 | Poems and prose writings |  |
THE BUCCANEER.
Boy with thy blac berd,
I rede that thou blin,
And sone set the to shrive,
With sorrow of thi syn;
Ze met with the marchandes
And made tham ful bare;
It es gude reason and right
That ze evill misfare.
I rede that thou blin,
And sone set the to shrive,
With sorrow of thi syn;
Ze met with the marchandes
And made tham ful bare;
It es gude reason and right
That ze evill misfare.
Laurence Minot.
The island lies nine leagues away.
Along its solitary shore,
Of craggy rock and sandy bay,
No sound but ocean's roar,
Save, where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home,
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam.
But when the light winds lie at rest,
And on the glassy, heaving sea,
The black duck, with her glossy breast,
Sits swinging silently;
How beautiful! no ripples break the reach,
And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach.
Along its solitary shore,
Of craggy rock and sandy bay,
No sound but ocean's roar,
Save, where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home,
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam.
But when the light winds lie at rest,
And on the glassy, heaving sea,
The black duck, with her glossy breast,
Sits swinging silently;
How beautiful! no ripples break the reach,
And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach.
2
And inland rests the green, warm dell;
The brook comes tinkling down its side;
From out the trees the sabbath bell
Rings cheerful, far and wide,
Mingling its sound with bleatings of the flocks,
That feed about the vale among the rocks.
Nor holy bell, nor pastoral bleat
In former days within the vale;
Flapped in the bay the pirate's sheet;
Curses were on the gale;
Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men;
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then.
But calm, low voices, words of grace,
Now slowly fall upon the ear;
A quiet look is in each face,
Subdued and holy fear:
Each motion gentle; all is kindly done —
Come, listen, how from crime this isle was won.
The brook comes tinkling down its side;
From out the trees the sabbath bell
Rings cheerful, far and wide,
Mingling its sound with bleatings of the flocks,
That feed about the vale among the rocks.
Nor holy bell, nor pastoral bleat
In former days within the vale;
Flapped in the bay the pirate's sheet;
Curses were on the gale;
Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men;
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then.
But calm, low voices, words of grace,
Now slowly fall upon the ear;
A quiet look is in each face,
Subdued and holy fear:
Each motion gentle; all is kindly done —
Come, listen, how from crime this isle was won.
3
I.
Twelve years are gone since Matthew Lee
Held in this isle unquestioned sway;
A dark, low, brawny man was he;
His law — “It is my way.”
Beneath his thick-set brows a sharp light broke
From small grey eyes; his laugh a triumph spoke.
II.
Cruel of heart, and strong of arm,
Loud in his sport, and keen for spoil,
He little recked of good or harm,
Fierce both in mirth and toil;
Yet like a dog could fawn, if need there were;
Speak mildly, when he would, or look in fear.
III.
Amid the uproar of the storm,
And by the lightning's sharp, red glare,
Were seen Lee's face and sturdy form;
His axe glanced quick in air.
Whose corpse at morn is floating in the sedge?
There's blood and hair, Mat, on thy axe's edge.
IV.
“Nay, ask him yonder; let him tell;
I make the brute, not man, my mark.
Who walks these cliffs, needs heed him well!
Last night was fearful dark.
Think ye the lashing waves will spare or feel?
An ugly gash! — These rocks — they cut like steel.”
Twelve years are gone since Matthew Lee
Held in this isle unquestioned sway;
A dark, low, brawny man was he;
His law — “It is my way.”
Beneath his thick-set brows a sharp light broke
From small grey eyes; his laugh a triumph spoke.
II.
Cruel of heart, and strong of arm,
Loud in his sport, and keen for spoil,
He little recked of good or harm,
Fierce both in mirth and toil;
Yet like a dog could fawn, if need there were;
Speak mildly, when he would, or look in fear.
III.
Amid the uproar of the storm,
And by the lightning's sharp, red glare,
Were seen Lee's face and sturdy form;
His axe glanced quick in air.
Whose corpse at morn is floating in the sedge?
There's blood and hair, Mat, on thy axe's edge.
IV.
“Nay, ask him yonder; let him tell;
I make the brute, not man, my mark.
Who walks these cliffs, needs heed him well!
Last night was fearful dark.
Think ye the lashing waves will spare or feel?
An ugly gash! — These rocks — they cut like steel.”
4
V.
He wiped his axe; and turning round,
Said with a cold and hardened smile,
“The hemp is saved — the man is drowned.
Wilt let him float awhile?
Or give him Christian burial on the strand?
He'll find his fellows peaceful 'neath the sand.”
VI.
Lee's waste was greater than his gain.
“I'll try the merchant's trade,” he thought,
“Though less the toil to kill, than feign,—
Things sweeter robbed than bought.
But, then, to circumvent them at their arts!”
Ship manned, and spoils for cargo, Lee departs.
VII.
'T is fearful, on the broad-backed waves,
To feel them shake, and hear them roar:
Beneath, unsounded, dreadful caves;
Around, no cheerful shore.
Yet 'mid this solemn world what deeds are done!
The curse goes up, the deadly sea-fight's won;—
VIII.
And wanton talk and laughter heard,
Where speaks God's deep and awful voice.
There 's awe from that lone ocean bird:
Pray ye, when ye rejoice!
“Leave prayers to priests,” cries Lee: “I'm ruler here!
These fellows know full well whom they should fear!”
He wiped his axe; and turning round,
Said with a cold and hardened smile,
“The hemp is saved — the man is drowned.
Wilt let him float awhile?
Or give him Christian burial on the strand?
He'll find his fellows peaceful 'neath the sand.”
VI.
Lee's waste was greater than his gain.
“I'll try the merchant's trade,” he thought,
“Though less the toil to kill, than feign,—
Things sweeter robbed than bought.
But, then, to circumvent them at their arts!”
Ship manned, and spoils for cargo, Lee departs.
VII.
'T is fearful, on the broad-backed waves,
To feel them shake, and hear them roar:
Beneath, unsounded, dreadful caves;
Around, no cheerful shore.
Yet 'mid this solemn world what deeds are done!
The curse goes up, the deadly sea-fight's won;—
VIII.
And wanton talk and laughter heard,
Where speaks God's deep and awful voice.
There 's awe from that lone ocean bird:
Pray ye, when ye rejoice!
“Leave prayers to priests,” cries Lee: “I'm ruler here!
These fellows know full well whom they should fear!”
5
IX.
The ship works hard; the seas run high;
Their white tops, flashing through the night,
Give to the eager, straining eye,
A wild and shifting light.
“Hard at the pumps! — The leak is gaining fast!—
Lighten the ship! — The devil rode that blast!”
X.
Ocean has swallowed for its food
Spoils thou didst gain in murderous glee;
Mat, could its waters wash out blood,
It had been well for thee.
Crime fits for crime. And no repentant tear
Hast thou for sin?—Then wait thine hour of fear.
XI.
The sea has like a plaything tossed
That heavy hull the livelong night.
The man of sin — he is not lost:
Soft breaks the morning light.
Torn spars and sails,—her cargo in the deep —
The ship makes port with slow and laboring sweep.
XII.
Within a Spanish port she rides.
Angry and soured, Lee walks her deck.
“Then peaceful trade a curse betides? —
And thou, good ship, a wreck!
Ill luck in change! — Ho! cheer ye up, my men!
Rigged, and at sea, we'll to old work again!”
The ship works hard; the seas run high;
Their white tops, flashing through the night,
Give to the eager, straining eye,
A wild and shifting light.
“Hard at the pumps! — The leak is gaining fast!—
Lighten the ship! — The devil rode that blast!”
X.
Ocean has swallowed for its food
Spoils thou didst gain in murderous glee;
Mat, could its waters wash out blood,
It had been well for thee.
Crime fits for crime. And no repentant tear
Hast thou for sin?—Then wait thine hour of fear.
XI.
The sea has like a plaything tossed
That heavy hull the livelong night.
The man of sin — he is not lost:
Soft breaks the morning light.
Torn spars and sails,—her cargo in the deep —
The ship makes port with slow and laboring sweep.
XII.
Within a Spanish port she rides.
Angry and soured, Lee walks her deck.
“Then peaceful trade a curse betides? —
And thou, good ship, a wreck!
Ill luck in change! — Ho! cheer ye up, my men!
Rigged, and at sea, we'll to old work again!”
6
XIII.
A sound is in the Pyrenees!
Whirling and dark, comes roaring down
A tide, as of a thousand seas,
Sweeping both cowl and crown.
On field and vineyard, thick and red it stood.
Spain's streets and palaces are wet with blood.—
XIV.
And wrath and terror shake the land;
The peaks shine clear in watchfire lights;
Soon comes the tread of that stout band —
Bold Arthur and his knights.
Awake ye, Merlin! Hear the shout from Spain!
The spell is broke! — Arthur is come again!—
XV.
Too late for thee, thou young, fair bride;
The lips are cold, the brow is pale,
That thou didst kiss in love and pride;
He cannot hear thy wail,
Whom thou didst lull with fondly murmured sound:
His couch is cold and lonely in the ground.
XVI.
He fell for Spain — her Spain no more;
For he was gone who made it dear;
And she would seek some distant shore,
At rest from strife and fear,
And wait amid her sorrows till the day
His voice of love should call her thence away.
A sound is in the Pyrenees!
Whirling and dark, comes roaring down
A tide, as of a thousand seas,
Sweeping both cowl and crown.
On field and vineyard, thick and red it stood.
Spain's streets and palaces are wet with blood.—
XIV.
And wrath and terror shake the land;
The peaks shine clear in watchfire lights;
Soon comes the tread of that stout band —
Bold Arthur and his knights.
Awake ye, Merlin! Hear the shout from Spain!
The spell is broke! — Arthur is come again!—
XV.
Too late for thee, thou young, fair bride;
The lips are cold, the brow is pale,
That thou didst kiss in love and pride;
He cannot hear thy wail,
Whom thou didst lull with fondly murmured sound:
His couch is cold and lonely in the ground.
XVI.
He fell for Spain — her Spain no more;
For he was gone who made it dear;
And she would seek some distant shore,
At rest from strife and fear,
And wait amid her sorrows till the day
His voice of love should call her thence away.
7
XVII.
Lee feigned him grieved, and bowed him low.
'Twould joy his heart could he but aid
So good a lady in her woe,
He meekly, smoothly said.
With wealth and servants she is soon aboard,
And that white steed she rode beside her lord.
XVIII.
The sun goes down upon the sea;
The shadows gather round her home.
“How like a pall are ye to me!
My home, how like a tomb!
O! blow, ye flowers of Spain, above his head.—
Ye will not blow o'er me when I am dead.”
XIX.
And now the stars are burning bright;
Yet still she's looking toward the shore
Beyond the waters black in night.
“I ne'er shall see thee more!
Ye're many, waves, yet lonely seems your flow;
And I'm alone—scarce know I where I go.”
XX.
Sleep, sleep, thou sad one, on the sea!
The wash of waters lulls thee now;
His arm no more will pillow thee,
Thy fingers on his brow.
He is not near, to hush thee, or to save.
The ground is his — the sea must be thy grave.
Lee feigned him grieved, and bowed him low.
'Twould joy his heart could he but aid
So good a lady in her woe,
He meekly, smoothly said.
With wealth and servants she is soon aboard,
And that white steed she rode beside her lord.
XVIII.
The sun goes down upon the sea;
The shadows gather round her home.
“How like a pall are ye to me!
My home, how like a tomb!
O! blow, ye flowers of Spain, above his head.—
Ye will not blow o'er me when I am dead.”
XIX.
And now the stars are burning bright;
Yet still she's looking toward the shore
Beyond the waters black in night.
“I ne'er shall see thee more!
Ye're many, waves, yet lonely seems your flow;
And I'm alone—scarce know I where I go.”
XX.
Sleep, sleep, thou sad one, on the sea!
The wash of waters lulls thee now;
His arm no more will pillow thee,
Thy fingers on his brow.
He is not near, to hush thee, or to save.
The ground is his — the sea must be thy grave.
8
XXI.
The moon comes up; the night goes on.
Why, in the shadow of the mast,
Stands that dark, thoughtful man alone?
Thy pledge, man; keep it fast!
Bethink thee of her youth and sorrows, Lee;
Helpless, alone — and, then, her trust in thee.
XXII.
When told the hardships thou hadst borne,
Her words to thee were like a charm.
With uncheered grief her heart is worn;—
Thou wilt not do her harm!
He looks out on the sea that sleeps in light,
And growls an oath — “It is too still to-night!”
XXIII.
He sleeps; but dreams of massy gold,
And heaps of pearl. He stretched his hands.
He hears a voice—“Ill man, withhold!”
A pale one near him stands.
Her breath comes deathly cold upon his cheek;
Her touch is cold.—He wakes with piercing shriek.
XXIV.
He wakes; but no relentings wake
Within his angry, restless soul.
“What, shall a dream Mat's purpose shake?
The gold will make all whole.
Thy merchant trade had nigh unmanned thee, lad!
What, balk my chance because a woman's sad?”
The moon comes up; the night goes on.
Why, in the shadow of the mast,
Stands that dark, thoughtful man alone?
Thy pledge, man; keep it fast!
Bethink thee of her youth and sorrows, Lee;
Helpless, alone — and, then, her trust in thee.
XXII.
When told the hardships thou hadst borne,
Her words to thee were like a charm.
With uncheered grief her heart is worn;—
Thou wilt not do her harm!
He looks out on the sea that sleeps in light,
And growls an oath — “It is too still to-night!”
XXIII.
He sleeps; but dreams of massy gold,
And heaps of pearl. He stretched his hands.
He hears a voice—“Ill man, withhold!”
A pale one near him stands.
Her breath comes deathly cold upon his cheek;
Her touch is cold.—He wakes with piercing shriek.
XXIV.
He wakes; but no relentings wake
Within his angry, restless soul.
“What, shall a dream Mat's purpose shake?
The gold will make all whole.
Thy merchant trade had nigh unmanned thee, lad!
What, balk my chance because a woman's sad?”
9
XXV.
He cannot look on her mild eye;
Her patient words his spirit quell.
Within that evil heart there lie
The hates and fears of hell.
His speech is short; he wears a surly brow.
There's none will hear her shriek. What fear ye now?
XXVI.
The workings of the soul ye fear;
Ye fear the power that goodness hath;
Ye fear the Unseen One, ever near,
Walking his ocean path.
From out the silent void there comes a cry—
“Vengeance is mine! Thou, murderer, too shalt die!”
XXVII.
Nor dread of ever-during woe,
Nor the sea's awful solitude,
Can make thee, wretch, thy crime forego.
Then, bloody hand,—to blood!
The scud is driving wildly over head;
The stars burn dim; the ocean moans its dead.
XXVIII.
Moan for the living; moan our sins,—
The wrath of man, more fierce than thine.
Hark! still thy waves!—The work begins—
Lee makes the deadly sign.
The crew glide down like shadows. Eye and hand
Speak fearful meanings through that silent band.
He cannot look on her mild eye;
Her patient words his spirit quell.
Within that evil heart there lie
The hates and fears of hell.
His speech is short; he wears a surly brow.
There's none will hear her shriek. What fear ye now?
XXVI.
The workings of the soul ye fear;
Ye fear the power that goodness hath;
Ye fear the Unseen One, ever near,
Walking his ocean path.
From out the silent void there comes a cry—
“Vengeance is mine! Thou, murderer, too shalt die!”
XXVII.
Nor dread of ever-during woe,
Nor the sea's awful solitude,
Can make thee, wretch, thy crime forego.
Then, bloody hand,—to blood!
The scud is driving wildly over head;
The stars burn dim; the ocean moans its dead.
XXVIII.
Moan for the living; moan our sins,—
The wrath of man, more fierce than thine.
Hark! still thy waves!—The work begins—
Lee makes the deadly sign.
The crew glide down like shadows. Eye and hand
Speak fearful meanings through that silent band.
10
XXIX.
They're gone.—The helmsman stands alone;
And one leans idly o'er the bow.
Still as a tomb the ship keeps on;
Nor sound nor stirring now.
Hush, hark! as from the centre of the deep—
Shrieks—fiendish yells! They stab them in their sleep!
XXX.
The scream of rage, the groan, the strife,
The blow, the gasp, the horrid cry,
The panting, throttled prayer for life,
The dying's heaving sigh,
The murderer's curse, the dead man's fixed, still glare,
And fear's and death's cold sweat—they all are there!
XXXI.
On pale, dead men, on burning cheek,
On quick, fierce eyes, brows hot and damp,
On hands that with the warm blood reek,
Shines the dim cabin lamp.
Lee looked. “They sleep so sound,” he, langhing, said,
“They'll scarcely wake for mistress or for maid.”
XXXII.
A crash! They've forced the door,—and then
One long, long, shrill, and piercing scream
Comes thrilling through the growl of men.
'T is hers!—O God, redeem
From worse than death thy suffering, helpless child!
That dreadful shriek again—sharp, sharp, sharp, and wild!
They're gone.—The helmsman stands alone;
And one leans idly o'er the bow.
Still as a tomb the ship keeps on;
Nor sound nor stirring now.
Hush, hark! as from the centre of the deep—
Shrieks—fiendish yells! They stab them in their sleep!
XXX.
The scream of rage, the groan, the strife,
The blow, the gasp, the horrid cry,
The panting, throttled prayer for life,
The dying's heaving sigh,
The murderer's curse, the dead man's fixed, still glare,
And fear's and death's cold sweat—they all are there!
XXXI.
On pale, dead men, on burning cheek,
On quick, fierce eyes, brows hot and damp,
On hands that with the warm blood reek,
Shines the dim cabin lamp.
Lee looked. “They sleep so sound,” he, langhing, said,
“They'll scarcely wake for mistress or for maid.”
XXXII.
A crash! They've forced the door,—and then
One long, long, shrill, and piercing scream
Comes thrilling through the growl of men.
'T is hers!—O God, redeem
From worse than death thy suffering, helpless child!
That dreadful shriek again—sharp, sharp, sharp, and wild!
11
XXXIII.
It ceased. — With speed o'th' lightning's flash,
A loose-robed form, with streaming hair,
Shoots by. — A leap — a quick, short splash!
'T is gone! — There's nothing there!
The waves have swept away the bubbling tide.
Bright-crested waves, how calmly on they ride!
XXXIV.
She's sleeping in her silent cave,
Nor hears the stern, loud roar above,
Nor strife of man on land or wave.
Young thing! her home of love
She soon has reached! — Fair, unpolluted thing!
They harmed her not! — Was dying suffering?
XXXV.
O, no! — To live when joy was dead;
To go with one, lone, pining thought —
To mournful love her being wed —
Feeling what death had wrought;
To live the child of woe, yet shed no tear,
Bear kindness, and yet share no joy nor fear;
XXXVI.
To look on man, and deem it strange
That he on things of earth should brood,
When all its througed and busy range
To her was solitude —
O this was bitterness! Death came and pressed
Her wearied lids, and brought her sick heart rest.
It ceased. — With speed o'th' lightning's flash,
A loose-robed form, with streaming hair,
Shoots by. — A leap — a quick, short splash!
'T is gone! — There's nothing there!
The waves have swept away the bubbling tide.
Bright-crested waves, how calmly on they ride!
XXXIV.
She's sleeping in her silent cave,
Nor hears the stern, loud roar above,
Nor strife of man on land or wave.
Young thing! her home of love
She soon has reached! — Fair, unpolluted thing!
They harmed her not! — Was dying suffering?
XXXV.
O, no! — To live when joy was dead;
To go with one, lone, pining thought —
To mournful love her being wed —
Feeling what death had wrought;
To live the child of woe, yet shed no tear,
Bear kindness, and yet share no joy nor fear;
XXXVI.
To look on man, and deem it strange
That he on things of earth should brood,
When all its througed and busy range
To her was solitude —
O this was bitterness! Death came and pressed
Her wearied lids, and brought her sick heart rest.
12
XXXVII.
Why look ye on each other so,
And speak no word? — Ay, shake the head!
She's gone where ye can never go.
What fear ye from the dead?
They tell no tales; and ye are all true men;
But wash away that blood; then, home again! —
XXXVIII.
'T is on your souls; it will not out!
Lee, why so lost? 'T is not like thee!
Come, where thy revel, oath, and shout?
“That pale one in the sea! —
I mind not blood. — But she — I cannot tell!
A spirit was 't? — it flashed like fires of hell! —
XXXIX.
“And when it passed there was no tread!
It leapt the deck. — Who heard the sound?
I heard none! — Say, what was it fled? —
Poor girl! — And is she drowned? —
Went down these depths? How dark they look, and cold!
She's yonder! stop her! — Now! — there! — hold her, hold!”
XL.
They gazed upon his ghastly face.
“What ails thee, Lee; and why that glare?”
“Look! ha, 't is gone, and not a trace!
No, no, she was not there! —
Who of you said ye heard her when she fell?
'Twas strange!—I'll not be fooled! — Will no one tell?”
Why look ye on each other so,
And speak no word? — Ay, shake the head!
She's gone where ye can never go.
What fear ye from the dead?
They tell no tales; and ye are all true men;
But wash away that blood; then, home again! —
XXXVIII.
'T is on your souls; it will not out!
Lee, why so lost? 'T is not like thee!
Come, where thy revel, oath, and shout?
“That pale one in the sea! —
I mind not blood. — But she — I cannot tell!
A spirit was 't? — it flashed like fires of hell! —
XXXIX.
“And when it passed there was no tread!
It leapt the deck. — Who heard the sound?
I heard none! — Say, what was it fled? —
Poor girl! — And is she drowned? —
Went down these depths? How dark they look, and cold!
She's yonder! stop her! — Now! — there! — hold her, hold!”
XL.
They gazed upon his ghastly face.
“What ails thee, Lee; and why that glare?”
“Look! ha, 't is gone, and not a trace!
No, no, she was not there! —
Who of you said ye heard her when she fell?
'Twas strange!—I'll not be fooled! — Will no one tell?”
13
XLI.
He paused. And soon the wildness past.
Then came the tingling flush of shame.
Remorse and fear are gone as fast.
“The silly thing's to blame
To quit us so. 'T is plain she loved us not;
Or she'd have stayed awhile, and shared my cot.”
XLII.
And then the ribald laughed. The jest,
Though old and foul, loud laughter drew;
And fouler yet came from the rest
Of that infernal crew.
Note, heaven, their blasphemy, their broken trust!
Lust panders murder — murder panders lust!
XLIII.
Now slowly up they bring the dead
From out that silent, dim-lit room.
No prayer at their quick burial said;
No friend to weep their doom.
The hungry waves have seized them one by one;
And, swallowing down their prey, go roaring on.
XLIV.
Cries Lee, “We must not be betrayed.
'T is but to add another corse!
Strange words, 't is said, an ass once brayed:
I'll never trust a horse!
Out! throw him on the waves alive! He'll swim;
For once a horse shall ride; we all ride him.”
He paused. And soon the wildness past.
Then came the tingling flush of shame.
Remorse and fear are gone as fast.
“The silly thing's to blame
To quit us so. 'T is plain she loved us not;
Or she'd have stayed awhile, and shared my cot.”
XLII.
And then the ribald laughed. The jest,
Though old and foul, loud laughter drew;
And fouler yet came from the rest
Of that infernal crew.
Note, heaven, their blasphemy, their broken trust!
Lust panders murder — murder panders lust!
XLIII.
Now slowly up they bring the dead
From out that silent, dim-lit room.
No prayer at their quick burial said;
No friend to weep their doom.
The hungry waves have seized them one by one;
And, swallowing down their prey, go roaring on.
XLIV.
Cries Lee, “We must not be betrayed.
'T is but to add another corse!
Strange words, 't is said, an ass once brayed:
I'll never trust a horse!
Out! throw him on the waves alive! He'll swim;
For once a horse shall ride; we all ride him.”
14
XLV.
Such sound to mortal ear ne'er came
As rang far o'er the waters wide.
It shook with fear the stoutest frame:
The horse is on the tide!
As the waves leave, or lift him up, his cry
Comes lower now, and now't is near and high.
XLVI.
And through the swift wave's yesty crown
His scared eyes shoot a fiendish light,
And fear seems wrath. He now sinks down,
Now heaves again to sight,
Then drifts away; and through the night they hear
Far off that dreadful cry. — But morn is near.
XLVII.
O, had'st thou known what deeds were done,
When thou wast shining far away,
Would'st thou let fall, calm-coming sun,
Thy warm and silent ray?
The good are in their graves; thou canst not cheer
Their dark, cold mansions: Sin alone is here.
XLVIII.
“The deed's complete! The gold is ours!
There, wash away that bloody stain!
Pray who'd refuse what fortune showers?
Now, lads, we'll lot our gain.
Must fairly share, you know, what's fairly got?
A truly good night's work! Who says't was not?”
Such sound to mortal ear ne'er came
As rang far o'er the waters wide.
It shook with fear the stoutest frame:
The horse is on the tide!
As the waves leave, or lift him up, his cry
Comes lower now, and now't is near and high.
XLVI.
And through the swift wave's yesty crown
His scared eyes shoot a fiendish light,
And fear seems wrath. He now sinks down,
Now heaves again to sight,
Then drifts away; and through the night they hear
Far off that dreadful cry. — But morn is near.
XLVII.
O, had'st thou known what deeds were done,
When thou wast shining far away,
Would'st thou let fall, calm-coming sun,
Thy warm and silent ray?
The good are in their graves; thou canst not cheer
Their dark, cold mansions: Sin alone is here.
XLVIII.
“The deed's complete! The gold is ours!
There, wash away that bloody stain!
Pray who'd refuse what fortune showers?
Now, lads, we'll lot our gain.
Must fairly share, you know, what's fairly got?
A truly good night's work! Who says't was not?”
15
XLIX.
There's song, and oath, and gaming deep,
Hot words, and laughter, mad carouse;
There's nought of prayer, and little sleep;
The devil keeps the house!
“Lee cheats!” cried Jack. Lee struck him to the heart.
“That's foul!” one muttered.— “Fool! you take your part! —
L.
“The fewer heirs the richer, man!
Hold forth thy palm, and keep thy prate!
Our life, we read, is but a span.
What matters, soon or late?”
And when on shore, and asked, Did many die?
“Near half my crew, poor lads!” he'd say, and sigh.
LI.
Within our bay, one stormy night,
The isle-men saw boats make for shore,
With here and there a dancing light,
That flashed on man and oar.
When hailed, the rowing stopt, and all was dark.
“Ha! lantern-work! — We'll home! They're playing shark!”
LII.
Next day, at noon-time, toward the town,
All stared and wondered much to see,
Mat and his men come strolling down.
The boys shout, “Here comes Lee!”
“Thy ship, good Lee? “Not many leagues from shore
Our ship by chance took fire.”—They learnt no more.
There's song, and oath, and gaming deep,
Hot words, and laughter, mad carouse;
There's nought of prayer, and little sleep;
The devil keeps the house!
“Lee cheats!” cried Jack. Lee struck him to the heart.
“That's foul!” one muttered.— “Fool! you take your part! —
L.
“The fewer heirs the richer, man!
Hold forth thy palm, and keep thy prate!
Our life, we read, is but a span.
What matters, soon or late?”
And when on shore, and asked, Did many die?
“Near half my crew, poor lads!” he'd say, and sigh.
LI.
Within our bay, one stormy night,
The isle-men saw boats make for shore,
With here and there a dancing light,
That flashed on man and oar.
When hailed, the rowing stopt, and all was dark.
“Ha! lantern-work! — We'll home! They're playing shark!”
LII.
Next day, at noon-time, toward the town,
All stared and wondered much to see,
Mat and his men come strolling down.
The boys shout, “Here comes Lee!”
“Thy ship, good Lee? “Not many leagues from shore
Our ship by chance took fire.”—They learnt no more.
16
LIII.
He and his crew were flush of gold.
“You did not lose your cargo, then?”
“Learn where all's fairly bought and sold,
Heaven prospers those true men.
Forsake your evil ways, as we forsook
Our ways of sin, and honest courses took!
LIV.
“Wouldst see my log-book? Fairly writ,
With pen of steel, and ink of blood!
How lightly doth the conscience sit!
Learn, truth's the only good.”
And thus, with flout, and cold and impious jeer
He fled repentance, if he'scaped not fear.
LV.
Remorse and fear he drowns in drink.
“Come, pass the bowl, my jolly crew!
It thicks the blood to mope and think.
Here's merry days, though few!”
And then he quaffs. — So riot reigns within;
So brawl and laughter shake that house of sin.
LVI.
Mat lords it now throughout the isle.
His hand falls heavier than before.
All dread alike his frown or smile.
None come within his door,
Save those who dipped their hands in blood with him;
Save those who laughed to see the white horse swim
He and his crew were flush of gold.
“You did not lose your cargo, then?”
“Learn where all's fairly bought and sold,
Heaven prospers those true men.
Forsake your evil ways, as we forsook
Our ways of sin, and honest courses took!
LIV.
“Wouldst see my log-book? Fairly writ,
With pen of steel, and ink of blood!
How lightly doth the conscience sit!
Learn, truth's the only good.”
And thus, with flout, and cold and impious jeer
He fled repentance, if he'scaped not fear.
LV.
Remorse and fear he drowns in drink.
“Come, pass the bowl, my jolly crew!
It thicks the blood to mope and think.
Here's merry days, though few!”
And then he quaffs. — So riot reigns within;
So brawl and laughter shake that house of sin.
LVI.
Mat lords it now throughout the isle.
His hand falls heavier than before.
All dread alike his frown or smile.
None come within his door,
Save those who dipped their hands in blood with him;
Save those who laughed to see the white horse swim
17
LVII.
“To night's our anniversary;
And, mind me, lads, we'll have it kept
With royal state and special glee!
Better with those who slept
Their sleep that night, had he be now, who slinks!
And health and wealth to him who bravely drinks!”
LVIII.
The words they speak, we may not speak.
The tales they tell, we may not tell.
Mere mortal man, forbear to seek
The secrets of that hell!
Their shouts grow loud:—'T is near mid-hour of night:
What means upon the waters that red light?
LIX.
Not bigger than a star it seems:
And, now, 't is like the bloody moon:
And, now, it shoots in hairy streams
Its light! — 'T will reach us soon!
A ship! and all on fire! — hull, yards, and mast!
Her sheets are sheets of flame! — She's nearing fast!
LX.
And now she rides, upright and still,
Shedding a wild and lurid light
Around the cove, on inland hill,
Waking the gloom of night.
All breathes of terror! men, in dumb amaze,
Gaze on each other'neath the horrid blaze.
“To night's our anniversary;
And, mind me, lads, we'll have it kept
With royal state and special glee!
Better with those who slept
Their sleep that night, had he be now, who slinks!
And health and wealth to him who bravely drinks!”
LVIII.
The words they speak, we may not speak.
The tales they tell, we may not tell.
Mere mortal man, forbear to seek
The secrets of that hell!
Their shouts grow loud:—'T is near mid-hour of night:
What means upon the waters that red light?
LIX.
Not bigger than a star it seems:
And, now, 't is like the bloody moon:
And, now, it shoots in hairy streams
Its light! — 'T will reach us soon!
A ship! and all on fire! — hull, yards, and mast!
Her sheets are sheets of flame! — She's nearing fast!
LX.
And now she rides, upright and still,
Shedding a wild and lurid light
Around the cove, on inland hill,
Waking the gloom of night.
All breathes of terror! men, in dumb amaze,
Gaze on each other'neath the horrid blaze.
18
LXI.
It scares the sea-birds from their nests;
They dart and wheel with deaf'ning screams;
Now dark, — and now their wings and breasts
Flash back disastrous gleams.
O, sin, what hast thou done on this fair earth?
The world, O man, is wailing o'er thy birth.
LXII.
And what comes up above the wave,
So ghastly white? — A spectral head! —
A horse's head! — (May heaven save
Those looking on the dead, —
The waking dead!) There, on the sea, he stands —
The Spectre-Horse! — He moves; he gains the sands!
LXIII.
Onward he speeds. His ghostly sides
Are streaming with a cold, blue light.
Heaven keep the wits of him who rides
The spectre-horse to-night!
His path is shining like a swift ship's wake;
Before Lee's door he gleams like day's gray break.
LXIV.
The revel now is high within;
It breaks upon the midnight air.
They little think, mid mirth and din,
What spirit waits them there.
As if the sky became a voice, there spread
A sound to appal the living, stir the dead.
It scares the sea-birds from their nests;
They dart and wheel with deaf'ning screams;
Now dark, — and now their wings and breasts
Flash back disastrous gleams.
O, sin, what hast thou done on this fair earth?
The world, O man, is wailing o'er thy birth.
LXII.
And what comes up above the wave,
So ghastly white? — A spectral head! —
A horse's head! — (May heaven save
Those looking on the dead, —
The waking dead!) There, on the sea, he stands —
The Spectre-Horse! — He moves; he gains the sands!
LXIII.
Onward he speeds. His ghostly sides
Are streaming with a cold, blue light.
Heaven keep the wits of him who rides
The spectre-horse to-night!
His path is shining like a swift ship's wake;
Before Lee's door he gleams like day's gray break.
LXIV.
The revel now is high within;
It breaks upon the midnight air.
They little think, mid mirth and din,
What spirit waits them there.
As if the sky became a voice, there spread
A sound to appal the living, stir the dead.
19
LXV.
The spirit-steed sent up the neigh.
It seemed the living trump of hell,
Sounding to call the damned away,
To join the host that fell.
It rang along the vaulted sky: the shore
Jarred hard, as when the thronging surges roar.
LXVI.
It rang in ears that knew the sound;
And hot, flushed cheeks are blanched with fear.
And why does Lee look wildly round?
Thinks he the drowned horse near?
He drops his cup — his lips are stiff with fright.
Nay, sit thee down! It is thy banquet night.
LXVII.
“I cannot sit. I needs must go:
The spell is on my spirit now.
I go to dread — I go to woe!”
O, who so weak as thou,
Strong man! — His hoofs upon the door-stone, see,
The shadow stands! — His eyes are on thee, Lee! —
LXVIII.
Thy hair pricks up! — “O, I must bear
His damp, cold breath! It chills my frame!
His eyes — their near and dreadful glare
Speak that I must not name!”
Thou'rt mad to mount that horse! — “A power within,
I must obey — cries, `Mount thee, man of sin!' ”
The spirit-steed sent up the neigh.
It seemed the living trump of hell,
Sounding to call the damned away,
To join the host that fell.
It rang along the vaulted sky: the shore
Jarred hard, as when the thronging surges roar.
LXVI.
It rang in ears that knew the sound;
And hot, flushed cheeks are blanched with fear.
And why does Lee look wildly round?
Thinks he the drowned horse near?
He drops his cup — his lips are stiff with fright.
Nay, sit thee down! It is thy banquet night.
LXVII.
“I cannot sit. I needs must go:
The spell is on my spirit now.
I go to dread — I go to woe!”
O, who so weak as thou,
Strong man! — His hoofs upon the door-stone, see,
The shadow stands! — His eyes are on thee, Lee! —
LXVIII.
Thy hair pricks up! — “O, I must bear
His damp, cold breath! It chills my frame!
His eyes — their near and dreadful glare
Speak that I must not name!”
Thou'rt mad to mount that horse! — “A power within,
I must obey — cries, `Mount thee, man of sin!' ”
20
LXIX.
He's now upon the spectre's back,
With rein of silk, and curb of gold.
'Tis fearful speed! — the rein is slack
Within his senseless hold;
Upborne by an unseen power, he onward rides,
Yet touches not the shadow-beast he strides.
LXX.
He goes with speed; he goes with dread!
And now they're on the hanging steep!
And, now! the living and the dead,
They'll make the horrid leap!
The horse stops short: — his feet are on the verge.
He stands, like marble, high above the surge.
LXXI.
And, nigh, the tall ship yet burns on,
With red, hot spars and crackling flame.
From hull to gallant, nothing's gone.
She burns, and yet's the same!
Her hot, red flame is beating, all the night,
On man and horse, in their cold, phosphor light.
LXII.
Through that cold light the fearful man
Sits looking on the burning ship.
He ne'er again will curse and ban.
How fast he moves the lip!
And yet he does not speak, or make a sound!
What see you, Lee? the bodies of the drowned?
He's now upon the spectre's back,
With rein of silk, and curb of gold.
'Tis fearful speed! — the rein is slack
Within his senseless hold;
Upborne by an unseen power, he onward rides,
Yet touches not the shadow-beast he strides.
LXX.
He goes with speed; he goes with dread!
And now they're on the hanging steep!
And, now! the living and the dead,
They'll make the horrid leap!
The horse stops short: — his feet are on the verge.
He stands, like marble, high above the surge.
LXXI.
And, nigh, the tall ship yet burns on,
With red, hot spars and crackling flame.
From hull to gallant, nothing's gone.
She burns, and yet's the same!
Her hot, red flame is beating, all the night,
On man and horse, in their cold, phosphor light.
LXII.
Through that cold light the fearful man
Sits looking on the burning ship.
He ne'er again will curse and ban.
How fast he moves the lip!
And yet he does not speak, or make a sound!
What see you, Lee? the bodies of the drowned?
21
LXXIII.
“I look, where mortal man may not —
Into the chambers of the deep.
I see the dead, long, long forgot;
I see them in their sleep.
A dreadful power is mine, which none can know,
Save he who leagues his soul with death and woe.”
LXXIV.
Thou mild, sad mother — waning moon,
Thy last, low, melancholy ray
Shines towards him. — Quit him not so soon!
Mother, in mercy, stay!
Despair and death are with him; and canst thou,
With that kind, earthward look, go leave him now?
LXXV.
O, thou wast born for things of love;
Making more lovely in thy shine
Whate'er thou look'st on. Hosts above,
In that soft light of thine,
Burn softer: — earth, in silvery veil, seems heaven.
Thou'rt going down! — hast left him unforgiven!
LXXVI.
The far, low west is bright no more.
How still it is! No sound is heard
At sea, or all along the shore,
But cry of passing bird.
Thou living thing, — and dar'st thou come so near
These wild and ghastly shapes of death and fear?
“I look, where mortal man may not —
Into the chambers of the deep.
I see the dead, long, long forgot;
I see them in their sleep.
A dreadful power is mine, which none can know,
Save he who leagues his soul with death and woe.”
LXXIV.
Thou mild, sad mother — waning moon,
Thy last, low, melancholy ray
Shines towards him. — Quit him not so soon!
Mother, in mercy, stay!
Despair and death are with him; and canst thou,
With that kind, earthward look, go leave him now?
LXXV.
O, thou wast born for things of love;
Making more lovely in thy shine
Whate'er thou look'st on. Hosts above,
In that soft light of thine,
Burn softer: — earth, in silvery veil, seems heaven.
Thou'rt going down! — hast left him unforgiven!
LXXVI.
The far, low west is bright no more.
How still it is! No sound is heard
At sea, or all along the shore,
But cry of passing bird.
Thou living thing, — and dar'st thou come so near
These wild and ghastly shapes of death and fear?
22
LXXVII.
Now long that thick, red light has shone
On stern, dark rocks, and deep, still bay,
On man and horse that seem of stone,
So motionless are they.
But now its lurid fire less fiercely burns:
The night is going — faint, gray dawn returns.
LXXVIII.
That spectre-steed now slowly pales;
Now changes like the moonlit cloud;
That cold, thin light, now slowly fails,
Which wrapt them like a shroud.
Both ship and horse are fading into air. —
Lost, mazed, alone, see, Lee is standing there!
LXXIX.
The morning air blows fresh on him;
The waves dance gladly in his sight;
The sea-birds call, and wheel and skim —
O, blessed morning light!
He doth not hear their joyous call; he sees
No beauty in the wave; nor feels the breeze.
LXXX.
For he's accursed from all that's good;
He ne'er must know its healing power.
The sinner on his sins must brood,
And wait, alone, his hour.
A stranger to earth's beauty — human love,
There's here no rest for him, no hope above!
Now long that thick, red light has shone
On stern, dark rocks, and deep, still bay,
On man and horse that seem of stone,
So motionless are they.
But now its lurid fire less fiercely burns:
The night is going — faint, gray dawn returns.
LXXVIII.
That spectre-steed now slowly pales;
Now changes like the moonlit cloud;
That cold, thin light, now slowly fails,
Which wrapt them like a shroud.
Both ship and horse are fading into air. —
Lost, mazed, alone, see, Lee is standing there!
LXXIX.
The morning air blows fresh on him;
The waves dance gladly in his sight;
The sea-birds call, and wheel and skim —
O, blessed morning light!
He doth not hear their joyous call; he sees
No beauty in the wave; nor feels the breeze.
LXXX.
For he's accursed from all that's good;
He ne'er must know its healing power.
The sinner on his sins must brood,
And wait, alone, his hour.
A stranger to earth's beauty — human love,
There's here no rest for him, no hope above!
23
LXXXI.
The hot sun beats upon his head.
He stands beneath its broad, fierce blaze,
As stiff and cold as one that's dead:
A troubled, dreamy maze
Of some unearthly horror, all he knows —
Of some wild horror past, and coming woes.
LXXXII.
The gull has found her place on shore;
The sun gone down again to rest;
And all is still but ocean's roar:
There stands the man unblest.
But, see, he moves — he turns, as asking where
His mates! — Why looks he with that piteous stare?
LXXXIII.
Go, get thee home, and end thy mirth!
Go, call the revellers again!
They're fled the isle; and o'er the earth
Are wanderers, like Cain.
As he his door-stone past, the air blew chill.
The wine is on the board; Lee, take thy fill!
LXXXIV.
“There's none to meet me, none to cheer:
The seats are empty — lights burnt out;
And I alone, must sit me here:
Would I could hear their shout!”
He ne'er shall hear it more — more taste his wine!
Silent he sits within the still moonshine.
The hot sun beats upon his head.
He stands beneath its broad, fierce blaze,
As stiff and cold as one that's dead:
A troubled, dreamy maze
Of some unearthly horror, all he knows —
Of some wild horror past, and coming woes.
LXXXII.
The gull has found her place on shore;
The sun gone down again to rest;
And all is still but ocean's roar:
There stands the man unblest.
But, see, he moves — he turns, as asking where
His mates! — Why looks he with that piteous stare?
LXXXIII.
Go, get thee home, and end thy mirth!
Go, call the revellers again!
They're fled the isle; and o'er the earth
Are wanderers, like Cain.
As he his door-stone past, the air blew chill.
The wine is on the board; Lee, take thy fill!
LXXXIV.
“There's none to meet me, none to cheer:
The seats are empty — lights burnt out;
And I alone, must sit me here:
Would I could hear their shout!”
He ne'er shall hear it more — more taste his wine!
Silent he sits within the still moonshine.
24
LXXXV.
Day came again; and up he rose,
A weary man from his lone board;
Nor merry feast, nor sweet repose
Did that long night afford.
No shadowy-coming night, to bring him rest —
No dawn, to chase the darkness of his breast!
LXXXVI.
He walks within the day's full glare
A darkened man. Where'er he comes,
All shun him. Children peep and stare;
Then, frightened, seek their homes.
Through all the crowd a thrilling horror ran.
They point and say — “There goes the wicked man!”
LXXXVII.
He turns, and curses in his wrath
Both man and child; then hastes away
Shoreward, or takes some gloomy path;
But there he cannot stay:
Terror and madness drive him back to men;
His hate of man to solitude again.
LXXXVIII.
Time passes on, and he grows bold —
His eye is fierce, his oaths are loud;
None dare from Lee the hand withhold;
He rules and scoffs the crowd.
But still at heart there lies a secret fear;
For now the year's dread round is drawing near.
Day came again; and up he rose,
A weary man from his lone board;
Nor merry feast, nor sweet repose
Did that long night afford.
No shadowy-coming night, to bring him rest —
No dawn, to chase the darkness of his breast!
LXXXVI.
He walks within the day's full glare
A darkened man. Where'er he comes,
All shun him. Children peep and stare;
Then, frightened, seek their homes.
Through all the crowd a thrilling horror ran.
They point and say — “There goes the wicked man!”
LXXXVII.
He turns, and curses in his wrath
Both man and child; then hastes away
Shoreward, or takes some gloomy path;
But there he cannot stay:
Terror and madness drive him back to men;
His hate of man to solitude again.
LXXXVIII.
Time passes on, and he grows bold —
His eye is fierce, his oaths are loud;
None dare from Lee the hand withhold;
He rules and scoffs the crowd.
But still at heart there lies a secret fear;
For now the year's dread round is drawing near.
25
LXXXIX.
He swears, but he is sick at heart;
He laughs, but he turns deadly pale;
His restless eye and sudden start —
These tell the dreadful tale
That will be told: it needs no words from thee,
Thou self-sold slave to fear and misery.
XC.
Bond-slave of sin, see there — that light!
“Ha! take me — take me from its blaze!”
Nay, thou must ride the steed to-night!
But other weary days
And nights must shine and darken o'er thy head,
Ere thou shalt go with him to meet the dead.
XCI.
Again the ship lights all the land;
Again Lee strides the spectre-beast;
Again upon the cliff they stand.
This once he'll be released! —
Gone horse and ship; but Lee's last hope is o'er;
Nor laugh, nor scoff, nor rage, can help him more.
XCII.
His spirit heard that spirit say,
“Listen! — I twice have come to thee.
Once more — and then a dreadful way!
And thou must go with me!”
Ay, cling to earth as sailor to the rock!
Sea-swept, sucked down in the tremendous shock,
He swears, but he is sick at heart;
He laughs, but he turns deadly pale;
His restless eye and sudden start —
These tell the dreadful tale
That will be told: it needs no words from thee,
Thou self-sold slave to fear and misery.
XC.
Bond-slave of sin, see there — that light!
“Ha! take me — take me from its blaze!”
Nay, thou must ride the steed to-night!
But other weary days
And nights must shine and darken o'er thy head,
Ere thou shalt go with him to meet the dead.
XCI.
Again the ship lights all the land;
Again Lee strides the spectre-beast;
Again upon the cliff they stand.
This once he'll be released! —
Gone horse and ship; but Lee's last hope is o'er;
Nor laugh, nor scoff, nor rage, can help him more.
XCII.
His spirit heard that spirit say,
“Listen! — I twice have come to thee.
Once more — and then a dreadful way!
And thou must go with me!”
Ay, cling to earth as sailor to the rock!
Sea-swept, sucked down in the tremendous shock,
26
XCIII.
He goes! — So thou must loose thy hold,
And go with Death; nor breathe the balm
Of early air, nor light behold,
Nor sit thee in the calm
Of gentle thoughts, where good men wait their close.
In life, or death, where look'st thou for repose?
XCIV.
Who's sitting on that long, black ledge,
Which makes so far out in the sea,
Feeling the kelp-weed on its edge?
Poor, idle Matthew Lee!
So weak and pale? A year and little more,
And bravely did he lord it round this shore!
XCV.
And on the shingles now he sits,
And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands;
Now walks the beach; then stops by fits,
And scores the smooth, wet sands;
Then tries each cliff, and cove, and jut, that bounds
The isle; then home from many weary rounds.
XCVI.
They ask him why he wanders so,
From day to day, the uneven strand?
“I wish, I wish that I might go!
But I would go by land;
And there's no way that I can find — I've tried
All day and night!” — He seaward looked and sighed.
He goes! — So thou must loose thy hold,
And go with Death; nor breathe the balm
Of early air, nor light behold,
Nor sit thee in the calm
Of gentle thoughts, where good men wait their close.
In life, or death, where look'st thou for repose?
XCIV.
Who's sitting on that long, black ledge,
Which makes so far out in the sea,
Feeling the kelp-weed on its edge?
Poor, idle Matthew Lee!
So weak and pale? A year and little more,
And bravely did he lord it round this shore!
XCV.
And on the shingles now he sits,
And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands;
Now walks the beach; then stops by fits,
And scores the smooth, wet sands;
Then tries each cliff, and cove, and jut, that bounds
The isle; then home from many weary rounds.
XCVI.
They ask him why he wanders so,
From day to day, the uneven strand?
“I wish, I wish that I might go!
But I would go by land;
And there's no way that I can find — I've tried
All day and night!” — He seaward looked and sighed.
27
XCVII.
It brought the tear to many an eye,
That, once, his eye had made to quail.
“Lee, go with us; our sloop is nigh;
Come! help us hoist her sail.”
He shook. — “You know the spirit-horse I ride!
He'll let me on the sea with none beside!”
XCVIII.
He views the ships that come and go,
Looking so like to living things.
O! 'tis a proud and gallant show
Of bright and broad-spread wings,
Making it light around them, as they keep
Their course right onward through the unsounded deep.
XCIX.
And where the far-off sand-bars lift
Their backs in long and narrow line,
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,
And send the sparkling brine
Into the air; then rush to mimic strife: —
Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life! —
C.
But not to Lee. He sits alone;
No fellowship nor joy for him.
Borne down by woe, he makes no moan,
Though tears will sometimes dim
That asking eye. — O, how his worn thoughts crave —
Not joy again, but rest within the grave.
It brought the tear to many an eye,
That, once, his eye had made to quail.
“Lee, go with us; our sloop is nigh;
Come! help us hoist her sail.”
He shook. — “You know the spirit-horse I ride!
He'll let me on the sea with none beside!”
XCVIII.
He views the ships that come and go,
Looking so like to living things.
O! 'tis a proud and gallant show
Of bright and broad-spread wings,
Making it light around them, as they keep
Their course right onward through the unsounded deep.
XCIX.
And where the far-off sand-bars lift
Their backs in long and narrow line,
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,
And send the sparkling brine
Into the air; then rush to mimic strife: —
Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life! —
C.
But not to Lee. He sits alone;
No fellowship nor joy for him.
Borne down by woe, he makes no moan,
Though tears will sometimes dim
That asking eye. — O, how his worn thoughts crave —
Not joy again, but rest within the grave.
28
CI.
The rocks are dripping in the mist
That lies so heavy off the shore;
Scarce seen the running breakers; — list
Their dull and smothered roar!
Lee hearkens to their voice. — “I hear, I hear
You call. — Not yet! — I know my time is near!”
CII.
And now the mist seems taking shape,
Forming a dim, gigantic ghost, —
Enormous thing! — There's no escape;
'T is close upon the coast.
Lee kneels, but cannot pray. — Why mock him so?
The ship has cleared the fog, Lee, see her go!
CIII.
A sweet, low voice, in starry nights,
Chants to his ear a plaining song;
Its tones come winding up the heights,
Telling of woe and wrong;
And he must listen till the stars grow dim,
The song that gentle voice doth sing to him.
CIV.
O, it is sad that aught so mild
Should bind the soul with bands of fear;
That strains to soothe a little child,
The man should dread to hear!
But sin hath broke the world's sweet peace — unstrung
The harmonious chords to which the angels sung.
The rocks are dripping in the mist
That lies so heavy off the shore;
Scarce seen the running breakers; — list
Their dull and smothered roar!
Lee hearkens to their voice. — “I hear, I hear
You call. — Not yet! — I know my time is near!”
CII.
And now the mist seems taking shape,
Forming a dim, gigantic ghost, —
Enormous thing! — There's no escape;
'T is close upon the coast.
Lee kneels, but cannot pray. — Why mock him so?
The ship has cleared the fog, Lee, see her go!
CIII.
A sweet, low voice, in starry nights,
Chants to his ear a plaining song;
Its tones come winding up the heights,
Telling of woe and wrong;
And he must listen till the stars grow dim,
The song that gentle voice doth sing to him.
CIV.
O, it is sad that aught so mild
Should bind the soul with bands of fear;
That strains to soothe a little child,
The man should dread to hear!
But sin hath broke the world's sweet peace — unstrung
The harmonious chords to which the angels sung.
29
CV.
In thick, dark nights he'd take his seat
High up the cliffs, and feel them shake,
As swung the sea with heavy beat
Below — and hear it break
With savage roar, then pause and gather strength,
And then, come tumbling in its swollen length.
CVI.
But he no more shall haunt the beach,
Nor sit upon the tall cliff's crown,
Nor go the round of all that reach,
Nor feebly sit him down,
Watching the swaying weeds: — another day,
And he'll have gone far hence that dreadful way.
CVII.
To night the charmed number's told.
“Twice have I come for thee,” It said.
“Once more, and none shall thee behold.
Come! live one, to the dead!” —
So hears his soul, and fears the coming night;
Yet sick and weary of the soft, calm light.
CVIII.
Again he sits within that room;
All day he leans at that still board;
None to bring comfort to his gloom,
Or speak a friendly word.
Weakened with fear, lone, haunted by remorse,
Poor, shattered wretch, there waits he that pale horse.
In thick, dark nights he'd take his seat
High up the cliffs, and feel them shake,
As swung the sea with heavy beat
Below — and hear it break
With savage roar, then pause and gather strength,
And then, come tumbling in its swollen length.
CVI.
But he no more shall haunt the beach,
Nor sit upon the tall cliff's crown,
Nor go the round of all that reach,
Nor feebly sit him down,
Watching the swaying weeds: — another day,
And he'll have gone far hence that dreadful way.
CVII.
To night the charmed number's told.
“Twice have I come for thee,” It said.
“Once more, and none shall thee behold.
Come! live one, to the dead!” —
So hears his soul, and fears the coming night;
Yet sick and weary of the soft, calm light.
CVIII.
Again he sits within that room;
All day he leans at that still board;
None to bring comfort to his gloom,
Or speak a friendly word.
Weakened with fear, lone, haunted by remorse,
Poor, shattered wretch, there waits he that pale horse.
30
CIX.
Not long he waits. Where now are gone
Peak, citadel, and tower, that stood
Beautiful, while the west sun shone,
And bathed them in his flood
Of airy glory? — Sudden darkness fell;
And down they went, peak, tower, citadel.
CX.
The darkness, like a dome of stone,
Ceils up the heavens.— 'T is hush as death —
All but the ocean's dull, low moan.
How hard Lee draws his breath!
He shudders as he feels the working Power.
Arouse thee, Lee! up! man thee for thine hour!
CXI.
T is close at hand; for there, once more,
The burning ship. Wide sheets of flame
And shafted fire she showed before; —
Twice thus she hither came; —
But now she rolls a naked hulk, and throws
A wasting light; then, settling, down she goes.
CXII.
And where she sank, up slowly came
The Spectre-Horse from out the sea.
And there he stands! His pale sides flame.
He'll meet thee shortly, Lee.
He treads the waters as a solid floor:
He's moving on. Lee waits him at the door.
Not long he waits. Where now are gone
Peak, citadel, and tower, that stood
Beautiful, while the west sun shone,
And bathed them in his flood
Of airy glory? — Sudden darkness fell;
And down they went, peak, tower, citadel.
CX.
The darkness, like a dome of stone,
Ceils up the heavens.— 'T is hush as death —
All but the ocean's dull, low moan.
How hard Lee draws his breath!
He shudders as he feels the working Power.
Arouse thee, Lee! up! man thee for thine hour!
CXI.
T is close at hand; for there, once more,
The burning ship. Wide sheets of flame
And shafted fire she showed before; —
Twice thus she hither came; —
But now she rolls a naked hulk, and throws
A wasting light; then, settling, down she goes.
CXII.
And where she sank, up slowly came
The Spectre-Horse from out the sea.
And there he stands! His pale sides flame.
He'll meet thee shortly, Lee.
He treads the waters as a solid floor:
He's moving on. Lee waits him at the door.
31
CXIII.
They're met. — “I know thou com'st for me,”
Lee's spirit to the spectre said;
“I know that I must go with thee —
Take me not to the dead.
It was not I alone that did the deed!”
Dreadful the eye of that still, spectral steed!
CXIV.
Lee cannot turn. There is a force.
In that fixed eye, which holds him fast.
How still they stand! — the man and horse.
“Thine hour is almost past.”
“O, spare me,” cries the wretch, “thou fearful One!”
“My time is full — I must not go alone.”
CXV.
“I'm weak and faint. O, let me stay!”
“Nay, murderer, rest nor stay for thee!”
The horse and man are on their way;
He bears him to the sea.
Hark! how the spectre breathes through this still night!
See, from his nostrils streams a deathly light!
CXVI.
He's on the beach; but stops not there;
He's on the sea! — that dreadful horse!
Lee flings and writhes in wild despair! —
In vain! The spirit-corse
Holds him by fearful spell; — he cannot leap.
Within that horried light he rides the deep.
They're met. — “I know thou com'st for me,”
Lee's spirit to the spectre said;
“I know that I must go with thee —
Take me not to the dead.
It was not I alone that did the deed!”
Dreadful the eye of that still, spectral steed!
CXIV.
Lee cannot turn. There is a force.
In that fixed eye, which holds him fast.
How still they stand! — the man and horse.
“Thine hour is almost past.”
“O, spare me,” cries the wretch, “thou fearful One!”
“My time is full — I must not go alone.”
CXV.
“I'm weak and faint. O, let me stay!”
“Nay, murderer, rest nor stay for thee!”
The horse and man are on their way;
He bears him to the sea.
Hark! how the spectre breathes through this still night!
See, from his nostrils streams a deathly light!
CXVI.
He's on the beach; but stops not there;
He's on the sea! — that dreadful horse!
Lee flings and writhes in wild despair! —
In vain! The spirit-corse
Holds him by fearful spell; — he cannot leap.
Within that horried light he rides the deep.
32
CXVII.
It lights the sea around their track —
The curling comb, and dark steel wave;
There, yet, sits Lee the Spectre's back —
Gone! gone! and none to save!
They're seen no more; the night has shut them in.
May heaven have pity on thee, man of sin!
CXVIII.
The earth has washed away its stain;
The sealed up sky is breaking forth,
Mustering its glorious hosts again,
From the far south and north;
The climbing moon plays on the rippling sea.
— O, whither on its waters rideth Lee?
It lights the sea around their track —
The curling comb, and dark steel wave;
There, yet, sits Lee the Spectre's back —
Gone! gone! and none to save!
They're seen no more; the night has shut them in.
May heaven have pity on thee, man of sin!
CXVIII.
The earth has washed away its stain;
The sealed up sky is breaking forth,
Mustering its glorious hosts again,
From the far south and north;
The climbing moon plays on the rippling sea.
— O, whither on its waters rideth Lee?
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