HECCAR AND GAIRA.
AN AFRICAN ECLOGUE.
Jan. 3, 1770.
Where the rough Caigra rolls the surgy wave,
Urging his thunders through the echoing cave;
Where the sharp rocks, in distant horror seen,
Drive the white currents through the spreading green;
Where the loud tiger, pawing in his rage,
Bids the black archers of the wilds engage;
Stretched on the sand, two panting warriors lay,
In all the burning torments of the day.
Their bloody javelins reeked one living steam,
Their bows were broken at the roaring stream;
Heccar, the chief of Jarra's fruitful hill,
Where the dark vapours nightly dews distil,
Saw Gaira, the companion of his soul,
Extended where loud Caigra's billows roll;
Gaira, the king of warring archers found,
Where daily lightnings plough the sandy ground,
Where brooding tempests howl along the sky,
Where rising deserts whirled in circles fly.
HECCAR.
Gaira, 'tis useless to attempt the chace,
Swifter than hunted wolves they urge the race;
Their lessening forms elude the straining eye,
Upon the plumage of macaws they fly.
Let us return, and strip the reeking slain,
Leaving the bodies on the burning plain.
GAIRA.
Heccar, my vengeance still exclaims for blood,
'Twould drink a wider stream than Caigra's flood.
This javelin, oft in nobler quarrels tried,
Put the loud thunder of their arms aside.
Fast as the streaming rain, I poured the dart,
Hurling a whirlwind through the trembling heart:
But now my lingering feet revenge denies,
O could I throw my javelin from my eyes!
HECCAR.
When Gaira the united armies broke,
Death winged the arrow, Death impelled the stroke.
See, piled in mountains on the sanguine sand,
The blasted of the lightnings of thy hand.
Search the brown desert and the glossy green,
There are the trophies of thy valour seen.
The scattered bones mantled in silver white,
Once animated, dared the force in fight.
The children of the wave, whose pallid race
Views the faint sun display a languid face,
From the red fury of thy justice fled
Swifter than torrents from their rocky bed.
Fear with a sickened silver tinged their hue:
The guilty fear, when vengeance is their due.
GAIRA.
Rouse not Remembrance from her shadowy cell,
Nor of those bloody sons of mischief tell.
Cawna, O Cawna! decked in sable charms,
What distant region holds thee from my arms?
Cawna, the pride of Afric's sultry vales,
Soft as the cooling murmur of the gales,
Majestic as the many-coloured snake,
Trailing his glories through the blossomed brake:
Black as the glossy rocks, where Eascal roars,
Foaming through sandy wastes to Jaghir's shores;
Swift as the arrow, hasting to the breast,
Was Cawna, the companion of my rest.
The sun sat lowering in the western sky,
The swelling tempest spread around the eye;
Upon my Cawna's bosom I reclined,
Catching the breathing whispers of the wind.
Swift from the wood a prowling tiger came,
Dreadful his voice, his eyes a glowing flame;
I bent the bow, the never-erring dart
Pierced his rough armour, but escaped his heart;
He fled, though wounded, to a distant waste,
I urged the furious flight with fatal haste;
He fell, he died—spent in the fiery toil,
I stripped his carcase of the furry spoil,
And, as the varied spangles met my eye,
“On this,” I cried, “shall my loved Cawna lie.”
The dusky midnight hung the skies in grey;
Impelled by love, I winged the airy way;
In the deep valley and the mossy plain,
I sought my Cawna, but I sought in vain.
The pallid shadows of the azure waves
Had made my Cawna, and my children, slaves!
Reflection maddens to recal the hour;
The gods had given me to the demon's power.
The dusk slow vanished from the hated lawn,
I gained a mountain glaring with the dawn.
There the full sails, expanded to the wind,
Struck horror and distraction in my mind;
There Cawna, mingled with a worthless train,
In common slavery drags the hated chain.
Now judge, my Heccar, have I cause for rage?
Should aught the thunder of my arm assuage?
In ever-reeking blood this javelin dyed
With vengeance shall be never satisfied;
I'll strew the beaches with the mighty dead
And tinge the lily of their features red!
HECCAR.
When the loud shriekings of the hostile cry
Roughly salute my ear, enraged I'll fly;
Send the sharp arrow quivering through the heart,
Chill the hot vitals with the venomed dart;
Nor heed the shining steel or noisy smoke,
Gaira and Vengeance shall inspire the stroke.
