Julia Alpinula With The Captive of Stamboul and Other Poems. By J. H. Wiffen |
 |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
|
 | Julia Alpinula |  |
92
THE CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL
“Love, oh Love
Thou art the essence of the Universe—
Soul of the visible world,—and canst create
Hope—joy—pain—passion—madness—or despair,
As suiteth thy high will. To some thou bring'st
A balm—a lenitive for every wound
The unkind world inflicts on them; to others
Thy breath but breathes destruction, and thy smile
Scathes like the lightning:—now a star of peace,
Heralding sweet evening to our stormy day,
And now a meteor with far-scattering fire,
Shedding red ruin on our flowers of life.
In all—
Whether arrayed in hues of deep repose,
Or armed with burning vengeance to consume
Our yielding hearts—alike omnipotent!”
A. A. W.
Thou art the essence of the Universe—
Soul of the visible world,—and canst create
Hope—joy—pain—passion—madness—or despair,
As suiteth thy high will. To some thou bring'st
A balm—a lenitive for every wound
The unkind world inflicts on them; to others
Thy breath but breathes destruction, and thy smile
Scathes like the lightning:—now a star of peace,
Heralding sweet evening to our stormy day,
And now a meteor with far-scattering fire,
Shedding red ruin on our flowers of life.
In all—
Whether arrayed in hues of deep repose,
Or armed with burning vengeance to consume
Our yielding hearts—alike omnipotent!”
A. A. W.
93
ADVERTISMENT.
Andronicus, the younger brother of John, son of Isaac, and grandson of Alexius Comnenus, is one of the most conspicuous characters of the age; and his genuine adventures might form the subject of a very singular romance.—Andronicus was arrested, and strictly confined in a tower of the palace of Constantinople. —In this prison he was left above twelve years; a most painful restraint, from which the thirst of action and pleasure perpetually urged him to escape. Alone and pensive, he perceived a hole in a corner of the chamber, and gradually widened the passage, till he had explored a dark and deep recess. Into this hole he conveyed himself, and the remains of his provisions, replaced the bricks in their former positions, and erasing with care the footsteps of his retreat. At the hour of the eustomary visit, his guards were amazed with the silence and solitude of the prison, and reported, with shame and fear, his incomprehensible flight. The gates of the palace and city were instantly shut; the strictest orders were dispatched into the provinces, for the recovery of their fugitive; and his wife, on the suspicion of a pious act, was basely imprisoned in the same tower. At the dead of night, she beheld a spectre: she recognised her husband—
Gibbon.—Hist. of the Dec. and F. of the Rom. Emp. Chap. XLVIII.
95
CANTO I.
“Say (and say gently), that since we two parted,
How little joy—much sorrow I have known:
Only not broken-hearted,
Because I muse upon bright moments gone,
And dream and think of him alone.”
MARCIAN COLONNA.
How little joy—much sorrow I have known:
Only not broken-hearted,
Because I muse upon bright moments gone,
And dream and think of him alone.”
MARCIAN COLONNA.
I.
Noon lowers: the winged thunder-cloudO'er Stamboul's towers peals long and loud,
Where one lone captive madly strains,
In vain, his still-resisting chains,
And, through his grated window, eyes
The conflict of the seas and skies,
Which on the dark horizon meet,
And listens to the waves that beat
Deep, deep, below the turret's base,
As though some Giant heaved his mace,
And shook, with an eternal sound,
The dungeon-vaults that tremble round.
96
II.
What form is that, and whose that lookIn silent trance to Heaven appealing,
His nervous limbs in tremour shook
By some convulsive feeling?
That wild regard, that frenzied air,
Speak long communion with despair!—
And mark you well his brow! its frown
Would seem to call the thunder down,—
The fierce avenger of his fate,—
On objects of his scorn and hate.
He notes not now the mournful dash
Of billows, or the lightning's flash;
The keener fire is in his eye,
Of shame, revenge, and agony,
From which the burning tear would slide
And flow, if 'twere not checked by pride,
Which firmly steels him to sustain
The future, as the past of pain.
From Home, Love, Liberty, long riven,
He lifts his iron brow to heaven,
If heaven will yet in pity give
Those boons, or bid him cease to live;
97
Of cloud and fire, confusedly pass;
Sees, poised above the stormy tide,
The wheeling birds of tempest ride,
With fixt eye, so intensely bright,
And hectic flush of lost delight;
As if his very soul would spring
To freedom with as wild a wing.
III.
A bark's below with gilded prow,Which left in calm and sun her haven;
But many a rent, Euroclydon
Upon her wings, since then, has graven;
And she, with not a glimpse of sun
Her course, to day, has wildly run:—
St. Hermo sits upon her sail,
Meteorous, and burneth dim,
Like Pride upon the forehead pale
Of thunder-smitten seraphim.
With bounding prow and bending pine
Across the roaring Bosphorus,
She yet bears nobly through the brine,
As if she ever wrestled thus,
98
In crystal bay or purple sky.
IV.
So near the vessel glided pastHis turret's oriental wall,
Yon Captive hears the active blast
Sing in her shrouds, and every call
For speed or desultory tack,
His hollow chamber echoes back.
Two Knights, upon the stern, he sees
In silk and steel; their plumes in motion
With every breath of every breeze;
Their looks are often from the ocean
To his hoar rock and grated cell.
With them, at least, must pity dwell;
For ne'er did blood in hero's veins
Flow coolly at a hero's chains!
V.
The one was past his manhood's bloom:He had a brow of generous sense;
99
And lips whose lines spake eloquence;
And if the searching glance looked long,
Within his full saturnian eye,—
Which now was tearless,—scorn of wrong,
A flashing fire, a feeling strong,
Was seen to light its apathy
With something of a gay relief,—
The Evening-Star of guiltless grief.
His cheek, which chesnut tresses fringe,
Had somewhat of the Asian tinge;
But the short, crooked sword he wore,
And crosslet which his shoulder bore,
That beam of mind, that nameless grace,
Italian-like, which filled his face,
Would seem to say, his youth had run
In climes where Taste was proud to be,
Where only monks and hermits shun
The music of a moonlight sea,
And brilliant stir of gondolas,
By marble halls, o'er tides of glass.
The other had a youthful look,
And lively; in his iris blue
His deepest spirit, as a book,
The merest gazer might look through,
100
Of tenderness came o'er his thought,
Would pass to such delicious mood,
As in his own Provencal wood,
When wine, and wit, and woman's praise,
Had made his soul an orb of rays,
Inspired the Troubadour to sing—
A flower on each romantic string.
VI.
“'Tis a wild hour,” the elder said,“But rough as was our ocean-path
“From Ascutari's craggy head,
“And bright as was the lightning's scathe,
“On scorched sheet and shrivelled shroud,
“There is a head had joyed to brave
“The reinless Thunder rolling loud,
“The ghastly whiteness of the wave!
“Look up and mark the features well
“Of him who sitteth in that cell!
“And since I see that eye of blue
“Is ready with a tear or two,
“And since I see your wish would speak
“In question of that captive Greek,
101
“And of a being fallen from bliss,
“Which should be told at such a time,
“'Tis fit for such an hour as this.”
VII.
“'Tis twelve years since, upon this shore,“The midnight moon was shining mildly,
“A female's shriek, amid the roar
“Of dashing waves, rang loudly,—wildly
“O'er the blue neptune, and oppressed
“A fisher in his dreams of rest,
“Who, starting, saw from yonder cove,
“Dark forms in hurried action move;
“It seemed, that, in severest strife,
“They struck for liberty or life,
“For many a helm in light was flashing,
“And many a sword with sword was clashing,
“And frequent cry for aid arose,
“From warrior compassed by his foes;
“And long, and longer as they strove,
“It seemed the Lady of his Love
“Rushed in amidst the desperate fray!
“Then they were quickly borne away,
102
“The screaming gull and ebbing tide.
“At dawning of the day
“He sought the spot: a vest, blood-red,
“Upon the yellow sands lay spread,
“Rent fearfully; a scarf, a mask,
“A jewelled ring, a cloven casque;
“And none who viewed but must declare,
“Some dark departure had been there.”
VIII.
“Those tokens soon the rising seas“In visitation swept away;
“But there was witness sure as these,
“Which could not thus decay:
“Winter and summer, night and day,
“That shriek pealed in the fisher's ears,
“And with a spirit's haunting sway,
“Made dark his gliding years:
“He told to none the tale; the many
“Had deemed it idle and untrue,
“Or if believed and mourned, could any
“The irrevocable deed undo?
“Alone in hope that time thereby
“Might clear that web of mystery,
103
“The embroidered scarf, the mask, and ring;—
“That, might a Princess well become,
“And this, the finger of a King,
“So rich the lustrous gems, which bound
“Its figured golden rim around.”
IX.
“At times when summer's sun had set“Behind far Pindus' purple peak,
“Whilst burned his glorious radiance yet
“Abroad, o'er Ocean's cheek,
“He cast aside his dripping nets,
“And winged his boat with sail and oar
“To where in smoother current frets
“The surge against this shore;
“For from those battlements which now
“The cypress hides with its dark bough,
“Shedding mild mournfulness around,
“He heard,—much marvelling,—much divining,—
“A lone harp's melancholy sound
“Steal o'er the waves, repining;
“And once, when Manuel's hand afar
“In Hungary lanced the shaft of war,
104
“A woman's accents, sweetly blend,
“Saying a thousand things of love,
“That could not have an end.
“That evening the lone captive sate
“Like statue, by his iron grate,
“But at the instant that his ear
“Caught the fond tones to him so dear,
“His spirit melted, and he wept;
“The thoughts which long had chilly slept,
“Of home's enchantment, beauty, bliss,
“Rushed o'er him—all again seemed his!
“But when advancing from the shade,
“The figure of a Grecian maid,
“In grief's wild luxury of charms,
“Invoked him with beseeching arms,
“Heavens! o'er the features of the man,
“A tide of fire and fury ran!
“He fiercely stamped,—he fiercely shook
“The adamantine bars;—his look
“Forgot its softness, and again
“Assumed despair, and woe, and pain;
“And threats of rage, revenge, and pride,
“The twilight breezes wafted wide.
“He saw no more:—an armed band
“Beneath the turret took their stand,
105
“With voice from the set centinel.
“With silent oar, resumed in haste,
“His vessel's pathway he retraced.
“As on it glided far and fast,
“Their brokenness of heart recalling,
“He could but brood upon the past,
“Not check the tear from falling.”
X.
“It chanced, one eve, when autumn's blast“With cold breath shook the cypress-pine,
“From sunny Florence as I passed,
“In pilgrimage, to Palestine,
“A sail I sought to waft me o'er
“These rushing tides to Asia's shore;
“But save the fisher, none would brave
“The stormy strait and tossing wave,
“And we who ventured, well could feel
“The firm boat quiver to its keel.
“Driven by the wind from creek and bay,
“All night upon our oars we lay;—
“But when the bells of Istamboul
“The morn's grey hours began to toll,
106
“Our cerule way to Chalcedon;
“And I, in that light mood begot
“By mutuality of lot,
“In that wide solitude of ours,
“Much questioned of the Imperial powers,
“If sought the indignant Turk to wreak
“Reprisal on the fiery Greek?
“And who led on the Christian ranks
“To Taurus' hills and Irmak's banks?
“Since Andron, martial prince, was gone
“Whither or wherefore known to none;
“And years had flown and darker came
“Suspicion, whispering Andron's name.
“Had jealous Manuel fixed his doom
“By poisonous bowl, or dungeon's gloom?
“Or roved that Leopard of the war
“Wild seas and scorching climes afar?
“It seemed my random question brought
“Across his brow a sudden thought;—
“A sense of something scarce defined;—
“A torturing twilight of the mind!
“For now the absorbing secret pressed
“Like guilt's dark nightmare, at his breast,
“And would not, could not be suppressed,
“I had so shadowed forth to view
“The fears he felt, the truths he knew!
107
“With pity, lenient of relief;
“His brow grew brighter; and, more bold,
“He left no circumstance untold
“Of that wild night which Stamboul's chief
“Had deemed unknown or far forgot,
“But which from heaven's recording leaf
“No time might blight or blot.”
XI.
“I heard; and cherished in my breast“A secret hope, however vain,
“That I might aid a prince opprest,
“And burst his grate, and break his chain.
“At morn the fisher moored his skiff
“Beneath the shelter of a cliff,
“Whose far projecting shadow lay
“On weedy shelf and brightening bay;—
“And there we parted:—lightly shot
“His homeward pinnace o'er the brine,
“And with a warrior's zeal, I sought
“The bannered host of Palestine.
“I traced on that romantic shore,
“Each spot renowned in song and story;
108
“And reaped, in tears, the due to glory
“But never in my heart forgot
“The prisoned spirit of this spot.
“Years have rolled over years, to me
“Of many passions, hopes, and fears;
“But to thy cell, Captivity,
“Those keen and cankering years
“Have come unwished, unwelcomed gone,
“Blighted and past, and left but one,—
“The' absorbing thought,—the restless aim
“Of Liberty's reluming flame.—
“To view with an unshackled eye,
“This azure amplitude of sky;
“O'er ocean's heaving waters bound,
“Track with his own Thessalian hound,
“The wild-wolf's haunt, with heart as gay
“As in youth's seeming yesterday:—
“This is a hope that can illume
“Long years,—his dungeon's darkest gloom.”
XII.
“His Lady, fair Eudora, sought“To share his prison, but in vain:—
109
“It would add keenness to his chain.”
“She heard, and never would become
“The flatterer of his pride, nor hear
“Within his court the barbarous drum
“Repeat stern vigils to the ear
“Of one so fierce, o'er one so dear;
“And though endeared by time and truth,
“And all the memories of her youth,
“Those thousand sweetnesses which grow,
“When exiled, into weeds of woe:—
“She left the Palace, left the stir
“Of princes, and of princes' slaves.
“What was a hollow smile to her?
“Away then to the woods and waves!
“The woods and waves could not impart
“Their quiet to her mind and heart;
“All beautiful, and stilly sweet,
“As are the lines of nature's scrolls:—
“They are but so to hearts that beat
“In unison; to stormy souls
“The bright and still are passionless!
“The will's vain thirst they cannot slake
“With grasped-at fruit;—their smilingness
“But merely adds another ache,—
“The sight, without the hope of rest,
“To the already-tortured breast.
110
“For tyrant wrong and traitorous scorn?
“Were all the generous passions lent
“To be our pride and punishment?
“Must one so fond and one so brave
“Be that a martyr, this a slave?”
XIII.
“O heaven forbid!” the Youth replied,“And freedom's voice, and knighthood's call!
“Cosmo, I left a plighted bride,
“Her tears will stain her father's hall,
“If fortune cross, or aught delay
“Her warrior in his homeward way!
“And dear the cause must be, to buy
“From me those diamonds of the eye!
“At price then of those drops, whose dew
“Will wring another's bosom too,
“I am thine own, by crag or wave,
“To watch or win, to strike or save.
“I could not dare to see again
“Her Portico of purple vines,
“If but dishonour's thought should stain
“The star which on my bosom shines:
111
“In beauty's quarrel, every vein
“That runs with ruddy drops, to rot
“Beneath a taunting chain,
“And that ignoblest hands should rase
“The crest and spur from one so base.”
—“Well speaks thy warm and gallant lip;
“For this through scorching climes remote
“I stemmed the main:—but see our ship
“Has anchored, and my Cypriote
“For us has launched the tossing boat.”
XIV.
“Thrice have I circuited these towers“With curious ken, and found at length
“A point where time or wintry showers
“Have tamed its marble strength,
“Where fragments from the weedy wall
“Above seem nodding to their fall.
“See you not high, in middle air,
“Some semblance of a dizzy stair,
“Which, sweeping round, is mantled now
“By the green alder's clustering bough,
112
“Fearlessly down its wreathed roots?
“Thence might we not attempt to scale,
“Though high, the' o'erawing battlements,
“What time the dark-plumed nightingale
“Pours forth its loud laments?
“As desperate heights, as steep ascents,
“Ere this, have wit and courage won!
“Witness that fortress, the defence
“Of king Micipsa's Moorish son—
“Which rooted on its crag to mock
“The thundering ram and tortoise-shock
“So high,—it was a dreadful thing
“To see the swallow thence take wing!—
“Was in an hour of prowess scaled;
“The keen Ligurian's craft prevailed:—
“That lofty precipice he won,
“Looked wide o'er tower and pavement lone,
“One trumpet blast, the shout, the roar
“Of thousands, and its hour was o'er.
“When barred the use of spear, and shield,
“Her other arms will Wisdom wield;
“And us that subtle Serf may teach
“What mocks our arm to win by breach;—
“Such will we, Guiscard, do and dare.
“Here meet we when at set of sun
113
“From mosque, proclaims the morrow done,
“Ere then the fisher must be sought;
“His wooded island lies in view,
“Like mist upon the billows blue;
“By me his lesson shall be taught:—
“At night his skiff shall wait and brave,
“Eastward, the storm and dashing wave,
“Which there has scooped a cove;—a larch
“Conceals the entrance to the arch.
“I will find fitting means to shape
“Prince Andron's dangerous escape:—
“And, holy Freedom! fall or flee,
“Our latest rites we pay to thee.”
XV.
Lazily sped that stormy night;The waves ran high, the winds sang loud,
And if at times the moon's wan light
Hung on the dark edge of a cloud,
It was but to make more gloomily
Those other shadows of the sky
Frown on the earth as they hurried by;
It was as if the shrouded dead
Should pass before a murderer's bed,
114
Was fixed in utter agony,
It was as if a ray should steal
On them, as silently they wheel,
And light up in his gloomy brain,
The immortality of pain.
Deeming that spirits walked abroad,
The lonely centinel was awed,
Nor durst to echo trust the song
Her mimic voice would oft prolong.
Sheltered in keep, with eye and ear
Awake, and all alive with fear,
He watched till rolled the clouds away,
And dim the horizon glowed with day.
Ev'n when that day began to break,
'Twas with such dull and mournful flake
As gleams in the volcano's dome,
The thunder's haunt, and earthquake's home.
Roused he the Warder;—at his call
Rang loud the large and vaulted hall.
With jealous key, the creaking doors
Opened, and closed; and long the floors
Retained his parting footstep's sound.
He winds the lofty turret round,
Slowly, and sad, and wearily,
With heavy step and downward eye
115
The captive of his bonds till eve.
Now hath he gained that upper cell
Where Pain hath dwelt and long must dwell.
Why stands he yet upon the stair?—
He starts! Prince Andron is not there!
XVI.
Sleep early fled from Manuel's eye;That morn he left his marble halls,
And sought where form and dash from high
The dazzling waterfalls;
The tall cliff from whose savage brink
The weak must fall, the daring shrink,
Whose echoing cave and soaring peak
Are vocal with the eagle's shriek;
Whate'er the hand of Art has planned
Of bold or awful, wild or grand,
Here was not; but a softer scene,
Now bright, now solemn, now serene,—
Beautiful, and for ever green;
As though to earth the sweets of heaven
Maternal Nature's hand had given,
116
How much of Eden rests below!
Olive and myrtle, fig and vine,
Spread forth their blooms and purple fruits;
In darker vesture rose the pine;
To heaven the cypress sent its shoots;
And not one wind of all that swayed
The roses' leaves, however slight,
But with its wing of sweetness made
The heart a Crœsus in delight.
Thither, to suck their honey dew,
With spiral tongue the bee-bird flew,
With rapture drunk, and hung o'er them
Like segment of a brilliant gem!
And you might see the water-breaks
Glide amid green pomegranate groves
Which the sweet bird of Midnight loves,
In many a maze irregular,
To basins marble-paved, and there
Repose in living lakes;
And in the cool transparent spring
Did birds of beauty dip the wing;
And many a Temple rose, amid
Those bowers, now seen, now faintly hid,
Wherein fair figures were displayed,
Hero and goddess, sage and maid.
117
One arm a pillar clasped around,
And there in meditative mood,
He listened to each gentle sound.—
The turtle's wail, the dash profound,
Of bubbling runnels gay with bliss,
Might bring a balm to sorrow's wound,
And charm a sterner soul than his:
In sooth he felt their bland controul,
Stealing like magic o'er his soul,
With such sweet power as sages say,
In desert wilderness astray,
If virgin Beauty cross his path,
Beguiles the Lion of his wrath;—
Empire and care alike forgot,
He stood as rooted to the spot
By some o'ermastering charm!
So have I seen in vernal woods,
Wreathing amid the violet's buds,
With seeming calmness in its eye,
The darkly-brooding serpent lie
As innocent of harm:
Approach him, he uncoils his rings,
And redly glares, and fiercely stings.
Such seeming wildness wore thy face,
Imperial Manuel! brief the space.
118
Whate'er it was that met his eye,
I know not, but a stormy red,—
The sunbeam of vindictive joy,—
Flashed on his cheek whose smile might hide
Successful hate and scornful pride;
Such bitter smile as malice shows
Upon the writhing lip of foes,
When fortune to their wish consigns—
Gift richer than Peruvian mines!—
Long sought, long missed, a foeman's life,
By drug, by dagger, or by knife!—
But if the truth historians tell,
If viewed he thence the citadel
Where hopeless captives weep,
We need no clue the cause to trace,
Of changing blood in Manuel's face:—
So hotly did it steep
His pale brow, thought of Andron's name,
Alone, could raise that fever's flame.
XVII.
But pondering on his victim's fateWhose step disturbs his privacy,
119
That swell so wild and high?
And O, why fly, like frantic things,
Those slaves so variously? why rings
Grove, temple, portico,—the tone
Floats on his ear—“The Captive's gone!”
Scarce conscious what that sound imparts,
As from a dream the monarch starts;
Hears voices round him, one by one,
“Where is the king? the Captive's gone.”
Intense distractedness of mein
Upon his blanched front is seen;—
But who may pause to contemplate
That form?—his Nubian bursts the gate,
And flies, and in alarming tone
Exclaims, “my lord, the Captive's gone;
“The warder saw him fettered well
“Last eve; this morn a vacant cell!
“No trace or token marked his flight!
“Firm were the doors! no chains in sight!”—
—“Ho! gird me on my scimetar;
“The fugitive pursue; and bar
“The City-gates. Speed, Suley, speed,
“And call my guards and rein my steed.”
Then turns he his upbraiding eye
Abroad, on ocean, earth, and sky,
120
“By heaven! this hour the traitor dies.”
Nor in his fury seems to know,
Fled is the man he calls his foe.
With hurrying tramp and mingled din,
Horseman and horse came pouring in
With lance in hand, and spur on heel:
“Haste! kill! pursue!” Their steeds they wheel,
And seem annihilating space,—
Such speed is in their rapid race.
XVIII.
The rearward horseman's vanished now,And Manuel stands in deep reflection.
What sudden thought makes bright his brow?—
A passing recollection
Recalled from memory's shadowy page,
And haste grows calm, and ebbs his rage,
With wilder wave to renovate
The full reflowing tide of hate;
A moment's pause to clear again
His dark suspicion's tangled chain.
“Enough, my Nubian; bid or bring
“Lady Eudora to her king;
121
“From Buda I had led my powers,
“And learned how small a guard, and slack,
“Had kept their vigil o'er those towers,
“And that in Day's departing hours,
“Thither the Lady would repair,
“And tune in these forbidden bowers,
“Her wild lute to the air;
“The lute to which of yore I listened,
“Till they said my eyes have glistened
“With a strange and holy awe
“Caught from her, derived from heaven,
“And she, to touch so sweet a strain
“To me but once, but once again,
“Might deem her chief forgiven.
“But, no! these are no Turkish plains,
“Where that wayward chief might press
“Some hot assault with glowing veins,
“And at eve when weariness
“He pressed, with active ardour, the siege of Mopsuestia; the day was employed in the boldest attacks; but the night was wasted in song and dance, and a band of Greek comedians formed the choicest part of his retinue. Andronicus was surprised by the sally of a vigilant foe; but, while his troops fled in disorder, his invincible lance transpierced the thickest ranks of the Armenians. On his return to the imperial camp in Macedonia, he was received by Manuel with public smiles and a private reproof—but the duchies of Naissus, Braniseba, and Castoria, were the reward or consolation of the unsuccessful general.” Gibbon's Dec. and Fall, chap. xlviii.
“Slacked his vigour, swift transform
“City shook by fire and storm,
“To high revel in a camp,
“Sped with dance and lit with lamp,
“Beauty's smile for warrior's groan,
“War's shrill clarion for the tone
122
“Which—but no, my brain is fire,
“Seared by injury, steeled by wrong,
“Not till now remembered long:
“It was not enough, that I
“Passed his fault with honours by,
“Respecting him that in such hours,
“Flushed with wine, and crowned with flowers,
“He has tossed the wreath aside,
“Sabre fastened to his side,
“Donned his helmet, heron-plumed,
“Banner shaken, shield resumed,
“And changed the sallying Tecbir-cry
“To one wild wail of agony.
“Dukedoms, three, could not console
“The shame, the' ambition in his soul.
“Successless from Mopsuestia's siege,
“He had the praises of his liege;
“Rank, wealth, and every other want
“Subject might claim, or sovereign grant.
“When Braniseba's duke put on
“Helmet with me, in Macedon,
“What cause had he for plighting ring
“With German or Hungarian king,
“To bare his blade at twilight hour,
“And under shadow of our power,
123
“He sought revenge on mortal foe?
“Thought he, I ween, the crown I wear
“Would beam more radiance on his hair,
“That the pearled sceptre, only he
“Of the Comnenian dynasty,
“Could wave with majesty, or wield
“Byzantium's warring spear and shield!
“Fruitless the hope, and vain the task,
“The' aspiring aim from me to mask!
“His fire and genius well I know;—
“A fearful friend,—more fearful foe;—
“An enterprize, not fame can slake,—
“A fortitude, no pain can shake;—
“An open ear, an eye awake,
“Resolving heart, contriving head,
“And hand to do the deed of dread;
“An angel's eloquence, to aid
“The sweeping fierceness of his blade,
“The spell-word whose Orphean charm
“Might bid surrounding nations arm,
“And speak the tempest to a calm;
“And now, O now! what bush or brake
“May veil the lion, hide the snake,
“In glowing vengeance crouched to spring,
“Or closely coiled to shoot the sting!
124
“Life, empire, glory, what are you!
“Yet shall he find, this vest beneath,
“A heart”—His sword has left its sheath
And his hand stabs the viewless air.—
Soft! What entrancing form moves there?
Like that same lion, bent to spring,
Rage in his gesture, stands the king.
XIX.
Beautiful spirit! the radiant glowOf heaven's own purple seems over her flung,
Dazzling the gazer, like the bow
Which Mercy's hand in the storm has hung.
And, O! so fair, so soft, so young!
Can this Eudora be the star
Which governed Andron's fate in war;
She who his cares and toils to soothe,
Left State's bright palace for the stir
Of camps and leaguered towns? in sooth,
Love's most enthusiast worshipper!
Who all day long would watch with eye
And heart that trembled but for him,
125
At dewfall, waxed dim,
And the shrill horn recalled his foot
From conquering charge, or far pursuit;
She, who would then, with fond embrace,
Unclasp the vizor from his face,
Bear water whence cool fountains flow,
To slake his thirst and bathe his brow,
Or, last extremity of pain,
Bind with her scarf the wounds which gush
In heavy drops from the gashed vein;
And whilst her bleeding hero deep
Enjoys the fever-balm of sleep,
Each rude, disturbing murmur hush,
So that not e'en the slightest thing
Had leave to flutter on the wing;
In peril, care, and agony,
His minister; can this be she?
Well may the monarch start and gaze,
Who knew her in her happier days,
Ere yet the cankering worm of grief
Preyed on her crisped virgin-leaf,
When gay at heart, in beauty's bloom,
Her eye shot sunshine through the room,
And in the mirror of her face,
Each rising feeling you might trace,—
126
Or injured Pride's resenting blush
Woke the black pupil's transient flash,
Or gentle Pity dewed its lash,
Or o'er her cheek as danger grew,
Courage a stormy grandeur threw;—
Ev'n like a blue transparent lake,
Whose banks are bright with flower and tree,
If zephyr only is awake
Each blossom in its waves you see,
But if the storm its wings unfurl,
The darkening billows proudly curl,
And to the eye its glass has given
The thunder-clouds which gloom in heaven.
XX.
But summer rifles the lily's bell,And the frost of winter chills the rose,
And time, whose flight is pleasure's knell,
Has drugged youth's chalice deep with woes.
From summer's blooms to winter's snows;
From the hour when Autumn spreads her pall
To the last sweet days of parting spring,
When the fanciful hours aspire to fling
Life, music, and flowers, o'er all;
127
And now her faded aspect shows
Her many passions sunk in one:—
The brilliant eye of other days,
Dim, and the bosom cold to praise
Which charmed so much when life begun;
Sorrow alone on her white brow sits,
And some deep feeling gleams by fits,
Like ruins of the spirit's light
Burning on through years of pain,
As the moon's track on the main,
Glimmers through the dark midnight.
And beautiful, in time's despite,
And lovely must the spirit be,
Which loves on in dark and bright,
Pain and bliss eternally!
Such, amid despair, is she
Whom her weeping maids have borne,
From her villa by the sea,
To the audience-room this morn;—
She has nerved her heart with scorn;
Put the purple on, to show
Souls are great by tyrants torn,
Hearts are haughty to a foe.
128
XXI.
Mutely, before the king, she stands;Nor heaves one sigh, nor clasps her hands;
As if her injured heart might break,
But to no earthly monarch quake.
As if resolved her settled air
Should to no human eye, declare
How deep, or with what gall and smart,
The torturing iron pierced her heart;
And though the murmuring spring they hear
Bubbling in the marble hall,
And thousand things around appear,
Past seasons to recal,
When, at a word, she flew to tune
Her soft lute many a summer-noon,
To charm the king in his saloon,
And rose, and jasmine, culled to bind
Her braid of hyacinthine tresses,
And at a call, his neck entwined
In fond and innocent caresses;—
The chill of snows would ill express
Her dark eye's silent iciness,
129
Her many pangs that know no cure,—
And Andron's bitter thrall! what more
Can he inflict, or we endure!
For in his red eye she can read
The prelude to a darker deed,
And this short pause of silent ire,
Is like the pulseless airs which wrap
The desolate volcano's cap,
Ere the imprisoned flood of fire
Flares like a banner to the sky,
And the broad earthquake passes by.
What may it be that can impart,
To him that storminess of heart!
Fearless, and with an air austere,
She bends her from her height to hear.
XXII.
At length her scorn has fired his spirit proud,And rage bursts forth as lightning breaks the cloud;
No single passion fluctuates in his mind,
But a whole host, in warring chaos joined,
Impels his heart, in swift tumultuous change,
From fear to pride, from fondness to revenge:—
130
“No threats could awe, no kindnesses could bind,
“Say, in what dwelling lurks the trustless chief?
“Nay, no upbraiding look, no seeming grief,
“No hollow anguish, no dissembling sigh;
“This instant answer, or prepare to die.
“Hemlock has poison, agony the wheel,
“The burning iron and the smiting steel;
“Then would it 'vail those orbs that they have worn
“A ray of beauty or a glance of scorn?—
“Scorched to their sockets by the searing brand,
“Nor light, nor triumph, can they more command;
“Stretched on the winding wheel, would that soft limb
“Have vanity for you, or charm for him?
“Such things there are, and lovelier ones have known
“Their being in the pangs which quenched their own.
“Coils he, an adder, near us?—or, more brave,
“Flies with the steed on land, or rides the wave?
“Where rests—where flies—how 'scaped he? Briefly give
“The word I claim, and live,—in glory live,
“Crowned with the gems of wealth, the pomp of power:
“Here empire wooes thee, and there frowns the tower,
“The grate, the cell, the prison: aye! the chain,
“The groan, the gloom, the penance, and the pain,
“Eternal solitude, and whirling brain!
131
“Rapture on earth, and life and light on high;
“To be a captive, or a denizen,
“Caitiff with owls, or goddess-like with men.—
“What have I said? where are we? I should know
“That pallid cheek, and chill, declining brow.
“Where are the roses fled to? that light form
“Was once Eudora, but the sun and storm
“Of battle have wrought changes, and her mind
“Has left, perchance, remembrance far behind,
“When by these fountains, in those cypress-bowers,—
“Nay, shrink not, start not,—melody was ours,
“And moonlight dances, revelry, and song,
“Sped time upon a fairy's foot along;
“Why should a hateful shadow come between?
“Speak! be the future what the past has been,
“Torn by no anguish, haunted by no crime,
“A happy pageant, and a festal time;—
“Refuse, and well thy former guilt I know,
“A seeming virtue, but a wily foe;
“The lyre, the tune, the hour, the steel, the crape,
“The ready steed, and signal for escape!—
“Not vainly did that eye of treason then
“Glance through the gloom, and dive within the glen;—
“Not vainly didst thou fling to those who hem
“Thy swift retreat, the bribe of gold or gem.—
132
“I wage not war with lovely things like thee.”
XXIII.
—“Yes, am I changed! time was, I could have borne“Thy praise; all, save thine anger and thy scorn;
“For then thou wert no tyrant, wert too pure,
“Too free thyself and generous to immure
“Chiefs amid chains and torture,—one who dyed
“His spear in bloody battle by thy side,
“Thy friend, almost thy brother, one who blew
“With thee his tasselled horn, who tracked the dew
“With the same beagles, and with equal skill
“Drew shafts upon the same Thessalian hill.
“Look on me! sun, storm, battle, I can brave,
“Shrieks on the field, and perils on the wave;
“They flung no grief, no paleness on my brow,
“No dagger at my heart, but it was Thou:—
“Andron must thy unjust resentment bear,
“For fancied crimes, and wrestle with despair.
“'Twas thus that sorrow sapped my vital bloom,
“And pale consumption marked me for the tomb;
“Even this weak frame must thou essay to shake,
“Not for mine own, but for another's sake!
133
“A tyrant thou, and traitor to thy trust;
“A king has pity, mercy; thou hast none;
“Of all thy petty gifts, I asked but one,—
“To share his lingering penance,—'twas denied:
“You coolly smiled, presumptuous in your pride.
“It shames me that you saw my tears to flow,
“But I am more, am more than woman now;
“Changed, gauntletted by injury to fling back
“Scorn on thy gems, defiance to thy rack.
“I aid Prince Andron's flight! what aiding power
“Have I? Am I the keeper of his tower?
“His guard, his centinel? but more I guess
“You flatter only to insult distress.
“Reveal the flight your wiles perchance have sped!
“I dare your power, but 'tis thyself I dread,
“Lest that dark hands were urged to' anticipate
“The too long lingering years and fix his fate.
“Ha! dost thou start! before thy spirit stands
“A shape, when sleep has bound thee in its bands,
“Shall visit thy wild slumber, haunt thy guilt:
“Now bring the wheel, and torture if thou wilt,—
“I speak no more, nor shall my shrieks be loud,
“But I will put my finger from my shroud,
“And write its fiery vengeance on thy brow.
“Proud Autocrat! now what with me would'st Thou?”
134
XXIV.
All words, all eloquence were faint,The monarch's paroxysm to paint,
As veering now from rage to pride,
His mantle-folds he threw aside;
And, fixed on his dark forehead, sate
A mingled scowl of pain and hate.
He stamped his foot, and, at his call,
His armed vassals filled the hall,
And for a minute's space, no sound
Was heard their deepening files around,
But awe and wonder o'er them spread
The unstirring silence of the dead.
Quivered the monarch's lips, and clung
To the palate's roof his tongue,
Till within his lowering eye
Brighter fires of anger woke
A spell of stronger mastery—
Pointing to the turrets nigh,
Terribly he spoke:
“Away, away, this Lady bear
“Up yon dark tower's winding stair;
135
“Adamantine be the grate;—
“If a hand but wave below,
“Lip salute, or head but bow,
“Headman's axe shall be his doom,
“Hers, a dungeon's deeper gloom.
“Haughty woman, have thy will,
“Share his penance, share his ill;
“Weep by day, by night repine,
“Suns shall rise, and planets shine
“To thy drooping eye in vain.
“Never shalt thou break the chain
“Which around thine arm I wind,
“Till prince Andron comes to bind
“His with that which humbleth thee,
“Sealer of his destiny!
“Then may'st thou again be free.
“We, meanwhile, will hem his path,
“And if he should meet our wrath,
“His shall be the sepulchre,
“Thine the eternal cell's despair.
“Princess, dost thou now obey?
“She speaks not. Hurry her away,
“Nor let those whimpering slaves be near
“To whisper treason in her ear.”
136
XXV.
How fares the high Eudora now?Falls not the pride that stamped her brow?
No! flashing lance and pealing drum
Have failed her bosom to benumb.
Though by sabres compassed round,
Heedless that the tyrant frowned,
As she passed, her lip again
Assumed a smile of cool disdain.
Thence by numbers borne away,
Through the court where fountains play,
She is swiftly passing now,
And by the dark cupressine bough;
Slowlier hold they on their march,
As they near the ribbed arch.
Hark! the unfolding portals creak—
And close; but neither voice nor shriek,
Meets the monarch, listening still.
One lone trumpet, loud and shrill,
Telling him the tale, repined
In the melancholy wind.—
Sadly it fell, and sadly rose,
Like the gust o'er winter's snows,
137
O'er the desolate midnight,
And the hollow-voiced wave,
In fitful sorrow heard to rave,
Bears the wild summons to the deep,
In whitening flash and whirling sweep.
Thrice it rose, and thrice it fell,
A wild lament, a troubled knell;
The wind blew by, and, dismally,
Flung the tidings far to sea.
O'er the murmuring billows blue,
Away, away the sea-bird flew;
The sea-boy, mounted in his shroud,
Looked high on main, and cape, and cloud,
And strained the canvas to the mast,
As there were evil in the blast.
The fisher deemed a storm was nigh,
And plied his oars incessantly,
And scudded forward free to reach
His wooded islet's golden beach.
Sparkle his dipping oars;—'tis won—
Whilst redly glares the lurid sun,
Which, as his flapping sail is furled,
Sinks, and 'tis twilight o'er the world.
END OF CANTO I.
139
CANTO II.
“Hah! was it fancy's work;—I hear a step—
It hath the speech-like thrilling of his tread:
It is himself!”
Maturin.
It hath the speech-like thrilling of his tread:
It is himself!”
Maturin.
I.
As brightly wild the hours of Glory run,So throng her shadows, and so sinks her sun;
That brilliant Circle which the day-star drew
Round Nature, is her type of being too:
See first how splendour's rushing rays adorn
The peopled towers of empire in her morn;
Thither the yet barbaric nations pour,
And Battle's blast is blown from shore to shore.
140
The glow of genius is a glorious thirst;
Then Power his pinnacle bestrides, and we
View Taste spring forth, like Venus from the sea,
Radiant, and pure, and goddess-like to draw
High aspirations, settling into awe.
Last Pride and Luxury, wedded to decay,
Conceal, in clouds, the ruins of her ray;
Faint, and more faint, upon the dial falls
That ray, long shadows creep o'er crumbling walls;
When that, her sunshine of renown expires,
The sons forget the grandeur of their sires;
Heroes are shrunk to vassals; deeds sublime
Are scoffed; and Liberty becomes a crime;
Scarce known, through Slavery's gathering shadows flit,
Like ghosts, the forms of Wisdom and of Wit;
Taste breaks her pencil; Hope her charmed glass,—
Another age—and her descendants pass
O'er altars rent, and sculptures green with grass;
From gilded halls, the crouching tiger springs,
And ivy crests the Capitols of kings;
Doubt on his moonlit marbles sits, and spells
Disputed names, and cancelled chronicles;
And as the melancholy wind repines
Through vacant temples, and deserted shrines,
Sighs o'er the vigils which his fondness keeps,
Or sickens at the solitude and weeps.
141
II.
Yet with her day of majesty, not allIs wrapt in night's annihilating pall;
Memory and song transmit her patriot's name,
Through years of wrong, and centuries of shame;
Our eye once more upon their pages cast,
Forgets the present and renews the past;
Lit by their ray again, a golden shower
Of sunshine hangs on temple and on tower;
The fluted column burns; in bright relief,
Each statue stands of goddess and of chief;
The olive grows more green; a murmuring sound
Steals the rich shrines and holy mountains round.
All things existent, speak of spirit still,—
The rock, the flower, the ocean, and the hill;
On its blue crag the' Acropolis defies
The strength of time, the lightnings of the skies;
Each field, each wave o'er which the mighty flew,
By fancy tinged with inspiration's hue,
Despite the fallen fane, the people's trance,
Still breathe of power, of passion, and romance.
142
III.
Thus is there beauty still upon thy cheek,Pride of the modern Goth, and elder Greek,
Queen of the Orient! Thou, whom Constantine
Crowned, in a bridal hour, almost divine,
To keep perpetual Glory's golden keys;
All earth thy dower, thy ministers all seas.
Though thy fair halls a tyrant makes his home,—
And the Seraglio shows its burnished dome,
Though the high Mosque a sainted sod profane,
Though bearded Moslems shame Sophia's fane,
Thou hast thy beautiful dust,—urns which enfold
The ashes of thy demigods of old;—
The same wild path of waves too, which has worn
And to the Crescent shaped thy Golden Horn,
That path o'er which Minerva's Xenophon,
From red Cunaxa called his heroes on;
The baffled Persian barred his way in vain,
And idly round him shook his empty chain;
In all, through all, he mocked the' insidious foe,
The Median sling and the barbaric bow;
Chill, faint with famine, bleeding, wasted, wet,
Firm, though betrayed, and conquering, though beset;
143
Is yon the heaving of the dark blue sea?
The shout of happy thousands rends the air:
“The sea! the sea!” and all is safety there.
The account which Xenophon gives in his history of the celebrated retreat of the Ten Thousand, of the event alluded to in the text, is one of the most interesting passages in that interesting work; one, which, after the long series of dangers to which his daring band had been exposed, awakens in the mind of the reader no common sympathy: we participate in all the joy of such a discovery. “The fifth day they arrived at the high mountain called Theches. As soon as the vanguard had ascended the mountain, and beheld the sea, they raised a mighty shout, which when Xenophon and those in the rear heard, they concluded that some other enemies were attacking them in front, for the people belonging to the country they had burned followed their rear, some of whom those who had the charge of it had killed, and taken others prisoners in an ambuscade; they had also taken twenty bucklers, made of ox-hides, with the hair on.”
“The noise still increasing as they came nearer, and the men, as fast as they came up, running to those who still continued shouting, their cries swelled with their numbers; so that Xenophon, thinking something more than usual had occurred, mounted his horse, and taking with him Lycius and his troop of cavalry, rode up to their assistance, and presently they hear the soldiers shouting—“THE SEA! THE SEA!” and cheering one another. At this all the rear-guard ran with the rest and thither were driven the horses and beasts of burden. When all were come together on the top of the mountain, they embraced their general, their captains, and one another, with many tears. And there, by whose orders is uncertain, the soldiers instantly bring together a vast number of stones, and raise a great monument, on which they placed a number of shields made of raw hides, and many other trophies taken from the enemy.”
Xenophon, Anab. Lib. iv. cap. 7.As o'er the blackening Bosphorus they sweep,
Byzantium seems to meet them on the deep,
And gladdening thoughts of their dear Athens come
In each green olive and columnar dome;
There, in bright hour, resigned that glorious soul,
The warrior's trophy, for the sage's stole,
And left his name and story evermore,
To charm a world he almost saved before.
IV.
But past that vision, later ages roll,Nor is Byzantium near, but Istamboul;
There, yet, a Greek the throne of Julian fills,
And sees a lordlier Athens on the hills,
Looks with wide eye around the vext Euxine,
But not to hail a warrior from its brine;
One came, and what was his embrace?—a chain.
Long may he gaze there, but to gaze in vain.
Long be Prince Andron hid from Manuel's eye,
Whate'er his doom, and wheresoe'er he fly!
144
V.
The blush of the eve fadeth dim o'er the water;The night-wind is rising, and billows dash high,
As in her lone tower, Stamboul's loveliest daughter
Looks abroad from her lattice o'er ocean and sky.
There's a frown in the heaven, and a gloom on the ocean,
And a low, hollow dirge in the lapse of the wind,
That well suit the sad melancholious emotion,
The feeling and fire of a musical mind,—
Of one whose live chords with swift impulse will borrow
A token and tone from the hue of the hour,
Inspiration in joy, and sereneness in sorrow,
Subdued into patience, but latent with power.
She turned to the page of the past;—'twas a dream;—
To the future;—'twas life without one joyous ray;
For quenched in despair was the tremulous beam,
Her beacon by night, and her vision by day.
O, O! for a wing the dark storm to outfly
Like the birds of the storm that so soaringly shriek
Round her turret, to kindle a cresset on high,
On each Asian precipice, castle, and peak;
145
Where the wave lies serenest in haven and bay.
Now, haply, his bark the wild element strands,
Assassins surround, or the ruthless betray!
With that image came terror, and lowering suspense,
And doubt, giant lord of the rack and the wheel,
Whose ordeal, wrought up into torture intense,
Not the loftiest can scorn, nor the haughtiest conceal!—
She felt it—Eudora, steal over her frame,
And the veil of her fantasy strip from her eye,
As the earthquake of night, that, long slumbering in flame,
Rends the mantle of Nature in passing her by.
“I could brook,” she exclaimed, “the foul finger of scorn,
“The scowl of contempt, and the menace of hate,
“These, these, I could bear, and unmurmuring have borne
“With a bosom undaunted, and spirit elate;
“But to linger for ever in towers, to commune
“With nought but the sun-loving swallow, and cloud,
“Soaring free,—soaring free!—in calm regions of noon,
“Of their limitless pleasure and liberty proud,
“And alone on the frailty of fortune relying,
“To gaze on, to envy their transit, and feel
“There is wormwood in life, and a solace in dying,
“Yet to linger, weep, tremble, and agonize still;—
“And at night, when her poppies should silence the toil
“Of the mind, and hush all its wild fancies asleep,
146
“In slumber to smile, and awaking to weep;—
“I know not—this dark brain, now tearless and dry,
“May reel with its sufferance, and thus it were well;
“But gently, O maid of the lunatic eye,
“Lay thy shaft on my heart, and it will not rebel;
“For thee, savage Chief, unrepentant in ire,—
“Hark! hark! 'tis the voice of the injured that calls!
“May thy hearth be usurped by the ivy and briar,
“And the fox and owl hoot in thy tenantless walls!
“Dim, dim through the compassing clouds of decay,
“The stars that o'er-ruled thy nativity shine,
“Thy sceptre soon shivered, thy crown passed away,
“To circle a forehead more royal than thine:
“I err not; there sits on a shadowy throne,
“Whose steps are on kingdoms, the form of the brave,
“With finger that beckons, ah me! 'tis his own!
“Now, haughty Insulter! down, down to the grave!”
VI.
With filmed eye, and fixed look,As if her brain, indeed, were reeling,
Eudora trembled as she spoke
This more than earthly burst of feeling;
147
With martial figures compassed round,
A form, an eye like Andron's, bright,
With sceptred hand, and arm unbound,—
But dark his cheek as one who frowned
Some object of his hate to see,—
Fetter or chain, whose cankering wound
He wears to all eternity;
And in his eye there still was dread,
As one not yet unused to pain,—
That sleepless sense of torture fled,
Whilst dark remembrances remain,
Which Titan on his rock would feel
Loosed from his eagle and his chain,
Or mad Ixion from his wheel,
That ordeal of a brain
Blinded by Night's long tyrannies,
To which the very light of skies
Were agony, until it grew
Fixed and familiar to the view:
But his Byzantine diadem
Was starred with many a flaming gem,
Opal, and pearl, and amethyst,
Torn from turbans of the East,
And crouched on many a gonfalon,
From Syria's holiest ramparts won;
His feet the Turkish libbard kissed;—
148
In pity from the world of dreams,
A show which fancy oft has lent
To soften passion's fierce extremes,
But which in years of brighter date,
The future quickens into fate.
Whence, or whate'er that gifted vision
Which charmed her soul with thoughts Elysian,
Or of the future or the past,
It could not, and it did not last:
The image of that sceptred king,
The glittering diadem he wore,
Passed by, like an unreal thing,
And she but listens to the roar
Of rising winds and tossing seas,
And the stormy music which the breeze
Makes as it drives ashore
The big waves, that, in ceaseless lash,
Heavily boom, and whitely dash.
VII.
A moment, and Eudora's heart,Its own proud quietude regains,
149
A keener current through her veins.
But hark; she hears the dread tambour
Beat an alarum near her tower,
In a wild, a muffled knell.
“Blessed Virgin! can it be,
“Is my chief no longer free!
“Seek they this lone cell!”
Hush, for the cry of warder!—no;
But the wailing trumpets blow
Accents sorrowful and shrill.
Vale to valley, hill to hill,
Wave to wave, the signal tossed;
In the captive's fancy naming
Andron's name, with grief proclaiming
Lost, for ever lost.
In the courts around, below,
Heard was many a voice, recounting
Fruitless chasing of the foe;
Knights from weary steeds dismounting;
Horses pawing, arch resounding;
Watchword passed to centinel;
Helm unbuckling; sabre sheathing;
Soldier curse or blessing breathing
On the mighty scaped so well.
150
Rising on the ear, and fainting,
Andron gone beyond pursuing:—
Hers is pleasure past the painting.
Now there's not a voice in hearing,
Knight on knight is disappearing
From the area's space, below.
Ye, who've seen the battle veering,
Doubting, trembling, hoping, fearing,
Banners rearing, sinking, rearing,
Till a panic seized the foe,
And they fled, like winds on ocean,
With a terrible commotion,—
That lone lady's deep emotion,
Ye, and ye alone, can know.
Far-off is the tambour beating;—
Far-off are the bugles greeting;
Ceasing as the bands they number,
Striking now the hour of slumber.
In an echo, deep and low,
Through the silent city ranging,
Stationed guards the watch are changing.
Hark! again their trumpets blow
Accents silver toned and shrill!—
Not a beagle now is baying,
Soldier shouting, war-horse neighing;—
All lies gathered, dark and still.
151
VIII.
All is still but the wind on the wave,The minute-beat of the ocean's pulse!
All is at rest but the hoarser rave
Of rushing tides which the walls repulse,—
That mighty voice, that hollow sound
From all the mustering billows round,
Heaved in a mass from realm to realm,
As if the floods which erst did whelm
The universal earth, were yet
Not all assuaged, nor could forget
How, in their rushing might, went down,
Temple on temple, tower on town,
The lofty mountains wild and wide
With all their snows upon them,—Pride
In his communion with the stars,—
Battle, with all his crests and cars,—
All, all the Omnipotent created,
And none were left of millions, none
But Pyrrha and Deucalion,
To watch the waves as they abated,
And smile, amid their wilderness,
152
Put forth from clouds, its lonely light
As Venus dimly does on this.
With thoughts like theirs, Eudora sate,
Her eye upon the roaring strait;
Earth, was, to her, that vacant ball,
And she the only left of all.
But yet not wholly left:—a strain
Is heard from Passion's sweetest string;
To the Genii of the main,
Is it that sister-spirits sing!
Is it that the sea-shell rings
With the west-wind's visitings,
Now just hushed,—now mildly waking
Sounds which the hoarse sea is breaking,
And breathing now, when it seemed o'er,
A heavenlier strain than all before!
IX.
Bright in the bosom of the west,There shines a track in the stormy skies;—
Is it the wan moon's wasting crest,
Which sheds one luminous smile and flies!—
Its momentary lustre lies,
153
But flashes through her glimmering grate,
On each memorial of her fate,—
Portal and pillow, bar and chain,—
And shows a cedarn lute, uphung
Ere the beam was in its wane,
O'er which the fairy-footed winds,
Had walked in tenderness, and flung
The all unearthly strain
Which came, which often comes to gentle minds,
Who eye the brightness of that star which binds
Our life with beauty in a magic link
With each fresh ray which thence our spirits drink.
X.
From the high and sullen walls
She that lute of lutes hath taken;
Happy airs in happy halls,
It was ever wont to waken.
There is a bliss in every touch
Of chords where Andron's used to linger;
But yet her numbers are not such:—
Hark ye to her fairy finger.
She that lute of lutes hath taken;
Happy airs in happy halls,
It was ever wont to waken.
There is a bliss in every touch
Of chords where Andron's used to linger;
But yet her numbers are not such:—
Hark ye to her fairy finger.
154
1.
“Camest thou, trembling soul of sound, from o'er the heaving seaTo bear the voice of him I love, absent although he be!
Gladness was in each tone; but yet these waters of my woe
Obey not the beguiling charm; they lie too deep to flow.
This heart, alas! has long been chill, and dry this aching brain,
And I deem, even now, of a Princess' pride, that it should not stoop to pain.
2.
“I sit in the visions of my thought, my palace-hall a tower,And memory traces yet for me, thy first departing hour.
All day I watched, though fled the ship, thy pathway on the sea,
Which though serene as light, yet seemed to darkly frown on me;
The dashing of the sable waves, the murmur of the blue.
Re-echoed back upon my heart, thy desolate adieu.
155
3.
“I sit in the visions of my thought; 'twas sunset on the main,The Turkish blast of war blew o'er, we flew to our hills again.
To scenes of liberty and peace, where heroes of old name
Blew Freedom's Grecian clarion, till the world filled with their fame;
It was thy bliss by Delphi's wave, and consecrated shrine,
To dwell upon their deeds as my warm spirit did on thine.
4.
“But through the bowers where turtles dwell, the eagle's eye may roam,And loved Parnassus' mountain-peaks will be the thunder's home:
The war-bell tolled our knell of peace, but still it was a charm
To watch the floating of thy crest, the waving of thine arm,
Till gashing swords rained wounds on thee, and then my brain became
Frantic with agony and fear,—all ashes, yet all flame.
156
5.
“I sit in the visions of my thought; a vesper-hymn arose,—Old Stamboul's sword was scabbarded, and vanished were her foes!
On the golden sands of the shelly sea, at evetide, were we met,
And still we gazed, and lingering watched, though many a star had set.—
Who, at so sweet an hour, could hear immortal ocean roar,
And leave to vacancy and night, that dear romantic shore?
6.
“But ev'n at that delicious hour, and on that tranquil path,Rapt in such joy as angels feel, and pure Elysium hath,—
In that divinity of thought—soothed, softened, melted, awed,
Hate spoke his malison, and poured his vials all abroad;
157
Wake from the sickly trance of grief to see my warrior bound!
7.
“Then agony—but thou art safe, and I should not repine,—Bright flowers bedeck thy goodly stem! they bloom no more on mine.
In the loved presence of my lord, I stood a beauteous tree,
The glory of sweet waters near, the banquet of the bee;—
The lightning fell, nor dew nor shower can ever gladden more
My leafless branches, for decay is busy at the core.
8.
“Orion proudly mounts the sky, pale shimmering through the shower;—Why does he bend a guiding ray to this sepulchral tower!
158
Must be my ministers of rest, my sentries must ye be!—
Give all your sounds to this lorn lute, when silent and uphung,
That life, captivity, and light, may look like strangers long!
XI.
Not long the golden juice might lieOf slumber on Eudora's eye;
In restless ecstacy, her dream
Made night's uncertain phantoms seem
Like him she loved, for ever near;—
But flying, ever, chased by fear,
And she as on the wings of wind,
Was hasting evermore behind.
In seeming swiftness, now they pass
The spiry cliff, the quick morass,
And hill whose windy summit forms
Wild lineament of clouds and storms,
Which, as she tracked his steps with pain,
Would tear him from her sight again.
159
Her wanderer to the dancing wave;
Blue glowed the waters, and on high
His sails swelled in a cloudless sky;—
She had forsook her hated tower,
Had baffled Manuel's jealous power,
And far, upon the tossing main,
His flying vessel sought to gain.
The shore was near; the' ambitious prow
Chid the long billows' lingering flow;
But as the sails the seamen furl,
The whirlwinds rise, the surges curl;
A moment—and the form he wore
Is whelmed beneath the ocean-floor.
Now seem the war-drum and the fife,
Again to call her chief to life;
With plated cuirass on his breast,
With white plume waving, lance in rest,
On, on he rushed to victory,
“For Stamboul!” was the battle-cry,
And cloven shield, and turban-fold,
Horseman and horse, beneath him rolled;—
But, full upon her startled view,
Distinct, a Giant shadow grew!
His arm ascending in the sky,
Unsheathed the sabre from his thigh,
160
With laughing shout, and frantic air,
Her visioned Prince he sternly smote,
Who groan or murmur uttered not,
But strove one only thought to claim,
In utterance of her gentle name.
His timeless fate her woe would weep,
And anguish broke the bonds of sleep.
XII.
She woke in terror, and her eye, awake,Yet seemed in ghastly energy to ache
With some such vision as in sleep appeared
To woo her to the danger which she feared,
For as upon the lonely walls it fell,
She saw a shadow move across the cell,—
Slow, but distinct, no creature of the brain,
It paused,—it moved,—and then it paused again.
Eudora, startled at the Presence, said
“What form art thou which risest from the dead
“To awe my sorrow? Ha! I know thee now,
“O Andron! O my husband! it is thou!—
“The paleness of the grave is on thy brow.
161
“I knew it! there was torture in my sleep!
“Speak to my spirit, shade of air, or place
“Thy shadowy form once more in my embrace.”
It was no dream: she rushed that shade to clasp,
And a strong arm of iron met her grasp.
She feebly, fondly shrieked; that shriek again
Another's voice of gladness made more plain.
A few wild accents faltered on her tongue;—
To his fond arms the sad Eudora sprung,
Threw back the tresses of her hair, though weak,
That hers might feel the pressure of his cheek,
Which chill at first, and tremulous, became
With the next pulse, all fever and all flame,
Flushed with a hope too strong for mortal faith,
And scarcely conscious of his life or death;
He kissed her beating temples,—stilly kissed,—
And, whispering, strove to clear away the mist
Which wrapt her soul,—those thoughts which scarce we feel—
When dread and doubt contend with hope and zeal.
It is the living Andron in her arms,
Who stills her tremors, and her terror calms!—
“Fear not, Eudora, heaven has heard thy prayer,
“It still has left some joy for both to share;—
162
“My tale of wonder to the centinel.
“I heard, I hear his footfall in the gale.—
“Hark to the tread!—now list, I have a tale.”
—'Twas long ere that delicious agony
Was o'er, that flood of deep suspense and joy;
Long, long her eye the glassy lustre took,
Which on the seeming spirit bent its look,
Till, cleared from her delusive dream of fear,
She faintly smiled, and bowed her head to hear.
XIII.
“Manuel thou know'st, with what a jealous guard“These towers he strengthened and this cell he barred,—
“Barred from approach alike of friend and foe,
“A spy within, a bloodhound lurked below,
“That so, if ev'n the virtue of the grape
“Might steep all others, this might track escape.
“Whilst thou, my life, wert near at times to soothe
“My hopes, all blighted in their fire of youth,
“To give thy soft voice to the summer-wind,
“And teach the sullen warder to be kind,—
“Whilst thy stol'n visits made my chains sit well,
“I was a Prince, though fettered in my cell!—
163
“I recked not of the bliss of being free;
“But when his active hate afar removed
“The form I worshipped, and the voice I loved,
“I felt an angry malice in my veins,
“And burned, and fretful, strove to break my chains,
“If only in defiance of the wrong,
“To sting the' unfeeling, and to pique the strong;
“But every rivet of the fettering coil
“With firmness mocked the toiler and the toil,
“Till, late last night, in grinding rage I lent
“My utmost vigour to the fierce intent;—
“It bent! it snapped as by a powerful charm!
“Oh! it was heaven once more to stretch my arm
“In freedom to the stars, and wave abroad
“The bickering splendours of my sheathless sword!
“He left me this with sneers but ill concealed
“To mock the hand which should essay to wield,—
“But wielding this, I still the power command
“To teach the long-chained arm, the writhing hand,
“The long reversion of their wrongs to quit,
“Till pride of art repays his scornful wit.
“I next surveyed my cell from side to side,
“With loftier instinct, and an ampler stride,
“And each lethargic sense, with freedom, rose
“To tenfold strength from languor's long repose;
164
“By chance, at length, upon a loosening stone,
“Through whose small cleft I felt the crannying air:
“The stone removed, light broke on my despair,—
“I saw the semblance of a broken stair!
“A glimpse of hope, one glimpse, however brief,
“Will rouse the loneliest captive from his grief.
“I toiled till midnight, in that secret way;
“On arched walls in ruinous decay
“The moon through rifts her lonely lustre threw;
“I hailed the omen with dilated view;
“And now resolved the cavern to explore,
“Replaced, with care, the loose stones of the floor.
“There have I walked, and heard the quickening sound
“Of waters rolling freely, but profound.
“I know not where it leads, but, where it leads
“Are tangled roots, loose earth, and clustering weeds,
“And there some outlet we may find, or shape
“By mine or breach, the means of our escape.
“I heard all day the shrilling horn proclaim
“The captive's freedom, and the monarch's shame,
“And smiled to think, that I, in my dim vault,
“Could with such dread the purple-born assault!
“I heard the rush of steeds, the creaking gates,
“(How my heart shudders whilst my tongue relates!)—
165
“But, fear not, all shall sternly be repaid;
“And if to bound once more upon the tide,
“In nature's freedom, be a wish denied,
“Life yet shall roll rejoicingly away,
“Thy arms my camp, thy smile of smiles my ray,
“Till, tempered to thy loveliness of soul,
“Death opes a portal to the years which roll
“In music, and our bark obeys the breeze,
“To happy islands o'er celestial seas.”
XIV.
Then came the long embrace, the scanning eye,The eager question, and the fond reply;
The feelings uttered of departed years,
Sweet smiles of rapture, and still sweeter tears.
To one who long in pain has pined apart,
How grateful rush those ‘waters of the heart!’
The cord which bound the brain, beneath the thirst
Of long-denied relief is brightly burst;
And then, how fast, how free those currents rise!—
The heart transfers all utterance to the eyes.
No desert spring, just found in cooler skies,
Ere the breath thickens, and the traveller dies,—
166
Of palms that whisper with the cloud that falls,
Comes with such gladdening import to his ear,
As the full flow of Hope's forgotten tear;
The heart's sweet flowers though withered long ago,
Fed by those drops, catch freshness as they flow,
And give their incense to the winds again,
In grateful triumph o'er remembered pain.
XV.
Eudora trembled, though by tears relieved;—It was so sudden, scarce could be believed.
An hour ago so tortured, now so blest!
In the past—anguish,—in the future—rest!
She wished no more than, thus, in chambers dim,
To gaze, love, listen, weep once more with him:
Day, midnight, eve, may roll unheeded now,
Too happy she to think if swift or slow;
Nor can the seasons, in their changes more
Brighten or chill;—the billow on the shore
Which lately broke, as with bewildered groan,
Has much of music in its loneliest tone,—
It seems to say, they are the only two
With whom earth, sky, and ocean have to do.
167
XVI.
To thoughts of lightest kind, joy lends his ray,And paints the morrow brighter than to day;
Though not by day, with Andron, can she steal
The bliss to speak, the paradise to feel,
To watch with him the clouds that flit and flee,
The gliding ships, the sunsets o'er the sea,
And birds of calm that dip their azure wings
In ocean, loveliest of a thousand things,—
Yet can she soothe the darkness of his cell,
With glad inventions that shall please as well.
Romantic harp, and legendary song,
Shall make his hours of absence seem less long;
And the resounding voice of one so dear,
Falling like seraph's hymns upon his ear,
Shall soothe each wild anxiety, and still
The many thoughts that blindly war with will.
The night is all their own; and O, the night
Has charms—the hours in their so silent flight,
Each stamped with lovelier feeling than the last,
And each more prized in passing to the past.
The faint white flush long lingering in the west,
The stars revolving, and all earth at rest
168
Their Eden in this vigil of the mind:—
The all-transfusing eye, the placid brow,
The whispering undertone, the murmured vow,
The midnight watch o'er weariness asleep,
The chronicles which they together keep,
The clouds that round the moon in shadow lay,
The yellow moonshine brightening all the bay,
Or, yet more stirring to a heroine's soul,
The thunders in their repercussive roll,
The storm, the wind, the lightning, and the sweep
Of the gigantic waters of the deep.
XVII.
Yes,—these shall all be theirs, and hers the careTo save the ripest fruits for him to share,
Or whate'er else stern Manuel may impart
To feed with life her agony of heart,
To smile away the clouds which intervene
To make his present what the past had been;
And he, too, in such visions, feeleth more
Of promised comfort than in years before.
Yes! though a thousand tender ties allied
The young, the plighted bridegroom to his bride,
169
To tend her as a florist tends a flower,
Note each bright sparkle of her eye, each tress
Whose motion was a living loveliness,
Treasure each object that had felt her touch,
And ever in her absence think of such,
Yet, never, in her bridal hours, she seemed
So beautiful as now, when o'er her streamed
Her hair from recent sorrow loosely thrown
On the fair breast that throbbed for him alone—
Now,—when her many sufferings all approved
How she resented, and how fondly loved.
The blooms of virgin passion past away,
Time gives to Woman deeper claims than they,—
That new existence flushing round the heart,
The friendship, pure, which acts a sister's part.
No act of hers but breathes a secret charm,
Desires all innocent, affections warm;
The white transparent candour of the brow,
No false appearance, no dissembled vow,
But open faith, unconscious of a crime,
Emotions mild, and harmonized by time;
A concord ripened into love sincere,
Kind without doubt, and tender without tear;—
The electric threads which by new instincts tied,
Age does but strengthen, pain can not divide:
170
So fond in good, so doubly fond in ill,
That only at our glance of scorn or hate,
Scorched they recoil, and leave us to our fate!
XVIII.
Fortune not oft seems anxious to atoneThe wrongs of years, and blend all joys in one,
When grand events in sure succession flow,
Wave after wave, nor yet too fast, nor slow,—
When various means, in due gradation tend,
Firm to one purpose, faithful to one end,
As though to lifeless things were given a sense
Of good and evil, an intelligence
To deal around, for years of crime and wrong,
Strength to the weak, and weakness to the strong;
Yet now to Andron's lot such grace was lent,
To soothe a spirit broken but unbent,
As if heaven now had made him all its care,
In one glad moment answering years of prayer.
171
XIX
A tower stood near in sight, whose battled friezeSung to the wing and wildness of the breeze,
Where oft the sea-bird in its fear would hie,
When winds were up, and tempests swept the sky;
With clustering ivy were the loopholes hid;
Seaward the steep cliffs all access forbid;—
Poised on the boiling surf, it seemed to be
An island rock, or pillar of the sea.
But not on all sides beaten,—for to view
On one grey side, high clustering alders grew,
In florid verdure beautiful; the more
As Andron oft had watched their growth before;—
Hour after hour it was his wont to stand,
And watch the leaf a twig, the twig a wand,
The wand a graceful sapling in whose leaves
The small birds sang so sweet in summer-eves:—
The very leaves brought peace to him, they played
With such sweet interchange of light and shade,
And threw, when all was black and parched around,
Bright thoughts of freedom in their whispering sound—
In that quick sympathy of thought which finds
Love in the trees, rocks, waters, stars, and winds,
172
That love, or perish with its mute excess.
XX.
There are mysterious sounds at this lone hour,Heard from the rustling ivies of that tower,
The alder-branches, rent, in ruin fall,
And steps are surely heard upon the wall,
And voices through the wind to answering voices call.
And something like the name of Andron there,
To them the many-murmuring billows bear.
The prince looked out, the eastern clouds were white
With morn's first flush, and by that dubious light
He sees a beckoning form which now is bent,
'Twixt sea and sky, above his battlement.
'Tis Cosmo! in far sterner hours than these,
Towers he has scaled o'erhanging deeper seas,
When every step was o'er a foeman slain,
A turbaned Turk, or prostrate Saracen.
“Captive, a stranger and a friend, behold:—
“I smile at danger, fortune aids the bold.
“Haste! to thyself thy flight and freedom owe,
“Night rolls away, a bark is moored below,
173
“The tossing billow and the driving sail.
“Cosmo of Venice knows no idle fear;—
“I pitied thy sad doom, and I am here;
“Nor shalt thou doubt my truth,—a jewelled ring,
“This scarf enfolds, fit signet of a king,
“Found on the morrow of that midnight strife
“Which left thee, Christian captive, nought but life.”
XXI.
And Andron knew that figured scarf of pride,Though deeply stained, had wrapt his early bride;
And this the monarch's ring, the seal of power
Which stamped his will on that remembered hour.
He faltered thanks to heaven! a beam of thought
Flashed on his mind, and there like sunshine wrought;
“Stranger, he said, I tax thy courage high,
“The path is dangerous which thou needs must try;
“For me I reck not of the venturous limb
“To scale a turret or the billow swim;
“But on thy aid, Eudora must depend;—
“This instant, therefore, with the ring descend,
174
“Seeks out the Cyprian guard who holds the key,—
“Brief be thy message; bid them that they bear
“The slave Eudora, to the garden stair,
“With one attendant left, prince Andron meets thee there.”
XXII.
In pride of peril, with a brief adieu,Cosmo received the ring, and thence withdrew;—
Passed to the tower which bears the ocean blast,
And gave the word to Guiscard as he passed.
A kiss of gladness, and one soothing tone,
Are given Eudora, and her chief is gone
Down the deep windings of the steps of stone.
No outward sign that vault must e'er betray;—
'Tis closed upon him, and he strides away:
So much of firmness did his step assume,
She would not doubt, but still must dread his doom.
With ear awake to every sound, she stands,
Pale lip, quick pulse, short breath, and clasped hands,
And eager head bent downward to the floor;
A faint, departing footfall sounds—one more—
175
And golden moments hurrying on the day;
Then a strong arm has smote the yielding wall,
And stones fall fast without—she hears them fall.
What next the Lady saw, she scarcely knew,
Sick with suspense, or dizzy with the view,—
A gasping at the heart she felt, of breath
Denied,—the film without the rest of death.
XXIII.
But grappling fast the cords which Guiscard flung,'Twixt crag and coast, intrepid Andron hung,—
So low, he heard the swimming bittern shriek,
And felt the salt foam driven upon his cheek;
But even in this severe extremity,
Hope filled his soul,—he felt that he was free!
And bliss was in that momentary date,
That dangerous pause, which vigour saved from fate.
He nears the summit with a greeting eye;—
A moment, and the cords vibrating fly,
Loose to the winds, and, in a wild embrace,
Guiscard he folds, hiding his weeping face
Within his mantle, and his words, though weak,
All—all that e'er the heart can utter, speak.
176
XXIV
Oh, there was music in the oars' long sweep,Which bore their boat so boldly on the deep!
And a stern beauty in each wave that flew
By the strong keel, then flashed away in dew!
The amplitude of heaven, the stars, the robe
Of freedom spread o'er all the glorious globe,
The stir of the strong winds, the cry—the call
Of Nature in her boundless carnival,
Come down upon his heart, and that endue
As with a sense electrical and new.
But dark emotions mingled, unforgot,
And urged him, like an eagle, past the spot.
A light is glimmering at the iron gate,
And there are slaves, with folded arms, who wait.
The guards in silence eyed them as they came,
Just bowed in reverence at the emperor's name,
Bear from the tower Eudora's fainting weight
And idly of the stormy ocean prate.
His hand prince Andron to the stranger gave,
Then waved his arm and measured back the wave.
Long at that gate the mutes remained to gaze,
In darkening doubt, and ill-suppressed amaze,
177
From this wild night did Grecian damsels draw
Of her who would not o'er the waters flee,
And of the armed Phantom of the Sea.
XXV.
No longer tossed upon the waves of night,'Tis morn, and ocean smiles again in light;
The clouds have vanished ere the stars went down,
And heaven's deep figure shows without a frown
As in Creation's birth; around, behind,
The azure waves are rolled before the wind;
There one white sail glides happily and fleet,
As speed and sunshine fill the flowing sheet.
To them who o'er those freshening billows bound
Life, like the sea, is an enchanted round,—
A path of rays,—a circle of delight,—
All wildly free, and passionately bright;—
Too full for speech they sit, and silent eye,
Upward, the blue benevolence of sky,
Offering their orisons;—and thus they glide,
By human eye unknown and undescried,
Hour after hour, along the ample tide.
Away! away! away! for ever so,
Long as the breeze shall urge, the waters flow,—
178
Burns on the wave, but still away, away.
The bark flies forward to a barbarous shore,
And doubt expires, and danger is no more.
XXVI.
Long years in Manuel's eye, a restless gloomWas seen to strive, and haunt him to the tomb.
And Andron came his kinsman's strife to see,
The last strong throe, and mortal agony.
And Manuel's crown he wore, and saw the stones
Grow grey with years, and darken o'er his bones.
Whate'er befel that heart, his own was changed,
In roving wide, avenging or avenged.
He brought a bride from o'er the heaving main,
Yet on his brow were lines,—perchance of pain,—
Such they might be! who knew? who knows ev'n now?—
They could but see the blackness of his brow.
If e'er Eudora's name was named aloud,
His look grew gloomy, and his bearing proud:
In all beside, gay, versatile, and brave,
Free as the wind, and reckless as the wave.
END OF CANTO II.
| Julia Alpinula | |