine.
 +
 +Oh lady! blessd be that tear---
 +It falls for one who cannot weep;
 +Such precious drops are doubly dear
 +To those whose eyes no tear may steep.
 +
 +Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
 +With every feeling soft as thine;
 +But Beauty's self hath ceased to charm
 +A wretch created to repine.
 +
 +Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
 +Sweet lady! speak those words again:
 +Yet if they grieve thee, say not so---
 +I would not give that bosom pain.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10122: 줄 10238:
 63 I Would I Were a Careless Child | 63 I Would I Were a Careless Child |
 <poem> <poem>
 +I would I were a careless child,
 +Still dwelling in my highland cave,
 +Or roaming through the dusky wild,
 +Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave;
 +The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride
 +Accords not with the freeborn soul,
 +Which loves the mountain's craggy side,
 +And seeks the rocks where billows roll.
 +
 +Fortune! take back these cultured lands,
 +Take back this name of splendid sound!
 +I hate the touch of servile hands,
 +I hate the slaves that cringe around.
 +Place me among the rocks I love,
 +Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar;
 +I ask but this -- again to rove
 +Through scenes my youth hath known before.
 +
 +Few are my years, and yet I feel
 +The world was ne'er designed for me:
 +Ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal
 +The hour when man must cease to be?
 +Once I beheld a splendid dream,
 +A visionary scene of bliss:
 +Truth! -- wherefore did thy hated beam
 +Awake me to a world like this?
 +
 +I loved -- but those I loved are gone;
 +Had friends -- my early friends are fled:
 +How cheerless feels the heart alone
 +When all its former hopes are dead!
 +Though gay companions o'er the bowl
 +Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
 +Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul,
 +The heart -- the heart -- is lonely still.
 +
 +How dull! to hear the voice of those
 +Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power,
 +Have made, though neither friends nor foes,
 +Associates of the festive hour.
 +Give me again a faithful few,
 +In years and feelings still the same,
 +And I will fly the midnight crew,
 +Where boist'rous joy is but a name.
 +
 +And woman, lovely woman! thou,
 +My hope, my comforter, my all!
 +How cold must be my bosom now,
 +When e'en thy smiles begin to pall!
 +Without a sigh I would resign
 +This busy scene of splendid woe,
 +To make that calm contentment mine,
 +Which virtue knows, or seems to know.
  
 +Fain would I fly the haunts of men--
 +I seek to shun, not hate mankind;
 +My breast requires the sullen glen,
 +Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind.
 +Oh! that to me the wings were given
 +Which bear the turtle to her nest!
 +Then would I cleave the vault of heaven,
 +To flee away and be at rest.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10129: 줄 10306:
 64 The Siege of Corinth | 64 The Siege of Corinth |
 <poem> <poem>
 +ADVERTISEMENT
  
 +"The grand army of the Turks, (in 1715), under the Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into the heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli di Romania, the most considerable place in all that country, [1] thought it best in the first place to attack Corinth, upon which they made several storms. The garrison being weakened, and the governor seeing it was impossible to hold out against so mighty a force, thought it fit to beat a parley; but while they were treating about the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish army, wherein they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men were killed; which so enraged the infidels, that they would not grant any capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they took it, and put most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the governor, to the sword. The rest, with Antonio Bembo, proveditor extraordinary, were made prisoners of war." — History of the Turks, vol. iii. p. 151.
 +
 +
 +THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.
 +
 +
 +
 +I.
 +
 +Many a vanish'd year and age,
 +And tempest's breath, and battle's rage,
 +Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands
 +A fortress form'd to Freedom's hands.
 +The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock
 +Have left untouch'd her hoary rock,
 +The keystone of a land, which still,
 +Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill,
 +The landmark to the double tide
 +That purpling rolls on either side,
 +As if their waters chafed to meet,
 +Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.
 +But could the blood before her shed
 +Since first Timoleon's brother bled,
 +Or baffled Persia's despot fled,
 +Arise from out the earth which drank
 +The stream of slaughter as it sank,
 +That sanguine ocean would o'erflow
 +Her isthmus idly spread below:
 +Or could the bones of all the slain,
 +Who perish'd there, be piled again,
 +That rival pyramid would rise
 +More mountain-like, through those clear skies
 +Than yon tower-capp'd Acropolis,
 +Which seems the very clouds to kiss.
 +
 +II.
 +
 +On dun Cithжron's ridge appears
 +The gleam of twice ten thousand spears,
 +And downward to the Isthmian plain,
 +From shore to shore of either main,
 +The tent is pitch'd, the crescent shines
 +Along the Moslem's leaguering lines;
 +And the dusk Spahi's bands advance
 +Beneath each bearded pacha's glance;
 +And far and wide as eye can reach
 +The turban'd cohorts throng the beach;
 +And there the Arab's camel kneels,
 +And there his steed the Tartar wheels;
 +The Turcoman hath left his herd, [2]
 +The sabre round his loins to gird;
 +And there the volleying thunders pour,
 +Till waves grow smoother to the roar.
 +The trench is dug, the cannon's breath
 +Wings the far hissing globe of death;
 +Fast whirl the fragments from the wall,
 +Which crumbles with the ponderous ball;
 +And from that wall the foe replies,
 +O'er dusty plain and smoky skies,
 +With fires that answer fast and well
 +The summons of the Infidel.
 +
 +III.
 +
 +But near and nearest to the wall
 +Of those who wish and work its fall,
 +With deeper skill in war's black art
 +Than Othman's sons, and high of heart
 +As any chief that ever stood
 +Triumphant in the fields of blood;
 +From post to post, and deed to deed,
 +Fast spurring on his reeking steed,
 +Where sallying ranks the trench assail,
 +And make the foremost Moslem quail;
 +Or where the battery, guarded well,
 +Remains as yet impregnable,
 +Alighting cheerly to inspire
 +The soldier slackening in his fire;
 +The first and freshest of the host
 +Which Stamboul's Sultan there can boast
 +To guide the follower o'er the field,
 +To point the tube, the lance to wield,
 +Or whirl around the bickering blade; —
 +Was Alp, the Adrian renegade!
 +
 +IV.
 +
 +From Venice — once a race of worth
 +His gentle sires — he drew his birth;
 +But late an exile from her shore,
 +Against his countrymen he bore
 +The arms they taught to bear; and now
 +The turban girt his shaven brow.
 +Through many a change had Corinth pass'd
 +With Greece to Venice' rule at last;
 +And here, before her walls, with those
 +To Greece and Venice equal foes,
 +He stood a foe, with all the zeal
 +Which young and fiery converts feel,
 +Within whose heated bosom throngs
 +The memory of a thousand wrongs.
 +To him had Venice ceased to be
 +Her ancient civic boast — "the Free;"
 +And in the palace of St Mark
 +Unnamed accusers in the dark
 +Within the "Lion's mouth" had placed
 +A charge against him uneffaced:
 +He fled in time, and saved his life,
 +To waste his future years in strife,
 +That taught his land how great her loss
 +In him who triumph'd o'er the Cross,
 +'Gainst which he rear'd the Crescent high,
 +And battled to avenge or die.
 +
 +V.
 +
 +Coumourgi — he whose closing scene [3]
 +Adorn'd the triumph of Eugene,
 +When on Carlowitz' bloody plain,
 +The last and mightiest of the slain,
 +He sank, regretting not to die,
 +But cursed the Christian's victory —
 +Coumourgi — can his glory cease,
 +That latest conqueror of Greece,
 +Till Christian hands to Greece restore
 +The freedom Venice gave of yore?
 +A hundred years have roll'd away
 +Since he refix'd the Moslem's sway,
 +And now he led the Mussulman,
 +And gave the guidance of the van
 +To Alp, who well repaid the trust
 +By cities levell'd with the dust;
 +And proved, by many a deed of death,
 +How firm his heart in novel faith.
 +
 +VI.
 +
 +The walls grew weak; and fast and hot
 +Against them pour'd the ceaseless shot,
 +With unabating fury sent,
 +From battery to battlement;
 +And thunder-like the pealing din
 +Rose from each heated culverin;
 +And here and there some crackling dome
 +Was fired before the exploding bomb;
 +And as the fabric sank beneath
 +The shattering shell's volcanic breath,
 +In red and wreathing columns flash'd
 +The flame as loud the ruin crash'd,
 +Or into countless meteors driven,
 +Its earth-stars melted into heaven;
 +Whose clouds that day grew doubly d[un?]
 +Impervious to the hidden sun,
 +With volumed smoke that slowly grew
 +To one wide sky of sulphurous hue.
 +
 +VII.
 +
 +But not for vengeance, long delay'd,
 +Alone, did Alp, the renegade,
 +The Moslem warriors sternly teach
 +His skill to pierce the promised breach:
 +Within those walls a maid was pent
 +His hope would win, without consent
 +Of that inexorable sire,
 +Whose heart refused him in its ire,
 +When Alp, beneath his Christian name,
 +Her virgin hand aspired to claim.
 +In happier mood, and earlier time,
 +While unimpeach'd for traitorous crime,
 +Gayest in gondola or hall,
 +He glitter'd through the Carnival;
 +And tuned the softest serenade
 +That e'er on Adria's waters play'd
 +At midnight to Italian maid.
 +
 +VIII.
 +
 +And many deem'd her heart was won;
 +For sought by numbers, given to none,
 +Had young Francesca's hand remain'd
 +Still by the church's bond unchain'd:
 +And when the Adriatic bore
 +Lanciotto to the Paynim shore,
 +Her wonted smiles were seen to fail,
 +And pensive wax'd the maid and pale;
 +More constant at confessional,
 +More rare at masque and festival;
 +Or seen at such with downcast eyes,
 +Which conquer'd hearts they ceased to prize!
 +With listless look she seems to gaze;
 +With humbler care her form arrays;
 +Her voice less lively in the song;
 +Her step, though light, less fleet among
 +The pairs, on whom the Morning's glance
 +Breaks, yet unsated with the dance.
 +
 +IX.
 +
 +Sent by the state to guard the land,
 +(Which, wrested from the Moslem's hand,
 +While Sobieski tamed his pride
 +By Buda's wall and Danube's side,
 +The chiefs of Venice wrung away
 +From Patra to Eubњa's bay,)
 +Minotti held in Corinth's towers
 +The Doge's delegated powers,
 +While yet the pitying eye of Peace
 +Smiled o'er her long-forgotten Greece:
 +And ere that faithless truce was broke
 +Which freed her from the unchristian yoke,
 +With him his gentle daughter came;
 +Nor there, since Menelaus' dame
 +Forsook her lord and land, to prove
 +What woes await on lawless love,
 +Had fairer form adorn'd the shore
 +Than she, the matchless stranger, bore.
 +
 +X.
 +
 +
 +The wall is rent, the ruins yawn,
 +And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn,
 +O'er the disjointed mass shall vault
 +The foremost of the fierce assault.
 +The bands are rank'd; the chosen van
 +Of Tartar and of Mussulman,
 +The full of hope, misnamed "forlorn,"
 +Who hold the thought of death in scorn,
 +And win their way with falchion's force,
 +Or pave the path with many a corse,
 +O'er which the following brave may rise,
 +Their stepping-stone — the last who dies!
 +
 +XI.
 +
 +'Tis midnight: on the mountains brown
 +The cold, round moon shines deeply down:
 +Blue roll the waters, blue the sky
 +Spreads like an ocean hung on high,
 +Bespangled with those isles of light,
 +So wildly, spiritually bright;
 +Who ever gazed upon them shining,
 +And turn'd to earth without repining,
 +Nor wish'd for wings to flee away,
 +And mix with their eternal ray?
 +The waves on either shore lay there,
 +Calm, clear, and azure as the air;
 +And scarce their foam the pebbles shook,
 +But murmur'd meekly as the brook.
 +The winds were pillow'd on the waves;
 +The banners droop'd along their staves,
 +And, as they fell around them furling,
 +Above them shone the crescent curling;
 +And that deep silence was unbroke,
 +Save where the watch his signal spoke,
 +Save where the steed neigh'd oft and shrill,
 +And echo answer'd from the hill,
 +And the wide hum of that wild host,
 +Rustled like leaves from coast to coast,
 +As rose the Muezzin's voice in air
 +In midnight call to wonted prayer;
 +It rose, that chanted mournful strain,
 +Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain:
 +'Twas musical, but sadly sweet,
 +Such as when winds and harp-strings meet,
 +And take a long-unmeasured tone,
 +To mortal minstrelsy unknown.
 +It seem'd to those within the wall
 +A cry prophetic of their fall:
 +It struck even the besieger's ear
 +An undefined and sudden thrill,
 +Which makes the heart a moment still,
 +Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed
 +Of that strange sense its silence framed:
 +Such as a sudden passing-bell
 +Wakes though but for a stranger's knell.
 +
 +XII.
 +
 +The tent of Alp was on the shore;
 +The sound was hush'd, the prayer was o'er;
 +The watch was set, the night-round made,
 +All mandates issued and obey'd:
 +'Tis but another anxious night,
 +His pains the morrow may requite
 +With all revenge and love can pay,
 +In guerdon for their long delay.
 +Few hours remain, and he hath need
 +Of rest, to nerve for many a deed
 +Of slaughter; but within his soul
 +The thoughts like troubled waters roll.
 +He stood alone among the host;
 +Not his the loud fanatic boast
 +To plant the Crescent o'er the Cross
 +Or risk a life with little loss,
 +Secure in Paradise to be
 +By Houris loved immortally:
 +Nor his, what burning patriots feel,
 +The stern exaltedness of zeal,
 +Profuse of blood, untired in toil,
 +When battling on the parent soil.
 +He stood alone — a renegade
 +Against the country he betray'd.
 +He stood alone amidst his band,
 +Without a trusted heart or hand:
 +They follow'd him, for he was brave,
 +And great the spoil he got and gave;
 +They crouch'd to him, for he had skill
 +To warp and wield the vulgar will:
 +But still his Christian origin
 +With them was little less than sin.
 +They envied even the faithless fame
 +He earn'd beneath a Moslem name:
 +Since he, their mightiest chief had been
 +In youth, a bitter Nazarene.
 +They did not know how pride can stoop,
 +When baffled feelings withering droop;
 +They did not know how hate can burn
 +In hearts once changed from soft to stern;
 +Nor all the false and fatal zeal
 +The convert of revenge can feel.
 +He ruled them — man may rule the worst
 +By ever daring to be first:
 +So lions o'er the jackal sway;
 +The jackal points, he fells the prey,
 +Then on the vulgar yelling press,
 +To gorge the relics of success.
 +
 +XIII.
 +
 +His head grows fever'd, and his pulse
 +The quick successive throbs convulse;
 +In vain from side to side he throws
 +His form, in courtship of repose;
 +Or if he dozed, a sound, a start
 +Awoke him with a sunken heart.
 +The turban on his hot brow press'd,
 +The mail weigh'd lead-like on his breast,
 +Though oft and long beneath its weight
 +Upon his eyes had slumber sate,
 +Without or couch or canopy,
 +Except a rougher field and sky
 +Than now might yield a warrior's bed,
 +Than now along the heaven was spread.
 +He could not rest, he could not stay
 +Within his tent to wait for day,
 +But walk'd him forth along the sand,
 +Where thousand sleepers strew'd the strand.
 +What pillow'd them? and why should he
 +More wakeful than the humblest be?
 +Since more their peril, worse their toil,
 +And yet they fearless dream of spoil;
 +While he alone, where thousands pass'd
 +A night of sleep, perchance their last,
 +In sickly vigil wander'd on,
 +And envied all he gazed upon.
 +
 +XIV.
 +
 +He felt his soul become more light
 +Beneath the freshness of the night.
 +Cool was the silent sky, though calm,
 +And bathed his brow with airy balm:
 +Behind, the camp — before him lay,
 +In many a winding creek and bay,
 +Lepanto's gulf; and on the brow
 +Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow,
 +High and eternal, such as shone
 +Through thousand summers brightly gone.
 +Along the gulf, the mount, the clime;
 +It will not melt, like man, to time;
 +Tyrant and slave are swept away,
 +Less form'd to wear the before the ray;
 +But that white veil, the lightest, frailest,
 +Which on the mighty mount thou hailest,
 +Shines o'er its craggy battlement;
 +In form a peak, in height a cloud,
 +In texture like a hovering shroud,
 +Thus high by parting Freedom spread,
 +As from her fond abode she fled,
 +And linger'd on the spot, where long
 +Her prophet spirit spake in song.
 +Oh! still her step at moments falters
 +O'er wither'd fields, and ruined altars,
 +And fain would wake, in souls too broken,
 +By pointing to each glorious token.
 +But vain her voice, till better days
 +Dawn in those yet remember'd rays,
 +Which shone upon the Persian flying,
 +And saw the Spartan smile in dying.
 +
 +XV.
 +
 +Not mindless of these mighty times
 +Was Alp, despite his flight and crimes;
 +And through this night, as on he wander'd,
 +And o'er the past and present ponder'd,
 +And thought upon the glorious dead
 +Who there in better cause had bled,
 +He felt how faint and feebly dim
 +The fame that could accrue to him,
 +Who cheer'd the band, and waved the sword
 +A traitor in a turban'd horde;
 +And led them to the lawless siege,
 +Whose best success were sacrilege.
 +Not so had those his fancy number'd,
 +The chiefs whose dust around him slumber'd;
 +Their phalanx marshall'd on the plain,
 +Whose bulwarks were not then in vain.
 +They fell devoted, but undying;
 +The very gale their names seem'd sighing:
 +The waters murmur'd of their name;
 +The woods were peopled with their fame;
 +The silent pillar, lone and gray,
 +Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay;
 +Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain,
 +Their memory sparkled o'er the mountain,
 +The meanest rill, the mightiest river,
 +Roll'd mingling with their fame for ever.
 +Despite of every yoke she bears,
 +That land is glory's still, and theirs!
 +When man would do a deed of worth
 +He points to Greece, and turns to tread,
 +So sanction'd, on the tyrant's head:
 +He looks to her, and rushes on
 +Where life is lost, or freedom won.
 +
 +XVI.
 +
 +Still by the shore Alp mutely mused,
 +And woo'd the freshness night diffused.
 +There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea, [3]
 +Which changeless rolls eternally;
 +So that wildest of waves, in their angriest mood,
 +Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a rood;
 +And the powerless moon beholds them flow,
 +Heedless if she come or go:
 +Calm or high, in main or bay,
 +On their course she hath no sway.
 +The rock unworn its base doth bare,
 +And looks o'er the surf, but it comes not there;
 +And the fringe of the foam may be seen below,
 +On the line that it left long ages ago:
 +A smooth short space of yellow sand
 +Between it and the greener land.
 +
 +He wander'd on, along the beach,
 +Till within the range of a carbine's reach
 +Of the leaguer'd wall; but they saw him not,
 +Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot,
 +Did traitors lurk in the Christian's hold?
 +Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts wax'd cold,
 +I know not, in sooth; but from yonder wall
 +There flash'd no fire, and there hiss'd no ball,
 +Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown,
 +That flank'd the sea-ward gate of the town;
 +Though he heard the sound, and could almost tell
 +The sullen words of the sentinel,
 +As his measured step on the stone below
 +Clank'd, as he paced it to and fro;
 +And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall
 +Hold o'er the dead their carnival,
 +Gorging and growling o'er carcass and limb!
 +They were too busy to bark at him!
 +From a Tartar's skull they had stripp'd the flesh,
 +As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh;
 +And their white tusks crunch'd o'er the whiter skull, [4]
 +As it slipped through their jaws, when their edge grew dull,
 +As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead,
 +When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed;
 +So well had they broken a lingering fast
 +With those who had fall'n for that night's repast.
 +And Alp knew, by the turbans that roll'd on the sand,
 +The foremost of these were the best of his band:
 +Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear,
 +And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair, [5]
 +All the rest was shaven and bare.
 +The scalps were in the wild-dog's maw,
 +The hair was tangled round his jaw.
 +But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf,
 +There sat a vulture flapping a wolf,
 +Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away,
 +Scared by the dogs, from the human prey;
 +But he seized on his share of a steed that lay,
 +Pick'd by the birds, on the sands of the bay.
 +
 +XVII.
 +
 +Alp turn'd him from the sickening sight:
 +Never had shaken his nerves in fight;
 +Be he better could brook to behold the dying,
 +Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying,
 +Scorch'd with death-thirst, and writing in vain,
 +Than the perishing dead who are past all pain.
 +There is something of pride in the perilous hour,
 +Whate'er be the shape in which death may lour;
 +For Fame is there to say who bleeds,
 +And Honour's eye on daring deeds!
 +But when all is past, it is humbling to tread
 +O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead,
 +And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air,
 +Beasts of the forest, all gathering there;
 +All regarding man as their prey,
 +All rejoicing in his decay.
 +
 +XVIII.
 +
 +There is a temple in ruin stands,
 +Fashion'd by long-forgotten hands;
 +Two or three columns, and many a stone,
 +Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown!
 +Out upon Time! it will leave no more
 +Of the things to come than the things before!
 +But enough of the past for the future to grieve
 +O'er that which hath been, and o'er that which must be!
 +What we have seen, our sons shall see;
 +Remnants of things that have pass'd away,
 +Fragments of stone, rear'd by creatures of clay!
 +
 +XIX.
 +
 +He sate him down at a pillar's base,
 +And pass'd his hand athwart his face;
 +Like one in dreary musing mood,
 +Declining was his attitude;
 +His head was drooping on his breast,
 +Fever'd, throbbing, and opprest;
 +And o'er his brow, so downward bent,
 +Oft his beating fingers went,
 +Hurriedly, as you may see
 +Your own run over the ivory key,
 +Ere the measured tone is taken,
 +By the chords you would awaken.
 +There he sate all heavily,
 +As he heard the night-wind sigh.
 +Was it the wind, through some hollow stone, [6]
 +Sent that soft and tender moan?
 +He lifted his head, and he look'd on the sea,
 +But it was unrippled as glass may be;
 +He look'd on the long grass — it waved not a blade;
 +How was that gentle sound convey'd?
 +He look'd to the banners — each flag lay still,
 +So did the leaves on Cithжron's hill,
 +And he felt not a breath come over his cheek;
 +What did that sudden sound bespeak?
 +He turn'd to the left — is he sure of sight?
 +There sate a lady, youthful and bright!
 +
 +XX.
 +
 +He started up with more of fear
 +Than if an armed foe were near.
 +"God of my fathers! what is here?
 +Who art thou, and wherefore sent
 +So near a hostile armament?"
 +His trembling hands refused to sign
 +The cross he deem'd no more divine:
 +He had resumed it in that hour,
 +But conscience wrung away the power.
 +He gazed — he saw: he knew the face
 +Of beauty, and the form of grace;
 +It was Francesca by his side,
 +The maid who might have been his bride!
 +
 +The rose was yet upon her cheek,
 +But mellow'd with a tenderer streak:
 +Where was the play of her soft lips fled?
 +Gone was the smile that enliven'd their red.
 +The ocean's calm within their view,
 +Beside her eye had less of blue;
 +But like that cold wave it stood still,
 +And its glance, though clear, was chill.
 +Around her form a thin robe twining,
 +Nought conceal'd her bosom shining;
 +Through the parting of her hair,
 +Floating darkly downward there,
 +Her rounded arm shew'd white and bare:
 +And ere yet she made reply,
 +Once she raised her hand on high;
 +It was so wan and transparent of hue,
 +You might have seen the moon shine through.
 +
 +XXI.
 +
 +"I come from my rest to him I love best,
 +That I may be happy, and he may be blest.
 +I have pass'd the guards, the gate, the wall;
 +Sought thee in safety through foes and all.
 +'Tis said the lion will turn and flee
 +From a maid in the pride of her purity;
 +And the Power on high, that can shield the good
 +Thus from the tyrant of the wood,
 +Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well
 +From the hands of the leaguering infidel.
 +I come — and if I come in vain,
 +Never, oh never, we meet again!
 +Thou hast done a fearful deed
 +In falling away from thy fathers' creed:
 +But dash that turban to earth, and sign
 +The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine;
 +Wring the black drop from thy heart,
 +And to-morrow unites us no more to part."
 +
 +"And where should our bridal-couch be spread?
 +In the midst of the dying and the dead?
 +For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame
 +The sons and shrines of the Christian name.
 +None, save thou and thine, I've sworn,
 +Shall be left upon the morn:
 +But thee will I bear to a lovely spot,
 +Where our hands shall be join'd, and our sorrow forgot.
 +There thou yet shall be my bride,
 +When once again I've quell'd the pride
 +Of Venice: and her hated race
 +Have felt the arm they would debase
 +Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those
 +Whom vice and envy made my foes."
 +
 +Upon his hand she laid her own —
 +Light was the touch, but it thrill'd to the bone,
 +And shot a chillness to his heart,
 +Which fix'd him beyond the power to start.
 +Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold,
 +He could not lose him from its hold:
 +But never did clasp of one so dear
 +Strike on the pulse with such feeling of fear,
 +As those thin fingers, long and white,
 +Froze through his blood by their touch that night.
 +The feverish glow of his brow was gone,
 +And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone,
 +As he look'd on the face, and beheld its hue,
 +So deeply changed from what he knew:
 +Fair but faint — without the ray
 +Of mind, that made each feature play
 +Like sparkling waves on a sunny day;
 +And her motionless lips lay still as death,
 +And her words came forth without her breath,
 +And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell,
 +And there seem'd not a pulse in her veins to dwell.
 +Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fix'd,
 +And the glance that it gave was wild and unmix'd
 +With aught of change, as the eyes may seem
 +Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream:
 +Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare,
 +Stirr'd by the breath of the wintry air,
 +So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light,
 +Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight;
 +As they seem, through the dimness, about to come down
 +From the shadowy wall where their images frown;
 +Fearfully flitting to and fro,
 +As the gusts on the tapestry come and go.
 +"If not for the love of me be given
 +Thus much, then, for the love of Heaven, —
 +Again I say — that turban tear
 +From off thy faithless brow, and swear
 +Thine injured country's sons to spare,
 +Or thou art lost; and never shalt see —
 +Not earth — that's past — but heaven or me.
 +If this thou dost accord, albeit
 +A heavy doom 'tis thine to me,
 +That doom shall half absolve thy sin,
 +And mercy's gate may receive within;
 +But pause one moment more, and take
 +The curse of Him thou didst forsake;
 +And look once more to heaven, and see
 +Its love for ever shut from thee.
 +There is a light cloud by the moon — [7]
 +'Tis passing, and will pass full soon —
 +If, by the time its vapoury sail
 +Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil,
 +Thy heart within thee is not changed,
 +Then God and man are both avenged;
 +Dark will thy doom be, darker still
 +Thine immortality of ill."
 +
 +Alp look'd to heaven, and saw on high
 +The sign she spake of in the sky;
 +But his heart was swoll'n, and turn'd aside,
 +By deep interminable pride.
 +This first false passion of his breast
 +Roll'd like a torrent o'er the rest.
 +He sue for mercy! He dismay'd
 +By wild words of a timid maid!
 +He, wrong'd by Venice, vow to save
 +Her sons, devoted to the grave!
 +No — though that cloud were thunder's worst,
 +And charged to crush him — let it burst!
 +He look'd upon it earnestly,
 +Without an accent of reply;
 +He watch'd it passing: it is flown:
 +Full on his eye the clear moon shone.
 +And thus he spake — "Whate'er my fate,
 +I am no changeling — 'tis too late:
 +The reed in storms may bow and quiver,
 +Then rise again; the tree must shiver.
 +What Venice made me, I must be,
 +Her foe in all, save love to thee:
 +But thou art safe: oh, fly with me!"
 +He turn'd, but she is gone!
 +Nothing is there but the column stone.
 +Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air?
 +He saw not — he knew not — but nothing is there.
 +
 +XXII.
 +
 +The night is past, and shines the sun
 +As if that morn were a jocund one.
 +Lightly and brightly breaks away
 +The Morning from her mantle gray,
 +And the Noon will look on a sultry day.
 +Hark to the trump, and the drum,
 +And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,
 +And the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne,
 +And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum,
 +And the clash and the shout, "They come, they come!"
 +The horsetails are pluck'd from the ground, and the sword
 +From its sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.
 +Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman,
 +Strike your tents, and throng to the van;
 +Mount ye, spur ye, skirt the plain,
 +That the fugitive may flee in vain,
 +When he breaks from the town; and none escape,
 +Aged or young in Christian shape;
 +While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,
 +Bloodstain the breach through which they pass.
 +The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein;
 +Curved is each neck, and flowing each main;
 +White is the foam of their champ on the bit:
 +The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;
 +The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar,
 +And crush the wall they have crumbled before:
 +Forms in his phalanx each Janizar;
 +Alp at their head; his right arm is bare,
 +So is the blade of his scimitar;
 +The khan and the pachas are all at their post:
 +The vizier himself at the head of the host.
 +When the culverin's signal is fired, then on;
 +Leave not in Corinth a living one —
 +A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls,
 +A hearth in her mansions, a stone in her walls.
 +God and the prophet — Allah Hu!
 +Up to the skies with that wild halloo!
 +
 +"There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale
 +And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail?
 +He who first downs with the red cross may crave
 +His heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, and have!"
 +Thus utter'd Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier;
 +The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear,
 +And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire: —
 +Silence — hark to the signal — fire!
 +
 +XXIII.
 +
 +As the wolves, that headlong go
 +On the stately buffalo,
 +Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar,
 +And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore,
 +He tramples on earth, or tosses on high
 +The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die;
 +Thus against the wall they went,
 +Thus the first were backward bent;
 +Many a bosom, sheathed in brass,
 +Strew'd the earth like broken glass,
 +Shiver'd by the shot, that tore
 +The ground whereon they moved no more:
 +Even as they fell, in files they lay,
 +Like the mower's grass at the close of day,
 +When is work is done on the levell'd plain;
 +Such was the fall of the foremost slain.
 +
 +XXIV.
 +
 +As the spring-tides, with heavy splash,
 +From the cliffs invading dash
 +Huge fragments, sapp'd by the ceaseless flow,
 +Till white and thundering down they go,
 +Like the avalanche's snow
 +On the Alpine vales below;
 +Thus at length, outbreathed and worn,
 +Corinth's sons were downward borne
 +By the long and oft-renew'd
 +Charge of the Moslem multitude.
 +In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell,
 +Heap'd, by the host of the infidel,
 +Hand to hand, and foot to foot:
 +Nothing there, save death, was mute;
 +Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry
 +For quarter, or for victory,
 +Mingle there with the volleying thunder,
 +Which makes the distant cities wonder
 +How the sounding battle goes,
 +If with them, or for their foes;
 +If they must mourn, or may rejoice
 +In that annihilating voice,
 +Which pierces the deep hills through and through
 +With an echo dread and new:
 +You might have heard it, on that day,
 +O'er Salamis and Megara;
 +(We have heard the hearers say,)
 +Even unto Pirжus' bay.
 +
 +XXV.
 +
 +From the point of encountering blades to the hilt,
 +Sabres and swords with blood were gilt:
 +But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun
 +And all but the after carnage done.
 +Shriller shrieks now mingling come
 +From within the plunder'd dome:
 +Hark to the haste of flying feet,
 +That splash in the blood of the slippery street;
 +But here and there, where 'vantage ground
 +Against the foe may still be found,
 +Desperate groups, of twelve or ten,
 +Make a pause, and turn again —
 +With banded backs against the wall,
 +Fiercely stand, or fighting fall.
 +
 +There stood an old man — his hairs were white,
 +But his veteran arm was full of might:
 +So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray,
 +The dead before him on that day,
 +In a semicircle lay;
 +Still he combated unwounded,
 +Though retreating, unsurrounded.
 +Many a scar of former fight
 +Lurk'd beneath his corslet bright;
 +But of every wound his body bore,
 +Each and all had been ta'en before:
 +Though aged, he was so iron of limb,
 +Few of our youth could cope with him;
 +And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay,
 +Outnumber'd his thin hairs of silver gray.
 +From right to left his sabre swept:
 +Many an Othman mother wept
 +Sons that were unborn, when dipp'd
 +His weapon first in Moslem gore,
 +Ere his years could count a score.
 +Of all he might have been the sire
 +Who fell that day beneath his ire:
 +For, sonless left long years ago,
 +His wrath made many a childless foe;
 +And since the day, when in the strait [8]
 +His only boy had met his fate,
 +His parent's iron hand did doom
 +More than a human hecatomb.
 +If shades by carnage be appeased,
 +Patroclus' spirit less was pleased
 +Than his, Minotti's son, who died
 +Where Asia's bounds and ours divide,
 +Buried he lay, where thousands before
 +For thousands of years were inhumed on the shore;
 +What of them is left, to tell
 +Where they lie, and how they fell?
 +Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves;
 +But they live in the verse that immortally saves.
 +
 +XXVI.
 +
 +Hark to the Allah shout! a band
 +Of the Mussulman bravest and best is at hand:
 +Their leader's nervous arm is bare,
 +Swifter to smite, and never to spare —
 +Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them on;
 +Thus in the fight is he ever known:
 +Others a gaudier garb may show,
 +To them the spoil of the greedy foe;
 +Many a hand's on a richer hilt,
 +But none on a steel more ruddily gilt;
 +Many a loftier turban may wear, —
 +Alp is but known by the white arm bare;
 +Look through the thick of the fight, 'tis there!
 +There is not a standard on the shore
 +So well advanced the ranks before;
 +There is not a banner in Moslem war
 +Will lure the Delis half so far;
 +It glances like a falling star!
 +Where'er that mighty arm is seen,
 +The bravest be, or late have been;
 +There the craven cries for quarter
 +Vainly to the vengeful Tartar;
 +Or the hero, silent lying,
 +Scorns to yield a groan in dying;
 +Mustering his last feeble blow
 +'Gainst the nearest levell'd foe,
 +Though faint beneath the mutual wound,
 +Grappling on the gory ground.
 +
 +XXVII.
 +
 +Still the old man stood erect,
 +And Alp's career a moment check'd.
 +"Yield thee, Minotti; quarter take,
 +For thine own, thy daughter's sake."
 +
 +"Never, renegado, never!
 +Though the life of thy gift would last for ever."
 +
 +"Francesca! — oh, my promised bride:
 +Must she too perish by thy pride?"
 +
 +"She is safe." — "Where? where?" — "In heaven;
 +From whence thy traitor soul is driven —
 +Far from thee, and undefiled."
 +Grimly then Minotti smiled,
 +As he saw Alp staggering bow
 +Before his words, as with a blow.
 +
 +"O God! when died she?" — "Yesternight —
 +Nor weep I for her spirit's flight:
 +None of my pure race shall be
 +Slaves to Mohammed and thee —
 +Come on!" That challenge is in vain —
 +Alp's already with the slain!
 +
 +While Minotti's words were wreaking
 +More revenge in bitter speaking
 +Than his falchion's point had found,
 +Had the time allow'd to wound,
 +From within the neighbouring porch
 +Of a long-defended church,
 +Where the last and desperate few
 +Would the failing fight renew,
 +The sharp shot dash'd Alp to the ground;
 +Ere an eye could view the wound
 +That crash'd through the brain of the infidel,
 +Round he spun, and down he fell;
 +A flash like fire within his eyes
 +Blazed, as he bent no more to rise,
 +And then eternal darkness sunk
 +Through all the palpitating trunk;
 +Nought of life left, save a quivering
 +Where his limbs were slightly shivering:
 +They turn'd him on his back; his breast
 +And brow were stain'd with gore and dust,
 +And through his lips the life-blood oozed,
 +From its deep veins lately loosed;
 +But in his pulse there was no throb,
 +Nor on his lips one dying sob;
 +Sigh, nor word, nor struggling breath
 +Heralded his way to death:
 +Ere his very thought could pray,
 +Unanel'd he pass'd away,
 +Without a hope from mercy's aid, —
 +To the last — a Renegade.
 +
 +XXVIII.
 +
 +Fearfully the yell arose
 +Of his followers, and his foes;
 +These in joy, in fury those:
 +Then again in conflict mixing,
 +Clashing swords, and spears transfixing,
 +Interchanged the blow and thrust,
 +Hurling warriors in the dust.
 +Street by street, and foot by foot,
 +Still Minotti dares dispute
 +The latest portion of the land
 +Left beneath his high command;
 +With him, aiding heart and hand,
 +The remnant of his gallant band.
 +Still the church is tenable,
 +Whence issued the fated ball
 +That half avenged the city's fall,
 +When Alp, her fierce assailant, fell:
 +Thither bending sternly back,
 +They leave before a bloody track;
 +And, with their faces to the foe,
 +Dealing wounds with every blow,
 +The chief, and his retreating train,
 +Join to those within the fane;
 +There they yet may breathe awhile,
 +Shelter'd by the massy pile.
 +
 +XXIX.
 +
 +Brief breathing-time! the turban'd host,
 +With added ranks and raging boast,
 +Press onwards with such strength and heat,
 +Their numbers balk their own retreat;
 +For narrow the way that led to the spot
 +Where still the Christians yielded not;
 +And the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try
 +Through the massy column to turn and fly;
 +They perforce must do or die.
 +They die: but ere their eyes could close,
 +Avengers o'er their bodies rose;
 +Fresh and furious, fast they fill
 +The ranks unthinn'd, though slaughter'd still:
 +And faint the weary Christians wax
 +Before the still renew'd attacks:
 +And now the Othmans gain the gate;
 +Still resists its iron weight,
 +And still, all deadly aim'd and hot,
 +From every crevice comes the shot;
 +From every shatter'd window pour
 +The volleys of the sulphurous shower:
 +But the portal wavering grows and weak —
 +The iron yields, the hinges creak —
 +It bends — and falls — and all is o'er;
 +Lost Corinth may resist no more!
 +
 +XXX.
 +
 +Dark, sternly, and all alone,
 +Minotti stood o'er the altar stone:
 +Madonna's face upon him shone,
 +Painted in heavenly hues above,
 +With eyes of light and looks of love;
 +And placed upon that holy shrine
 +To fix our thoughts on things divine,
 +When pictured there we kneeling see
 +Her, and the boy-God on her knee,
 +Smiling sweetly on each prayer
 +To heaven, as if to waft it there.
 +Still she smiled; even now she smiles,
 +Though slaughter streams along her aisles:
 +Minotti lifted his aged eye,
 +And made the sign of a cross with a sigh,
 +Then seized a torch which blazed thereby;
 +And still he stood, while, with steel and flame,
 +Inward and onward the Mussulman came.
 +
 +XXXI.
 +
 +The vaults beneath the mosaic stone
 +Contain'd the dead of ages gone:
 +Their names were on the graven floor,
 +But now illegible with gore;
 +The carved crests, and curious hues
 +The varied marble's veins diffuse,
 +Were smear'd, and slippery — stain'd, and strown
 +With broken swords, and helms o'erthrown:
 +There were dead above, and the dead below
 +Lay cold in many a coffin'd row;
 +You might see them piled in sable state,
 +By a pale light through a gloomy grate:
 +But War had enter'd their dark caves,
 +And stored along the vaulted graves
 +Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread
 +In masses by the fleshless dead:
 +Here, throughout the siege, had been
 +The Christians' chiefest magazine;
 +To these a late-form'd train now led,
 +Minotti's last and stern resource,
 +Against the foe's o'erwhelming force.
 +
 +XXXII.
 +
 +The foe came on, and few remain
 +To strive, and those must strive in vain:
 +For lack of further lives, to slake
 +The thirst of vengeance now awake,
 +With barbarous blows they gash the dead,
 +And lop the already lifeless head,
 +And fell the statues from their niche,
 +And spoil the shrine of offerings rich,
 +And from each other's rude hands wrest
 +The silver vessels saints had bless'd.
 +To the high altar on they go;
 +Oh, but it made a glorious show!
 +On its table still behold
 +The cup of consecrated gold;
 +Massy and deep, a glittering prize,
 +Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes:
 +That morn it held the holy wine,
 +Converted by Christ to His blood so divine,
 +Which His worshippers drank at the break of day
 +To shrive their souls ere they join'd in the fray,
 +Still a few drops within it lay;
 +And round the sacred table glow
 +Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row,
 +From the purest metal cast;
 +A spoil — the richest, and the last.
 +
 +XXXIII.
 +
 +So near they came, the nearest stretch'd
 +To grasp the spoil he almost reach'd
 +When old Minotti's hand
 +Touch'd with a torch the train —
 +'Tis fired!
 +Spire, vaults, and shrine, the spoil, the slain,
 +The turban'd victors, the Christian band,
 +All that of living or dead remain,
 +Hurl'd on high with the shiver'd fane,
 +In one wild roar expired!
 +The shatter'd town — the walls thrown down —
 +The waves a moment backward bent —
 +The hills that shake, although unrent,
 +As if an earthquake pass'd —
 +The thousand shapeless things all driven
 +In cloud and flame athwart the heaven,
 +By that tremendous blast —
 +Proclaim'd the desperate conflict o'er
 +On that too long afflicted shore!
 +Up to the sky like rockets go
 +All that mingled there below:
 +Many a tall and goodly man,
 +Scorch'd and shrivell'd to a span,
 +When he fell to earth again
 +Like a cinder strew'd the plain:
 +Down the ashes shower like rain;
 +Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles
 +With a thousand circling wrinkles;
 +Some fell on the shore, but, far away,
 +Scatter'd o'er the isthmus lay;
 +Christian or Moslem, which be they?
 +Let their mothers see and say!
 +When in cradled rest they lay,
 +And each nursing mother smiled
 +On the sweet sleep of her child,
 +Little deem'd she such a day
 +Would rend those tender limbs away.
 +Not the matrons that them bore
 +Could discern their offspring more;
 +That one moment left no trace
 +More of human form or face
 +Save a scatter'd scalp or bone:
 +And down came blazing rafters, strown
 +Around, and many a falling stone,
 +Deeply dinted in the clay,
 +All blacken'd there and reeking lay.
 +All the living things that heard
 +That deadly earth-shock disappear'd.
 +The wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled,
 +And howling left the unburied dead;
 +The camels from their keepers broke;
 +The distant steer forsook the yoke —
 +The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain,
 +And burst his girth, and tore his rein;
 +The bull-frog's note, from out the marsh,
 +Deep-mouth'd arose, and doubly harsh;
 +The wolves yell'd on the cavern'd hill
 +Where echo roll'd in thunder still;
 +The jackal's troop, in gather'd cry, [8]
 +Bay'd from afar complainingly,
 +With mix'd and mournful sound,
 +Like crying babe, and beaten hound:
 +With sudden wing, and ruffled breast,
 +The eagle left his rocky nest,
 +And mounted nearer to the sun,
 +The clouds beneath him seem'd so dun
 +Their smoke assail'd his startled beak,
 +And made him higher soar and shriek —
 +Thus was Corinth lost and won!
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10136: 줄 11462:
 65 Mazeppa | 65 Mazeppa |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Twas after dread Pultowa's day,
 +When fortune left the royal Swede -
 +Around a slaughtered army lay,
 +No more to combat and to bleed.
 +The power and glory of the war,
 +Faithless as their vain votaries, men,
 +Had passed to the triumphant Czar,
 +And Moscow’s walls were safe again -
 +Until a day more dark and drear,
 +And a more memorable year,
 +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
 +
 +Such was the hazard Of the die;
 +The wounded Charles was taught to fly
 +By day and night through field and flood,
 +Stained with his own and subjects' blood;
 +For thousands fell that flight to aid:
 +And not a voice was heard to upbraid
 +Ambition in his humbled hour,
 +When truth had nought to dread from power,
 +His horse was slain, and Gieta gave
 +His own - and died the Russians’ slave.
 +This too sinks after many a league
 +Of well sustained, but vain fatigue;
 +And in the depth of forests darkling,
 +The watch-fires in the distance sparkling -
 +The beacons of surrounding foes -
 +A king must lay his limbs at length.
 +Are these the laurels and repose
 +For which the nations strain their strength?
 +They laid him by a savage tree,
 +In outworn nature’s agony;
 +His wounds were stiff, his limbs were stark,
 +The heavy hour was chill and dark;
 +The fever in his blood forbade
 +A transient slumber's fitful aid:
 +And thus it was; but yet through all,
 +Kinglike the monarch bore his fall,
 +And made, in this extreme of ill,
 +His pangs the vassals of his will:
 +All silent and subdued were they,
 +As owe the nations round him lay.
 +
 +
 +III
 +
 +A band of chiefs! - alas! how few,
 +Since but the fleeting of a day
 +Had thinned 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;
 +For danger levels man and brute,
 +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,
 +The Ukraine's hetman, calm and bold:
 +But first, outspent with this long course,
 +The Cossack prince rubbed down his horse,
 +And made for him a leafy bed,
 +And smoothed his fetlocks and his mane,
 +And slacked his girth, and stripped his rein,
 +And joyed to see how well he fed;
 +For until now he had the dread
 +His wearied courser might refuse
 +To browse beneath the midnight dews:
 +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,
 +All Tartar-like he carried him;
 +Obeyed 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, -
 +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 good
 +The long day's march had well withstood -
 +If still the powder filled the pan,
 +And flints unloosened kept their lock -
 +His sabre's hilt and scabbard felt,
 +And whether they had chafed his belt;
 +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 offered then
 +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,
 +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 done
 +Than thee, Mazeppa! On the earth
 +So fit a pair had never birth,
 +Since Alexander's days till now,
 +As thy Bucephalus and thou:
 +All Scythia's fame to thine should yield
 +For pricking on o'er flood and field.'
 +Mazeppa answered - " Ill betide
 +The school wherein I learned to ride!
 +Quoth Charles -'Old Hetman, wherefore so,
 +Since thou hast learned the art so well?
 +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 ease,
 +Beyond the swift Borysthenes:
 +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 tell
 +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 track
 +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:
 +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)
 +He reigned 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;
 +But soon his wrath being o'er, he took
 +Another mistress - or new book;
 +And then he gave prodigious fetes -
 +All Warsaw gathered round his gates
 +To gaze upon his splendid court,
 +And dames, and chiefs, of princely port.
 +He was the Polish Solomon,
 +So sung his poets, all but one,
 +Who, being unpensioned, made a satire,
 +And boasted that he could not flatterI
 +It was a court of jousts and mimes,
 +Where every courtier tried at rhymes;
 +Even I for once produced some verses,
 +And signed my odes "Despairing Thyrsis."
 +There was a certain Palatine,
 +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 ore
 +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 looked like want of head,
 +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,
 +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 render
 +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.
 +
 +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,
 +Could vie in vanities with me;
 +For I had strength, youth, gaiety,
 +A port, not like to this ye see,
 +But smooth, as all is rugged now;
 +For time, and care, and war, have ploughed
 +My very soul from out my brow;
 +And thus I should be disavowed
 +By all my kind and kin, could they
 +Compare my day and yesterday;
 +This change was wrought, too, long ere age
 +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,
 +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;
 +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,
 +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 seemed to melt to its own beam;
 +All love, half langour, 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,
 +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;
 +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,
 +As is Mazeppa to the last
 +
 +VI
 +
 +'We met - we gazed - I saw, and sighed,
 +She did not speak, and yet replied;
 +There are ten thousand tones and signs
 +We hear and see, but none defines -
 +Involuntary sparks of thought,
 +Which strike from out the heart o’erwrought,
 +And form a strange intelligence,
 +Alike mysterious and intense,
 +Which link the burning chain that binds,
 +Without their will, young hearts and minds
 +Conveying, as the electric wire,
 +We know not how, the absorbing fire.
 +I saw, and sighed - in silence wept,
 +And still reluctant distance kept,
 +Until I was made known to her,
 +And we might then and there confer
 +Without suspicion - then, even then,
 +I longed, and was resolved to speak;
 +But on my lips they died again,
 +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 -
 +And we to this, it seems, were set,
 +By some strange chance, which I forget:
 +I reck'd not if I won or lost,
 +It was enough for me to be
 +So near to hear, and oh! to see
 +The being whom I loved the most. -
 +I watched her as a sentinel,
 +(May ours this dark night watch as well!)
 +Until I saw, and thus it was,
 +That she was pensive, nor perceived
 +Her occupation, nor was grieved
 +Nor glad to lose or gain; but still
 +Played on for hours, as if her win
 +Yet bound her to the place, though not
 +That hers might be the winning lot.
 +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,
 +All incoherent as they were -
 +Their eloquence was little worth,
 +But yet she listened - 'tis enough -
 +Who listens once will listen twice;
 +Her heart, be sure, is not of ice,
 +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;
 +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,
 +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;
 +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.
 +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 live
 +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.
 +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 called her mine
 +In the full view of earth and heaven;
 +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 -
 +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 spies
 +Surprised and seized us both.
 +The Count was something more than wroth -
 +I was unarmed; but if in steel,
 +All cap from head to heel,
 +What 'gainst their numbers could I do?
 +'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 seemed reduced to few;
 +And with one prayer to Mary Mother,
 +And, it may be, a saint or two,
 +As I resigned me to my fate,
 +They led me to the castle gate:
 +Tleresa'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 seemed
 +The first of men, nor less he deemed
 +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.
 +
 +
 +IX
 +
 +"'Bring forth the horse!" - the horse was brought;
 +In truth, he was a noble steed,
 +A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,
 +Who looked 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;
 +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 -
 +I saw not where he hurried on:
 +'Twas scarcely yet the break of day,
 +And on he foamed - 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 snapped the cord, which to the mane
 +Had bound my neck in lieu of rein,
 +And, writhing half my form about,
 +Howled 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 the 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 scorched and blackening roof,
 +Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof.
 +They little thought that day of pain,
 +When launched, 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 played me then a bitter prank,
 +'When, with the wild horse for my guide,
 +The bound me to his foaming flank:
 +At length I played 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,
 +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 chequered 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 Tartars built of old,
 +No trace of man. The year before
 +A Turkish army had marched o'er;
 +And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod,
 +The verdure flies the bloody sod: -
 +The sky was dull, and dim, and grey,
 +And a low breeze crept moaning by -
 +I could have answered 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;
 +But, snorting still with rage and fear,
 +He flew upon his far career:
 +At times I almost thought, indeed,
 +He must have slackened 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.
 +
 +XII
 +
 +'We neared 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 green,
 +Luxuriant with their annual leaves,
 +Ere strown by those autumnal eves
 +That nip the forest's foliage dead,
 +Discoloured with a lifeless red,
 +Which stands thereon like stiffened 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 scarred 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 followed 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 wished 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 wished 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 peasant near the door
 +Whose threshold he shall cross no more,
 +Bewildered with the dazzling blast,
 +Than through the forest-paths he passed -
 +Untired, untamed, and worse than wild;
 +All furious as a favoured child
 +Balked of its wish; or fiercer still
 +A woman piqued - who has her will.
 +
 +XIII
 +
 +'The wood was passed; 'twas more than noon,
 +But chill the air, although in June;
 +Or it might be my veins ran cold -
 +Prolonged 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 stirred beyond its calmer mood,
 +And trodden hard upon, is like
 +The rattle-snake's, in act to strike -
 +What marvel if this worn-out trunk
 +Beneath its woes a moment sunk?
 +The earth gave way, the skies rolled round,
 +I seemed to sink upon the ground;
 +But erred, for I was fastly bound.
 +My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore,
 +And throbbed 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 same 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 passed, 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.
 +
 +XIV
 +
 +'My thoughts came back; where was I? Cold,
 +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 reflowed, though thick and chill;
 +My ear with uncouth noises rang,
 +My heart began once more to thrill;
 +My sight returned, though dim; alas!
 +And thickened, 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 stiffened limbs 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.
 +
 +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 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 scattered 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 cheered me then!
 +Although detected, welcome still,
 +Reminding me, through every ill,
 +Of the abodes of men.
 +
 +XVI
 +
 +'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 availed -
 +My limbs were bound; my force had failed,
 +Perchance, had they been free.
 +With feeble effort still I tried
 +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 prolonged their pain:
 +The dizzy race seemed almost done,
 +Although no goal was nearly won.
 +Some streaks announced the coming sun -
 +How slow, alas! he came!
 +Methought that mist of dawning grey
 +Would never dapple into day;
 +How heavily it rolled away -
 +Before the eastern flame
 +Rose crimson, and deposed the stars,
 +And called the radiance from their cars,
 +And filled the earth, from his deep throne,
 +With lonely lustre, all his own.
 +
 +
 +XVII
 +
 +'Up rose the sun; the mists were curled
 +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 toll;
 +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 staggered on;
 +And still we were - or seemed - 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 I
 +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 stretched by pain,
 +Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,
 +And feet that iron never shod,
 +And flanks unscarred 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 re-nerved my courser's feet,
 +A moment staggering, feebly fleet,
 +A moment, with a faint low neigh,
 +He answered, 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 seemed 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,
 +Linked 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 deemed another day
 +Would see my houseless, helpless head.
 +And there from morn till twilight bound,
 +I felt the heavy hours toll 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 resigned
 +To that which our foreboding years
 +Presents the worst and last of fears
 +Inevitable - even a boon,
 +Nor more unkind for coming soon,
 +Yet shunned and dreaded with such care,
 +As if it only were a snare
 +That prudence might escape:
 +At times both wished 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 revelled 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 viewed
 +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 distempered eyes,
 +Arrived to rob him of his prize,
 +The tree of his new Paradise.
 +Tomorrow would have given him all,
 +Repaid his pangs, repaired his fall;
 +Tomorrow 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;
 +Tomorrow 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
 +Chained 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 cast my last looks up the sky,
 +And there between me and the sun
 +I saw the expecting raven fly,
 +Who scarce would wait till both should die,
 +Ere his repast begun;
 +He flew, and perched, 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 lacked 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 fixed 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 crossed my brain
 +A gasp, a throb, a start of pain,
 +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?
 +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-haired, 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 essayed to speak,
 +But failed - and she approached, 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 smoothed 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 followed her light feet.
 +But those she called were not awake,
 +And she went forth; but, ere she passed,
 +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!
 +Tomorrow 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.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10143: 줄 12396:
 66 And Thou Art Dead, As Young and Fair | 66 And Thou Art Dead, As Young and Fair |
 <poem> <poem>
 +And thou art dead, as young and fair
 +As aught of mortal birth;
 +And form so soft, and charms so rare,
 +Too soon return'd to Earth!
 +Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed,
 +And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
 +In carelessness or mirth,
 +There is an eye which could not brook
 +A moment on that grave to look.
  
 +I will not ask where thou liest low,
 +Nor gaze upon the spot;
 +There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
 +So I behold them not:
 +It is enough for me to prove
 +That what I lov'd, and long must love,
 +Like common earth can rot;
 +To me there needs no stone to tell,
 +'T is Nothing that I lov'd so well.
 +
 +Yet did I love thee to the last
 +As fervently as thou,
 +Who didst not change through all the past,
 +And canst not alter now.
 +The love where Death has set his seal,
 +Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
 +Nor falsehood disavow:
 +And, what were worse, thou canst not see
 +Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.
 +
 +The better days of life were ours;
 +The worst can be but mine:
 +The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
 +Shall never more be thine.
 +The silence of that dreamless sleep
 +I envy now too much to weep;
 +Nor need I to repine
 +That all those charms have pass'd away,
 +I might have watch'd through long decay.
 +
 +The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
 +Must fall the earliest prey;
 +Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
 +The leaves must drop away:
 +And yet it were a greater grief
 +To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
 +Than see it pluck'd to-day;
 +Since earthly eye but ill can bear
 +To trace the change to foul from fair.
 +
 +I know not if I could have borne
 +To see thy beauties fade;
 +The night that follow'd such a morn
 +Had worn a deeper shade:
 +Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
 +And thou wert lovely to the last,
 +Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
 +As stars that shoot along the sky
 +Shine brightest as they fall from high.
 +
 +As once I wept, if I could weep,
 +My tears might well be shed,
 +To think I was not near to keep
 +One vigil o'er thy bed;
 +To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
 +To fold thee in a faint embrace,
 +Uphold thy drooping head;
 +And show that love, however vain,
 +Nor thou nor I can feel again.
 +
 +Yet how much less it were to gain,
 +Though thou hast left me free,
 +The loveliest things that still remain,
 +Than thus remember thee!
 +The all of thine that cannot die
 +Through dark and dread Eternity
 +Returns again to me,
 +And more thy buried love endears
 +Than aught except its living years.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10150: 줄 12481:
 67 I would to heaven that I were so much clay | 67 I would to heaven that I were so much clay |
 <poem> <poem>
 +I would to heaven that I were so much clay, 
 +As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling - 
 +Because at least the past were passed away - 
 +And for the future - (but I write this reeling, 
 +Having got drunk exceedingly today, 
 +So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling) 
 +I say - the future is a serious matter - 
 +And so - for God's sake - hock and soda water!
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10157: 줄 12495:
 68 There Was A Time, I Need Not Name | 68 There Was A Time, I Need Not Name |
 <poem> <poem>
 +There was a time, I need not name,
 +Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
 +When all our feelings were the same
 +As still my soul hath been to thee.
  
 +And from that hour when first thy tongue
 +Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
 +Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
 +Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,
 +
 +None, none hath sunk so deep as this---
 +To think how all that love hath flown;
 +Transient as every faithless kiss,
 +But transient in thy breast alone.
 +
 +And yet my heart some solace knew,
 +When late I heard thy lips declare,
 +In accents once imagined true,
 +Remembrance of the days that were.
 +
 +Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
 +Though thou wilt never love again,
 +To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
 +Remembrance of that love remain.
 +
 +Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me,
 +Nor longer shall my soul repine,
 +Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be,
 +Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10164: 줄 12530:
 69 Isles of Greece, The | 69 Isles of Greece, The |
 <poem> <poem>
 +The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
 +Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
 +Where grew the arts of war and peace,
 +Where Delos rose, and Phoebus
 +sprung!
 +Eternal summer gilds them yet,
 +But all, except their sun, is set...
  
 +The mountains look on Marathon--
 +And Marathon looks on the sea;
 +And musing there an hour alone,
 +I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
 +For standing on the Persians' grave,
 +I could not deem myself a slave.
 +
 +A king sat on the rocky brow
 +Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
 +And ships, by thousands, lay below,
 +And men in nations--all were his!
 +He counted them at break of day--
 +And when the sun set, where were they?
 +
 +And where are they? And where art thou?
 +My country? On thy voiceless shore
 +The heroic lay is tuneless now--
 +The heroic bosom beats no more!
 +And must thy lyre, so long divine,
 +Degenerate into hands like mine?
 +
 +'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
 +Though linked among a fettered race,
 +To feel at least a patriot's shame,
 +Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
 +For what is left the poet here?
 +For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear....
 +
 +Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
 +Our virgins dance beneath the shade--
 +I see their glorious black eyes shine;
 +But gazing on each glowing maid,
 +My own the burning teardrop laves,
 +To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
 +
 +Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
 +Where nothing, save the waves and I,
 +May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
 +There, swanlike, let me sing and die:
 +A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--
 +Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10171: 줄 12585:
 70 The Siege and Conquest of Alhama | 70 The Siege and Conquest of Alhama |
 <poem> <poem>
 +The Moorish King rides up and down,
 +Through Granada's royal town;
 +From Elvira's gate to those
 +Of Bivarambla on he goes.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Letters to the monarch tell
 +How Alhama's city fell:
 +In the fire the scroll he threw,
 +And the messenger he slew.
 +Woe is me, Albamal
 +
 +He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,
 +And through the street directs his course;
 +Through the street of Zacatin
 +To the Alhambra spurring in.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +When the Alhambra walls he gain'd,
 +On the moment he ordain'd
 +That the trumpet straight should sound
 +With the silver clarion round.
 +Woe is me, Alhamal
 +
 +And when the hollow drums of war
 +Beat the loud alarm afar,
 +That the Moors of town and plain
 +Might answer to the martial strain.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Then the Moors, by this aware,
 +That bloody Mars recall'd them there,
 +One by one, and two by two,
 +To a mighty squadron grew.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Out then spake an aged Moor
 +In these words the king before,
 +'Wherefore call on us, oh King?
 +What may mean this gathering?'
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'Friends! ye have, alas! to know
 +Of a most disastrous blow;
 +That the Christians, stern and bold,
 +Have obtain'd Alhama's hold.'
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Out then spake old Alfaqui,
 +With his beard so white to see,
 +'Good King! thou art justly served,
 +Good King! this thou hast deserved.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'By thee were slain, in evil hour,
 +The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;
 +And strangers were received by thee
 +Of Cordova the Chivalry.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'And for this, oh King! is sent
 +On thee a double chastisement:
 +Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
 +One last wreck shall overwhelm.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'He who holds no laws in awe,
 +He must perish by the law;
 +And Granada must be won,
 +And thyself with her undone.'
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Fire crashed from out the old Moor's eyes,
 +The Monarch's wrath began to rise,
 +Because he answer'd, and because
 +He spake exceeding well of laws.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'There is no law to say such things
 +As may disgust the ear of kings:
 +'Thus, snorting with his choler, said
 +The Moorish King, and doom'd him dead.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
 +Though thy beard so hoary be,
 +The King hath sent to have thee seized,
 +For Alhama's loss displeased.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +And to fix thy head upon
 +High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
 +That thus for thee should be the law,
 +And others tremble when they saw.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'Cavalier, and man of worth!
 +Let these words of mine go forth!
 +Let the Moorish Monarch know,
 +That to him I nothing owe.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'But on my soul Alhama weighs,
 +And on my inmost spirit preys;
 +And if the King his land hath lost,
 +Yet others may have lost the most.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'Sires have lost their children, wives
 +Their lords, and valiant men their lives!
 +One what best his love might claim
 +Hath lost, another wealth, or fame.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'I lost a damsel in that hour,
 +Of all the land the loveliest flower;
 +Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
 +And think her ransom cheap that day.'
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +And as these things the old Moor said,
 +They sever'd from the trunk his head;
 +And to the Alhambra's wall with speed
 +'Twas carried, as the King decreed.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +And men and infants therein weep
 +Their loss, so heavy and so deep;
 +Granada's ladies, all she rears
 +Within her walls, burst into tears.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
  
 +And from the windows o'er the walls
 +The sable web of mourning falls;
 +The King weeps as a woman o'er
 +His loss, for it is much and sore.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10178: 줄 12728:
 71 Damжtas | 71 Damжtas |
 <poem> <poem>
 +In law an infant, and in years a boy, 
 +In mind a slave to every vicious joy; 
 +From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd; 
 +In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend; 
 +Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child; 
 +Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild; 
 +Women his dupe, his heedless friend a tool; 
 +Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school; 
 +Damжtas ran through all the maze of sin, 
 +And found the goal when others just begin: 
 +Even still conflicting passions shake his soul, 
 +And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl; 
 +But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain, 
 +And what was once his bliss appears his bane.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10185: 줄 12748:
 72 Thou Whose Spell Can Raise the Dead | 72 Thou Whose Spell Can Raise the Dead |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
 +Bid the prophet's form appear.
 +"Samuel, raise thy buried head!
 +"King, behold the phantom seer!"
 +Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud:
 +Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.
 +Death stood all glassy in the fixed eye:
 +His hand was withered, and his veins were dry;
 +His foot, in bony whiteness, glitterd there,
 +Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;
 +From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,
 +Like cavern'd winds the hollow acccents came.
 +Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
 +At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.
  
 +"Why is my sleep disquieted?
 +"Who is he that calls the dead?
 +"Is it thou, Oh King? Behold
 +"Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
 +"Such are mine; and such shall be
 +"Thine, to-morrow, when with me:
 +"Ere the coming day is done,
 +"Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
 +"Fare thee well, but for a day,
 +"Then we mix our mouldering clay.
 +"Thou, thy race, lie pale and low,
 +"Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
 +"And the falchion by thy side,
 +"To thy heart, thy hand shall guide:
 +"Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
 +"Son and sire, the house of Saul!"
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10192: 줄 12785:
 73 Stanzas To Jessy | 73 Stanzas To Jessy |
 <poem> <poem>
 +There is a mystic thread of life
 +So dearly wreath'd with mine alone,
 +That Destiny's relentless knife
 +At once must sever both, or none.
 +
 +There is a Form on which these eyes
 +Have fondly gazed with such delight---
 +By day, that Form their joy supplies,
 +And Dreams restore it, through the night.
 +
 +There is a Voice whose tones inspire
 +Such softened feelings in my breast,
 +I would not hear a Seraph Choir,
 +Unless that voice could join the rest.
 +
 +There is a Face whose Blushes tell
 +Affection's tale upon the cheek,
 +But pallid at our fond farewell,
 +Proclaims more love than words can speak.
 +
 +There is a Lip, which mine has prest,
 +But none had ever prest before;
 +It vowed to make me sweetly blest,
 +That mine alone should press it more.
 +
 +There is a Bosom all my own,
 +Has pillow'd oft this aching head,
 +A Mouth which smiles on me alone,
 +An Eye, whose tears with mine are shed.
 +
 +There are two Hearts whose movements thrill,
 +In unison so closely sweet,
 +That Pulse to Pulse responsive still
 +They Both must heave, or cease to beat.
  
 +There are two Souls, whose equal flow
 +In gentle stream so calmly run,
 +That when they part---they part?---ah no!
 +They cannot part---those Souls are One.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10199: 줄 12830:
 74 Remember Him, Whom Passion's Power | 74 Remember Him, Whom Passion's Power |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Remember him, whom Passion's power
 +Severely---deeply---vainly proved:
 +Remember thou that dangerous hour,
 +When neither fell, though both were loved.
  
 +That yielding breast, that melting eye,
 +Too much invited to be blessed:
 +That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,
 +The wilder wish reproved, repressed.
 +
 +Oh! let me feel that all I lost
 +But saved thee all that Conscience fears;
 +And blush for every pang it cost
 +To spare the vain remorse of years.
 +
 +Yet think of this when many a tongue,
 +Whose busy accents whisper blame,
 +Would do the heart that loved thee wrong,
 +And brand a nearly blighted name.
 +
 +Think that, whate'er to others, thou
 +Hast seen each selfish thought subdued:
 +I bless thy purer soul even now,
 +Even now, in midnight solitude.
 +
 +Oh, God! that we had met in time,
 +Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free;
 +When thou hadst loved without a crime,
 +And I been less unworthy thee!
 +
 +Far may thy days, as heretofore,
 +From this our gaudy world be past!
 +And that too bitter moment o'er,
 +Oh! may such trial be thy last.
 +
 +This heart, alas! perverted long,
 +Itself destroyed might there destroy;
 +To meet thee in the glittering throng,
 +Would wake Presumption's hope of joy.
 +
 +Then to the things whose bliss or woe,
 +Like mine, is wild and worthless all,
 +That world resign---such scenes forego,
 +Where those who feel must surely fall.
 +
 +Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness---
 +Thy soul from long seclusion pure;
 +From what even here hath passed, may guess
 +What there thy bosom must endure.
 +
 +Oh! pardon that imploring tear,
 +Since not by Virtue shed in vain,
 +My frenzy drew from eyes so dear;
 +For me they shall not weep again.
 +
 +Though long and mournful must it be,
 +The thought that we no more may meet;
 +Yet I deserve the stern decree,
 +And almost deem the sentence sweet.
 +
 +Still---had I loved thee less---my heart
 +Had then less sacrificed to thine;
 +It felt not half so much to part
 +As if its guilt had made thee mine.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10206: 줄 12900:
 75 Sonnet to Lake Leman | 75 Sonnet to Lake Leman |
 <poem> <poem>
 +ousseau -- Voltaire -- our Gibbon -- De Staлl -- 
 +Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore, 
 +Thy shore of names like these! wert thou no more, 
 +Their memory thy remembrance would recall: 
 +To them thy banks were lovely as to all, 
 +But they have made them lovelier, for the lore 
 +Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core 
 +Of human hearts the ruin of a wall 
 +Where dwelt the wise and wondrous; but by thee 
 +How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel, 
 +In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea, 
 +The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal, 
 +Which of the heirs of immortality 
 +Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real!
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10213: 줄 12920:
 76 Sonnet - to Genevra | 76 Sonnet - to Genevra |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, 
 +And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush 
 +Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, 
 +My heart would wish away that ruder glow: 
 +And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes---but, oh! 
 +While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, 
 +And into mine my mother's weakness rush, 
 +Soft as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow. 
 +For, though thy long dark lashes low depending, 
 +The soul of melancholy Gentleness 
 +Gleams like a Seraph from the sky descending, 
 +Above all pain, yet pitying all distress; 
 +At once such majesty with sweetness blending, 
 +I worship more, but cannot love thee less.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10220: 줄 12940:
 77 To Eliza | 77 To Eliza |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Eliza, what fools are the Mussulman sect,
 +Who to woman deny the soul's future existence!
 +Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their defect,
 +And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.
  
 +Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of sense,
 +He ne'er would have woman from paradise driven;
 +Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence,
 +With woman alone he had peopled his heaven.
 +
 +Yet still, to increase your calamities more,
 +Not Content with depriving your bodies of spirit,
 +He allots one poor husband to share amongst four!-
 +With souls you'd dispense; but this last, who could bear it?
 +
 +His religion to please neither party is made;
 +On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil;
 +Still I Can't contradict, what so oft has been said,
 +'Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil.'
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10227: 줄 12965:
 78 Stanzas To A Lady, On Leaving England | 78 Stanzas To A Lady, On Leaving England |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Tis done---and shivering in the gale
 +The bark unfurls her snowy sail;
 +And whistling o'er the bending mast,
 +Loud sings on high the fresh'ning blast;
 +And I must from this land be gone,
 +Because I cannot love but one.
  
 +But could I be what I have been,
 +And could I see what I have seen---
 +Could I repose upon the breast
 +Which once my warmest wishes blest---
 +I should not seek another zone,
 +Because I cannot love but one.
 +
 +'Tis long since I beheld that eye
 +Which gave me bliss or misery;
 +And I have striven, but in vain,
 +Never to think of it again:
 +For though I fly from Albion,
 +I still can only love but one.
 +
 +As some lone bird, without a mate,
 +My weary heart is desolate;
 +I look around, and cannot trace
 +One friendly smile or welcome face,
 +And ev'n in crowds am still alone,
 +Because I cannot love but one.
 +
 +And I will cross the whitening foam,
 +And I will seek a foreign home;
 +Till I forget a false fair face,
 +I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
 +My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
 +But ever love, and love but one.
 +
 +The poorest, veriest wretch on earth
 +Still finds some hospitable hearth,
 +Where Friendship's or Love's softer glow
 +May smile in joy or soothe in woe;
 +But friend or leman I have none,'
 +Because I cannot love but one.
 +
 +I go---but wheresoe'er I flee
 +There's not an eye will weep for me;
 +There's not a kind congenial heart,
 +Where I can claim the meanest part;
 +Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone,
 +Wilt sigh, although I love but one.
 +
 +To think of every early scene,
 +Of what we are, and what we've been,
 +Would whelm some softer hearts with woe---
 +But mine, alas! has stood the blow;
 +Yet still beats on as it begun,
 +And never truly loves but one.
 +
 +And who that dear lov'd one may be,
 +Is not for vulgar eyes to see;
 +And why that early love was cross'd,
 +Thou know'st the best, I feel the most;
 +But few that dwell beneath the sun
 +Have loved so long, and loved but one.
 +
 +I've tried another's fetters too,
 +With charms perchance as fair to view;
 +And I would fain have loved as well,
 +But some unconquerable spell
 +Forbade my bleeding breast to own
 +A kindred care for aught but one.
 +
 +'Twould soothe to take one lingering view,
 +And bless thee in my last adieu;
 +Yet wish I not those eyes to weep
 +For him that wanders o'er the deep;
 +His home, his hope, his youth are gone,
 +Yet still he loves, and loves but one.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10234: 줄 13047:
 79 To Mary, On Receiving Her Picture | 79 To Mary, On Receiving Her Picture |
 <poem> <poem>
 +This faint resemblance of thy charms,
 +(Though strong as mortal art could give,)
 +My constant heart of fear disarms,
 +Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
 +
 +Here, I can trace the locks of gold
 +Which round thy snowy forehead wave;
 +The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,
 +The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.
 +
 +Here I can trace---ah, no! that eye,
 +Whose azure floats in liquid fire,
 +Must all the painter's art defy,
 +And bid him from the task retire.
 +
 +Here, I behold its beauteous hue;
 +But where's the beam so sweetly straying,
 +Which gave a lustre to its blue,
 +Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?
 +
 +Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
 +Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
 +Than all the living forms could be,
 +Save her who plac'd thee next my heart.
 +
 +She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear,
 +Lest time might shake my wavering soul,
 +Unconscious that her image there
 +Held every sense in fast control.
  
 +Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 'twill cheer---
 +My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;
 +In life's last conflict 'twill appear,
 +And meet my fond, expiring gaze.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10241: 줄 13087:
 80 Lachin Y Gair | 80 Lachin Y Gair |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Away, ye gay landscapes, ye garden of roses!
 +In you let the minions of luxury rove;
 +Restore me to the rocks, where the snowflake reposes,
 +Though still they are sacred to freedom and love:
 +Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,
 +Round their white summits though elements war;
 +Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
 +I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.
  
 +Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wandered;
 +My cap was teh bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;
 +On chieftains long perished my memory pondered,
 +As daily I strode through the pine-covered glade;
 +I sought not my home till the day's dying glory
 +Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star;
 +For fancy was cheered by traditional story,
 +Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.
 +
 +"Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices
 +Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?"
 +Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,
 +And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale.
 +Rouch Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers,
 +Winter presides in his cold icy car:
 +Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;
 +They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.
 +
 +"Ill-starred, though brave, did no visions foreboding
 +Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?"
 +Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden,
 +Victory crowned not your fall with applause:
 +Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber,
 +You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar;
 +The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number,
 +Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.
 +
 +Years have rolled on, Loch na Garr, since I left you,
 +Years must elapse ere I tread you again:
 +Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you,
 +Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain.
 +England! thy beauties are tame and domestic
 +To one who has roved o'er the mountains afar:
 +Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic!
 +The steep frowning glories of the dark Loch na Garr.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10248: 줄 13137:
 81 To M | 81 To M |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire,
 +With bright, but mild affection shine:
 +Though they might kindle less desire,
 +Love, more than mortal, would be thine.
  
 +For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
 +Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
 +We must admire, but still despair;
 +That fatal glance forbids esteem.
 +
 +When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
 +So much perfection in thee shone,
 +She fear'd that, too divine for earth,
 +The skies might claim thee for their own.
 +
 +Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
 +Lest angels might dispute the prize,
 +She bade a secret lightning lurk,
 +Within those once celestial eyes.
 +
 +These might the boldest Sylph appall,
 +When gleaming with meridian blaze;
 +Thy beauty must enrapture all;
 +But who can dare thine ardent gaze?
 +
 +'Tis said that Berenice's hair,
 +In stars adorns the vault of heaven;
 +But they would ne'er permit thee there,
 +Who wouldst so far outshine the seven.
 +
 +For did those eyes as planets roll,
 +Thy sister-lights would scarce appear:
 +E'en suns, which systems now control,
 +Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10255: 줄 13177:
 82 Song of Saul Before His Last Battle | 82 Song of Saul Before His Last Battle |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
 +Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
 +Heed not the corse, though a king’s in your path:
 +Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
 +
 +Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
 +Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
 +Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!
 +Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.
  
 +Farewell to others, but never we part,
 +Heir to my royalty, son of my heart!
 +Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
 +Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10262: 줄 13197:
 83 To M. S. G. | 83 To M. S. G. |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Whene'er I view those lips of thine,
 +Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
 +Yet, I forego that bliss divine,
 +Alas! it were---unhallow'd bliss.
  
 +Whene'er I dream of that pure breast,
 +How could I dwell upon its snows!
 +Yet, is the daring wish represt,
 +For that,---would banish its repose.
 +
 +A glance from thy soul-searching eye
 +Can raise with hope, depress with fear;
 +Yet, I conceal my love,---and why?
 +I would not force a painful tear.
 +
 +I ne'er have told my love, yet thou
 +Hast seen my ardent flame too well;
 +And shall I plead my passion now,
 +To make thy bosom's heaven a hell?
 +
 +No! for thou never canst be mine,
 +United by the priest's decree:
 +By any ties but those divine,
 +Mine, my belov'd, thou ne'er shalt be.
 +
 +Then let the secret fire consume,
 +Let it consume, thou shalt not know:
 +With joy I court a certain doom,
 +Rather than spread its guilty glow.
 +
 +I will not ease my tortur'd heart,
 +By driving dove-ey'd peace from thine;
 +Rather than such a sting impart,
 +Each thought presumptuous I resign.
 +
 +Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave
 +More than I here shall dare to tell;
 +Thy innocence and mine to save,---
 +I bid thee now a last farewell.
 +
 +Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair
 +And hope no more thy soft embrace;
 +Which to obtain, my soul would dare,
 +All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.
 +
 +At least from guilt shalt thou be free,
 +No matron shall thy shame reprove;
 +Though cureless pangs may prey on me,
 +No martyr shalt thou be to love.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10269: 줄 13252:
 84 On A Distant View Of Harrow | 84 On A Distant View Of Harrow |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection
 +Embitters the present, compar'd with the past;
 +Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection,
 +And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last;
  
 +Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace the resemblance
 +Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied;
 +How welcome to me your ne'er fading remembrance,
 +Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deny'd!
 +
 +Again I revisit the hills where we sported,
 +The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought;
 +The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted,
 +To pore o'er the precepts by Pedagogues taught.
 +
 +Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd,
 +As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay;
 +Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd,
 +To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray.
 +
 +I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded,
 +Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown;
 +While, to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded,
 +I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone.
 +
 +Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation,
 +By my daughters, of kingdom and reason depriv'd;
 +Till, fir'd by loud plaudits and self-adulation,
 +I regarded myself as a Garrick reviv'd.
 +
 +Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!
 +Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast;
 +Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you:
 +Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.
 +
 +To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me,
 +While Fate shall the shades of the future unroll!
 +Since Darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me,
 +More dear is the beam of the past to my soul!
 +
 +But if, through the course of the years which await me,
 +Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,
 +I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me,
 +Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew.
 </poem> </poem>
 ++++ ++++
줄 10276: 줄 13302:
 85 Siege and Conquest of Alhama, The | 85 Siege and Conquest of Alhama, The |
 <poem> <poem>
 +The Moorish King rides up and down,
 +Through Granada's royal town;
 +From Elvira's gate to those
 +Of Bivarambla on he goes.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
  
 +Letters to the monarch tell
 +How Alhama's city fell:
 +In the fire the scroll he threw,
 +And the messenger he slew.
 +Woe is me, Albamal
 +
 +He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,
 +And through the street directs his course;
 +Through the street of Zacatin
 +To the Alhambra spurring in.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +When the Alhambra walls he gain'd,
 +On the moment he ordain'd
 +That the trumpet straight should sound
 +With the silver clarion round.
 +Woe is me, Alhamal
 +
 +And when the hollow drums of war
 +Beat the loud alarm afar,
 +That the Moors of town and plain
 +Might answer to the martial strain.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Then the Moors, by this aware,
 +That bloody Mars recall'd them there,
 +One by one, and two by two,
 +To a mighty squadron grew.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Out then spake an aged Moor
 +In these words the king before,
 +'Wherefore call on us, oh King?
 +What may mean this gathering?'
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'Friends! ye have, alas! to know
 +Of a most disastrous blow;
 +That the Christians, stern and bold,
 +Have obtain'd Albania's hold.'
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Out then spake old Alfaqui,
 +With his beard so white to see,
 +'Good King! thou art justly served,
 +Good King! this thou hast deserved.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'By thee were slain, in evil hour,
 +The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;
 +And strangers were received by thee
 +Of Cordova the Chivalry.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'And for this, oh King! is sent
 +On thee a double chastisement:
 +Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
 +One last wreck shall overwhelm.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'He who holds no laws in awe,
 +He must perish by the law;
 +And Granada must be won,
 +And thyself with her undone.'
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Fire crashed from out the old Moor's eyes,
 +The Monarch's wrath began to rise,
 +Because he answer'd, and because
 +He spake exceeding well of laws.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'There is no law to say such things
 +As may disgust the ear of kings:
 +'Thus, snorting with his choler, said
 +The Moorish King, and doom'd him dead.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
 +Though thy beard so hoary be,
 +The King hath sent to have thee seized,
 +For Alhama's loss displeased.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +And to fix thy head upon
 +High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
 +That thus for thee should be the law,
 +And others tremble when they saw.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'Cavalier, and man of worth!
 +Let these words of mine go forth!
 +Let the Moorish Monarch know,
 +That to him I nothing owe.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'But on my soul Alhama weighs,
 +And on my inmost spirit preys;
 +And if the King his land hath lost,
 +Yet others may have lost the most.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'Sires have lost their children, wives
 +Their lords, and valiant men their lives!
 +One what best his love might claim
 +Hath lost, another wealth, or fame.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +'I lost a damsel in that hour,
 +Of all the land the loveliest flower;
 +Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
 +And think her ransom cheap that day.'
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +And as these things the old Moor said,
 +They sever'd from the trunk his head;
 +And to the Alhambra's wall with speed
 +'Twas carried, as the King decreed.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +And men and infants therein weep
 +Their loss, so heavy and so deep;
 +Granada's ladies, all she rears
 +Within her walls, burst into tears.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 +
 +And from the windows o'er the walls
 +The sable web of mourning falls;
 +The King weeps as a woman o'er
 +His loss, for it is much and sore.
 +Woe is me, Alhama!
 </poem> </poem>
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 86 Reply to Some Verses of J.M.B. Pigot, Esq. | 86 Reply to Some Verses of J.M.B. Pigot, Esq. |
 <poem> <poem>
 +Why, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain,
 +Why thus in despair do you fret?
 +For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh
 +Will never obtain a coquette.
 +
 +Would you teach her to love? for a time seem to rove;
 +At first she may frown in a pet;
 +But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile,
 +And then you may kiss your coquette.
 +
 +For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs,
 +They think all our homage a debt:
 +Yet a partial neglect soon takes an effect,
 +And humbles the proudest coquette.
 +
 +Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your chain,
 +And seem her hauteur to regret;
 +If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny,
 +That yours is the rosy coquette.
 +
 +If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride,
 +This whimsical virgin forget;
 +Some other adiaiire, who will melt with your fire,
 +And laugh at the little coquette.
 +
 +For me I adore some twenty or more,
 +And love them most dearly but yet
 +Though my heart they enthral, I'd abandon them all,
 +Did they act like your blooming coquette.
 +
 +No longer repine, adopt this design,
 +And break through her slight-woven net;
 +Away with despair, no longer forbear
 +To fly from the captious coquette.
  
 +Then quit her, my friend your bosom defend,
 +Ere quite with her snares you're beset;
 +Lest your deep-wounded heart, when incensed by the smart, Should lead you to curse the coquette.
 </poem> </poem>
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