 | Julia Alpinula |  |
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CANTO I.
“Say (and say gently), that since we two parted,
How little joy—much sorrow I have known:
Only not broken-hearted,
Because I muse upon bright moments gone,
And dream and think of him alone.”
MARCIAN COLONNA.
How little joy—much sorrow I have known:
Only not broken-hearted,
Because I muse upon bright moments gone,
And dream and think of him alone.”
MARCIAN COLONNA.
I.
Noon lowers: the winged thunder-cloudO'er Stamboul's towers peals long and loud,
Where one lone captive madly strains,
In vain, his still-resisting chains,
And, through his grated window, eyes
The conflict of the seas and skies,
Which on the dark horizon meet,
And listens to the waves that beat
Deep, deep, below the turret's base,
As though some Giant heaved his mace,
And shook, with an eternal sound,
The dungeon-vaults that tremble round.
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II.
What form is that, and whose that lookIn silent trance to Heaven appealing,
His nervous limbs in tremour shook
By some convulsive feeling?
That wild regard, that frenzied air,
Speak long communion with despair!—
And mark you well his brow! its frown
Would seem to call the thunder down,—
The fierce avenger of his fate,—
On objects of his scorn and hate.
He notes not now the mournful dash
Of billows, or the lightning's flash;
The keener fire is in his eye,
Of shame, revenge, and agony,
From which the burning tear would slide
And flow, if 'twere not checked by pride,
Which firmly steels him to sustain
The future, as the past of pain.
From Home, Love, Liberty, long riven,
He lifts his iron brow to heaven,
If heaven will yet in pity give
Those boons, or bid him cease to live;
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Of cloud and fire, confusedly pass;
Sees, poised above the stormy tide,
The wheeling birds of tempest ride,
With fixt eye, so intensely bright,
And hectic flush of lost delight;
As if his very soul would spring
To freedom with as wild a wing.
III.
A bark's below with gilded prow,Which left in calm and sun her haven;
But many a rent, Euroclydon
Upon her wings, since then, has graven;
And she, with not a glimpse of sun
Her course, to day, has wildly run:—
St. Hermo sits upon her sail,
Meteorous, and burneth dim,
Like Pride upon the forehead pale
Of thunder-smitten seraphim.
With bounding prow and bending pine
Across the roaring Bosphorus,
She yet bears nobly through the brine,
As if she ever wrestled thus,
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In crystal bay or purple sky.
IV.
So near the vessel glided pastHis turret's oriental wall,
Yon Captive hears the active blast
Sing in her shrouds, and every call
For speed or desultory tack,
His hollow chamber echoes back.
Two Knights, upon the stern, he sees
In silk and steel; their plumes in motion
With every breath of every breeze;
Their looks are often from the ocean
To his hoar rock and grated cell.
With them, at least, must pity dwell;
For ne'er did blood in hero's veins
Flow coolly at a hero's chains!
V.
The one was past his manhood's bloom:He had a brow of generous sense;
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And lips whose lines spake eloquence;
And if the searching glance looked long,
Within his full saturnian eye,—
Which now was tearless,—scorn of wrong,
A flashing fire, a feeling strong,
Was seen to light its apathy
With something of a gay relief,—
The Evening-Star of guiltless grief.
His cheek, which chesnut tresses fringe,
Had somewhat of the Asian tinge;
But the short, crooked sword he wore,
And crosslet which his shoulder bore,
That beam of mind, that nameless grace,
Italian-like, which filled his face,
Would seem to say, his youth had run
In climes where Taste was proud to be,
Where only monks and hermits shun
The music of a moonlight sea,
And brilliant stir of gondolas,
By marble halls, o'er tides of glass.
The other had a youthful look,
And lively; in his iris blue
His deepest spirit, as a book,
The merest gazer might look through,
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Of tenderness came o'er his thought,
Would pass to such delicious mood,
As in his own Provencal wood,
When wine, and wit, and woman's praise,
Had made his soul an orb of rays,
Inspired the Troubadour to sing—
A flower on each romantic string.
VI.
“'Tis a wild hour,” the elder said,“But rough as was our ocean-path
“From Ascutari's craggy head,
“And bright as was the lightning's scathe,
“On scorched sheet and shrivelled shroud,
“There is a head had joyed to brave
“The reinless Thunder rolling loud,
“The ghastly whiteness of the wave!
“Look up and mark the features well
“Of him who sitteth in that cell!
“And since I see that eye of blue
“Is ready with a tear or two,
“And since I see your wish would speak
“In question of that captive Greek,
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“And of a being fallen from bliss,
“Which should be told at such a time,
“'Tis fit for such an hour as this.”
VII.
“'Tis twelve years since, upon this shore,“The midnight moon was shining mildly,
“A female's shriek, amid the roar
“Of dashing waves, rang loudly,—wildly
“O'er the blue neptune, and oppressed
“A fisher in his dreams of rest,
“Who, starting, saw from yonder cove,
“Dark forms in hurried action move;
“It seemed, that, in severest strife,
“They struck for liberty or life,
“For many a helm in light was flashing,
“And many a sword with sword was clashing,
“And frequent cry for aid arose,
“From warrior compassed by his foes;
“And long, and longer as they strove,
“It seemed the Lady of his Love
“Rushed in amidst the desperate fray!
“Then they were quickly borne away,
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“The screaming gull and ebbing tide.
“At dawning of the day
“He sought the spot: a vest, blood-red,
“Upon the yellow sands lay spread,
“Rent fearfully; a scarf, a mask,
“A jewelled ring, a cloven casque;
“And none who viewed but must declare,
“Some dark departure had been there.”
VIII.
“Those tokens soon the rising seas“In visitation swept away;
“But there was witness sure as these,
“Which could not thus decay:
“Winter and summer, night and day,
“That shriek pealed in the fisher's ears,
“And with a spirit's haunting sway,
“Made dark his gliding years:
“He told to none the tale; the many
“Had deemed it idle and untrue,
“Or if believed and mourned, could any
“The irrevocable deed undo?
“Alone in hope that time thereby
“Might clear that web of mystery,
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“The embroidered scarf, the mask, and ring;—
“That, might a Princess well become,
“And this, the finger of a King,
“So rich the lustrous gems, which bound
“Its figured golden rim around.”
IX.
“At times when summer's sun had set“Behind far Pindus' purple peak,
“Whilst burned his glorious radiance yet
“Abroad, o'er Ocean's cheek,
“He cast aside his dripping nets,
“And winged his boat with sail and oar
“To where in smoother current frets
“The surge against this shore;
“For from those battlements which now
“The cypress hides with its dark bough,
“Shedding mild mournfulness around,
“He heard,—much marvelling,—much divining,—
“A lone harp's melancholy sound
“Steal o'er the waves, repining;
“And once, when Manuel's hand afar
“In Hungary lanced the shaft of war,
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“A woman's accents, sweetly blend,
“Saying a thousand things of love,
“That could not have an end.
“That evening the lone captive sate
“Like statue, by his iron grate,
“But at the instant that his ear
“Caught the fond tones to him so dear,
“His spirit melted, and he wept;
“The thoughts which long had chilly slept,
“Of home's enchantment, beauty, bliss,
“Rushed o'er him—all again seemed his!
“But when advancing from the shade,
“The figure of a Grecian maid,
“In grief's wild luxury of charms,
“Invoked him with beseeching arms,
“Heavens! o'er the features of the man,
“A tide of fire and fury ran!
“He fiercely stamped,—he fiercely shook
“The adamantine bars;—his look
“Forgot its softness, and again
“Assumed despair, and woe, and pain;
“And threats of rage, revenge, and pride,
“The twilight breezes wafted wide.
“He saw no more:—an armed band
“Beneath the turret took their stand,
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“With voice from the set centinel.
“With silent oar, resumed in haste,
“His vessel's pathway he retraced.
“As on it glided far and fast,
“Their brokenness of heart recalling,
“He could but brood upon the past,
“Not check the tear from falling.”
X.
“It chanced, one eve, when autumn's blast“With cold breath shook the cypress-pine,
“From sunny Florence as I passed,
“In pilgrimage, to Palestine,
“A sail I sought to waft me o'er
“These rushing tides to Asia's shore;
“But save the fisher, none would brave
“The stormy strait and tossing wave,
“And we who ventured, well could feel
“The firm boat quiver to its keel.
“Driven by the wind from creek and bay,
“All night upon our oars we lay;—
“But when the bells of Istamboul
“The morn's grey hours began to toll,
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“Our cerule way to Chalcedon;
“And I, in that light mood begot
“By mutuality of lot,
“In that wide solitude of ours,
“Much questioned of the Imperial powers,
“If sought the indignant Turk to wreak
“Reprisal on the fiery Greek?
“And who led on the Christian ranks
“To Taurus' hills and Irmak's banks?
“Since Andron, martial prince, was gone
“Whither or wherefore known to none;
“And years had flown and darker came
“Suspicion, whispering Andron's name.
“Had jealous Manuel fixed his doom
“By poisonous bowl, or dungeon's gloom?
“Or roved that Leopard of the war
“Wild seas and scorching climes afar?
“It seemed my random question brought
“Across his brow a sudden thought;—
“A sense of something scarce defined;—
“A torturing twilight of the mind!
“For now the absorbing secret pressed
“Like guilt's dark nightmare, at his breast,
“And would not, could not be suppressed,
“I had so shadowed forth to view
“The fears he felt, the truths he knew!
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“With pity, lenient of relief;
“His brow grew brighter; and, more bold,
“He left no circumstance untold
“Of that wild night which Stamboul's chief
“Had deemed unknown or far forgot,
“But which from heaven's recording leaf
“No time might blight or blot.”
XI.
“I heard; and cherished in my breast“A secret hope, however vain,
“That I might aid a prince opprest,
“And burst his grate, and break his chain.
“At morn the fisher moored his skiff
“Beneath the shelter of a cliff,
“Whose far projecting shadow lay
“On weedy shelf and brightening bay;—
“And there we parted:—lightly shot
“His homeward pinnace o'er the brine,
“And with a warrior's zeal, I sought
“The bannered host of Palestine.
“I traced on that romantic shore,
“Each spot renowned in song and story;
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“And reaped, in tears, the due to glory
“But never in my heart forgot
“The prisoned spirit of this spot.
“Years have rolled over years, to me
“Of many passions, hopes, and fears;
“But to thy cell, Captivity,
“Those keen and cankering years
“Have come unwished, unwelcomed gone,
“Blighted and past, and left but one,—
“The' absorbing thought,—the restless aim
“Of Liberty's reluming flame.—
“To view with an unshackled eye,
“This azure amplitude of sky;
“O'er ocean's heaving waters bound,
“Track with his own Thessalian hound,
“The wild-wolf's haunt, with heart as gay
“As in youth's seeming yesterday:—
“This is a hope that can illume
“Long years,—his dungeon's darkest gloom.”
XII.
“His Lady, fair Eudora, sought“To share his prison, but in vain:—
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“It would add keenness to his chain.”
“She heard, and never would become
“The flatterer of his pride, nor hear
“Within his court the barbarous drum
“Repeat stern vigils to the ear
“Of one so fierce, o'er one so dear;
“And though endeared by time and truth,
“And all the memories of her youth,
“Those thousand sweetnesses which grow,
“When exiled, into weeds of woe:—
“She left the Palace, left the stir
“Of princes, and of princes' slaves.
“What was a hollow smile to her?
“Away then to the woods and waves!
“The woods and waves could not impart
“Their quiet to her mind and heart;
“All beautiful, and stilly sweet,
“As are the lines of nature's scrolls:—
“They are but so to hearts that beat
“In unison; to stormy souls
“The bright and still are passionless!
“The will's vain thirst they cannot slake
“With grasped-at fruit;—their smilingness
“But merely adds another ache,—
“The sight, without the hope of rest,
“To the already-tortured breast.
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“For tyrant wrong and traitorous scorn?
“Were all the generous passions lent
“To be our pride and punishment?
“Must one so fond and one so brave
“Be that a martyr, this a slave?”
XIII.
“O heaven forbid!” the Youth replied,“And freedom's voice, and knighthood's call!
“Cosmo, I left a plighted bride,
“Her tears will stain her father's hall,
“If fortune cross, or aught delay
“Her warrior in his homeward way!
“And dear the cause must be, to buy
“From me those diamonds of the eye!
“At price then of those drops, whose dew
“Will wring another's bosom too,
“I am thine own, by crag or wave,
“To watch or win, to strike or save.
“I could not dare to see again
“Her Portico of purple vines,
“If but dishonour's thought should stain
“The star which on my bosom shines:
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“In beauty's quarrel, every vein
“That runs with ruddy drops, to rot
“Beneath a taunting chain,
“And that ignoblest hands should rase
“The crest and spur from one so base.”
—“Well speaks thy warm and gallant lip;
“For this through scorching climes remote
“I stemmed the main:—but see our ship
“Has anchored, and my Cypriote
“For us has launched the tossing boat.”
XIV.
“Thrice have I circuited these towers“With curious ken, and found at length
“A point where time or wintry showers
“Have tamed its marble strength,
“Where fragments from the weedy wall
“Above seem nodding to their fall.
“See you not high, in middle air,
“Some semblance of a dizzy stair,
“Which, sweeping round, is mantled now
“By the green alder's clustering bough,
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“Fearlessly down its wreathed roots?
“Thence might we not attempt to scale,
“Though high, the' o'erawing battlements,
“What time the dark-plumed nightingale
“Pours forth its loud laments?
“As desperate heights, as steep ascents,
“Ere this, have wit and courage won!
“Witness that fortress, the defence
“Of king Micipsa's Moorish son—
“Which rooted on its crag to mock
“The thundering ram and tortoise-shock
“So high,—it was a dreadful thing
“To see the swallow thence take wing!—
“Was in an hour of prowess scaled;
“The keen Ligurian's craft prevailed:—
“That lofty precipice he won,
“Looked wide o'er tower and pavement lone,
“One trumpet blast, the shout, the roar
“Of thousands, and its hour was o'er.
“When barred the use of spear, and shield,
“Her other arms will Wisdom wield;
“And us that subtle Serf may teach
“What mocks our arm to win by breach;—
“Such will we, Guiscard, do and dare.
“Here meet we when at set of sun
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“From mosque, proclaims the morrow done,
“Ere then the fisher must be sought;
“His wooded island lies in view,
“Like mist upon the billows blue;
“By me his lesson shall be taught:—
“At night his skiff shall wait and brave,
“Eastward, the storm and dashing wave,
“Which there has scooped a cove;—a larch
“Conceals the entrance to the arch.
“I will find fitting means to shape
“Prince Andron's dangerous escape:—
“And, holy Freedom! fall or flee,
“Our latest rites we pay to thee.”
XV.
Lazily sped that stormy night;The waves ran high, the winds sang loud,
And if at times the moon's wan light
Hung on the dark edge of a cloud,
It was but to make more gloomily
Those other shadows of the sky
Frown on the earth as they hurried by;
It was as if the shrouded dead
Should pass before a murderer's bed,
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Was fixed in utter agony,
It was as if a ray should steal
On them, as silently they wheel,
And light up in his gloomy brain,
The immortality of pain.
Deeming that spirits walked abroad,
The lonely centinel was awed,
Nor durst to echo trust the song
Her mimic voice would oft prolong.
Sheltered in keep, with eye and ear
Awake, and all alive with fear,
He watched till rolled the clouds away,
And dim the horizon glowed with day.
Ev'n when that day began to break,
'Twas with such dull and mournful flake
As gleams in the volcano's dome,
The thunder's haunt, and earthquake's home.
Roused he the Warder;—at his call
Rang loud the large and vaulted hall.
With jealous key, the creaking doors
Opened, and closed; and long the floors
Retained his parting footstep's sound.
He winds the lofty turret round,
Slowly, and sad, and wearily,
With heavy step and downward eye
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The captive of his bonds till eve.
Now hath he gained that upper cell
Where Pain hath dwelt and long must dwell.
Why stands he yet upon the stair?—
He starts! Prince Andron is not there!
XVI.
Sleep early fled from Manuel's eye;That morn he left his marble halls,
And sought where form and dash from high
The dazzling waterfalls;
The tall cliff from whose savage brink
The weak must fall, the daring shrink,
Whose echoing cave and soaring peak
Are vocal with the eagle's shriek;
Whate'er the hand of Art has planned
Of bold or awful, wild or grand,
Here was not; but a softer scene,
Now bright, now solemn, now serene,—
Beautiful, and for ever green;
As though to earth the sweets of heaven
Maternal Nature's hand had given,
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How much of Eden rests below!
Olive and myrtle, fig and vine,
Spread forth their blooms and purple fruits;
In darker vesture rose the pine;
To heaven the cypress sent its shoots;
And not one wind of all that swayed
The roses' leaves, however slight,
But with its wing of sweetness made
The heart a Crœsus in delight.
Thither, to suck their honey dew,
With spiral tongue the bee-bird flew,
With rapture drunk, and hung o'er them
Like segment of a brilliant gem!
And you might see the water-breaks
Glide amid green pomegranate groves
Which the sweet bird of Midnight loves,
In many a maze irregular,
To basins marble-paved, and there
Repose in living lakes;
And in the cool transparent spring
Did birds of beauty dip the wing;
And many a Temple rose, amid
Those bowers, now seen, now faintly hid,
Wherein fair figures were displayed,
Hero and goddess, sage and maid.
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One arm a pillar clasped around,
And there in meditative mood,
He listened to each gentle sound.—
The turtle's wail, the dash profound,
Of bubbling runnels gay with bliss,
Might bring a balm to sorrow's wound,
And charm a sterner soul than his:
In sooth he felt their bland controul,
Stealing like magic o'er his soul,
With such sweet power as sages say,
In desert wilderness astray,
If virgin Beauty cross his path,
Beguiles the Lion of his wrath;—
Empire and care alike forgot,
He stood as rooted to the spot
By some o'ermastering charm!
So have I seen in vernal woods,
Wreathing amid the violet's buds,
With seeming calmness in its eye,
The darkly-brooding serpent lie
As innocent of harm:
Approach him, he uncoils his rings,
And redly glares, and fiercely stings.
Such seeming wildness wore thy face,
Imperial Manuel! brief the space.
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Whate'er it was that met his eye,
I know not, but a stormy red,—
The sunbeam of vindictive joy,—
Flashed on his cheek whose smile might hide
Successful hate and scornful pride;
Such bitter smile as malice shows
Upon the writhing lip of foes,
When fortune to their wish consigns—
Gift richer than Peruvian mines!—
Long sought, long missed, a foeman's life,
By drug, by dagger, or by knife!—
But if the truth historians tell,
If viewed he thence the citadel
Where hopeless captives weep,
We need no clue the cause to trace,
Of changing blood in Manuel's face:—
So hotly did it steep
His pale brow, thought of Andron's name,
Alone, could raise that fever's flame.
XVII.
But pondering on his victim's fateWhose step disturbs his privacy,
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That swell so wild and high?
And O, why fly, like frantic things,
Those slaves so variously? why rings
Grove, temple, portico,—the tone
Floats on his ear—“The Captive's gone!”
Scarce conscious what that sound imparts,
As from a dream the monarch starts;
Hears voices round him, one by one,
“Where is the king? the Captive's gone.”
Intense distractedness of mein
Upon his blanched front is seen;—
But who may pause to contemplate
That form?—his Nubian bursts the gate,
And flies, and in alarming tone
Exclaims, “my lord, the Captive's gone;
“The warder saw him fettered well
“Last eve; this morn a vacant cell!
“No trace or token marked his flight!
“Firm were the doors! no chains in sight!”—
—“Ho! gird me on my scimetar;
“The fugitive pursue; and bar
“The City-gates. Speed, Suley, speed,
“And call my guards and rein my steed.”
Then turns he his upbraiding eye
Abroad, on ocean, earth, and sky,
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“By heaven! this hour the traitor dies.”
Nor in his fury seems to know,
Fled is the man he calls his foe.
With hurrying tramp and mingled din,
Horseman and horse came pouring in
With lance in hand, and spur on heel:
“Haste! kill! pursue!” Their steeds they wheel,
And seem annihilating space,—
Such speed is in their rapid race.
XVIII.
The rearward horseman's vanished now,And Manuel stands in deep reflection.
What sudden thought makes bright his brow?—
A passing recollection
Recalled from memory's shadowy page,
And haste grows calm, and ebbs his rage,
With wilder wave to renovate
The full reflowing tide of hate;
A moment's pause to clear again
His dark suspicion's tangled chain.
“Enough, my Nubian; bid or bring
“Lady Eudora to her king;
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“From Buda I had led my powers,
“And learned how small a guard, and slack,
“Had kept their vigil o'er those towers,
“And that in Day's departing hours,
“Thither the Lady would repair,
“And tune in these forbidden bowers,
“Her wild lute to the air;
“The lute to which of yore I listened,
“Till they said my eyes have glistened
“With a strange and holy awe
“Caught from her, derived from heaven,
“And she, to touch so sweet a strain
“To me but once, but once again,
“Might deem her chief forgiven.
“But, no! these are no Turkish plains,
“Where that wayward chief might press
“Some hot assault with glowing veins,
“And at eve when weariness
“He pressed, with active ardour, the siege of Mopsuestia; the day was employed in the boldest attacks; but the night was wasted in song and dance, and a band of Greek comedians formed the choicest part of his retinue. Andronicus was surprised by the sally of a vigilant foe; but, while his troops fled in disorder, his invincible lance transpierced the thickest ranks of the Armenians. On his return to the imperial camp in Macedonia, he was received by Manuel with public smiles and a private reproof—but the duchies of Naissus, Braniseba, and Castoria, were the reward or consolation of the unsuccessful general.” Gibbon's Dec. and Fall, chap. xlviii.
“Slacked his vigour, swift transform
“City shook by fire and storm,
“To high revel in a camp,
“Sped with dance and lit with lamp,
“Beauty's smile for warrior's groan,
“War's shrill clarion for the tone
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“Which—but no, my brain is fire,
“Seared by injury, steeled by wrong,
“Not till now remembered long:
“It was not enough, that I
“Passed his fault with honours by,
“Respecting him that in such hours,
“Flushed with wine, and crowned with flowers,
“He has tossed the wreath aside,
“Sabre fastened to his side,
“Donned his helmet, heron-plumed,
“Banner shaken, shield resumed,
“And changed the sallying Tecbir-cry
“To one wild wail of agony.
“Dukedoms, three, could not console
“The shame, the' ambition in his soul.
“Successless from Mopsuestia's siege,
“He had the praises of his liege;
“Rank, wealth, and every other want
“Subject might claim, or sovereign grant.
“When Braniseba's duke put on
“Helmet with me, in Macedon,
“What cause had he for plighting ring
“With German or Hungarian king,
“To bare his blade at twilight hour,
“And under shadow of our power,
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“He sought revenge on mortal foe?
“Thought he, I ween, the crown I wear
“Would beam more radiance on his hair,
“That the pearled sceptre, only he
“Of the Comnenian dynasty,
“Could wave with majesty, or wield
“Byzantium's warring spear and shield!
“Fruitless the hope, and vain the task,
“The' aspiring aim from me to mask!
“His fire and genius well I know;—
“A fearful friend,—more fearful foe;—
“An enterprize, not fame can slake,—
“A fortitude, no pain can shake;—
“An open ear, an eye awake,
“Resolving heart, contriving head,
“And hand to do the deed of dread;
“An angel's eloquence, to aid
“The sweeping fierceness of his blade,
“The spell-word whose Orphean charm
“Might bid surrounding nations arm,
“And speak the tempest to a calm;
“And now, O now! what bush or brake
“May veil the lion, hide the snake,
“In glowing vengeance crouched to spring,
“Or closely coiled to shoot the sting!
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“Life, empire, glory, what are you!
“Yet shall he find, this vest beneath,
“A heart”—His sword has left its sheath
And his hand stabs the viewless air.—
Soft! What entrancing form moves there?
Like that same lion, bent to spring,
Rage in his gesture, stands the king.
XIX.
Beautiful spirit! the radiant glowOf heaven's own purple seems over her flung,
Dazzling the gazer, like the bow
Which Mercy's hand in the storm has hung.
And, O! so fair, so soft, so young!
Can this Eudora be the star
Which governed Andron's fate in war;
She who his cares and toils to soothe,
Left State's bright palace for the stir
Of camps and leaguered towns? in sooth,
Love's most enthusiast worshipper!
Who all day long would watch with eye
And heart that trembled but for him,
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At dewfall, waxed dim,
And the shrill horn recalled his foot
From conquering charge, or far pursuit;
She, who would then, with fond embrace,
Unclasp the vizor from his face,
Bear water whence cool fountains flow,
To slake his thirst and bathe his brow,
Or, last extremity of pain,
Bind with her scarf the wounds which gush
In heavy drops from the gashed vein;
And whilst her bleeding hero deep
Enjoys the fever-balm of sleep,
Each rude, disturbing murmur hush,
So that not e'en the slightest thing
Had leave to flutter on the wing;
In peril, care, and agony,
His minister; can this be she?
Well may the monarch start and gaze,
Who knew her in her happier days,
Ere yet the cankering worm of grief
Preyed on her crisped virgin-leaf,
When gay at heart, in beauty's bloom,
Her eye shot sunshine through the room,
And in the mirror of her face,
Each rising feeling you might trace,—
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Or injured Pride's resenting blush
Woke the black pupil's transient flash,
Or gentle Pity dewed its lash,
Or o'er her cheek as danger grew,
Courage a stormy grandeur threw;—
Ev'n like a blue transparent lake,
Whose banks are bright with flower and tree,
If zephyr only is awake
Each blossom in its waves you see,
But if the storm its wings unfurl,
The darkening billows proudly curl,
And to the eye its glass has given
The thunder-clouds which gloom in heaven.
XX.
But summer rifles the lily's bell,And the frost of winter chills the rose,
And time, whose flight is pleasure's knell,
Has drugged youth's chalice deep with woes.
From summer's blooms to winter's snows;
From the hour when Autumn spreads her pall
To the last sweet days of parting spring,
When the fanciful hours aspire to fling
Life, music, and flowers, o'er all;
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And now her faded aspect shows
Her many passions sunk in one:—
The brilliant eye of other days,
Dim, and the bosom cold to praise
Which charmed so much when life begun;
Sorrow alone on her white brow sits,
And some deep feeling gleams by fits,
Like ruins of the spirit's light
Burning on through years of pain,
As the moon's track on the main,
Glimmers through the dark midnight.
And beautiful, in time's despite,
And lovely must the spirit be,
Which loves on in dark and bright,
Pain and bliss eternally!
Such, amid despair, is she
Whom her weeping maids have borne,
From her villa by the sea,
To the audience-room this morn;—
She has nerved her heart with scorn;
Put the purple on, to show
Souls are great by tyrants torn,
Hearts are haughty to a foe.
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XXI.
Mutely, before the king, she stands;Nor heaves one sigh, nor clasps her hands;
As if her injured heart might break,
But to no earthly monarch quake.
As if resolved her settled air
Should to no human eye, declare
How deep, or with what gall and smart,
The torturing iron pierced her heart;
And though the murmuring spring they hear
Bubbling in the marble hall,
And thousand things around appear,
Past seasons to recal,
When, at a word, she flew to tune
Her soft lute many a summer-noon,
To charm the king in his saloon,
And rose, and jasmine, culled to bind
Her braid of hyacinthine tresses,
And at a call, his neck entwined
In fond and innocent caresses;—
The chill of snows would ill express
Her dark eye's silent iciness,
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Her many pangs that know no cure,—
And Andron's bitter thrall! what more
Can he inflict, or we endure!
For in his red eye she can read
The prelude to a darker deed,
And this short pause of silent ire,
Is like the pulseless airs which wrap
The desolate volcano's cap,
Ere the imprisoned flood of fire
Flares like a banner to the sky,
And the broad earthquake passes by.
What may it be that can impart,
To him that storminess of heart!
Fearless, and with an air austere,
She bends her from her height to hear.
XXII.
At length her scorn has fired his spirit proud,And rage bursts forth as lightning breaks the cloud;
No single passion fluctuates in his mind,
But a whole host, in warring chaos joined,
Impels his heart, in swift tumultuous change,
From fear to pride, from fondness to revenge:—
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“No threats could awe, no kindnesses could bind,
“Say, in what dwelling lurks the trustless chief?
“Nay, no upbraiding look, no seeming grief,
“No hollow anguish, no dissembling sigh;
“This instant answer, or prepare to die.
“Hemlock has poison, agony the wheel,
“The burning iron and the smiting steel;
“Then would it 'vail those orbs that they have worn
“A ray of beauty or a glance of scorn?—
“Scorched to their sockets by the searing brand,
“Nor light, nor triumph, can they more command;
“Stretched on the winding wheel, would that soft limb
“Have vanity for you, or charm for him?
“Such things there are, and lovelier ones have known
“Their being in the pangs which quenched their own.
“Coils he, an adder, near us?—or, more brave,
“Flies with the steed on land, or rides the wave?
“Where rests—where flies—how 'scaped he? Briefly give
“The word I claim, and live,—in glory live,
“Crowned with the gems of wealth, the pomp of power:
“Here empire wooes thee, and there frowns the tower,
“The grate, the cell, the prison: aye! the chain,
“The groan, the gloom, the penance, and the pain,
“Eternal solitude, and whirling brain!
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“Rapture on earth, and life and light on high;
“To be a captive, or a denizen,
“Caitiff with owls, or goddess-like with men.—
“What have I said? where are we? I should know
“That pallid cheek, and chill, declining brow.
“Where are the roses fled to? that light form
“Was once Eudora, but the sun and storm
“Of battle have wrought changes, and her mind
“Has left, perchance, remembrance far behind,
“When by these fountains, in those cypress-bowers,—
“Nay, shrink not, start not,—melody was ours,
“And moonlight dances, revelry, and song,
“Sped time upon a fairy's foot along;
“Why should a hateful shadow come between?
“Speak! be the future what the past has been,
“Torn by no anguish, haunted by no crime,
“A happy pageant, and a festal time;—
“Refuse, and well thy former guilt I know,
“A seeming virtue, but a wily foe;
“The lyre, the tune, the hour, the steel, the crape,
“The ready steed, and signal for escape!—
“Not vainly did that eye of treason then
“Glance through the gloom, and dive within the glen;—
“Not vainly didst thou fling to those who hem
“Thy swift retreat, the bribe of gold or gem.—
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“I wage not war with lovely things like thee.”
XXIII.
—“Yes, am I changed! time was, I could have borne“Thy praise; all, save thine anger and thy scorn;
“For then thou wert no tyrant, wert too pure,
“Too free thyself and generous to immure
“Chiefs amid chains and torture,—one who dyed
“His spear in bloody battle by thy side,
“Thy friend, almost thy brother, one who blew
“With thee his tasselled horn, who tracked the dew
“With the same beagles, and with equal skill
“Drew shafts upon the same Thessalian hill.
“Look on me! sun, storm, battle, I can brave,
“Shrieks on the field, and perils on the wave;
“They flung no grief, no paleness on my brow,
“No dagger at my heart, but it was Thou:—
“Andron must thy unjust resentment bear,
“For fancied crimes, and wrestle with despair.
“'Twas thus that sorrow sapped my vital bloom,
“And pale consumption marked me for the tomb;
“Even this weak frame must thou essay to shake,
“Not for mine own, but for another's sake!
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“A tyrant thou, and traitor to thy trust;
“A king has pity, mercy; thou hast none;
“Of all thy petty gifts, I asked but one,—
“To share his lingering penance,—'twas denied:
“You coolly smiled, presumptuous in your pride.
“It shames me that you saw my tears to flow,
“But I am more, am more than woman now;
“Changed, gauntletted by injury to fling back
“Scorn on thy gems, defiance to thy rack.
“I aid Prince Andron's flight! what aiding power
“Have I? Am I the keeper of his tower?
“His guard, his centinel? but more I guess
“You flatter only to insult distress.
“Reveal the flight your wiles perchance have sped!
“I dare your power, but 'tis thyself I dread,
“Lest that dark hands were urged to' anticipate
“The too long lingering years and fix his fate.
“Ha! dost thou start! before thy spirit stands
“A shape, when sleep has bound thee in its bands,
“Shall visit thy wild slumber, haunt thy guilt:
“Now bring the wheel, and torture if thou wilt,—
“I speak no more, nor shall my shrieks be loud,
“But I will put my finger from my shroud,
“And write its fiery vengeance on thy brow.
“Proud Autocrat! now what with me would'st Thou?”
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XXIV.
All words, all eloquence were faint,The monarch's paroxysm to paint,
As veering now from rage to pride,
His mantle-folds he threw aside;
And, fixed on his dark forehead, sate
A mingled scowl of pain and hate.
He stamped his foot, and, at his call,
His armed vassals filled the hall,
And for a minute's space, no sound
Was heard their deepening files around,
But awe and wonder o'er them spread
The unstirring silence of the dead.
Quivered the monarch's lips, and clung
To the palate's roof his tongue,
Till within his lowering eye
Brighter fires of anger woke
A spell of stronger mastery—
Pointing to the turrets nigh,
Terribly he spoke:
“Away, away, this Lady bear
“Up yon dark tower's winding stair;
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“Adamantine be the grate;—
“If a hand but wave below,
“Lip salute, or head but bow,
“Headman's axe shall be his doom,
“Hers, a dungeon's deeper gloom.
“Haughty woman, have thy will,
“Share his penance, share his ill;
“Weep by day, by night repine,
“Suns shall rise, and planets shine
“To thy drooping eye in vain.
“Never shalt thou break the chain
“Which around thine arm I wind,
“Till prince Andron comes to bind
“His with that which humbleth thee,
“Sealer of his destiny!
“Then may'st thou again be free.
“We, meanwhile, will hem his path,
“And if he should meet our wrath,
“His shall be the sepulchre,
“Thine the eternal cell's despair.
“Princess, dost thou now obey?
“She speaks not. Hurry her away,
“Nor let those whimpering slaves be near
“To whisper treason in her ear.”
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XXV.
How fares the high Eudora now?Falls not the pride that stamped her brow?
No! flashing lance and pealing drum
Have failed her bosom to benumb.
Though by sabres compassed round,
Heedless that the tyrant frowned,
As she passed, her lip again
Assumed a smile of cool disdain.
Thence by numbers borne away,
Through the court where fountains play,
She is swiftly passing now,
And by the dark cupressine bough;
Slowlier hold they on their march,
As they near the ribbed arch.
Hark! the unfolding portals creak—
And close; but neither voice nor shriek,
Meets the monarch, listening still.
One lone trumpet, loud and shrill,
Telling him the tale, repined
In the melancholy wind.—
Sadly it fell, and sadly rose,
Like the gust o'er winter's snows,
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O'er the desolate midnight,
And the hollow-voiced wave,
In fitful sorrow heard to rave,
Bears the wild summons to the deep,
In whitening flash and whirling sweep.
Thrice it rose, and thrice it fell,
A wild lament, a troubled knell;
The wind blew by, and, dismally,
Flung the tidings far to sea.
O'er the murmuring billows blue,
Away, away the sea-bird flew;
The sea-boy, mounted in his shroud,
Looked high on main, and cape, and cloud,
And strained the canvas to the mast,
As there were evil in the blast.
The fisher deemed a storm was nigh,
And plied his oars incessantly,
And scudded forward free to reach
His wooded islet's golden beach.
Sparkle his dipping oars;—'tis won—
Whilst redly glares the lurid sun,
Which, as his flapping sail is furled,
Sinks, and 'tis twilight o'er the world.
END OF CANTO I.
| Julia Alpinula | |