 | The Two Brothers, and other poems |  |
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CAUBUL.
------ Επει ουτι μοι αιτιοι εισιν
ου γαρ πωποτ' εμας βους ηλασαν, ουδε μεν ιππους,
ουδε ποτ' εν Φθιη εριβωλακι, βωτιανειρη,
καρπον εσηλησαντ'. επειη μαλα πολλα μεταξυ
ουρεα τε σκιοεντα θαλασσα τε ηχηεσσα.
—Iliad, i. 153.
ου γαρ πωποτ' εμας βους ηλασαν, ουδε μεν ιππους,
ουδε ποτ' εν Φθιη εριβωλακι, βωτιανειρη,
καρπον εσηλησαντ'. επειη μαλα πολλα μεταξυ
ουρεα τε σκιοεντα θαλασσα τε ηχηεσσα.
—Iliad, i. 153.
I
“Sweep o'er thy strings, and hymn the gorgeous East,Clime of the sun, and of the roseate morning.”
Dim voices whisper'd thus my soul, and ceased.
And straightway at the echo of their warning
Came visions many a one in bright adorning,
Clustering like clouds instinct with light around me:
And music, as of winds and waters, scorning
The slumber of the twilight hills, spell-bound me,
Till where the stars had left the dew-bright sunshine found me.
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II
Oh land of dreams and legendary song,Strange are the wonders they of fabling story
Tell of thy haunted scenery! Far along
The maze of thousand years through gloom and glory,
Like some wild landscape wrapt in vapours hoary,
The eye must wander, ere it reach the time,
Ye Eastern shores, where mystery hung not o'er ye:
Dim forms sweep looming through the mists of crime,
Or stand in light apparell'd on those hills sublime.
III
And ever as I pondered, empires vastRose on my view, and vanish'd as they came;
And heroes meteor-like before me pass'd,
Their pathway dimm'd with blood and track'd by flame:
Yet fell they all in darkness. Haply Fame
Shed transient tears for them; but soon there shone
Another star far flashing—and the same
Brief tale was told—and ever and anon
Though gleaming high as heaven, I look'd, and they were gone.
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IV
But one there was, whose dazzling train of fireStartled the sleeping night in her repose;
The blue heavens kindled as he pass'd—the choir
Of stars was troubled. From afar he rose,
Where in the evening light there faintly glows
Mild radiance o'er the hills of Macedon;
And rushing forth, despite a nation's throes,
Through blood and breaking hearts and sorrows wan,
To Persia's confines drove his stormy chariot on.
V
Thy rugged passes, Caubul, saw that host,As with glad banners to the breezes flung,
Slow winding, o'er thy mountain range it cross'd:
And thy wild air heard victor pæans sung,
And strange sweet accents of entrancing tongue.
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He saw, and smiled: but Fate above him hung:
He fetter'd all the earth, yet was not free:
All nations bow'd to him—he bow'd, O Death, to thee.
VI
And ages pass'd away like dreams: till soonA victor footstep trod those hills once more.
'Twas night; and lit up by the silver moon,
As streams a torrent from the hills, stream'd o'er
Wild children of the barren Scythian shore.
Ah! woe for those who on the vine-clad plain
Sleep on unconscious as they slept of yore!
Death wakes; and echoing to the skies amain
Is heard the shout of nations—“Hail, great Tamerlane!”
VII
Yes! such have been the tempests that have pass'd,Ye Affghan heights, across your crests of snow,
Or like the rushing of the nightly blast
Swept by in wildness and in wrath below;
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Of time's wild waters, silently ye rise,
And reckless of the whirlwind march of woe,
With that strange spirit-voice that in ye lies
Hold mystic communings with yonder starry skies.
VIII
Perchance ye are whispering how in Caubul's vale,Erst bloom'd the flowers of Eden pure and wild,
How waters gush'd from springs. that could not fail,
And earth, in one bright infant dream beguiled,
Beneath the smile of heaven look'd up and smiled.
Oh, why o'er time's dear ocean rise to view
The monuments in crime and bloodshed piled?
Why seem the waters with oblivious dew
Too oft to hide from sight the beautiful and true?
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IX
The curtains of the past are round me closing;I may not lift them more: all silently
Behind its vaporous folds, in death reposing,
The bygone ages slumber. But for me
An island, loveliest of the deep-blue sea,
In beauty smiles far o'er the ocean foam:
Mine heart goes out towards that fair countree,
Thoughts o'er a thousand long-loved landscapes roam,
A thousand spots are dear .... it is my island-home.
X
And can it be her wondrous destiniesWith yours, ye Eastern regions, are inwove?
Lo! cradled in the storms, and under skies
Cloud-robed and starless ever forced to rove,
Her infant empire with the tempests strove:—
Heaven had not will'd its shipwreck—for the shroud
Of Superstition o'er that land above
Hung shadowing; so the East in silence bow'd,
And Britain's banners waved triumphant through the cloud.
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XI
Chill sweeps the night-blast o'er the Affghan hills:No eye that sleeps in Caubul's walls to-night!
None talked of home: a strange foreboding fills
The hearts of all, and many an anxious sight
Looks forth upon the darkness, where the bright
Far-flickering watch-fires blazed; some trembling lay
All night within around the camp-fire's light,
Some on the rampart wait in dark dismay
The morrow's blood-stain'd march—the awful break of day.
XII
The mother look'd upon her babe, and sobb'd;The husband clasp'd his wife, his breast was torn
With anguish, and with grief past utterance throbb'd,—
He knew what horrors she must pass at morn;
Youth wept there, with her sister Beauty, born
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And innocent childhood, as in playful scorn,
Smiled on them both, but all its rosy bloom
Chased not from heavy hearts the morrow and the tomb.
XIII
Slowly morn flush'd the mountains. HurriedlyThe mingled host of women, children, men,
Those ramparts left, and left them but to die.
Oh! bear the gentle gently. Hark! again
The war-cry of the treacherous foe—and then
Death in its countless forms beset their road,
Till corses throng'd each deep and rocky glen;
And where the wilds of snow with slaughter glow'd,
All crimson'd on its path the icy torrent flow'd.
XIV
'Twas scenery, too, where Horror sat sublime:The bleak hills rose precipitous to heaven;
And up their snow-clad sides the mists did climb,
Sole wanderers there, and by the wild winds driven
Hover'd like spectres; through the rocks were riven
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Where never pierced the stars of morn or even;
No life, no light the wanderer to rejoice,
But gloom, and doubt, and death, the region of their choice.
XV
And through these gorges, that in darkness frown'dWhen o'er them stretch'd the deep-blue summer-sky,
'Mid snows and wintry storms their pathway wound,
The dying and the dead—and none pass'd by
To fold their mantle or to close their eye.
Foes lurk'd by every secret cleft and cave,
And to their fire the sharp rocks made reply—
One short stern death-knell o'er the fallen brave
There in that awful pass, their battle-field and grave.
XVI
And deeds were done of pure and high devotion,Deeds of heroic fame—but where are they
To tell their story?—like the gloomy ocean
Strewn with the wrecks of nations, far away
On stranger hills their mouldering corses lay;
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The sole survivor of that proud array,
And death and fear, at his most ghastly tale,
Cast slowly over all their shadowy silent veil.
XVII
Chains for the brave, and solitude and sorrow!Ay, prison-hours for gentler beings too!
Oh! they were faint for freedom, and the morrow
Never seem'd dawning on their night of woe:
Young hearts were there, and tears would sometimes flow,
When faëry home-scenes crowded on their view,
Clad in unearthly beauty, for the glow
Of love still seem'd to light up all anew,
And faith that leant on God in suffering proved most true.
XVIII
Love is a lamp on tossing billows cast,Yet many waters cannot quench its flame;
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Which still rides struggling on through taunts or fame,
Amid the floods unchanging and the same;
For love hath music, music of its own,
(Though none have whisper'd whence those harpings came,)
Which vibrates with a strange mysterious tone
Upon the ear of him who weepeth all alone.
XIX
On, brothers, to the rescue! See, they comeWith floating pennons and undaunted pride,
And victor-shouts and roll of martial drum!
Alas! within those defiles scatter'd wide
Their brethren's whitening bones are now their guide:
Woe for the sod beneath their chargers' feet!
For Spring with trembling hand hath drawn aside
(Wont to disclose a thousand flowerets sweet)
The fearful veil of death! a shroud! a winding-sheet!
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Their camp-fires, in the dark of night's repose,Far glimmering in the pass below did gleam
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Lone watchers on the mountains war might seem
But the dim splendours of a phantom dream.
On, brothers, on! nor pause, nor rest, nor sleep
By cavern, pine, or rock, or torrent-stream,
Nor linger o'er your comrades' bones and weep,
Till victors yet once more through Caubul's gates ye sweep!
XXI
And what of those who pined in gloom the while?No victor armies their deliverers were;
But God, who heard from their far native isle
The mourner's sobbings, and the sabbath prayer
Flow for the captive and the prisoner,
Threw open wide their prison-gates ; and she
Who, angel-like, stoop weeping by them there,
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And stole into our homes, and whisper'd, “They are free.”
XXII
What if dim visions of the future throngAround my soul, and voices from afar
Tell that those blood-stain'd mountains shall ere long
See England's armies, Russia's brazen car,
Roll o'er them for a sterner deadlier war?—
The dark night lowering darkest, ere the sky
Catch the strange beauty of the Morning-star?—
The lion and the eagle's struggling cry,
Wrapt in the mountain-storm, while lightnings hurtle by?—
XXIII
Enough, enough—for now the fitful roarOf strife grows fainter, till its echo dies
Within me, and my heart is sad no more.
See! landscapes brighter yet than Eastern skies
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And from on high come trembling through my soul
Waves of sphere-music, dream-like melodies,
Chasing life's myriad discords: earth's control
Is passing from me now: celestial scenes unroll.
XXIV
Yes! o'er those wilds shall flow pure crystal fountains—Fountains of life divine, and love and light:
How beautiful upon thy morning mountains
Stand messengers of peace! The shades of night
Are passing, and disclose on every height
The standard of the Cross; for God hath spoken,
And gleaming through the storm-clouds softly bright,
Far o'er the hills, in beauty all unbroken
The Gospel rainbow writes its own transparent token.
Trinity College, 1845.
“From this point (Herât), starting in the end of October, Alexander marched to the Kabool valley, through a country occupied by Indians, and bordering on Arachotia.”—Prinsep's Affghanistan.
“Hindoo and Persian traditions go so far as to state that the progenitors of mankind lived in that mountainous tract which extends from Balkh and Affghanistan to the Ganges.... And the river Pison of Scripture is said to compass the whole country of Havilah, and Havilah is supposed to be Caubul.”—Atkinson's Preface.
“That it may please Thee to preserve all that travel by land or by water ... and to show Thy pity upon all prisoners and captives.”—The Litany.
“Fortunately discontent prevailed among the soldiers of our guard, and their commandant began to intrigue with Major Pottinger for our release. A large reward was held out to him, and he swallowed the bait. The Huzarah chiefs were gained over, and we commenced our return towards Cabul.”—Eyre, p. 316.
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