The Isle of Devils A Historical Tale, Funnded on an Anecdote in the Annals of Portugal. (From an unpublished Manuscript.) By M. G. Lewis |
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 | The Isle of Devils |  |
III.
The Isle is past, and still in tranquil pride,Bears the rich bark its treasures o'er the tide.
And now the sun e're yet his lamp he shrouds,
Stains the pure western sky with crimson clouds.
Now from the sea's last verge he sheds his rays,
And sinks triumphant in a golden blaze.
Still o'er the Heaven's reflected lustre's flow,
Which make the world of waters gleam and glow;
Wide, and more wide, each billow shines more bright,
And all the empurpled ocean floats in light.
Soon as fair Irza marked the evening's close,
Grave from her seat the young enthusiast rose;
Told o'er her heads and when the string was said,
Ave Maria, sang the enraptured maid.
Her looks so humble, so devout her air,
Each worldly wish appeared so lost in prayer;
All felt no thought could to her mind be near,
That men her form could see, her voice could hear.
Hushed all the ship! Each sailor checked his glee,
Clasped his hard hands, and bent his trembling knee;
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(Best help in trouble and sweet balm in pain)—
Gazed on the maid with mingled love and fear,
Damp on his cheek perceived the unwonted tear,
Then raised to heaven his eyes in earnest prayer,
And half believed himself already there;
Low too Rosalvo bent, nor knew if now,
For Mary's love, or Irza's rose his vow.
Scarce e'en the Monk forbore to kneel; his child
Fondly he view'd, and sweetly, gravely smiled,
And blest that God, as swelled each melting note,
Who gave such heavenly powers to human throat.
Melodious strains! Oh, speed your flight above,
On rapture's wings; and reach the ear of love;
Oh spread thy starry robe celestial queen,
(For much thine aid she needs) from ill to screen
Thy Virgin votress! Silence holds the deep,
And e'en the helmsman's eyes are scaled in sleep;
Yet mark those gathering clouds! the moon is fled!
Mark too, that death-like stillness, deep and dread!
And, hark! from yon black cloud an awful voice,
Pours the wild chaunt and bids the winds rejoice!
SONG OF THE TEMPEST FIEND.
I marked her! the Pennants how gaily they streamed,
How well was she armed for resistence;
The waves which sustained her, how brightly they beamed,
In the sun's setting rays; and the sailors all seemed
To forget the storm spirit's existence.
How well was she armed for resistence;
The waves which sustained her, how brightly they beamed,
In the sun's setting rays; and the sailors all seemed
To forget the storm spirit's existence.
But I marked her! and now from the clouds I descend,
My spells to the billows I mutter,
I clap my black pinions—my wand I extend
In darkness the sky and the ocean to blend,
And the winds mark the charms which I utter.
My spells to the billows I mutter,
I clap my black pinions—my wand I extend
In darkness the sky and the ocean to blend,
And the winds mark the charms which I utter.
Now more, and more rapid, in Eddies I whirl,
In my voice while the thunder-clap rumbles;
And now the white mountainous waves as they curl,
I joy o'er the deck of the vessel to hurl,
And laugh as she tosses and tumbles.
In my voice while the thunder-clap rumbles;
And now the white mountainous waves as they curl,
I joy o'er the deck of the vessel to hurl,
And laugh as she tosses and tumbles.
The crew is alarmed, but the tempest prevails,
No care from my fury delivers;
E're there's time for their furling the canvass—the sails
From the top to the bottom I rend with my nails,
And they stream in the blast-torn to shivers.
No care from my fury delivers;
E're there's time for their furling the canvass—the sails
From the top to the bottom I rend with my nails,
And they stream in the blast-torn to shivers.
The sky and the ocean fierce battle they wage,
The elements all are in action;
No sailor the tempest now hopes to assuage—
What clamours! what hurry! what oaths! and what rage!
Oh brave! what dispair and distraction.
The elements all are in action;
No sailor the tempest now hopes to assuage—
What clamours! what hurry! what oaths! and what rage!
Oh brave! what dispair and distraction.
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Their heart strings they ache, while my ravage they view,
Each knee 'gainst its fellow is knocking;
My eyes darting lightnings to dazzle the crew,
Burn and blaze—and those lighnings so forked and so blue,
Make the darkness of midnight more shocking.
Each knee 'gainst its fellow is knocking;
My eyes darting lightnings to dazzle the crew,
Burn and blaze—and those lighnings so forked and so blue,
Make the darkness of midnight more shocking.
The morn to that Vessel no succor shall bring!
Now high o'er the main-mast I hover:
Now I plunge from the sky to the deck with a spring,
And I shatter the mast with one flap of my wing—
It cracks and it breaks, and goes over.
Now high o'er the main-mast I hover:
Now I plunge from the sky to the deck with a spring,
And I shatter the mast with one flap of my wing—
It cracks and it breaks, and goes over.
Hew away gallant sailors! fatigue never dread;
You shall all rest at morn from your labours:
The ocean's white mantle shall o'er you be spread,
The white bones of Mariners pillow your head,
And the whale and the shark be your neighbours.
You shall all rest at morn from your labours:
The ocean's white mantle shall o'er you be spread,
The white bones of Mariners pillow your head,
And the whale and the shark be your neighbours.
For I swoop from aloft, and I roar and I burn,
While my spouts the salt billows are drinking;
I drive 'gainst the vessel, and beat down the stern,
And pour in a flood that shall never return,
And all shout, she is sinking! she's sinking!
While my spouts the salt billows are drinking;
I drive 'gainst the vessel, and beat down the stern,
And pour in a flood that shall never return,
And all shout, she is sinking! she's sinking!
The barge! well remembered—'tis stout, and 'tis large,
And will live in the billow's commotion;
But now all my spouts from the clouds I discharge,
And down goes the vessel—and down goes the barge—
Hurrah! I reign Lord of the ocean.
And will live in the billow's commotion;
But now all my spouts from the clouds I discharge,
And down goes the vessel—and down goes the barge—
Hurrah! I reign Lord of the ocean.
How their shrieks rose in chorus! now all is at rest—
The tempest no longer is brewing:
My dreams, by the harm newly done, will be blest,
So I'll rest for a while on a thunder-cloud's breast,
Then rouse to hurl round me new ruin.
The tempest no longer is brewing:
My dreams, by the harm newly done, will be blest,
So I'll rest for a while on a thunder-cloud's breast,
Then rouse to hurl round me new ruin.
| The Isle of Devils | |