Agnes the Indian Captive. A Poem, in Four Cantos. With Other Poems. By the Rev. John Mitford |
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| I. | CANTO I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
 | Agnes |  |
CANTO I.
I.
—It is the noon of night;—A flood of splendor streams o'er Delhi's wall;
And in that fair moonlight
How dark and deep the giant shadows fall!
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Are shining in the silver ray;
And all is bright, below, above,
As in the blaze of day.
With diamond hue, the maiden beam
Glitters on Jemna's pleasant stream;
And lights the poplar leaves that shade
The cool and arched colonnade.
All still and silent is the air,
Or only gentle sounds are there;
The rush that bends its tufted head,
To kiss the river's placid bed;
The water gurgling as it creeps,
Where on its leaf the lily sleeps;
The pine's low song-like whispers heard,
Like twittering from the forest bird;
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Half wakes the echoes slumbering round.
II.
But where yon bended mountains seem,With green slope stealing to the vale;
Is it the moon, whose silvery beam
Illumes their summits pale?
Or are they meteor-fires that glow,
With wavering glimmer to and fro,
Across the marish fen?
And is it but the bittern's boom,
Or Chacal's bark, who through the gloom
Is yelling from his den?
It is a brighter fire I guess,
That lights yon lonely wilderness.
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That moans along the desart bound;
'Tis not the fire-fly's twinkling gleam,
Or lustre of the wan moonbeam:
It is the glare of torches bright,
That sparkle through the shadowy night;
It is the tread of armed men
Who shake so deep the forest fen.
III.
Encamped within that rocky vale,The weary warriors lay;
And sooth it were a glorious tale
To tell, how over hill and dale
They wound their lonely way.
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Through their dark locks the tempest sung,
While all around, below, beside,
Was one huge desart wild and wide.
And many an icey precipice,
That yawned above the dark abyss;
And like the angel form of death,
Rolled the red Sameel's panting breath;
Yet never looked they back to find
Those pleasant hills they left behind;
Sought not the breeze, that, fresh and cool,
Played through the leaves of Canighùl;
Nor thought upon that distant land
Where rose the spires of Samarcand.
They trod o'er Kantell's cliffs of snow;
By Cashmere's lakes that spread below;
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And Nilah's waters dark and deep.
Through Moultan's caney jungles sped,
And over Cagga's flinty bed;
And Batnir's frowning fortress passed,
And Hissar's forests gained at last;
Nor staid till in the morning beam
They saw high Delhi's turrets gleam;
And viewed its mosques of marble throw
Aloft in air their domes of snow.
IV.
A lion-heart had he who ledO'er rock and hill his warrior band;
Before his path of slaughter fled
The bravest of the land.
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The infant at the mother's breast;
Closer the fearful virgin crept,
And o'er the tale of horror wept;
The old man when he heard the sound
Would smite his staff upon the ground;
Weak was the arm of youth to rear
Against his bands the slaughtering spear;
And dim was manhood's eagle eye,
When Timur's ensigns floated nigh.
V.
—Hushed was the camp;—the watchfire's lightLong since had died away;
But yet around its embers bright,
The way-worn warriors through the night
In heavy slumber lay.
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Their armour glitter'd on the ground;
Breastplate, and helm, and arrow-sheaf,
As side by side slept slave and chief.
The night breeze shook the plumes that lay
Like snow wreaths on the grassy clay.
The banner-flags together flung,
Beneath its moving current swung.
In even row, and closely bound,
Their fodder'd food the chargers ground;
And loud and deep the iron chains
Clashed, as they shook their dusty manes.
Hoarsely the angry watch dogs bayed,
As prowled the wild wolf through the shade;
Or when along the tainted air
They snuffed the leopard's bloody lair;
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All night was heard the bleating shrill
Of the penn'd flocks, that sought in vain
The verdure of their native plain;
And in the sweet and scented gale
Remember'd well their pleasant vale.
VI.
Now frequent swelled the heavy soundOf horse-hoofs, trampling through the glade;
And iron steps that shook the ground,
And forms that crossed the thicket's shade;
And voices borne along the wind
Of them, who weak, and far behind,
Had tracked their footprints through the dew,
Their path by blazing forests knew,
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And followed by the flaming prey,
And joyed to spy the vulture's wing,
High in the mid-air hovering;
Till stretched along the moonlight plain,
They saw their long-sought camp again.
Last of the gathering crowd were seen
Two female forms of nobler mien;
Yet strange their dress, and sad their air;
They seemed the Christian garb to wear,
Save that the Moorish turbant bound
With silken fold their forehead round;
And in the night-breeze floated far
The flowery scarf and rich cymar;
And spread in princely garb to see
The golden kirtle to the knee;
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Wet with the damp and nightly dew,
And ghastly shone their cheek, and pale,
Half-seen beneath the shadowy veil.
VII.
Beside their steeds a warrior strode;An iron spear his footsteps stayed;
And like an armed guard he trode,
As down those craggy steps they rode,
That gained the woodland shade.
Adown his side his sabre swung,
His moonlight shield beside him hung,
And in that fair unclouded light,
Its cross displayed like silver bright.
And pacing o'er the yellow sand
Still kept he safe the bridle-hand;
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Scarce seen beneath the leafy ground;
Or lopt the o'er-hanging boughs that fell,
And half o'ergrew the narrow dell;
While many a gentle word between,
Of hope and comfort he would say;
To cheer amid that lonely scene
The sad companions of his way.
He shewed where 'gainst the cypress shade,
The elk his antler'd head had frayed;
He pointed where the white moonbeam
Slept floating on the lonely stream,
And loved its snowy brow to lave
Within the water's wrinkled wave;
Or glitter through the greenshaw bowers,
Like stars that light the fairy's towers;
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That through the dusky opening stirred;
Or list the ivy's flapping sound,
That clasped the giant cedar round;
And hoped some passing thought to find,
That just might sooth the troubled mind;
And like a talisman would scare
The foul enchantment of despair.
VIII.
In youth's first prime was Ferdinand;Yet his the strength that manhood gave;
The fairest maiden of the land,
I deem, would plight her rosy hand
To one so beautiful and brave.
And well the plumed casque became
His snowy brow, and eye of flame;
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The vermeil blossoms of the spring:
He who would win a lady's love
Need have a face so fair;
So beautiful a brow; above
Such sable length of hair.
For are they not by beauty led,
And manliness of form to wed?
They loved the bard; his harp they loved,
That rang so bright in hall and bower;
Yet never bard those ladies moved,
To be his paramour.
IX.
But to the brave and youthful knight,And to the lord of wealthy lands,
They yielded up their maiden right,
And plighted faith and hands:
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More magic influence o'er the fair,
Than when, high placed at regal board,
His strain the raptured minstrel poured?
Yet sooth those dames I would not blame,
Lest they the bard uncourteous name,
And deem him most ungently born,
Who thus would move a lady's scorn;
But we will to our read return,
Lest riding down the forest-side,
Amid the desert-moss and fern,
Some ill fair Agnes should betide,
Or her, who by her side is seen
With faded form, and ghastly mien;
And woe-worn eye, whose troubled ray
Too plainly tells no brighter day:
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Had nursed her playful infancy,
And watched her grow beneath her sight,
From infant shape to woman's height,
And seen each opening feature spread
Like rose-buds on their native bed;
The laughing graces of the child
Sink in expression meek and mild,
As the bright radiance of the day
Softens in evening shades away;
E'en she who with a mother's pride
Had reared her by her guardian side,
Till now in youth's maturer hour
She saw her bloom a beauteous flower,
In that shrunk form could hardly tell
Her gay, her playful Isabel.
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X.
—'Tis morn!—for see the orange streaksAre stretching down the sky;
And as its lustre brighter breaks,
The twilight shadows fly.
O'er each high crag and mountain head
The orient beams their purple spread,
And o'er the woodlands dark and dun
Like a bright angel walks the sun.
From bank and bush, from hill and stream,
Slowly the curling vapours steam,
And spread their skirts of silver dew,
Decked with the rainbow's emerald hue;
Each lonely branch and silent spray
Now pours aloud its jocund lay,
As if some wizard's power had hung
On each green leaf a tuneful tongue.
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XI.
“Away! away! ere the morning rayHas scatter'd the silver dew;
And o'er hill and mead the dark hounds lead,
Of eye and nostril true.
And in the scented cedar-grove
The royal tent prepare;
For through the forest-glades we'll rove,
From inland-glen, and river-cove,
To shake the wild beast's lair.
Few are the bands, and weak of power,
That guard each trench and hostile tower,
And weaker still (dark Timur cried),
I know yon Soldan's coward pride:
One day—and Schiraz' purple wine
Within his golden cup shall shine;
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His cares on many a maiden's breast;
A redder vintage soon shall glow,
His lip a deeper draught shall know,
A softer couch shall soon be spread,
To ease the monarch's throbbing head;
And armed warriors, dark and deep,
Shall fan him to his fevered sleep.”
XII.
'Tis sweet in pleasant summer tideWith hawk, and horn, and hound to ride,
Through glen and greenwood gay;
And sweet the bloom of forest-bowers,
When every field is full of flowers
'Twixt Midsummer and May.
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And shouts of huntsmen rend the sky,
And wild deer from the covert spring:
And falcons high in mid-air soar,
And Echo louder gives the roar
Of bugle-blast and clarioning.
Then sweet it is through glen and grove
With lady by our side to rove;
But nobler was that chase, I ween,
And prouder was the prey;
From Delhi's gazing turrets seen,
When broke, like shafts of lightning keen
Flashing each struggling cloud between,
The golden dawn of day.
Scarce could they tell (so swift and strong
The trampling squadrons rode along),
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Loud rose the watchman's warning call;
Till harmless by the moated wall
The thundering horsemen passed away.
XIII.
And gay the sight when o'er the plainRode forth that beauteous cavalcade;
The proud steed spurned the rider's rein,
And tossed on high his snowy mane,
And bounded down the glade
With head high lifted to the gale;
The tall dogs coursed along the vale;
The wild hawk flicker'd with his wing,
And stooped as if to fly;
And lo! the ounce in act to spring;
E'en now the leash has slipt its ring,
And hark the red deer's cry!
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Why backward flies each cowering hound?
With fluttering wing down yonder hill,
Why screams the peacock harsh and shrill?
Why flow in many a bursting tide
The sweat drops down the courser's side?
Shout!—for the tiger's roused!—he's fled
Adown yon crashing thicket's bed;
Speed swift the arrow from the bow!
He reels, he seeks the jungle's shade;
Well sped!—that second shaft has laid
The grinning savage low.
XIV.
So they with sabre and with spear,And dogs of chase and fowls of flight,
O'er heath and hill the spotted deer
Pursued through morning's dewy light.
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And many a noble antler fell.
O'er dark morass and deep ravine
They hawked the gilded florekine,
Pursued the wild swan o'er the lake,
And pounced the musk deer in the brake;
In their meshed nets the crane was toiled;
The peacock's flowery plume was soiled;
And from his height the crested heron
Fell weltering in the mountain fern;
And many a bird of painted wing,
In those green pastures summering,
And many a beast of hoof and horn,
Lay dead beneath that glorious morn.
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XV.
But yet that chase with all its sound,The hawk's wild scream and yell of hound,
The charger's neigh along the hill,
That challenged to the clarion shrill;
And chorus wild of beast and bird
Deep in the forest-echos heard,
Small charm, I ween, or power had they
From its own griefs the mind to sway,
Of her who in the monarch's train
Guided her courser's silken rein;
E'en then far other thoughts would rise
In mournful sight to Agnes' eyes;
From friends, from country far away,
In strangers' hands a helpless prey,—
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This earth to gild with hues of heaven;
She saw her sister day by day
Melt like the maiden snow away,
Nor charm had she, nor power to save,
The helpless victim from the grave.
And he who with a brother's care
Watched still beside the drooping fair,
And still her wasted eye would raise
With brighter hopes of fairer days:
Now sad, and silent, Ferdinand
Would clasp the mournful maiden's hand,
Her fate in speechless sorrow feel,
And weep the woes he could not heal.
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XVI.
Hot smote the sun o'er field and flower;The dogs were panting in the pool;
The hunters sought their leafy bower,
To slumber in its covert cool;
And underneath the fair wood-lee,
Lay by green turf and sheltering tree.
Nor quarry now, nor arrow-head,
From the bow's mooned horns has sped;
Nor jarring chord has twang'd behind;
Nor boar-spear lighten'd in the wind.
For not a feathery cloud is seen,
No shadow gliding o'er the green,
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Each hunted beast has gained the shade,
Or in the meadow-foison laid,
Is listening for the gale.
No winglet now of lightsome bird
Within the rustling leaves is heard;
Nor squirrel leaping on his tree,
Nor murmur of the yellow bee;
And yet one loud and bellowing sound
Is heard to shake the forest round;
Of the swinckt buffalo, who feeds
Amid the river's crackling reeds;
Or crops his herbage deep and dank
Beside the cavern's oozy tank;
Or flings his giant bulk alone
Behind the mountain's shadowy cone.
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XVII.
So some beneath the cedar shade,Or stretched within the chesnut bower;
Or by the palm's long shadows laid,
Were passing blithe the noontide hour.
And some to please their lord would tell
Songs of the land he loved so well;
Or chose at times a sadder lay,
And sang of those who, far away,
Saw their huge host a countless mass
Slow through the iron portals pass:
And watched their flaming banners gleam,
Till sank far off the westering beam:
And linger'd o'er the hills, to hear
The calling of the distant rear;
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Pealed along Oxus lonely shore.
XVIII.
And some would sing, how past compareAre they who dwell in Georgia's bowers;
But sooth the fairest of the fair
Are those sweet maids of Teflis towers.
And blest with whom they deign to stray
At close of evening's dewy ray;
And blest the youth, who woos the maid
Within the jasmine's latticed shade;
Or listens to the lute, whose sound
Swells o'er the scented orange ground;
And sees their silken lashes gleam,
Mild as the moon's reflected beam;
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Along the bosom's heaving snow.
XIX.
It ceased!—the gentle roundelayAlong the arched arbour died;
For see, across yon forest way
Their dark steeds splash'd with blood and clay,
What shouting horsemen ride!
Upsprung the hunters from the ground,
For nearer rolled the thundering sound,
And brighter flashed their armour's gleam;
And thick the courser's panting breath
In louder sobbings came.
“Who, and for what (dark Timur cried),
Who swift your reeling chargers ride,
Come ye for life or death?”—
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“So swift our reeling steeds we ride;
No time for stop nor stay.
Arm, arm in haste; he dies who waits;—
—Delhi hath open thrown her gates,
And Mahmood leads the way.
Oh! haste!—e'en now the war is met,
Now flows the tide of blood and sweat;
And struck is many a noble blow,
And fallen is many a gallant foe;
And many a warrior lies in clay,
To rue this battle's mortal fray.
XX.
“Ere left our steeds the deathly plain,Fast flew the javelin's iron rain;
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While streamed behind its fiery hair,
And on its meteor journey driven,
Arched with wild flight the cope of heaven;
Shrill rang the bells; and dull and deep
The war-drum broke the soldier's sleep.
So thick they came from near and far,
Rolling the heavy tide of war;
Scarce staid our men the weapon's shock,
But, steady as the ocean rock,
Foremost the Christian warrior flew,
And back the bolt of battle threw;
And where the reeling foemen hung
The tide of slaughter there he flung;
And left their mouldering bones to sleep
In the cleft crag and mountain steep.”
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XXI.
It was a glorious sight, I ween,From yonder mountain summit seen
Beneath the blaze of day;
In haste though bound, on stretch of speed,
Each horseman stayed his pawing steed,
A moment checked the bridle-rein;
For spreading o'er the distant plain
They saw the dark array.
With bow and buckler on they came,
And shield of proof, and sword of flame;
And leading forth that noble van,
Rode many a gallant banner-man;
And wings of horse on either hand
Were prancing o'er the yellow sand;
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Their spears were keen, their armour strong;
Behind, like bastions on the shore,
Huge beasts the moving battle bore;
And as the glitt'ring turrets past,
Howled loud and deep the arrow-blast;
As when the thunder clouds are driven
To launch the lightning shafts of heaven.
XXII.
A bitter smile it was that played(Like sun-gleams through the forest shade)
Along the chieftain's brow;
Curled his dark cheek, and lit his eye;
For rushing to the conflict nigh
He saw his trusty bands; and now
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The horse are thundering for their prey;
Each charger's speed he learnt full well,
Each warrior's skill and strength could tell;
Their armour's massive temper knew,
The harden'd helm and sabre true;
Yet 'mid that iron troop, I ween,
Was not a statelier charger seen;
Not one a costlier armour bare,
A nobler warrior was not there;
Than he who first and foremost rode,
And bore the hallowed cross of God;
And hoped the valour of his sword
The captive maids might free;
And fought amid that Tartar horde,
For life, for love, and liberty.
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XXIII.
Now on the foe with lion glareRushed fierce the Tartar's iron band;
Before them floated in the air
The sheet of Samarcand.
But foremost far, with plumage green,
Was Ferdinand's bright helmet seen;
Wet with the flaky foam and blood,
From helm to heel his armour dripped;
And wading through that living flood,
On floundering hoof his charger slipped.
Splashed his red fetlock o'er the plain,
So thick were strewn the heaps of slain:
The horse and horseman, side by side,
Lay smeared with blood and clay;
And oh! thrice happy he who died,
Nor faint, nor wounded lay.
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The steed on bounding pastern prest;
Or through his dinted armour beat
The trampling of ten thousand feet.
Some wounded left the battle-plain,
And fled the forest skirts to gain;
Some reeling from the saddle swung,
Or in the cumb'ring stirrup hung;
Or stretched beneath the sword of proof,
Were laid as low as horse's hoof.
XXIV.
'Tis past—the bloodying sword hath doneIts work of death to-day;
And like the tempest overblown,
The war hath rolled away.
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Stretch'd cold and dead beneath their shield,
Lie side by side, (a countless train)
Alike the slayer and the slain;
And many a riven helm, I guess,
And many a steed lies masterless;
And scatter'd plume, and gory mail,
Unfold of war the dreadful tale.
—Then woe to Delhi's widowed state,
How lies she pale and desolate!
Along her solitary walls
Aloud the frantic matron calls;
And for her harness'd warrior weeps,
Who fast in iron armour sleeps;
And while that one heart-piercing cry
Is heard along the echoing sky,
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Sings mournfully the blast of death;
And every midnight mountain rings
As the loud gong its thunder flings.
XXV.
—The victor's camp.—No shrieks were there,No scenes of darkness and despair;
No widow's tears who wept alone,
No mother's scream, no father's groan;—
But the loud laugh, the hideous yell,
The shout that woke the midnight dell;
The barbarous dance, the Scythian song,
The wine-fed bowl the night prolong.
Huge umber'd shades, whose armour's rays
Flashed round the watchfire's swarthy blaze,
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Fought o'er the dark and deathly plain.
An holier glee was his; whose sword
Led on that day the Tartar horde;
And hope, and joy, and chasten'd fear;
The smile subdued; the sunny tear;—
For sooth he deemed the well-fought fray
His captive ransom then might pay;
And hoped ere gleamed the morn, to lead
Far from the camp his battle steed;
And guard o'er dale, and down, and dell,
His Agnes, and her Isabel.
| Agnes | |