University of Virginia Library

ZAMRI.

A FRAGMENT.

Hast thou sailed on the summer sea
When its bosom lies in light?
And have the scenes of life to thee
Been as beautiful and bright
As the vallies of ocean, lovelily
Shining to court the sight?
To thee do I sing;—'tis a tale of fear,
Of wonder and woe, that thou shalt hear!
To thee do I sing—for the happy should know,
And the proud should hear, the tales of woe!
“Revenge!”—I blest the sound!—in wrath,
By dark Kiderle's name, I swore,
That I would trace the ocean-path,
Would tread on every Christian shore;
Nor toil, nor age, nor pain, nor sloth,
Should free me, (such my desperate oath,)
Till I should glut me with the gore
Of him, by whom my son had died;
Then might my spirit, gratified,
Revenge and rest at length enjoy,
Nor mourn in vain my murdered boy:—
Foolish the oath!—mayhap 'twas worse—
But, Stranger, 'twas a father's curse!—
Straight onward sped I to the sea,—
The voice within was goading me—
The winds were loud—no pilot then
Would trust his bark to faithless seas,
But I,—who was alone 'mong men,—
Whose hopes were fled,—whose son was dead,—
With maniac hand the canvass spread,
Regardless, whether ocean's wave
In tumult to the tempest rave,
Or playful sport with gentle breeze,
And then—but tale of miseries
Mayhap no other breast will please
Than his who felt, and loves to tell
His chequered woes; but, Son, thy gaze
Informs me, that thou lovest well
An old man's tale of youthful days.
“As sad I roamed the desert deep,
I sank into a troubled sleep;
A coldness hung upon my breast,—
It was not pain,—it was not rest,—
My eye was weary, and my hand
Too weak to raise the warrior-brand;
Even though the wretch I sought were there,
Methinks I had been forced to spare;
Phantoms of dread around me roll,
Dreams such as haunt the murderer's soul,
Hovering within the unholy tomb,
To vex him till the day of doom;
And with an heart, more dark, more dread,
He cannot quit such lonely bed,
When the last trump his bonds hath broke,
Than from that dreary sleep I woke!
“I know not if the eye saw true,
But more than nature met its view:—
Horror, Despair, Distraction, Death,
Shrieked frantic in the tempest's breath,—
Each image that before me rolled,
Was bloody—indistinct—and cold,
Like meteors, through a clouded sky,
In rapid rush they darted by!
Seen by the lightning's light, a form
Shone bright amid the darkening storm,—
Her eye-ball shed a lurid glare,
The wind, that rushed among her hair,
Left her dark cheek and forehead bare.
I viewed her eye's unquiet roll,
And Vengeance settled in my soul;
Like Meina's maddening glance it shone,
When first she viewed her murdered son!—
“The waves were blood—I saw the dead
Upon the burning waters tread,—
His pale hand crumbled in my hold,
The eye that fixed on mine was cold,
I felt his breath upon my cheek,
I heard his voice—one piercing shriek,
More dread than was his parting groan:—
I gazed—oh God! I was alone!—
I loathed the loneliness that gave
Such close communion with the grave;
The waves were calm, the winds assuaged,
Still in my soul their spirit raged,
Strange shadows fell from lowering clouds,
And spectres sighed amid the shrouds,
And every stir that met my ear
Along the ocean's silence drear,
Would sound like tones that once were dear—
Such hours again I would not live,
For all Man seeks, or Heaven could give!—
“In sleep I heard the lingering groan
Of him whose hand had slain my son,
In sleep I saw his life-blood spilt,—
Alas! I woke, and felt the hilt
Of the bright sabre firmly grasped,
By my convulsive fingers clasped—
But—oh! the blade was still unstained
Which late the murderer's blood had drained,
As wandering fancy loved to deem,—
I doted on the dreadful dream.
'Tis strange the fearful joy I felt
As on such thoughts I darkly dwelt;
But when from visioned bliss awake,
Then was my bosom doomed to ache;
I thought alone on prospects cross'd,
My slaughtered son, my consort lost,—
I thought on fortune's sudden change,
And sighed and started for Revenge—
The frame, beneath some fiend's controul,
Shook in the tempest of the soul:—
The burning eye, that throbbed in pain,
As stern it gazed with steady strain,—
The ear, that mystic sounds would form
Mid rush of wave and roar of storm,
And fancy accents sad and strange
Along the ocean's weary range,—
All—in those dizzying hours of dread—
Seemed as though earth and heaven had fled
For ever, from the eye and ear,
That knew no objects but of fear:—
The sun, that stain'd the burning flood,
It rose in fire, it sank in blood—
The mist, that hurrying whirlwinds sweep,
Past, like a spectre o'er the deep—
—Like that red sun, that dusky cloud
Darkened and flamed my spirit proud!—
“Yet were there moments too, when rest
Came calmly on my yielding breast,
'Twas sweet to roam o'er moonlight seas,
'Twas sweet to breathe the midnight breeze,
When not a sound the silence broke,
And not a stir the bosom woke,—
Was there no sound?—the waters flow,
And breathe a murmur sad and low,
And, from the convent on the rock,
Chimes the slow warning of the clock,
And, o'er the wave so bright and calm,
At times you hear the plaintive psalm,
And just can see the shadows dim
Of monks, who pour that measured hymn:
—My soul, though long untuned to bliss,
Mourned not 'mid such a scene as this!—
What odours breathe from every grove,
What thousand twinkling leaflets move,
What quivering shadows sportive play,
And o'er the water shift and stray!—
—I loved to mark the Pharos' light
Streak the blue wave with trembling white,
And gleam serene upon my bark,—
Like Hope, when all around was dark!
Then thoughts of former hours would roll
Faint through the darkness of my soul:
I dwelt upon my daughter's doom,
I saw her bright in beauty's bloom
Returning to her sire, to shine
And shed repose on his decline:
And in such hour, that son, whose fate
Hath made this bosom desolate,
Even him again I seemed to see
Burst from the tomb to life and me!
“Strange fancies then would I conceive,
Such even as madness dotes to weave,
And I too loved the dear deceit,
It was so wild, so sad, so sweet,
Silence and utter solitude
Had soothed me to a pensive mood;
Methought at length had ceased the strife,
The woes, the weariness of life,—
Methought the pang of death was o'er,
And I was journeying to the shore
Where gladness dwells for evermore;
The boundless ocean seemed to me
The waters of eternity,
And glories from another sky
In distant prospect blest mine eye;
A moment glowed the vision bright—
A moment—and again 'twas night!—
“Thou, boy, art young, and yet some friend
Of thine may share the grave's cold sleep;
Mayhap thou lovest alone to bend
Above his tomb and weep;—
Or hast thou loved a form divine,
Whose hopes, whose heart, whose soul was thine?
Whose eye, whene'er thine met its view,
Beam'd, till the spirit sparkled through?
And has thy loved and loving bride
Left thee in loneliness, and died?—
—Deep may'st thou sigh, but can'st not know
The anguish of a father's woe:—
The camp, the field, the court, the bower,
Another smiling paramour,
And youth and years bring thee relief;
But think upon the restless grief
Of him, whose hopes were fix'd upon
A dearer self, an only son,
Whose hand should prop him on the brink,
Ere yet into the grave he sink,—
Whose arm—but it is pain to think!—
—Blame not such father, but his fate,
If he may seem too much to hate
The wretch, by whom he was undone,—
The infidel—who slew his son!—
“And he hath fallen, and not in vain
I called on vengeance for the slain;—
It was no common breeze, that sped
My bark along the ocean's bed—
It was no dream, no erring thought,
A frantic father's anguish wrought,—
'Twas Heaven that led my course aright,
And I was shadowed by its might;
And I was summoned to obey
The guiding power that shaped my way!
“The evening hour was still and soft,
The moon, unclouded, shone aloft,
And I was gazing on the Deep;—
I watched the billows slowly creep—
I marked the varying colours, cast
O'er each, while mingling with the last,
The purple tinge, the emerald gleam,
Trembling and changing with the beam;
—That gleam of green more steady grew,
The noiseless wave was still,
A deeper green!—a darker blue!—
—'Tis my native vale, that meets my view,
And the flow of my own blue rill,
And the shadowy groves are peeping through
The morning mists of the hill!
The scene is bright in the glow of the year,
And all is vivid to eye and ear;—
I hear the stir of the breeze, that heaves
On the water the lily's recumbent leaves;
The sky-lark's song, and the swallow's shriek,
And the music of winds in the caverned peak;—
I see the swan sail calmly by,
And the ringlet formed by the falling fly,
The woodbines wreathing the coloured crag,
The lifted head of the antlered stag:—
Light breezes wake the soft air, rife
With playful atoms of insect life;—
Light breezes bend the head of the rose,
And scatter on earth the cistus' snows;
The clouds and the mists are sailing by,
And fading fast in the blue of the sky;
The streaks of coloured light, that shone
O'er the chambers of the east, are gone;
The sunbeams fall, like a silent shower,
Through the stirring leaves of the budding bower,—
And, Meina, before my eye thou art,
As when first thy loveliness fix'd my heart;
With the wreath of roses my fingers wound,
Thy sunny locks, dear girl, are bound;
Thy hand moves swift o'er the harp I strung.
Thy voice is busy with lays I sung—
Look up, dear girl, thy wanderer 's at home!—
—I looked for her glance, and I saw—the sea-foam;
I saw once more that lovely scene,
But the cold blue water gushed between;—
I gazed again with a searching eye,
But the dream of delight had for ever gone by:—
'Tis strange in those moments no sorrow woke,
No thought of my son the transport broke!
—“Still was I musing on this scene,
When, lo! an armed brigantine,
With sail outspread, and streamer flowing,
And oarsmen rapidly all rowing!—
I viewed her break the foamy main,
And, though I gazed and gazed again,
Methought it was my idle brain
Had shaped the phantom fair;
And still I gazed, and still I thought
The creature strange that fancy wrought
Would fade away in air;
More near approached the pirate bark,—
Its shadow fell more long and dark,—
They reached my little boat:—appalled,
On good Mohammed's name I called;
Till then, while on my lonely way,
In sooth I had no heart to pray—
The steersman heard the name divine,
And blest him with th' unholy sign,
And smiled;—I saw that sneer before,
When my son, sinking, writhed in gore,—
That moment o'er my spirit cross'd
The thoughts of all I loved and lost;
—Oh! I have seen the tyger crouch
To watch the pilgrim's grassy couch,
Have marked the burning eye-ball's glare
Ere yet he leaves his silent lair,—
Like him the captive Zamri lay,
With eye, that rested on his prey:—
“Dark fell the night—and fierce and fast,
Through riven sail and crashing mast,
The lightning's hurrying arrows past—
—Yes! Heaven's own lightning was my guide,
And Heaven's own strength my arm supplied,—
The wind was loud, the thunder pealed,
In prayer the frighted pilot kneeled;—
—A sudden tide of passion gushed
Along my veins, and forth I rushed,—
Swift, as the lightning's winged dart,
The sabre's point was in his heart!
“A moment undisturbed I stood,
And gazed in gladness on the blood;—
They viewed in fear, but did not seize,
The avenger, standing o'er the slain;
It seemed mine eye had power to freeze
The life that paused in every vein,
So chill each look, so hushed each breath,
Of those who saw that scene of death:—
And yet no stir:—I heard alone
One throbbing pulse, one deep-drawn groan,
Disturb the general hush;
I saw one struggling heave of pain,
As bursting from the broken vein
The rapid life-drops gush;
I marked one effort, made to pray,
Or curse, die indistinct away,
As the lip, mocking at the will,
Shook, quivered, writhed, and then was still:—
—“A moment, and mine eye was dim,—
I did not see, I did not think,
But through each pulse and through each limb
I felt my failing spirit shrink:
Yet all was hushed—one moment more
They seized the hand still hot with gore!—
—Ah! senseless ones! why seize this hand?
Will he for whom hath been untwined
Each tie that linked him to his kind
Pause now to think on axe and brand?
Think ye he stands to calculate
How best to 'scape the murderer's fate,
That thus ye wreathe your idle bands
Round moveless feet and passive hands?—
Thought ye the sight of sun or star,
Thought ye the breath and dews of heaven,
One added rapture could have given,
That thus in wrath ye flung me far
From all the scenes that can impart
Enjoyment to the untroubled heart?
Thought ye, when in your dungeon cast,
And lingering there companionless,
The long and weary hours I past
Abandoned tamely to distress?—
No! I have listened to the breeze,
And heard the music of the seas,
And joyous echoed every sound
That swept my prison-house around—
—Yes!—if thou wilt, pronounce it madness—
Oft with my fettered feet I sprang,
Oft did I clash my chains in gladness,
Oft in delirous joy I sang—
My righted son was with me there,
And joy was in his eye and air,
Nor could I wish his fortune changed,
Whose death so deeply was avenged.
Why did ye fling me thus from light?
Thought ye I cared for noon or night?
—My prison hours were hours of joy,
Yet intercharged with agony—
Yes! raptures rose like waves that reach
The proud rocks of some lonely beach,
Then ebb, and, when they cease to heave,
Oh, what a dreary waste they leave!—
“How wildly then did passions rave!
The Moon of Madness ruled the wave—
—What bursts of splendour light the Deep,
What shadows o'er its surges sweep!—
—I cannot linger here, to tell
The tortures Man prepared for me,
The blood that stained my lonely cell,
The soul he vainly sought to quell,
That, when the body shrank and fell,
Groaned not amid the agony!—
I called for tortures—and I felt
Strange pleasure in the stripes they dealt;—
In rage they struck—I loved to shew
With what calm scorn I bore the blow—
Still did they meanly spare this breath,
Lest suffering should be 'scap'd by death!
—“Amid such shocks of outward strife,
Such dreams, each wilder than the past,
My brain with fearful visions rife,
My body worn, 'twas strange that life
Sank not beneath the weight at last!
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