 | Bertram |  |
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CANTO III. THE ESCAPE.
I.
The deed is done; and through the shades of nightLucasta and Fitz-John press on their flight.
Still fearful of pursuit, the quick retreat
Many a long league they urge with weary feet;
When care, and fear, and toil, at length o'ercame
The softer spirits of th' heroic dame.
Now prey'd the horror, on her trembling heart,
Of vengeance, Juliet's thwarted love would dart!
Too faint to go; too terrified to stay;
Too weak to part from him who prop'd her way,
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And leave to gracious Heaven her destiny.
II.
“Lucasta, in whose frame,” replied the youth,“Of angel beauty, dwells angelic truth,
Is there a wretch, that wears the human form,
Whom goodness such as thine would fail to warm?
And canst thou think that I, of all mankind,
So dastardly in spirit, and in mind,
Should fly—in danger's hour should fly, from thee;
And when that danger was incurr'd for me?
A thousand deaths, or torments be decreed,
Rather than blast my name with such a deed!”
III.
Lucasta wept: it was a fearful hour:For as the tears would on her bosom pour,
With trembling awe those torrents Bertram drank;
Then lost in wildness on that bosom sank.
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And Hell's new lightning shot along his frame.
IV.
“Fairer than angels, at whose shrine I bow,And offer a repentant wretch's vow,
If at thine altar in unholy thought
I come with other worship than I ought,
Then let this dastard and ungenerous breast
Be with the villain's hated brand opprest!
Let every generous impulse of the soul
Backward to dank and poison'd vapours roll!
The vigorous arm, that struck the manly foe,
None but a shrivell'd, palsied, current know!
And him, whom once some fame, if faint, adorn'd,
Be for a coward hiss'd, a driveller scorn'd!”
V.
Lucasta weeps again: but through her tearsPardon's sweet smile, tender, yet chaste, appears.
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The heavenly form that such an heart enfolds;
And vows with holy love, and saint-like flame,
To guide, protect, adore the virtuous Dame!
VI.
Fast came the shades of night, and blacker stillTremendous clouds came gathering o'er the hill,
Where up the steep their solitary way
Strove from pursuit the fugitives to stray.
Descends the bursting torrent on their heads;
In vain Fitz-John his covering mantle spreads;
Drench'd with the rain, and shivering with the cold,
Onward they cease their toilsome course to hold;
And 'neath an oak, whose branches wide are cast,
Wait till the pelting of the storm is past.
Her head against the rude embossed trunk
Lucasta leaning, into slumber sunk:
A restless, feverish slumber! Oft she sigh'd,
And oft some half-form'd shrieks of horror tried,
While watch'd th' affrighted hero by her side!
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VII.
But where was Norville? How the lingering day,Which absence tortur'd, did he while away?
“Lucasta, once the soother of my toils,
Cares, Dangers seem'd to fly before thy smiles!
Soft was thy voice; and issuing from thy tongue
Attention on thy gentle wisdom hung:
Then eloquence beam'd from that lustrous eye,
And genius, grac'd by beauty, wak'd to ecstacy!
The weary hours, by thee ungilded, slow,
Through day, through night, in anxious fancies go!
Imagination paints thy tender form,
By night o'ertaken, struggling with the storm;
Or in the hands of rude barbarian foes,
Sunk helpless in unutterable woes!
Then stung with anger, shrinking with despair,
‘'Twas I that urg'd the rash attempt to dare!’
‘'Twas I that urg'd,’ my lips imperfect cry,
‘The task, heroic duty bade thee try!
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Why to this treacherous madness didst thou move?
Generous Fitz-John, thou ne'er at Friendship's shrine
Hadst ask'd the sacrifice of bliss like mine!
Lonely at eve I mourn, and wake at dawn,
The soother of my griefs and perils gone:
Gone to seek thee, Fitz-John; while, as she calls,
Perchance thou groan'st within unhearing walls!
VIII.
“Return, belov'd Lucasta! quick return,And calm the pangs that in my bosom burn;
Let me again that voice melodious hear,
And view again that form with rapture's tear!
For thee I pant, no image but of thee
My sighing soul admits its guest to be;
But deep the gloom, that 'gins my mind assail,
Lest in those arduous toils thy strength should fail,
Or arts of hell should o'er thy charms prevail.”
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IX.
Thus Norville mourns, as through his troubled soulA thousand wild conflicting passions roll:
War's animating clang, toil, danger, fame,
No thought from one dear image can reclaim.
Care pales his cheek; and oft in moody fits
Black Melancholy on his bosom sits;
Prompting Despair to some heart-withering blow,
Or Jealousy to deeds of darkest woe!
X.
“Lucasta! why no tidings of thy way?Why breaks not through this gloom a transient ray?
Has Death arrested thee? Has Mischief's aim
Touch'd with unhallow'd hand that lovely frame?
His broken Faith that once angelic breast
With aught impure in act or thought possest?
O then, in truth, in woman's form would shine
False charms alone, that veil Destruction's mine!”
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XI.
Ah, Norville! Foul suspicion ill will dartHer torturing poison through thy generous heart!
Beneath the unpierc'd shelter of the oak,
Which still the raging of the tempest broke,
Lucasta, 'mid the elemental roar,
Fitz-John's protecting arm unconscious bore.
Strikes on his heart the trampling sound of steeds;
His quivering bosom with new terror bleeds:
But sweet Lucasta hears not; murmuring low,
She utters in her dreams the sighs of wce.
They past: the rude pursuers past along;
Nor heard her sighs the whistling winds among.
XII.
The storm has spent its force; through sable nightThe twinkling stars bestow a doubtful light:
The Dame awaken'd from her broken dreams,
For flight renew'd her strength and courage deems:
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Their weary feet; and slow their steps they gain'd.
Lucasta faint, and victim to her toil,
Exhausted spirits could no more beguile:
Heavier her arm Fitz-John, and heavier found;
Then sunk she senseless on the chilly ground.
XIII.
A moment lost, Fear, Wildness, and Despair,All rose his breast with various pangs to tear;
Then bearing to a bank the dying Fair,
His cloak he spread beneath her lifeless form,
And 'gan her palsied hands in his to warm;
And chafe her temples; and the living spring
To her parch'd lips with pious care to bring.
XIV.
Now black became the sky again, and chillOnce more the vapours gather'd round the hill:
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As if from some lone cot, appear'd to stream:
He watch'd; again it gleam'd, and then was lost;
And thus in fear and joy alternate tost,
Afraid to leave his charge, his weary eye
Look'd till his wandering senses star'd on vacancy!
Once more it gleam'd; and with a ray more bright,
He rose and ran to bless that hallow'd light!
The hind was there; and welcome entrance gave;
Then quick he ran his dying charge to save:
Within his trembling arms the Dame he bore;
And softly laid her on the rustic's floor.
Now strove the host with kindly care to raise
His hearth's pale embers to a chearful blaze:
Lucasta's cheek again was seen to glow;
And the warm current through her veins to flow.
XV.
Her dim eyes open'd; and she faintly cried,“Where am I now? Is Norville by my side?
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Since thy protecting smiles were o'er me cast!
Alas! it is not Norville! Noble youth,
I know thee now! And thine's the smile of Truth!
And thine the arm that Innocence defends,
And Virtue homeward to her temple sends!
Conscious for thee what dangers I have known,
Thou wilt not leave me here to die alone!
Again I feel my fainting spirits fly;
And shadowy vapours cross my swimming eye:
O tell, if now I close these lips in death,
I bless'd my Norville with my parting breath!”
XVI.
She ceas'd: low sighs renew'd Fitz-John's alarms;And she sunk once more lifeless in his arms:
“O Heaven! if ever thou didst hear the prayer
Of virtuous suffering, this dear angel spare!
Faithful to Duty's and to Friendship's call,
Let her not in the noble struggle fall!
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Its loveliest, chastest, purest fire possest,
Lucasta's bosom was the shrine it chose;
Its heavenliest fervor in Lucasta rose!”
XVII.
He wept; and with convulsive tremors strove,As life's last pang seem'd on her lips to move.
Ye, who have watch'd the dying form you love,
Can only know with what resistless power,
Fitz-John's fond heart Grief's cruel talons tore!
Stretch'd on the peasant's bed Lucasta lay,
While her sad comrade pray'd for dawning day,
Till morn's first beams, that through the straw-roof'd shed
Shot genial light, reclaim'd her from the dead.
Day follow'd day, and slow the lovely Dame
Felt strength reviving in her feeble frame:
Till forth re-issuing from that kind abode,
Once more they dar'd the periols of the road.
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XVIII.
Lucasta, as she dragg'd her steps along,Still weak and trembling on her comrade hung.
Soft was their converse; tender was the strain,
That strove of childish days to paint the train;
“Lucasta, genial was the breeze that blew,
And touch'd that infant cheek with heavenly hue;
And blest the sun, that saw that infant form
With soul of bright ethereal instinct warm!
Fair is the face of Nature in each scene,
When Spring first clothes it with her vivid green:
And fair is Nature, when with broader blaze
Refulgent Summer her full charms arrays;
Fair too, when Autumn's shadowy radiance gleams;
Sublime when Winter feeds the roaring streams:
But Nature in the range of all, that sight,
Or ear, or heart, or fancy can delight,
Will never wake with rapture so divine,
As strikes each sense from such a form as thine!
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Fairest in soul, that beams within that breast!
With Virtue's awe I at thine altar bend;
Nor in Devotion's flame forget my friend!”
XIX.
“Fitz-John, forbear!” with trembling voice she said,“Nor at these humble feet thine incense spread!
For me! by sickness worn; from feeble heart
Unfit to struggle through the virtuous part
That Friendship urg'd, and Duty vainly tried,
How sinks within herself Lucasta's pride!
My faultering step supported by thine arm,
Thou canst not mean this bosom to alarm!
Fitz-John, in Danger's or in Sorrow's hour,
Too generous, would not wanton with his power!
Through days of toil, and nights of anxious care,
Through scenes of suffering, women ill can bear,
I sought to free thee from the captive's chain!
O pay me not with insult and disdain!
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If Norville's injur'd honour were forgot!
And is not Flattery's breath to her, whose vow
No other guest must in her bosom know
But Norville's fond affection, treason foul,
Would stain for ever thy aspiring soul?
Thou know'st that Virtue only can refine
The form with Beauty's genuine charms to shine,”
“And Virtue,” interpos'd in fervid tone
The admiring youth, “'tis Virtue's fire alone,
That speaks, with such enchanting softness, strains,
Which lift Lucasta to th' angelic trains.”
XX.
“No more!” she cried: “that flattering tongue be still:Or shame unquenchable my breast will fill!”
Fierce through the skies an arrowy dart of light
Shew'd each surrounding object to the sight,
Then left them veil'd again in blacker night!
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Burst in full torrents o'er their heads again:
Lucasta shriek'd! then on her comrade hung,
And dragg'd in mute despair her trembling limbs along.
XXI.
O Heaven! how strangely seem the parts assign'd,That Vice and Virtue to their trials bind!
Vice lolls at ease; in Pleasure's lap she lies;
Nor cares molest, nor sudden ills surprise;
While still with griefs and dangers compass'd round,
Struggling with adverse fate is Virtue found!
END OF CANTO III.
| Bertram | |