 | Young Arthur |  |
130
SUBJECT VI.
Edith.—Continuation of the Stranger's Tale.
And shod with film, dost, trackless, steal
On the weary mind, with the balmy aid
Before which the feverish fancies fade,
When thy downy fingers the wild pulse feel,
And it's throbs by their magic touch are stay'd;
My form in thy cherishing arms enclose,
My fancy sooth and my cares compose,
And smooth my pillow, confine my mind
In thy silken trammels, which sorrow bind;
And give me, O, give me peace again.
131
The dews which the night breezes brush from the flow'r
Which grows where the Crescent displays its sheen;
And give my soul to the shadowy hour,
When fancy sports in her wildest play,
And with wing-footed freedom the energies stray;
And the mind's a king, and the world it's throne,
And a fairy phantasy forms the zone;
And give me to float on the ambient air,
And give me to glide o'er the heaving wave,
Where sails Young Allan, the gentle and brave;
Round the bark to hover which bore him there;
And the winds I'll woo that they kindly blow,
And the waves I'll kiss that they gently flow;
It's rocking I'll stay, and its helm I'll guide,
And 'round it with guardian care I'll glide:
O, cruel the bark that my lover has borne,
But the power that impell'd it was Edith's scorn.
But bound the benevolent fancies fast:
132
And saw the bark which young Allan bore;
She saw it strike, and she felt the shock,
And she saw his corse on a friendless shore;
And she stretch'd her arms, and a spring she gave,
To bury her grief in the ruthless wave;
She gave a spring to embrace the billow—
Sleep fled, and her arms entwin'd the pillow.
ERNEST.
The pillow may be of eider down
And the head lie restless there;
And sleep with her poppies the brow may crown
But the mind may awake to care.
Young Ernest, tho' clos'd were his fever'd eyes,
That night was a prey to the mock'ry of sleep;
Restless and murmuring, as misery lies,
His startings were frequent, his sighs were deep.
O! Edith, thy pow'r all were fated to prove,
And deep from thine eyes drank young Ernest of love.
And the head lie restless there;
And sleep with her poppies the brow may crown
But the mind may awake to care.
Young Ernest, tho' clos'd were his fever'd eyes,
That night was a prey to the mock'ry of sleep;
Restless and murmuring, as misery lies,
His startings were frequent, his sighs were deep.
O! Edith, thy pow'r all were fated to prove,
And deep from thine eyes drank young Ernest of love.
And have you heard the wild-maid's song
As she wanders thro' the vale?
“I've bound young Love in a silken thong,
His quiver it floats the stream along,
And I've scatter'd his darts to the gale.
And, its O, gather blown roses, maids,
And weave with 'em garlands gay;
For Love is crost,
His arrows are lost,
And we shall be merry as May.”
As she wanders thro' the vale?
133
His quiver it floats the stream along,
And I've scatter'd his darts to the gale.
And, its O, gather blown roses, maids,
And weave with 'em garlands gay;
For Love is crost,
His arrows are lost,
And we shall be merry as May.”
Heav'n sent love to bless mankind,
Passion made him wing'd and blind:
There is a weal transform'd to woe—
All is not love we carol so.
Passion made him wing'd and blind:
There is a weal transform'd to woe—
All is not love we carol so.
THE STRANGER'S TALE CONTINUED.
“For Spain's proud shores, (young Ernest he pursued)
Our hearts elate with gratitude, we stood;
The beauteous maid now lifts her heavenly eyes,
And hails the Paradise with blissful sighs:
For native scenes the spirit still entice,
The Arab's desert is his Paradise.
E'er we the harbour reach'd 'twas gloomy night,
I purpos'd landing by the morning's light;
But, wild with extacy, delay none bear,
Won by entreaties I allow their pray'r;
With cautious haste we meditate to land,
I press fair Isabel's consenting hand;
O'er the bark's side her timorous steps attend,
While no bright moon beams kind assistance lend;
A casual torch directs our devious way,
Whose reeking flame emits a gloomy ray;
A treacherous guide! the boat lay sidelong by;
To reach it, eager, with my charge I try;
The maid, too eager, in joy's wild alarm,
Quits but an instant my supporting arm,
One heedless step, she buries in the wave—
The sailors follow, but she finds a grave!
Myst'ry unmatch'd, though instant ev'ry aid,
A wat'ry winding sheet enfolds the maid;
All sprung, all div'd, but zeal and speed were vain,
The maid for ever buried in the main.”
Here a deep sigh denied the youth to speak,
A burning tear roll'd down his manly cheek;
“The maiden lost”—a sigh, tho' half suppress'd,
Too soft for pity, labour'd in his breast—
“The maiden lost in all the blooming pride
Of health and beauty, to each grace allied,
May well the sigh of deep regret inspire,
And check the ardour of a soldier's fire.”
Our hearts elate with gratitude, we stood;
The beauteous maid now lifts her heavenly eyes,
And hails the Paradise with blissful sighs:
134
The Arab's desert is his Paradise.
E'er we the harbour reach'd 'twas gloomy night,
I purpos'd landing by the morning's light;
But, wild with extacy, delay none bear,
Won by entreaties I allow their pray'r;
With cautious haste we meditate to land,
I press fair Isabel's consenting hand;
O'er the bark's side her timorous steps attend,
While no bright moon beams kind assistance lend;
A casual torch directs our devious way,
Whose reeking flame emits a gloomy ray;
A treacherous guide! the boat lay sidelong by;
To reach it, eager, with my charge I try;
The maid, too eager, in joy's wild alarm,
Quits but an instant my supporting arm,
One heedless step, she buries in the wave—
The sailors follow, but she finds a grave!
Myst'ry unmatch'd, though instant ev'ry aid,
A wat'ry winding sheet enfolds the maid;
All sprung, all div'd, but zeal and speed were vain,
The maid for ever buried in the main.”
Here a deep sigh denied the youth to speak,
A burning tear roll'd down his manly cheek;
135
Too soft for pity, labour'd in his breast—
“The maiden lost in all the blooming pride
Of health and beauty, to each grace allied,
May well the sigh of deep regret inspire,
And check the ardour of a soldier's fire.”
He dried the tear, a tear fair Edith dried,
And pensive sat, and oft, responsive, sigh'd;
The maid and Allan her deep griefs divide;
Pity and love a double anguish gave,
Her fear assign'd them one according grave.
A short-liv'd silence at the table reign'd;
Some moments glided e're Sir Ernest gain'd
Resuming calmness his detail to try,
And let a simple lay that pause supply;
Each griev'd a true love lost, and each, forlorn,
Review'd past days, reviewing but to mourn.
And pensive sat, and oft, responsive, sigh'd;
The maid and Allan her deep griefs divide;
Pity and love a double anguish gave,
Her fear assign'd them one according grave.
A short-liv'd silence at the table reign'd;
Some moments glided e're Sir Ernest gain'd
Resuming calmness his detail to try,
And let a simple lay that pause supply;
Each griev'd a true love lost, and each, forlorn,
Review'd past days, reviewing but to mourn.
LAMENT.
Alas! for the days that are gone!
When rude care with content never strove;
But life seem'd a flow'ry lawn,
And my cot was illumin'd by love.
I hail'd ev'ry day with delight,
But sorrow laughs pleasure to scorn,
And morn's but the herald of night—
Alas! for the days that are gone!
When rude care with content never strove;
But life seem'd a flow'ry lawn,
And my cot was illumin'd by love.
136
But sorrow laughs pleasure to scorn,
And morn's but the herald of night—
Alas! for the days that are gone!
And now I must sorrow and sigh;
Will thy tyranny, Fancy, ne'er cease?
Ah! quickly those days they went by,
And pain came abruptly on peace.
Two linnets they sat and they sung,
A sportsman his trigger had drawn,
The female her little head hung—
And her song's like the days that are gone!
Will thy tyranny, Fancy, ne'er cease?
Ah! quickly those days they went by,
And pain came abruptly on peace.
Two linnets they sat and they sung,
A sportsman his trigger had drawn,
The female her little head hung—
And her song's like the days that are gone!
Her mate perches now by my cot,
Where together they oft sung before;
Now a note like complaint he has got,
But he warbles his carol no more!
And lonely he sits on the spray,
I watch him at dew-fall and dawn;
And the silence of both seems to say
“Alas! for the days that are gone!”
Where together they oft sung before;
Now a note like complaint he has got,
But he warbles his carol no more!
And lonely he sits on the spray,
I watch him at dew-fall and dawn;
And the silence of both seems to say
“Alas! for the days that are gone!”
137
Returning cheerfulness their eyes relum'd,
Fair Edith listen'd, and the youth resum'd.
“Charles of that name the fifth, at once who reigns
O'er Austria's princes, and Iberia's plains,
Deign'd, for his subjects by my act restor'd,
To grace my shoulders with th' imperial sword;
A knight I rose, the warrior's badge he gave,
I own'd his standard, and I join'd the brave.
Th' imperial Charles to Tunis led the train,
The Moorish Hascen's sceptre to regain
From his rude hands who, in the Othman's name,
Had seiz'd the throne, and barr'd the monarch's claim.
In Lesbos' isle, proverbial for a race
Nurtur'd in guilt's antipathy to grace,
Two ruthless sons a base born potter rear'd,
Horuc and Hayradin, whom monarchs fear'd:
Horuc (whose beard display'd a grisly red,
Hence Barbbarossa call'd) a squadron led
Of pirate gallies with a daring skill,
And brutal bravery; second to his will
Rank'd crafty Hayradin, by nought appall'd;
“Friends of the sea,” themselves the ruffians call'd;
“Friends of the sea, and foes to all beside
“Who hop'd securely on its waves to ride.”
Their names terrific, fatal was their force,
From where the Straits of Dardanelle have course,
To where Gibraltar stands, whose towering rock
Seems all to brave save nature's final shock;
The ancient Calpo, and in days of yore
Was, with Abila frowning on the shore
Of fronting Africa, his pillar nam'd,
The pagan Sampson, and a god proclaim'd.
Eutemi, who the Moorish sceptre sway'd
In barbarous Algiers, burning to invade
With native fraud, ferocity, and hate,
The rights of Spain, and ancient vengeance sate;
Doubting his force, to Barbarossa sent
To aid, with energy his dire intent;
The Redbeard, joyful at the summons, flies;
Five thousand corsairs, laden with supplies,
The city enter and a league is made;
But cunning treach'ry cunning hate repaid;
Algiers o'eraw'd by Barbarossa's power,
The king fell victim by a secret blow:
The Moors now curse the inauspicious hour,
And Redbeard reigns, their monarch and their foe:
Firm on the throne, (so well he play'd his part,
With force, with kindness, cruelty, and art;)
Tremecen's king with jealous eye he view'd,
His throne attack'd, and delug'd it with blood;
His throne ascended, and, devoid of fears,
Left Hayradin his viceroy in Algiers;
Then with new conquests devastation spread,
'Till Charles hurl'd vengeance on his recreant head.
Horuc dispatched, Hayradin Algiers' throne
Secur'd; in turn as Barbarossa known;
By all detested, and by fear oppress'd,
Fear the dread inmate of each tyrant's breast.
With subtle aim he seeks the Turkish court,
And holds his crown as liegeman of the Porte;
The Crescent's
navy by his rule now rides,
And with the great Doria he divides
(For one the Crescent, one the Cross unfurl'd,)
The palm of naval glory from the world.
Tunis of savage Barbary the pride,
Which stands where Carthage in her pow'r defied
The world's great Sov'reign, many-laurell'd Rome,
Who gave to Carthage what she found, a tomb—
Tunis (weak Hascen fill'd the barbarous throne)
The corsair mark'd, “and mark'd it for his own.”
The Othman aids him, valour and surprise
Obtain the victory, and Hascen flies:
To Charles he flies, protection he implores,
And Christian banners wave on Moslem shores.
Th' imperial warrior led th' embattl'd train;
Doria led the warriors of the main;
Her well-train'd infantry Almagne supplied,
The Infant's gallies bore Iberia's pride;
Shadow'd by laurels, torn from humble France,
The knights of Spain and Italy advance;
The cross of Malta many a galley bore,
Whose bands breath'd hate to ev'ry Moslem shore;
The Papal Sire, with pious zeal impress'd,
The force augmented and it's purpose blest;
A brief crusade; 'twas not for Hascen's loss,
Their aim the sacred glory of the cross;
At Cagliari, on Sardinia's coast,
Guasto marshall'd the imperial host;
Naples and Sicily join gallies there
With the proud squadron of Iberia's heir,
And Malta's barks; with his whose standard told
Him chief, Doria, not less sage than bold;
Converging there, each banner was unfurl'd,
That fix'd the doubtful aspect of the world;
None knew the purpose, secret zeal prepar'd
The force their wonder and their fear which shar'd;
But guilt, whose doom is never rest to know,
With keen suspicion rous'd the Moslem foe;
Fell Barbaorssa silently survey'd
The storm collecting o'er his wretched head;
He knew his vices, dreaded their desert,
But his was fear that made his soul alert;
No coward stream his vigorous veins impart,
Furious his blood rush'd from a ruthless heart:
Secret he saw, and secretly he strove
To ward the blow; and royal claim to prove:
His floating corsairs from all points he drew,
From Algiers strengthen'd the marauding crew;
From ev'ry foe the Cresent gave the Cross
Aid he implor'd: and urg'd their common loss
The cross triumphant; urg'd their common gain
The cross defeated, in the pow'r of Spain.
All to his standard flock'd, one zeal inspir'd,
One hate impell'd them, and one fury fir'd.
Within the impregnable Goletta's fort,
He plac'd the well-train'd succours from the Porte,
Skill'd in the tactics of each Christian court,
These Sinan marshall'd; of the Corsair crew
None dar'd more bravely, or more keenly knew;
Sinan, than whom Christ's cross could never know
A scourge more bitter, or more baleful foe;
Doubly a foe; the Rabbi taught his youth,
The Koran now his oracle of truth:
Yet his were deeds which such a soul display'd
The brave might praise, but piety forbade.
Myst'ry at length imperial Charles declin'd,
Avow'd his purpose; and his force combin'd
Approach'd Goletta; there the zealous band,
Encamp'd before, each avenue command;
All for the siege impatient, wait the word
To storm, and victory to the cross afford:
But e'er began the glory of the day,
Thus to his generous ardour Charles gave way.
“Soldiers of Christendom,” the monarch said,
“To day shall Mahomet conceal his head;
Our faith's sworn foe, our land's eternal scourge;
What further impulse need I add, to urge
Your generous valour, and resistless pow'r,
To crown with glory this eventful hour?
More were but waste, but time and triumph's loss,
Strike home! for victory, and the holy cross!”
The siege commenc'd with cool and wary aim,
But soon the spark burst fiercely to a flame;
Sinan, whose valour e'en his skill surpass'd,
Prepar'd, receiv'd them as the oak the blast;
Thin leaves may scatter, and weak branches fly,
But the stem's type is fix'd rigidity;
Boldly he prov'd, all trusted to his aid,
His sov'reign's foresight and the trust repaid.
For Cross or Crescent mutually all dar'd,
And rapid breaches were as quick repair'd;
Now the bright falchion with the lightning vied,
By Moorish blood and now by Christian dyed;
New breaches form'd to worse destruction led,
Each passage choak'd with dying and with dead;
While o'er the heaps of fury's victims rush'd
The fierce invaders, and the dying crush'd,
To night consign'd them; then, by Moorish might,
Themselves as qnickly were consign'd to night.
The thundering cannon from Goletta's towers
With horrid carnage rak'd the Christian powers;
The well-serv'd ordnance on the Christian side
With equal havoc to each charge replied;
The fight was fury in its maddest rage,
Not men but demons seeming to engage;
Whole ranks hewn down, their place fresh ranks supply;
Fate, the fix'd Moslem creed, forbids to fly;
The Christian's hope of martyrdom in death
Impels and proves him prodigal of breath.
Thus Cross and Crescent equal valour fire,
And equal views, but not results, inspire.
Here Charles, exalted, foremost in the fray,
To glorious victory points the bleeding way;
Sinan, like Satan
there his head uprears,
With hate inspiring his malignant peers;
From wall to wall, from breach to breach, he flies,
Works to delirium his fell energies;
Incites, enrages, frantic with despair,
Points paths of hope, and leads the ruffians there;
And where weak fear the coward arm gives rest
His streaming falchion buries in that breast;
And ne'er since Mahomet his cheat began
Was fitter champion for the Alcoran.
When some slight dam a peaceful stream repels
Which sudden influx to a torrent swells,
The gathering waters confluently press
Full on the barrier, and its bands distress;
Accumulating still, the barrier gives;
Wave over wave forward, impetuous, drives,
The barrier bends; resistance is in vain,
Sudden it bursts and floods confound the plain.
Thus press the Christians on Goletta's towers,
While vainly Sinan congregates his powers;
Goletta's walls, for tactic science fam'd,
Boast of the age, impregnable proclaim'd,
No dam afford to stop the raging tide,
All hearts conjoin'd, and ev'ry nerve applied;
The bulwark cracks; the engineer applies
Incessant art's destructive energies;
The bulwark trembles; Sinan on the walls
To fruitless fight and hopeless victory calls;
He leaves the rempart frantic with despair,
The breach is made, and Sinan braves us there:
In, like a torrent, rush the Christian band,
And none their fury and their force withstand,
Save Sinan and a few, who from the fray
Retreat, but fly not, daring us at bay;
These seek the city, and the broad bay ford,
To tell the tidings to their lawless lord.
Sinan, receding, curses as he goes,
A front audacious glorying to oppose;
Grinning while cursing, and, to fancy, then
The “foul fiend” standing by the worst of men
Whisp'ring with smile malignant seem'd; to urge
Hate to the cross beyond e'en mercy's verge;
With fate resistless and a deathless fame
To toil his reason and his pride inflame:
And, as he whisper'd, the dire precepts burst,
With looks demoniac, from the lips accurst.
Fair Edith listen'd, and the youth resum'd.
“Charles of that name the fifth, at once who reigns
O'er Austria's princes, and Iberia's plains,
Deign'd, for his subjects by my act restor'd,
To grace my shoulders with th' imperial sword;
A knight I rose, the warrior's badge he gave,
I own'd his standard, and I join'd the brave.
Th' imperial Charles to Tunis led the train,
The Moorish Hascen's sceptre to regain
From his rude hands who, in the Othman's name,
Had seiz'd the throne, and barr'd the monarch's claim.
In Lesbos' isle, proverbial for a race
Nurtur'd in guilt's antipathy to grace,
138
Horuc and Hayradin, whom monarchs fear'd:
Horuc (whose beard display'd a grisly red,
Hence Barbbarossa call'd) a squadron led
Of pirate gallies with a daring skill,
And brutal bravery; second to his will
Rank'd crafty Hayradin, by nought appall'd;
“Friends of the sea,” themselves the ruffians call'd;
“Friends of the sea, and foes to all beside
“Who hop'd securely on its waves to ride.”
Their names terrific, fatal was their force,
From where the Straits of Dardanelle have course,
To where Gibraltar stands, whose towering rock
Seems all to brave save nature's final shock;
The ancient Calpo, and in days of yore
Was, with Abila frowning on the shore
Of fronting Africa, his pillar nam'd,
The pagan Sampson, and a god proclaim'd.
Eutemi, who the Moorish sceptre sway'd
In barbarous Algiers, burning to invade
With native fraud, ferocity, and hate,
The rights of Spain, and ancient vengeance sate;
139
To aid, with energy his dire intent;
The Redbeard, joyful at the summons, flies;
Five thousand corsairs, laden with supplies,
The city enter and a league is made;
But cunning treach'ry cunning hate repaid;
Algiers o'eraw'd by Barbarossa's power,
The king fell victim by a secret blow:
The Moors now curse the inauspicious hour,
And Redbeard reigns, their monarch and their foe:
Firm on the throne, (so well he play'd his part,
With force, with kindness, cruelty, and art;)
Tremecen's king with jealous eye he view'd,
His throne attack'd, and delug'd it with blood;
His throne ascended, and, devoid of fears,
Left Hayradin his viceroy in Algiers;
Then with new conquests devastation spread,
'Till Charles hurl'd vengeance on his recreant head.
Horuc dispatched, Hayradin Algiers' throne
Secur'd; in turn as Barbarossa known;
By all detested, and by fear oppress'd,
Fear the dread inmate of each tyrant's breast.
With subtle aim he seeks the Turkish court,
And holds his crown as liegeman of the Porte;
140
And with the great Doria he divides
(For one the Crescent, one the Cross unfurl'd,)
The palm of naval glory from the world.
Tunis of savage Barbary the pride,
Which stands where Carthage in her pow'r defied
The world's great Sov'reign, many-laurell'd Rome,
Who gave to Carthage what she found, a tomb—
Tunis (weak Hascen fill'd the barbarous throne)
The corsair mark'd, “and mark'd it for his own.”
The Othman aids him, valour and surprise
Obtain the victory, and Hascen flies:
To Charles he flies, protection he implores,
And Christian banners wave on Moslem shores.
Th' imperial warrior led th' embattl'd train;
Doria led the warriors of the main;
Her well-train'd infantry Almagne supplied,
The Infant's gallies bore Iberia's pride;
Shadow'd by laurels, torn from humble France,
The knights of Spain and Italy advance;
141
Whose bands breath'd hate to ev'ry Moslem shore;
The Papal Sire, with pious zeal impress'd,
The force augmented and it's purpose blest;
A brief crusade; 'twas not for Hascen's loss,
Their aim the sacred glory of the cross;
At Cagliari, on Sardinia's coast,
Guasto marshall'd the imperial host;
Naples and Sicily join gallies there
With the proud squadron of Iberia's heir,
And Malta's barks; with his whose standard told
Him chief, Doria, not less sage than bold;
Converging there, each banner was unfurl'd,
That fix'd the doubtful aspect of the world;
None knew the purpose, secret zeal prepar'd
The force their wonder and their fear which shar'd;
But guilt, whose doom is never rest to know,
With keen suspicion rous'd the Moslem foe;
Fell Barbaorssa silently survey'd
The storm collecting o'er his wretched head;
He knew his vices, dreaded their desert,
But his was fear that made his soul alert;
142
Furious his blood rush'd from a ruthless heart:
Secret he saw, and secretly he strove
To ward the blow; and royal claim to prove:
His floating corsairs from all points he drew,
From Algiers strengthen'd the marauding crew;
From ev'ry foe the Cresent gave the Cross
Aid he implor'd: and urg'd their common loss
The cross triumphant; urg'd their common gain
The cross defeated, in the pow'r of Spain.
All to his standard flock'd, one zeal inspir'd,
One hate impell'd them, and one fury fir'd.
Within the impregnable Goletta's fort,
He plac'd the well-train'd succours from the Porte,
Skill'd in the tactics of each Christian court,
These Sinan marshall'd; of the Corsair crew
None dar'd more bravely, or more keenly knew;
Sinan, than whom Christ's cross could never know
A scourge more bitter, or more baleful foe;
Doubly a foe; the Rabbi taught his youth,
The Koran now his oracle of truth:
Yet his were deeds which such a soul display'd
The brave might praise, but piety forbade.
Myst'ry at length imperial Charles declin'd,
Avow'd his purpose; and his force combin'd
143
Encamp'd before, each avenue command;
All for the siege impatient, wait the word
To storm, and victory to the cross afford:
But e'er began the glory of the day,
Thus to his generous ardour Charles gave way.
“Soldiers of Christendom,” the monarch said,
“To day shall Mahomet conceal his head;
Our faith's sworn foe, our land's eternal scourge;
What further impulse need I add, to urge
Your generous valour, and resistless pow'r,
To crown with glory this eventful hour?
More were but waste, but time and triumph's loss,
Strike home! for victory, and the holy cross!”
The siege commenc'd with cool and wary aim,
But soon the spark burst fiercely to a flame;
Sinan, whose valour e'en his skill surpass'd,
Prepar'd, receiv'd them as the oak the blast;
Thin leaves may scatter, and weak branches fly,
But the stem's type is fix'd rigidity;
Boldly he prov'd, all trusted to his aid,
His sov'reign's foresight and the trust repaid.
For Cross or Crescent mutually all dar'd,
And rapid breaches were as quick repair'd;
144
By Moorish blood and now by Christian dyed;
New breaches form'd to worse destruction led,
Each passage choak'd with dying and with dead;
While o'er the heaps of fury's victims rush'd
The fierce invaders, and the dying crush'd,
To night consign'd them; then, by Moorish might,
Themselves as qnickly were consign'd to night.
The thundering cannon from Goletta's towers
With horrid carnage rak'd the Christian powers;
The well-serv'd ordnance on the Christian side
With equal havoc to each charge replied;
The fight was fury in its maddest rage,
Not men but demons seeming to engage;
Whole ranks hewn down, their place fresh ranks supply;
Fate, the fix'd Moslem creed, forbids to fly;
The Christian's hope of martyrdom in death
Impels and proves him prodigal of breath.
Thus Cross and Crescent equal valour fire,
And equal views, but not results, inspire.
Here Charles, exalted, foremost in the fray,
To glorious victory points the bleeding way;
145
With hate inspiring his malignant peers;
From wall to wall, from breach to breach, he flies,
Works to delirium his fell energies;
Incites, enrages, frantic with despair,
Points paths of hope, and leads the ruffians there;
And where weak fear the coward arm gives rest
His streaming falchion buries in that breast;
And ne'er since Mahomet his cheat began
Was fitter champion for the Alcoran.
When some slight dam a peaceful stream repels
Which sudden influx to a torrent swells,
The gathering waters confluently press
Full on the barrier, and its bands distress;
Accumulating still, the barrier gives;
Wave over wave forward, impetuous, drives,
The barrier bends; resistance is in vain,
Sudden it bursts and floods confound the plain.
Thus press the Christians on Goletta's towers,
While vainly Sinan congregates his powers;
Goletta's walls, for tactic science fam'd,
Boast of the age, impregnable proclaim'd,
146
All hearts conjoin'd, and ev'ry nerve applied;
The bulwark cracks; the engineer applies
Incessant art's destructive energies;
The bulwark trembles; Sinan on the walls
To fruitless fight and hopeless victory calls;
He leaves the rempart frantic with despair,
The breach is made, and Sinan braves us there:
In, like a torrent, rush the Christian band,
And none their fury and their force withstand,
Save Sinan and a few, who from the fray
Retreat, but fly not, daring us at bay;
These seek the city, and the broad bay ford,
To tell the tidings to their lawless lord.
Sinan, receding, curses as he goes,
A front audacious glorying to oppose;
Grinning while cursing, and, to fancy, then
The “foul fiend” standing by the worst of men
Whisp'ring with smile malignant seem'd; to urge
Hate to the cross beyond e'en mercy's verge;
With fate resistless and a deathless fame
To toil his reason and his pride inflame:
And, as he whisper'd, the dire precepts burst,
With looks demoniac, from the lips accurst.
147
To Tunis come, the Moslem Jew inform'd
His ruthless sov'reign of Goletta storm'd;
The ruthless sov'reign knew the city weak,
And knew 'twere vain his subjects' hearts to seek
For other aid, such hatred he inspir'd,
Than self-love wrought, or common good requir'd;
The barbarous King resolv'd the foe to face,
And, should he fall, with glory shield disgrace.
But e'er he left the city for the plain,
To soothe the manes of the ruffians slain,
And save the city from internal foe,
His fiend-like foresight meditates a blow
Thirst for destruction could alone desire,
Or demons execute, or hell inspire.
Ten thousand Christians, of their rights bereft,
He doom'd to slaughter e'er the place he left;
His chiefs consulted (sovereign of his band
As much in cruelty as in command)
His chiefs consulted, but, though nurs'd in blood,
His chiefs, indignant, the dire act withstood.
Fiend-like that eye whose glare his rage express'd,
The spark lay buried in his artful breast;
Left to ferment there 'till securer hour,
When triumph's terrors should confirm his pow'r;
Then burst with fury and devouring flame
On all who dar'd to deprecate his aim.
He fear'd defection, for he knew their hate;
The moment critical, one failure fate;
“Moslems,” he cried, “your safety 'twas inspir'd
The piteous sacrifice my care requir'd;
The city's sole defence yon fort you view,
While o'er yon plain the Christians you pursue,
The slaves escaping, or by fraud or force,
The fort assail'd, what stems their 'vengeful course?
The fort subdued your entrance here they spurn,
And vain regret shall witness your return.”
He ceas'd, accord awaiting with his plan;
But rebel murmurs through his legions ran;
For he who deign'd for mortals to atone
Mov'd their fierce hearts to mercy not their own.
Foil'd in his purpose, with insidious mien,
He cried, “Thus valour will to mercy lean:
Alone your safety 'twas your sovereign sought,
His sacred duty, and his ceaseless thought;
Your wishes his, your interest his own,
Your zeal the prop and safeguard of his throne;
I yield me freely to the general voice,
Your looks inspire me, and your words rejoice;
Back'd by such hearts, I leave the city, free
From recreant fear, and march to victory.”
A secret sneer from ev'ry chief replied,
Though fix'd to aid the leader they deride:
Not love to him the steady ardour fir'd,
No, 'twas the hatred by the cross inspir'd.
Now the green standard of the prophet rear'd,
The Turk's palladium, sacred as rever'd,
“Alla alone is God,” the Moslems cry
“And Mahomet his prophet—Victory!”
This said, one motion, simultaneous, bar'd
Ten thousand scymitars for blood that glar'd;
The Red King seiz'd their impulse as a fate,
And dash'd his charger through the ample gate;
Legions on legions o'er the desart stride,
The tyrant led, and Sinan by his side;—
Th' intrepid Charles his wasting march begun,
His soldiers fainting 'neath a burning sun;
O'er scorching sands their blister'd feet they ply,
While quenchless thirst (the wells impure or dry)
Compos'd the acmé of their misery.
But for the cross they fought, and who might grieve
Deserv'd no blessing that the cross could give.
The armies met, nor long on parley stood,
The desart's dust too quickly laid by blood.
Here Sinan fought, and how he fought is known,
But here rank'd second, by his King outshone:
Bred to the faith he own'd, by Moslem law
In death a paradise the tyrant saw;
Sinan saw nothing but the dreadful meed
That waits the apostate of a barter'd creed:
This nerv'd his arm and soul like magic spell;
To live no heaven, but to die was hell.
His ruthless sov'reign of Goletta storm'd;
The ruthless sov'reign knew the city weak,
And knew 'twere vain his subjects' hearts to seek
For other aid, such hatred he inspir'd,
Than self-love wrought, or common good requir'd;
The barbarous King resolv'd the foe to face,
And, should he fall, with glory shield disgrace.
But e'er he left the city for the plain,
To soothe the manes of the ruffians slain,
And save the city from internal foe,
His fiend-like foresight meditates a blow
Thirst for destruction could alone desire,
Or demons execute, or hell inspire.
Ten thousand Christians, of their rights bereft,
He doom'd to slaughter e'er the place he left;
His chiefs consulted (sovereign of his band
As much in cruelty as in command)
His chiefs consulted, but, though nurs'd in blood,
His chiefs, indignant, the dire act withstood.
Fiend-like that eye whose glare his rage express'd,
The spark lay buried in his artful breast;
Left to ferment there 'till securer hour,
When triumph's terrors should confirm his pow'r;
148
On all who dar'd to deprecate his aim.
He fear'd defection, for he knew their hate;
The moment critical, one failure fate;
“Moslems,” he cried, “your safety 'twas inspir'd
The piteous sacrifice my care requir'd;
The city's sole defence yon fort you view,
While o'er yon plain the Christians you pursue,
The slaves escaping, or by fraud or force,
The fort assail'd, what stems their 'vengeful course?
The fort subdued your entrance here they spurn,
And vain regret shall witness your return.”
He ceas'd, accord awaiting with his plan;
But rebel murmurs through his legions ran;
For he who deign'd for mortals to atone
Mov'd their fierce hearts to mercy not their own.
Foil'd in his purpose, with insidious mien,
He cried, “Thus valour will to mercy lean:
Alone your safety 'twas your sovereign sought,
His sacred duty, and his ceaseless thought;
Your wishes his, your interest his own,
Your zeal the prop and safeguard of his throne;
I yield me freely to the general voice,
Your looks inspire me, and your words rejoice;
149
From recreant fear, and march to victory.”
A secret sneer from ev'ry chief replied,
Though fix'd to aid the leader they deride:
Not love to him the steady ardour fir'd,
No, 'twas the hatred by the cross inspir'd.
Now the green standard of the prophet rear'd,
The Turk's palladium, sacred as rever'd,
“Alla alone is God,” the Moslems cry
“And Mahomet his prophet—Victory!”
This said, one motion, simultaneous, bar'd
Ten thousand scymitars for blood that glar'd;
The Red King seiz'd their impulse as a fate,
And dash'd his charger through the ample gate;
Legions on legions o'er the desart stride,
The tyrant led, and Sinan by his side;—
Th' intrepid Charles his wasting march begun,
His soldiers fainting 'neath a burning sun;
O'er scorching sands their blister'd feet they ply,
While quenchless thirst (the wells impure or dry)
Compos'd the acmé of their misery.
But for the cross they fought, and who might grieve
Deserv'd no blessing that the cross could give.
The armies met, nor long on parley stood,
The desart's dust too quickly laid by blood.
150
But here rank'd second, by his King outshone:
Bred to the faith he own'd, by Moslem law
In death a paradise the tyrant saw;
Sinan saw nothing but the dreadful meed
That waits the apostate of a barter'd creed:
This nerv'd his arm and soul like magic spell;
To live no heaven, but to die was hell.
From van to rear, from rear again to van,
Piercing the centre, Charles or rode or ran;
As thickening ranks or spreading wings requir'd,
And all address'd, encourag'd, and inspir'd.
The furious Moor, with threat'ning and with thanks,
Urging and irritating, pac'd his ranks;
Thanks to their zeal with promises he gave,
Death to the coward, bounty to the brave.
“On for the Koran!” Barbarossa cried;
“On for the Cross!” imperial Charles replied:
They spring, they fly, war's clangour rends the air,
And drowns the cries of fury and despair.
Piercing the centre, Charles or rode or ran;
As thickening ranks or spreading wings requir'd,
And all address'd, encourag'd, and inspir'd.
The furious Moor, with threat'ning and with thanks,
Urging and irritating, pac'd his ranks;
Thanks to their zeal with promises he gave,
Death to the coward, bounty to the brave.
“On for the Koran!” Barbarossa cried;
“On for the Cross!” imperial Charles replied:
They spring, they fly, war's clangour rends the air,
And drowns the cries of fury and despair.
While fiercely flying thro' the embattled plain,
Charles saw the Corsair, and quick check'd the rein;
The valiant Corsair saw, his foe he scann'd,
Then stopp'd his steed, and front to front they stand.
As when the lion, roaring for his prey,
Meets the fell tiger in his fatal way,
With horrid fire their redd'ning eye-balls flash,
With rage they tremble, and their sides they lash;
Each waits the moment when with hope to spring
And to the earth his dreadful rival bring;
Then teeth and talons, with a direful roar,
Sudden they fix, and drench their foe with gore.
So Moor and Christian with fierce parley stood,
Then sprung to battle like the beasts of blood;
Sabre and falchion in an instant meet,
Their foaming chargers mingle hostile feet:
The Moor at Charles a 'vengeful stroke essay'd,
The monarch parried, and his brittle blade
Shiver'd in splinters; yet, though hope seem'd past,
It broke the blow which else had been his last:
A soldier saw, and, with the speed of thought,
Toss'd him a sabre which the monarch caught;
Then rose indignant from the saddle bed
With desperate aim to cleave the Moslem's head;
The wary Moslem shifting from the blow,
Charles fell, his strength o'er shot, and roll'd below.
The Moor, above, his gleaming falchion swung;
The blow avoiding, up the emp'ror sprung,
The ruffian's foot then seizing, with a bound
Unhors'd and sent him thundering to the ground.
The Corsair, staggering, rose; and foot to foot,
And inch by inch, the 'vantage they dispute;
Charles on his foe with force terrific darts,
Again his blade with treach'rous weakness parts;
And death seems certain; but, with timely spring,
He seiz'd the sword arm of the barbarous king;
Wrench'd from his hand the deadly biting blade;
“Yield! yield!” he cried—the Moor no answer made,
But, as the lion springs upon his prey,
On Charles he sprung, within his sword arm's play,
His mail-clad neck with vig'rous arms he clasp'd,
His legs entwin'd with his, wrestled, and grasp'd;
The monarch, strain'd, gave way; the agile Moor
Clutch'd his lost scymetar, and grinn'd, secure
In meditated vengeance; and he broke
Ground back two paces, to effect a stroke
Dire as his hate; and had his purpose kept,
But, backward striding, on an helmet stepp'd;
The treacherous step derides his madd'ning mood,
And sends him headlong amid dust and blood.
A troop now, flying, by a troop pursued,
Approach'd: and each its panting sovereign view'd;
The rallying Moors their fallen monarch shield,
And, by his danger fir'd, disdain to yield;
The Christians, by their sovereign's safety sway'd,
A loyal rampart for the warrior made.
Remounted, now the monarchs pant to try
Again their prowess, when a clamorous cry
Bursts on their ears and sounds like “Victory.”
“To whom?” cried Charles, and dash'd along the plain;
The Moor too darted; each the spot to gain
Where the main battle fill'd the field with dead,
By brave Guasto and dread Sinan led:
The Moors were breaking ground, the Christians press'd;
The Corsair, madness raging in his breast,
Plung'd in the centre of his panic host,
And fell'd-a chief receding from his post;
The sacred standard seiz'd and rais'd to view,
Then cried, “For Alla and his prophet!” threw
The standard 'mid the Christians, crying, “there
“Save it; or all of Paradise despair!”
Like wolves they rush'd by gnawing famine stung;
Like wolves receiv'd a lion herd among;
Charles and the Moor again their valour tried,
Again contending troops the fray divide:
The direful scene ungrateful to renew,
Enough that Charles drove back the turban'd crew;
To Tunis back, in Barbarossa's spight,
By all but miracles who fir'd the fight;
To Tunis back; to Tunis back in vain;
They find no succour, and no entrance gain;
The Christian slaves their keepers had suborn'd,
These sold the wretch whose tyranny they scorn'd;
Their fetters freed, the fort, the walls, they fill,
The ordnance there, abandon'd to their will,
Against the tyrant in his flight they turn'd,
Who first from this his worst disaster learn'd.
Rav'd he'd not doom'd 'em to a secret death,
And curst the warriors who redeem'd their breath.
Between two fires the desperate ruffian stood,
Cursing his fate, and howling like the flood
That raves in tempests; then like lightning fled,
And hid in Bona his dishonor'd head.
So furious whirlwinds, raging in their force,
Tear nature's form and wrest her genial course;
Their power expended, suddenly they're gone,
Their being known but from the ill they've done.
But Sinan fell—nor charge my words with pride—
Slain by my hand the wretch, despairing, died;
No hope for him so impiously who durst;
Abjur'd Jehovah and the Saviour curs'd!
He fell as the first fiends their conflicts clos'd,
His power blaspheming whom their hate oppos'd.
The town surrender'd, death's dread work is done,
And Muley Hascen mounts a blood-stain'd throne;
Himself a liegeman of the cross he swears,
And as a fief of Spain the crown he wears;
The Christians, free, high heaven for Charles implore,
And Hascen swears the reign of slavery o'er;
Now to Spain's shores Imperial Charles withdraws,
Oppress'd with laurels and the world's applause.
Charles saw the Corsair, and quick check'd the rein;
151
Then stopp'd his steed, and front to front they stand.
As when the lion, roaring for his prey,
Meets the fell tiger in his fatal way,
With horrid fire their redd'ning eye-balls flash,
With rage they tremble, and their sides they lash;
Each waits the moment when with hope to spring
And to the earth his dreadful rival bring;
Then teeth and talons, with a direful roar,
Sudden they fix, and drench their foe with gore.
So Moor and Christian with fierce parley stood,
Then sprung to battle like the beasts of blood;
Sabre and falchion in an instant meet,
Their foaming chargers mingle hostile feet:
The Moor at Charles a 'vengeful stroke essay'd,
The monarch parried, and his brittle blade
Shiver'd in splinters; yet, though hope seem'd past,
It broke the blow which else had been his last:
A soldier saw, and, with the speed of thought,
Toss'd him a sabre which the monarch caught;
Then rose indignant from the saddle bed
With desperate aim to cleave the Moslem's head;
The wary Moslem shifting from the blow,
Charles fell, his strength o'er shot, and roll'd below.
152
The blow avoiding, up the emp'ror sprung,
The ruffian's foot then seizing, with a bound
Unhors'd and sent him thundering to the ground.
The Corsair, staggering, rose; and foot to foot,
And inch by inch, the 'vantage they dispute;
Charles on his foe with force terrific darts,
Again his blade with treach'rous weakness parts;
And death seems certain; but, with timely spring,
He seiz'd the sword arm of the barbarous king;
Wrench'd from his hand the deadly biting blade;
“Yield! yield!” he cried—the Moor no answer made,
But, as the lion springs upon his prey,
On Charles he sprung, within his sword arm's play,
His mail-clad neck with vig'rous arms he clasp'd,
His legs entwin'd with his, wrestled, and grasp'd;
The monarch, strain'd, gave way; the agile Moor
Clutch'd his lost scymetar, and grinn'd, secure
In meditated vengeance; and he broke
Ground back two paces, to effect a stroke
Dire as his hate; and had his purpose kept,
But, backward striding, on an helmet stepp'd;
The treacherous step derides his madd'ning mood,
And sends him headlong amid dust and blood.
153
Approach'd: and each its panting sovereign view'd;
The rallying Moors their fallen monarch shield,
And, by his danger fir'd, disdain to yield;
The Christians, by their sovereign's safety sway'd,
A loyal rampart for the warrior made.
Remounted, now the monarchs pant to try
Again their prowess, when a clamorous cry
Bursts on their ears and sounds like “Victory.”
“To whom?” cried Charles, and dash'd along the plain;
The Moor too darted; each the spot to gain
Where the main battle fill'd the field with dead,
By brave Guasto and dread Sinan led:
The Moors were breaking ground, the Christians press'd;
The Corsair, madness raging in his breast,
Plung'd in the centre of his panic host,
And fell'd-a chief receding from his post;
The sacred standard seiz'd and rais'd to view,
Then cried, “For Alla and his prophet!” threw
The standard 'mid the Christians, crying, “there
“Save it; or all of Paradise despair!”
Like wolves they rush'd by gnawing famine stung;
Like wolves receiv'd a lion herd among;
Charles and the Moor again their valour tried,
Again contending troops the fray divide:
154
Enough that Charles drove back the turban'd crew;
To Tunis back, in Barbarossa's spight,
By all but miracles who fir'd the fight;
To Tunis back; to Tunis back in vain;
They find no succour, and no entrance gain;
The Christian slaves their keepers had suborn'd,
These sold the wretch whose tyranny they scorn'd;
Their fetters freed, the fort, the walls, they fill,
The ordnance there, abandon'd to their will,
Against the tyrant in his flight they turn'd,
Who first from this his worst disaster learn'd.
Rav'd he'd not doom'd 'em to a secret death,
And curst the warriors who redeem'd their breath.
Between two fires the desperate ruffian stood,
Cursing his fate, and howling like the flood
That raves in tempests; then like lightning fled,
And hid in Bona his dishonor'd head.
So furious whirlwinds, raging in their force,
Tear nature's form and wrest her genial course;
Their power expended, suddenly they're gone,
Their being known but from the ill they've done.
But Sinan fell—nor charge my words with pride—
Slain by my hand the wretch, despairing, died;
155
Abjur'd Jehovah and the Saviour curs'd!
He fell as the first fiends their conflicts clos'd,
His power blaspheming whom their hate oppos'd.
The town surrender'd, death's dread work is done,
And Muley Hascen mounts a blood-stain'd throne;
Himself a liegeman of the cross he swears,
And as a fief of Spain the crown he wears;
The Christians, free, high heaven for Charles implore,
And Hascen swears the reign of slavery o'er;
Now to Spain's shores Imperial Charles withdraws,
Oppress'd with laurels and the world's applause.
The historical fact of, and some of the occurrences at, the siege of Tunis, are taken from Robertson's Charles Vth. It took place in 1535. In a former note I accused myself of an anachronism, from an unaccountable momentary impression that this siege occurred in 1529, and the sheet which contains it was worked off before I recollected my error. As the Spaniards landed in Peru in 1530, and Ernest is supposed to be at Tunis in 1535, there is full licence for the probability of his being acquainted with the history of the Peruvian War.
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