Agnes the Indian Captive. A Poem, in Four Cantos. With Other Poems. By the Rev. John Mitford |
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| I. |
| II. | CANTO II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
 | Agnes |  |
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CANTO II.
I.
Hid like the ringdove's shelter'd nest,Far in the rocks and flowery dell,
Was seen (the calm abode of rest)
An ancient hermit's cell.
The birds that sang their carols sweet,
The runnels gurgling at its feet;
The green leaf quivering in the gale,
The lowing from the meadowy vale;
The falcon's scream heard loud and late,
The plover whistling to his mate;
The fawn's faint bleat when overhead,
The vulture's cloudy wing was spread;
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The chacals yelling through the night;
The alligator's distant roar,
Like thunder from the river shore;
Were the sole sounds from age to age,
That reached that lonely hermitage.
II.
There oft the hunted hart would fly,Nor fear the murderous arrow nigh;
Beside its threshold couched the hare,
And laid its little offspring there.
Safe in the moss the green snake lay,
And coiled beneath the burning ray;
How could they be of him afraid,
Who tenanted the lonely shade,
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His youth had borne in battle-field;
Yet long, long since the batter'd mail
Hung rent and rusting on the nail;
Along the helmet's alter'd hue
The spider wove his silken clue;
And the huge sword but served to stay
His weak steps through the forest way.
III.
Within his cell a woman knelt,Across her breast her pale hands clasp'd;
Yet what the wrongs and woes she felt,
And why for breath and life she gasped;
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So long, so deathly could sustain;
Knew not the man of holy life;
Enough for him that grief, and pain,
And sickness sent by cruel fate;
And want and woe demanded aid;
And that so young, so fair a maid
Should be so young and desolate.
Oh, joy! his cares are not in vain,
She stirs, she breathes, she lives again.
Gone now is doubt and dark despair,
Her pale lips move as if in prayer:
Her meek eye opes,—aside is drawn
For fresher air her veil of lawn;
Oh, joy! that death and danger past,
Here safe poor Agnes rests at last.
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IV.
“And camest thou from that Tartar band?”The ancient hermit said;
“And who stretched forth the friendly hand,
Through that long wilderness of land,
To guide thee to the shade?
Poor innocent! and wert thou left
Alone; of human help bereft,
A turtle with the vultures near?
Yet God who cares alike for all,
Nor sees unmarked a sparrow fall,
'Twas he, who from his throne above
Looked down to save the bleeding dove,
And laid it peaceful here.
Oh! yet again it shall resume,
Though streaked with blood its snowy plume,
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And nursed in solitude and rest,
Once more shall rear its rocky nest,
And mid its fellows sing.
V.
“I, too, beheld their squadrons pourDown yon tall mountain's side;
For like the torrent's distant roar
Rolled on their battle's pride.
I saw o'er helm, and shield, and spear,
The van its foremost banner rear,
In the bright sun their horse-hoofs glancing,
With dazzling gleam their javelins dancing,
And heard the arrow-sheafs behind,
Like rushes rattling in the wind.
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The lessening war cry seemed to float.
Then as the thunder's far off sound,
It died along the echoing ground.
I mark'd, too, where their camp had been,
One boundless ruin shewed the place;
And drear and desolate the scene,
They left no living trace.
Nor herb was there, nor vernal dew;
Alone the black'ning ashes flew,
The matted fodder left behind
Was whirling in the passing wind.
Its leafy mantle torn away,
Half burnt the ravag'd forest lay,
And here and there beneath the shade
Some charger cold and dead was laid;
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Was howling to the desart blast.
VI.
“And wert thou then a stricken deer,Who from the hunters fled for life,
And scarcely gained this covert here,
To pant free from their murderous strife?
Yet this lone cell and silent glade
Secure shall spread their friendly shade,
And each dark rock and shadowy tree
Shall lift their sheltering arms for thee.”
—The hermit's gentle accents fell
Soft as the balmy breath of May,
On her who in his hallowed cell
In fear and terror lay.
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In sooth 'twas sorrow seated there;
But that her dark eye wand'ring round
Some deeper grief betrayed;
Told of some worse and deathly wound
That on her reason preyed.
Her hand was clasped; and wan her cheek;
Her trembling tongue refus'd to speak;
'Twas but the bosom's speechless sob;
'Twas but the heart's convulsive throb;
One gushing tear, one rising sigh,
That told the maiden's mute reply.
VII.
The hermit took her trembling hand,And from the cell her footsteps led;
For now the gales of evening fann'd
The wild flowers in their mossy bed.
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Would sooth to peace the maiden's mind;
Her parch'd and fever'd eyelids steep
Amid the balmy dews of sleep;
And calm and cool again would fling
O'er her pale cheek the rose of spring.
And sooth they did—the beauteous scene
Now darker spread its robe of green
Beneath the shadowy ray;
And yet a soft and silvery bloom
Just linger'd through the gathering gloom,
As died the evening lights away.
VIII.
And fair the moon arose and mild,Along that landscape stretching wild,
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And rising from his couch of dew,
From every leaf the Zephyr blew
The verdure of the bowers.
Sweet breathed each floweret of the field,
That rear'd to Heaven its painted shield,
Or round the thrush's nest had hung,
And thrown its blossoms o'er the young;
Or drooped to see its image gleam
With watery light beneath the stream;
The violet on its moss-couch seen,
Ere yet the leaves of spring are green;
The hyacinth like the virgin's hair,
The pink with spicy tresses fair,
And the white lily's silver bloom,
And musk-rose with its rath perfume;
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Remembrances of human wrong,
And he upon whose fated head
The bitter cup of wrath is shed;
And who laments from earliest birth
The lot that laid his life on earth;
Amid these scenes would half forget
The scorn and wrong his heart had met,
And hope in those far shades to find
The long-lost sunshine of the mind.
IX.
“And seek'st thou then,” poor Agnes cried,“To hear my tale of woe?
Oh! if in sorrow early tried,
Then bid the tear that time has dried
Afresh begin to flow.
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In other griefs my own;
And in this wide world friendless tost
Have learnt to weep alone.
Nor fear, oh! ancient friend, to break
That cell again which memory kept;
Thou canst not from their slumbers wake
The griefs that never slept.
Oh! never, never can it be,
That help or hope should come to me.
Thou canst not sooth the pangs of pain,
The mind's lost treasure bring again;
To life recal the fleeting breath,
That fled from greater ills to death;
Or wish that injur'd form to save,
Whose only shelter is the grave.
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X.
“But how shall I thy story tell,My poor, lamented Isabel!
For thou long since hast slept.”—
—And Agnes hid her face and wept,
And sobbed with loud and painful breath,
For pale and ghastly in her death
She saw her injur'd sister lie,
She heard her last convulsive cry;
And she that was a beauteous flower,
By ruffian hands was soiled and torn;
Yet, Agnes, do not weep the hour
Poor Isabel was born!
For she hath found a place of rest,
And lies in Mary's holy breast;
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Upon that bosom chaste and pure.
XI.
“Alas! a land to us gave birth,A distant land to you unknown;
But more, far more than all the earth
I prize that land we called our own.
And dear to me each hill and plain,
That decks with flowers my native Spain,
But more than hill, or down, or dale,
I love Antillon's lonely vale.
Unknown to you—but had you heard
The songs so sweet of forest bird;
The shepherd's pipe from mountain hoar,
The boatman's carol on the shore;
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From angel voices seem'd to flow;
The convent bell heard far and wide,
The watchfold's bleat at eventide.
Unknown to you—but had you seen,
Our wood-cots peeping through the green,
Our vine-fields in their autumn glow,
Our yellow cornsheafs spread below;
The blossoms sprouting from the tree,
The wild deer in the forest free,
The vallies green when sun and showers
Had filled their bosoms full of flowers,
The goat-herd's shed high hung in air,
That lit its star on mountain bare,
The hamlet lone, the ferny dell;—
You would have lov'd our land most well,
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His fate was happy there to tread,
And blest, who, all his wand'rings past,
In that fair land might sleep at last.
XII.
“It was a father's cruel curseThat on my suffering sister fell;
He drove her from our home; and worse
Followed—and worse on Isabel.
Her maiden faith she would not plight
To him who asked a tyrant's right,
But firm her spotless vow to hold,
Nor quit the heart's true love for gold.
And meek she bowed her head to hear
The malison bestowed;
Nor breathed a sigh, nor shed a tear,
But bent beneath her load.
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Resigned and meek she met her lot;
But when once more she rear'd her head,
Oh! had I been among the dead;
Or ever that I lived to find
The ruins of that noble mind.
The wildness flashing from her eye,
The scorn that marked her proud reply,
The forehead flushed with heat and pain,
The fever of the burning brain;
The bitter laugh that served to show
How deep was dregged the cup of woe.
XIII.
“With her I fled.—How could I partFrom one who twenty summers long
Had been the life-blood of my heart,
My hope, my joy, my song!
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In that extremest wretchedness!
She was a flower of light, and I
Lived in the brightness of her name;
Alas! so soon that misery
Should cloud her spotless fame.
For, oh! that father's curse, it prest
Like some gaunt fiend upon her breast,
A weight of woe by night, by day,
And drained the blood of life away.
But I was blest that I could share
The bitterness of her despair;
Her throbbing temples lull to rest,
Lean her pale cheek upon my breast;
Wipe her damp brow; the healing dews
From each wild herb and flower infuse,
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And close in peace her dying eye.
XIV.
“An endless tale it were to tellHow long we roamed o'er land and sea;
Since first we bade a sad farewell,
And looked back on our own countriè:
And saw our native mountains fade
More dim through evening's dewy shade;
The thymy cleft, the summer mead,
Saw from the gazing eye recede,
And one by one in shadows deep
The slope and almond-silver'd steep,
And glimmering through the distant scene
The haven-town and islet green;
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Like meteors hung aloft in air,
Till lost amid the shadowy haze,
Sunk the huge Pharos' kindling blaze.
XV.
“And I would pass the cruel fateThat wrecked us on the Turkish strand;
Or how we bowed beneath the weight
Of bondage in that barbarous land.
Yet still beneath my Moorish vest
I clasped the crosslet to my breast;
And ever when I went to dip
The chalice in the stream,
Unseen I prest it to my lip;
And soft and mild it seemed to gleam
Beneath the evening's dewy beam.
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Within the wild wood's scented bowers,
Unheard my holy songs I made
To him who sought Death's gloomy shade,
And died upon the cross to save
Man from an everlasting grave;
And white and pure the lily flower
That bare him in her lowly bower:
Blessed Mary! meek and mild,
Mother of the blessed child;
How oft I loved in holy glee
To sing my vesper hymns to thee,
Who bare the child that died for me!
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XVI.
“So rolled two lingering months away;But then we served another lord;
And fell a weak and helpless prey
Beneath the Tartar's sword,
Yet light our task; 'till evening hour,
To tend the citron's scented bower;
The pale pink's musky tresses bind,
To shield the rosier from the wind;
And twine the jasmine's arch'd arcade,
And nurse the green pomegranate shade;
Ere many a moon had waned, it chanced
On us the royal eye had glanced:
And we found grace before his sight,
Who mourned our sad and captive plight;
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Arrayed us in the robes of pride;
And bade the Christian maids assume
The silken veil, and emerald plume;
And bade the Christian warrior rear
'Mid that fierce band his conquering spear.
XVII.
“Fool that I was—that tearless eyeHad never wept another's woe;
That heart had never learned to sigh,
When youth and beauty met the blow.
Within our tent at midnight deep
I watched my sister's broken sleep;
And fanned her hot and panting breast,
And lulled her wakeful eye to rest:
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The clank of iron footsteps swelled;
And round our couch an armed crowd
Their torches blazing light upheld.
The wind their rustling plumage shook,
And fierce and savage was their look;
And in that red and sanguine glare
Shone their dark brows and streaming hair;
And leaning on their spears, they gazed
On her, who breathless and amazed,
Sprang frantic from her couch, and turned
Her wild eye to that ghastly sight;
On helms that in their radiance burned,
And spears and torches flaming bright;
And listen'd to the hollow sound
Of armour clatt'ring on the ground.
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XVIII.
“Alike they stood in mute amaze;Each fixed on each their fearful gaze,
The warriors and the maid;
No sound, no stir the silence brake,
Not one his dreadful errand spake;
While speechless on the ground I gasped,
Yet still their iron gauntlets clasped
And kneeled, and wept, and prayed;
And round their steely hauberks clung,
Or o'er my gasping sister hung;
For in their ghastly smiles too well
Their dreadful purpose I could tell;
‘And come with us!’ (their features bent
On Isabel) the warriors cried,
‘E'en now within the royal tent
The impatient monarch waits his bride:
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Are ranged for thee a maiden band;
And they shall strew the path with flowers,
That lights thee to the nuptial bowers;
Then come with us, for blest is she
Who shares that noble bridaltee.’
XIX.
“As starts the fawn when on her earThe murderous death-cry rises near,
A moment wildly stares around,
Then springs with one convulsive bound;
As gazes he, and gasps for breath,
Who hears the dreadful knell of death;
And knows when sets the westering ray,
For him shall rise no second day;
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Yet dark and drear is all below.—
A moment so stood Isabel,
When that dread message smote her ear;
Her swimming eye, and bosom's swell,
And tottering frame, proclaimed too well
Despair had master'd fear.
Yet ere another moment flew,
Gone was that pale and ashen hue;
And firm and strong, with hand upraised,
Upon those frowning forms she gazed.
‘Yes, I will come,’ the maiden cried,
‘And be your monarch's blushing bride;
The trumpet's blast, the clash of spears,
Oh! they shall hush a virgin's fears;
And flaming through the live-long night
Your torches blaze our tent shall light;
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To deck our soft and stately bed;
The war-horn's braying loud and deep
Shall rock us to our pleasant sleep;
And bloody swords on either side
Shall guard the bridegroom and the bride.’
XX.
“She seized the spear-staff in her hand,She placed the morion on her brow.;
And stood before that armed band,
That quaked with fear, as she did stand
And wave her plumes of snow.
They deemed it was no mortal maid
Who in those dreadful arms arrayed,
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So pale, so deathly was her cheek,
Not one his lips could move to speak;
Not one could turn his eyes away,
Nor bend his armed knee to pray,
Nor on the prophet call;
But, oh! their stubborn hearts did fail,
And throb against the iron mail
In agony and fear:
For lo! death's angel in their view;
So large his eye, so pale his hue,
So dark his length of hair.
XXI.
“Along the dust they frantic fell;They deemed the angel Azräel
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Soldier and chief, I saw them fall,
I heard the shriek, the coward call
That did for mercy pray.
She threw her eye across the crowd,
She cried in thundering voice aloud,
For him, the mighty king;
She bade them cast him at her feet,
And on the ground in triumph meet
The chained monarch fling.
They found him stretched within his tent,
With folded arm, and body bent;
With trembling lip that feared to pray,
With look that told the heart's dismay;
With wild eye raised aloft to Heaven,
As he despaired to be forgiven.
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XXII.
“And he upon whose brow the raysOf thirty crowns were seen to blaze,
Whose standard staff in victor pride,
With blood twice twenty wars had dyed;
Who in the battle single left,
Of all his flying bands bereft,
Firm as a rock, and rooted there,
Waved high his bloody sword in air;
Till heap on heap, a living mound,
His foemen gasped upon the ground;
Who by the cold and wintery moon
Swam armed across the dark Sihoòn;
And led his Tartar tribes away
Far on those icey shores to prey;
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E'en he beneath a maiden's look,
That lion-lord so fierce and wild,
Lay trembling like a weaned child.
| Agnes | |