 | The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood |  |
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JUVENILIA
THE BANDIT
(? 1815–17)
CANTO FIRST
‘While the red glaring torches illumine the cave,
Bring the wine that was bought by the blood of the brave!
No coward's pale lip
Of the liquor shall sip
While we drink to our comrades that lie in the grave!
Bring the wine that was bought by the blood of the brave!
No coward's pale lip
Of the liquor shall sip
While we drink to our comrades that lie in the grave!
‘We gained it in strife, and in danger we won;
But we merrily drink now the battle is done!
And the goblet we quaff
While we merrily laugh,
Nor to fill it anew the same danger we'll shun.
But we merrily drink now the battle is done!
And the goblet we quaff
While we merrily laugh,
Nor to fill it anew the same danger we'll shun.
‘Then fill the bright goblets—replenish the whole!
Pour, pour the rich liquor that gladdens the soul;
For remorse we defy
When the goblet is by,
And conscience and care are soon drowned in the bowl.’
Pour, pour the rich liquor that gladdens the soul;
For remorse we defy
When the goblet is by,
And conscience and care are soon drowned in the bowl.’
Thus sung the bandit crew, and as they sung,
Wildly their harsh, discordant voices rung;
And jarring echoes filled the vaulted cave
As each harsh voice joined rudely in the stave;
And when they ceased, the scoffing jest gave birth
To sounds of laughter—loud and boisterous mirth;
Or all was hushed in silence round while one
Triumphant told of deeds of horror done;
Or boasting speech and bitter mockings rose
To angry words, and threatenings to blows
And bloody contest, till the din swells high
With shouts of fury, pain, and blasphemy.
Wildly their harsh, discordant voices rung;
And jarring echoes filled the vaulted cave
As each harsh voice joined rudely in the stave;
And when they ceased, the scoffing jest gave birth
To sounds of laughter—loud and boisterous mirth;
Or all was hushed in silence round while one
Triumphant told of deeds of horror done;
Or boasting speech and bitter mockings rose
To angry words, and threatenings to blows
And bloody contest, till the din swells high
With shouts of fury, pain, and blasphemy.
But instant sunk the tumult and the din,
As suddenly the Chieftain came within;
His tall, majestic, and commanding form
Had been depressed beneath misfortune's storm;
And on his brow care's lineaments uncouth
Belie his age and rob him of his youth.
And, save when all convulsed, his features show
He strives within for mastery with woe;
While half his agitated frame reveals
The inward agony his pride conceals;
His face and form assume the settled air
And wonted attitude of calm despair.
As suddenly the Chieftain came within;
His tall, majestic, and commanding form
Had been depressed beneath misfortune's storm;
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Belie his age and rob him of his youth.
And, save when all convulsed, his features show
He strives within for mastery with woe;
While half his agitated frame reveals
The inward agony his pride conceals;
His face and form assume the settled air
And wonted attitude of calm despair.
He was not formed by Nature for the part
That he now played—once foreign to his heart.
He had been formed to love; but 'twas his fate
To meet with none but who deserved his hate.
He had been mild, but injuries had fired,
And with a savage sullenness inspired;
Repeated wrongs had turned his breast to steel,
And all but these he had forgot to feel.
That he now played—once foreign to his heart.
He had been formed to love; but 'twas his fate
To meet with none but who deserved his hate.
He had been mild, but injuries had fired,
And with a savage sullenness inspired;
Repeated wrongs had turned his breast to steel,
And all but these he had forgot to feel.
Apart from all, within a dark recess,
He sat him down in gloomy silentness,
Where he was wont to sit in gloomy thought
O'er dark designs with woe and fury fraught,
And his wild brain each frenzied plan revolved,
Or acts of daring enterprise resolved;
Even now, thus darkly did he meditate
One last sad act to signalize his hate—
One deed of retribution to be hurled
To 'venge the wrongs he suffered from the world!
He sat him down in gloomy silentness,
Where he was wont to sit in gloomy thought
O'er dark designs with woe and fury fraught,
And his wild brain each frenzied plan revolved,
Or acts of daring enterprise resolved;
Even now, thus darkly did he meditate
One last sad act to signalize his hate—
One deed of retribution to be hurled
To 'venge the wrongs he suffered from the world!
Nor oft the robbers ventured to intrude
By careless noise upon his thoughtful mood;
And fewer still e'er strive by curious speech
The secret purport of his plans to reach.
One look—one word—the intrusive speech repressed,
And the inquiry hushed, ere scarce expressed;
So was he ever feared and held in awe—
They crouched to him who spurned at every law!
By careless noise upon his thoughtful mood;
And fewer still e'er strive by curious speech
The secret purport of his plans to reach.
One look—one word—the intrusive speech repressed,
And the inquiry hushed, ere scarce expressed;
So was he ever feared and held in awe—
They crouched to him who spurned at every law!
Wolf only to address the Chieftain dared,
Nor for repulses oft repeated cared.
Next to the Chief they feared and hated him
Whose joy was blood and cruelty his whim.
His sheathless blade was never known to rust,
Nor the fresh gore e'er suffered to encrust;
Peace he abhorred, and endless warfare waged,
In jarring strife, eternal broils engaged.
Ambitious, too,—impatient of control,—
Subjection grated on his haughty soul,
And made him—spurning at his leader's sway—
First to rebel and latest to obey.
And now, with angry tone the Bandit spoke,
And on the Chieftain's reverie thus broke—
‘Say, do you scorn us, that you shun our feast,
For that invites not your contempt at least;
Our wine is good, and even Dacre's Lord
Scarce sees such venison smoke upon his board.
Such is our feast—would it were never worse,
Nor more deserving your contempt than us.’
Nor for repulses oft repeated cared.
Next to the Chief they feared and hated him
Whose joy was blood and cruelty his whim.
His sheathless blade was never known to rust,
Nor the fresh gore e'er suffered to encrust;
Peace he abhorred, and endless warfare waged,
In jarring strife, eternal broils engaged.
Ambitious, too,—impatient of control,—
Subjection grated on his haughty soul,
And made him—spurning at his leader's sway—
First to rebel and latest to obey.
And now, with angry tone the Bandit spoke,
And on the Chieftain's reverie thus broke—
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For that invites not your contempt at least;
Our wine is good, and even Dacre's Lord
Scarce sees such venison smoke upon his board.
Such is our feast—would it were never worse,
Nor more deserving your contempt than us.’
Up rose the Chief in haste, but not a word
Implied the discontented speech was heard.
‘To arms,’ he cried, ‘to arms with speed prepare,
This night our final enterprise to share,
And then we part, for 'mid these wilds I see
No firm security remains for me.’
Implied the discontented speech was heard.
‘To arms,’ he cried, ‘to arms with speed prepare,
This night our final enterprise to share,
And then we part, for 'mid these wilds I see
No firm security remains for me.’
He spoke—they lingered still, and some expressed
Their discontent in murmurs half repressed—
‘When steals our wearied limbs repose from toil,
While we make merry o'er our hard-earned spoil,
This very night we fondly hoped at last
To rest and revel after labours past;
And, as I live, a feast, 'twas our belief,
Would celebrate the accession of our Chief.’
Their discontent in murmurs half repressed—
‘When steals our wearied limbs repose from toil,
While we make merry o'er our hard-earned spoil,
This very night we fondly hoped at last
To rest and revel after labours past;
And, as I live, a feast, 'twas our belief,
Would celebrate the accession of our Chief.’
‘A feast! a banquet! rather let it show
In my life's calendar a day of woe!
A day that rose in gloom is lowering yet,
And soon, I fear, as gloomily will set;
And for your calling, think you I have prized
Your avocation, nor yourselves despised?
Have I your savage, brutal deeds admired,
Nor cursed the sordid motives that inspired?
No! I have viewed ye as a scourge designed—
A plague—a curse—to chasten humankind.
As such, as instruments I chose you, then,
To wreak my vengeance on ungrateful men!
In my life's calendar a day of woe!
A day that rose in gloom is lowering yet,
And soon, I fear, as gloomily will set;
And for your calling, think you I have prized
Your avocation, nor yourselves despised?
Have I your savage, brutal deeds admired,
Nor cursed the sordid motives that inspired?
No! I have viewed ye as a scourge designed—
A plague—a curse—to chasten humankind.
As such, as instruments I chose you, then,
To wreak my vengeance on ungrateful men!
‘And in your banquets did I ever sip?
Your food untasted ever pass my lip?
No! I will eat wild berries and wild fruit,
Drink of the stream and famish on a root,
Couch in a cave and lodge me where I can,
Ere I will now hold anything of man!
And, hear this truth,—the plainest morsel now,
By honest labour, earned with sweating brow,
Were dearer, sweeter far, to me at least,
Than all the viands in your guilty feast!
Your food untasted ever pass my lip?
No! I will eat wild berries and wild fruit,
Drink of the stream and famish on a root,
Couch in a cave and lodge me where I can,
Ere I will now hold anything of man!
And, hear this truth,—the plainest morsel now,
By honest labour, earned with sweating brow,
Were dearer, sweeter far, to me at least,
Than all the viands in your guilty feast!
Enough of this. Time hurries on! Draw near;
For once my plan and all its purport hear,
That, known more fully, you may judge aright,
You join or not my enterprise to-night!’
In deep attention,—hushed without a sound,—
With wondering eagerness they circle round;
Ne'er had he deigned before one word to hold
In converse with them or his plans had told;
But now he speaks, for once without command,
And the mute robbers, listening, round him stand.
For once my plan and all its purport hear,
That, known more fully, you may judge aright,
You join or not my enterprise to-night!’
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With wondering eagerness they circle round;
Ne'er had he deigned before one word to hold
In converse with them or his plans had told;
But now he speaks, for once without command,
And the mute robbers, listening, round him stand.
‘Who has not heard the Earl Glenallan's name,
And been familiar with his warlike fame?
Who, by his king ungratefully repaid,
Left courts and kings and sought the rural shade,
Till roused from happy indolence he heard
The plaint his bondaged countrymen preferred,
And heard the summons to his patriot hand
To burst the fetters that enslaved his land;
'Twas then reluctantly he drew his sword
Against the king for whom his blood had poured,
But poured, alas, in vain;—who does not know
His combats, victories, and overthrow?
Though all his perils, both by land and sea,
And sorrows since, are only known to me.
And been familiar with his warlike fame?
Who, by his king ungratefully repaid,
Left courts and kings and sought the rural shade,
Till roused from happy indolence he heard
The plaint his bondaged countrymen preferred,
And heard the summons to his patriot hand
To burst the fetters that enslaved his land;
'Twas then reluctantly he drew his sword
Against the king for whom his blood had poured,
But poured, alas, in vain;—who does not know
His combats, victories, and overthrow?
Though all his perils, both by land and sea,
And sorrows since, are only known to me.
‘Defeated and deserted—under ban—
Chased like a tiger by the hate of man;
By day through lonely wilds he urged his flight,
And couched beneath Heaven's canopy at night.
Alone he fled—his tenantry's goodwill
And wishes for his welfare followed still;
But more they dared not—till, by happy chance,
Two boldly aided his escape to France.
Chased like a tiger by the hate of man;
By day through lonely wilds he urged his flight,
And couched beneath Heaven's canopy at night.
Alone he fled—his tenantry's goodwill
And wishes for his welfare followed still;
But more they dared not—till, by happy chance,
Two boldly aided his escape to France.
‘But ere he went he bade a long adieu
To one, the last, the only friend he knew;
To him confided his intended wife—
His love, his hope, his all, and more than life;
And then he hurried from the ingrate strand,
But first bequeathed his blessing to his land.
To one, the last, the only friend he knew;
To him confided his intended wife—
His love, his hope, his all, and more than life;
And then he hurried from the ingrate strand,
But first bequeathed his blessing to his land.
‘In France he covered all his deeds with shame,
And, first, for aye resigned the patriot's name.
Cursed be the day—the era of his fall—
He gave his hand in friendship to the Gaul;
Ne'er might his foes so well exult till then,
Nor he deserved thus of his countrymen;
Ne'er had he raised before his traitor hand
Against the welfare of his native land;
His deeds were blasted and his shame was sealed.
There first he fought and first was known to greet
A joyful feeling in his own defeat;
Oft had he sighed to join in fight once more
With those he led to victory before;
But, they victorious,—'twere a coward's deed!
He sighed, and left it for the day of need.
It came. He marked the Gaul's superior force—
Resistless, bursting its triumphant course.
He left the conquerors in joyful haste,
And fought when ruin and defeat menaced.
Again he conquered, and returned once more
With hopes rekindled to his native shore,
And fondly thought this service might recall
His country's love and make amends for all.
In vain! His service they remembered not,
But all, except his many faults, forgot,
And drove him into solitude to find
A refuge with the vilest of his kind.
And now, to fill the measure of his woe,
His friend must strike the last inhuman blow.
This night—save we avert the guilty deed,
Or his cold heart, like that he tortures, bleed—
He weds the hand and heart he basely stole,
And whelms keen anguish o'er Glenallan's soul!
Love, friendless, poor—yet while my arm is strong,
And my blade keen, I can avenge the wrong.
Till now I've righted others' cause alone,
But now Glenallan shall avenge his own!’
And, first, for aye resigned the patriot's name.
Cursed be the day—the era of his fall—
He gave his hand in friendship to the Gaul;
Ne'er might his foes so well exult till then,
Nor he deserved thus of his countrymen;
Ne'er had he raised before his traitor hand
Against the welfare of his native land;
His deeds were blasted and his shame was sealed.
There first he fought and first was known to greet
A joyful feeling in his own defeat;
Oft had he sighed to join in fight once more
With those he led to victory before;
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He sighed, and left it for the day of need.
It came. He marked the Gaul's superior force—
Resistless, bursting its triumphant course.
He left the conquerors in joyful haste,
And fought when ruin and defeat menaced.
Again he conquered, and returned once more
With hopes rekindled to his native shore,
And fondly thought this service might recall
His country's love and make amends for all.
In vain! His service they remembered not,
But all, except his many faults, forgot,
And drove him into solitude to find
A refuge with the vilest of his kind.
And now, to fill the measure of his woe,
His friend must strike the last inhuman blow.
This night—save we avert the guilty deed,
Or his cold heart, like that he tortures, bleed—
He weds the hand and heart he basely stole,
And whelms keen anguish o'er Glenallan's soul!
Love, friendless, poor—yet while my arm is strong,
And my blade keen, I can avenge the wrong.
Till now I've righted others' cause alone,
But now Glenallan shall avenge his own!’
Awhile the robbers paused in deep amaze,
And on the Chieftain turned their earnest gaze,
Not that they pondered aught unusual now
In the dark workings of his gloomy brow;
But ne'er before they heard his lofty name,
Nor knew they had a Chieftain of such fame.
And on the Chieftain turned their earnest gaze,
Not that they pondered aught unusual now
In the dark workings of his gloomy brow;
But ne'er before they heard his lofty name,
Nor knew they had a Chieftain of such fame.
He spoke again: ‘Your guilty hands are red,
And blush with blood too often they have shed.
Many perchance may feel in after times
The woe, the misery that tracked your crimes;
But can remorse or conscience now recall
One deed as black as this among them all?
If so, remain, unworthy of the care
To speed the chastening you ought to share.
Speak! What so sacred to a Highland breast
As is the claim of safety for his guest,
And far more sacred if he be distrest?
'Twas thus we hailed the Stuart when he fled,
And spurned the gold that hung upon his head:
Was there a wretch, a traitor so accurst,
A seeming friend who dared betray his trust?
And blush with blood too often they have shed.
Many perchance may feel in after times
The woe, the misery that tracked your crimes;
But can remorse or conscience now recall
One deed as black as this among them all?
If so, remain, unworthy of the care
To speed the chastening you ought to share.
Speak! What so sacred to a Highland breast
As is the claim of safety for his guest,
And far more sacred if he be distrest?
'Twas thus we hailed the Stuart when he fled,
And spurned the gold that hung upon his head:
Was there a wretch, a traitor so accurst,
A seeming friend who dared betray his trust?
‘Lead on!—We go! The traitor's heart shall bleed,
Our hands shall aid, our tongues approve the deed.
Long live our Chieftain, and all traitors die!’
They cried—one only joined not in the cry.
'Twas Wolf! ‘I say not so,’ with scornful smile
He said, and gazed upon his brand the while.
‘Could this relate the deeds its edge had done,—
Lost in amaze ye would forget that one,
As each succeeding each you found them still
All brighter far, or blacker, if you will,’—
And o'er his haggard features as he spoke
A scornful smile of exultation broke.
All have some passion, pride, or ruling will,
And his to be in all superior still;
And now he gloried o'er the blood he spilt,
That made him paramount, though but in guilt.
Our hands shall aid, our tongues approve the deed.
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They cried—one only joined not in the cry.
'Twas Wolf! ‘I say not so,’ with scornful smile
He said, and gazed upon his brand the while.
‘Could this relate the deeds its edge had done,—
Lost in amaze ye would forget that one,
As each succeeding each you found them still
All brighter far, or blacker, if you will,’—
And o'er his haggard features as he spoke
A scornful smile of exultation broke.
All have some passion, pride, or ruling will,
And his to be in all superior still;
And now he gloried o'er the blood he spilt,
That made him paramount, though but in guilt.
And now the sign, the bustle, and the din
Of preparation reigns without—within;
Loud ring the arms, and loud the bugle strain,
Recalls the stragglers to the cave again.
They came in weary groups, but gaily bring
Fresh game and booty for the banqueting,
But, lo! deserted is the festive board,
And each girds on his armour and his sword,
While all their converse and their words imply
Some daring enterprise and booty nigh.
They marvel and inquire the Chief's intent,
And rather give submission than consent.
They arm—the order given—the route is known,—
They hurry out, and Wolf is left alone.
The sun, still lingering in the golden west,
Slow sinks behind the purple mountain's crest
That rears its head sublime; and far below
The lake's calm bosom sparkles in the glow,
Save where is seen an undulating shade
By frowning rocks and woods and forests made;
Or the tall vessel gently seems to glide
In silent majesty along the tide,
Her white sails wooing the soft zephyr's breath,
Scarce rippling in the dancing wave beneath
That rolls with gentle murmuring to lave
The willow twig that loves to kiss the wave.
Of preparation reigns without—within;
Loud ring the arms, and loud the bugle strain,
Recalls the stragglers to the cave again.
They came in weary groups, but gaily bring
Fresh game and booty for the banqueting,
But, lo! deserted is the festive board,
And each girds on his armour and his sword,
While all their converse and their words imply
Some daring enterprise and booty nigh.
They marvel and inquire the Chief's intent,
And rather give submission than consent.
They arm—the order given—the route is known,—
They hurry out, and Wolf is left alone.
The sun, still lingering in the golden west,
Slow sinks behind the purple mountain's crest
That rears its head sublime; and far below
The lake's calm bosom sparkles in the glow,
Save where is seen an undulating shade
By frowning rocks and woods and forests made;
Or the tall vessel gently seems to glide
In silent majesty along the tide,
Her white sails wooing the soft zephyr's breath,
Scarce rippling in the dancing wave beneath
That rolls with gentle murmuring to lave
The willow twig that loves to kiss the wave.
One bright departing ray of golden fire
Still hangs reluctant on the village spire;
Like Hope's last dream, it fondly lingers yet,
Then leaves the highest pinnacle—'tis set!
And now the mountains, blending with the sky,
Or, lost in clouds, elude the gazer's eye,
And wide and far the lengthened shadows round,
Creep slow and silent o'er the darkened ground;
And travelling on, obscuring hill and dale,
The shades of night enshroud the quiet vale.
Still hangs reluctant on the village spire;
Like Hope's last dream, it fondly lingers yet,
Then leaves the highest pinnacle—'tis set!
And now the mountains, blending with the sky,
Or, lost in clouds, elude the gazer's eye,
And wide and far the lengthened shadows round,
Creep slow and silent o'er the darkened ground;
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The shades of night enshroud the quiet vale.
Now sleeps the peasant, and forgets the while,
In sweet oblivion, his daily toil;
Now rest the weary, and perchance in sleep
The wretched and unhappy cease to weep;
Some few in pain, or revelry or woe,
Or worldly cares, its influence forego.
Perhaps it flies the dark uneasy bed,
Where the pale invalid reclines his head;
But chiefly Guilt its balmy sweets forsake,
And the cursed murderer and robber wake,
For Conscience and Remorse, that sleep not, seem
To sting when waked and haunt their every dream.
In sweet oblivion, his daily toil;
Now rest the weary, and perchance in sleep
The wretched and unhappy cease to weep;
Some few in pain, or revelry or woe,
Or worldly cares, its influence forego.
Perhaps it flies the dark uneasy bed,
Where the pale invalid reclines his head;
But chiefly Guilt its balmy sweets forsake,
And the cursed murderer and robber wake,
For Conscience and Remorse, that sleep not, seem
To sting when waked and haunt their every dream.
CANTO SECOND
Through Arden's pile the lighted tapers blazed,
The sound of mirth and revelry was raised,
And in the mazy dance light bounding feet
The sprightly measure of the music beat,
The song, the jest, the laugh, the bowl flew fast,
And grey-haired Time smiled gaily as he passed;
And ‘joy to Arden and his bonny bride!’
Was hymned by joyous tongues on every side;
And oft they pledged the fair in sparkling wine,
Inspiring wit that better seemed to shine.
And there were lovely maids that blushed to hear
The grateful praises whispered in their ear;
And undisguised, love mingled with the rest,—
A welcome, nor an uninvited guest;
And there were beating hearts with rapture filled,
And throbbing pulses that with pleasure thrilled,
And eyes that shone with flames they could not veil,
And tongues and lips that oft confirmed the tale,
Or strove the avowal but in vain to shun,
And all were happy—pleasing—pleased—but one!
The sound of mirth and revelry was raised,
And in the mazy dance light bounding feet
The sprightly measure of the music beat,
The song, the jest, the laugh, the bowl flew fast,
And grey-haired Time smiled gaily as he passed;
And ‘joy to Arden and his bonny bride!’
Was hymned by joyous tongues on every side;
And oft they pledged the fair in sparkling wine,
Inspiring wit that better seemed to shine.
And there were lovely maids that blushed to hear
The grateful praises whispered in their ear;
And undisguised, love mingled with the rest,—
A welcome, nor an uninvited guest;
And there were beating hearts with rapture filled,
And throbbing pulses that with pleasure thrilled,
And eyes that shone with flames they could not veil,
And tongues and lips that oft confirmed the tale,
Or strove the avowal but in vain to shun,
And all were happy—pleasing—pleased—but one!
Clad as a mourner in a sable suit
The stranger stood—pale, motionless, and mute,
Nought could divert his glaring eyes aside,
That gazed reproachfully upon the bride.
In vain her supplicating glance she raised;
Unmoved, immovable he sternly gazed;
But when she wildly clasped her hands of snow
He turned aside in pity to her woe.
Still where he moved all gaiety was crushed,
The dance was ended and the song was hushed,
And if, perchance, the speaker's glance had caught
His countenance, with woe and fury fraught,
He smiled no more—his face unconscious took
The gloomy semblance of the other's look,
His speech was checked as sudden as his glee,
Or ended in the whisper—‘Who is he?’
The stranger stood—pale, motionless, and mute,
Nought could divert his glaring eyes aside,
That gazed reproachfully upon the bride.
In vain her supplicating glance she raised;
Unmoved, immovable he sternly gazed;
But when she wildly clasped her hands of snow
He turned aside in pity to her woe.
Still where he moved all gaiety was crushed,
The dance was ended and the song was hushed,
And if, perchance, the speaker's glance had caught
His countenance, with woe and fury fraught,
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The gloomy semblance of the other's look,
His speech was checked as sudden as his glee,
Or ended in the whisper—‘Who is he?’
'Twas Ulric, on whose brow a sadder shade
Half mourned the gloomy change his presence made,
And while the dulcet sounds of music stole
So soft, so sweetly o'er his stormy soul,
His heart half softened, and his fury soothed,
As ruffled waves by oily drops are smoothed,
Inly he shuddered at himself, who stood
To end the scene of happiness in blood!
Half mourned the gloomy change his presence made,
And while the dulcet sounds of music stole
So soft, so sweetly o'er his stormy soul,
His heart half softened, and his fury soothed,
As ruffled waves by oily drops are smoothed,
Inly he shuddered at himself, who stood
To end the scene of happiness in blood!
But when he pondered on his own sad fall,
That left him dark and lone among them all,
Or looked on some exulting at his cost,
And revelling in joys himself had lost,
Then roused the slumbering Demon in his breast,
And mad designs that scarce could be repressed,
As suddenly, he laid his eager hand
And grasped impatiently the starting brand.
That left him dark and lone among them all,
Or looked on some exulting at his cost,
And revelling in joys himself had lost,
Then roused the slumbering Demon in his breast,
And mad designs that scarce could be repressed,
As suddenly, he laid his eager hand
And grasped impatiently the starting brand.
Thus terrible he stood, when Arden pressed
To view the figure of his stranger guest,
And while in that stern countenance, with dread,
The well-known features of the Chief he read,
A damp, chill shuddering shook his startled frame,
His tongue, too, trembled while he spoke the name,
And his heart sank as his fixed eye-balls viewed
The frowning look and threatening attitude.
To view the figure of his stranger guest,
And while in that stern countenance, with dread,
The well-known features of the Chief he read,
A damp, chill shuddering shook his startled frame,
His tongue, too, trembled while he spoke the name,
And his heart sank as his fixed eye-balls viewed
The frowning look and threatening attitude.
‘Yes! I am he—deserted and despised,
Whose heart is tortured and whose head is prized!
Yes, I am he—your treachery has driven
From all his kind—hope, happiness, and heaven;
But shall you not sit mocking at my fall,
Nor hold your banquets in my father's hall;
Nor shall you revel in her beauties now,
Nor glory in the false one's broken vow.
No! I will act, in just resentment strong,
As late avenger in each former wrong;
Requite all injuries received of old,
And match the justice man has dared withhold.’
Whose heart is tortured and whose head is prized!
Yes, I am he—your treachery has driven
From all his kind—hope, happiness, and heaven;
But shall you not sit mocking at my fall,
Nor hold your banquets in my father's hall;
Nor shall you revel in her beauties now,
Nor glory in the false one's broken vow.
No! I will act, in just resentment strong,
As late avenger in each former wrong;
Requite all injuries received of old,
And match the justice man has dared withhold.’
Thus spoke the Chief, and from his girdle drew
His brazen bugle-horn, and loudly blew:
Shrill rung the strain, and instant from without,
Responsive rose the impatient robbers' shout,
Fierce rushed the ruffian band, and burst within,
With mingling curses and terrific din,
Like straining bloodhounds round the Chief they stood,
And watched the signal for the work of blood.
His brazen bugle-horn, and loudly blew:
Shrill rung the strain, and instant from without,
Responsive rose the impatient robbers' shout,
Fierce rushed the ruffian band, and burst within,
With mingling curses and terrific din,
708
And watched the signal for the work of blood.
Brandished aloft the robbers' weapons gleam,
And, flashing, glance beneath the taper's beam,
While partially the broken rays illume
Their rugged features, shaded by the plume
That o'er each brow imparts a deeper gloom.
Pale—trembling now, the ladies start aside,
And crowd in fearful groups around the bride;
The guests recoil afraid—e'en Arden shrinks,
And on his knee a faltering suppliant sinks:
‘Oh! I have wronged you, but in hour like this,
When sparkles at my lip the cup of bliss,
Can you behold it yet untasted shine
And dash it down?’—
And, flashing, glance beneath the taper's beam,
While partially the broken rays illume
Their rugged features, shaded by the plume
That o'er each brow imparts a deeper gloom.
Pale—trembling now, the ladies start aside,
And crowd in fearful groups around the bride;
The guests recoil afraid—e'en Arden shrinks,
And on his knee a faltering suppliant sinks:
‘Oh! I have wronged you, but in hour like this,
When sparkles at my lip the cup of bliss,
Can you behold it yet untasted shine
And dash it down?’—
‘Thus was it dashed from mine;
Thus did you blast each lingering hope, and steal
The last sole joy my wounded soul could feel,
And thus will I your budding hopes destroy
And blight them ere they ripen into joy.
Oh, Arden, you have driven me to deeds
At which my soul revolts, my nature bleeds,
For you have severed the last tie could bind
My soul in amity with humankind.
Stripped—exiled—deserted—under ban—
In you I still possessed one friend in man;
But, lo! your treachery has crowned my fall,
Stolen my last friend, and made me foe to all.
Then look around once more—behold these charms,
And that fair bride, now severed from your arms;
Mark the late partners of your joy and see
The broken wreck of thy last revelry;
And this, the scene of thy rejoicings view—
Survey all these, and bid them all adieu,
And tear from off your brow the bridal wreath
Before you meet the cold embrace of death!’
Thus did you blast each lingering hope, and steal
The last sole joy my wounded soul could feel,
And thus will I your budding hopes destroy
And blight them ere they ripen into joy.
Oh, Arden, you have driven me to deeds
At which my soul revolts, my nature bleeds,
For you have severed the last tie could bind
My soul in amity with humankind.
Stripped—exiled—deserted—under ban—
In you I still possessed one friend in man;
But, lo! your treachery has crowned my fall,
Stolen my last friend, and made me foe to all.
Then look around once more—behold these charms,
And that fair bride, now severed from your arms;
Mark the late partners of your joy and see
The broken wreck of thy last revelry;
And this, the scene of thy rejoicings view—
Survey all these, and bid them all adieu,
And tear from off your brow the bridal wreath
Before you meet the cold embrace of death!’
But ere his lingering arm could speed its aim,
The trembling Adelaide affrighted came;
Pale was her cheek, and tear-drops glistened there
Bright as the gems that sparkled in her hair,
And her clasped hands expressed a deep distress
That ill accorded with the bridal dress,
As thus in speechless agony of grief
She bent her lovely form before the Chief.
The trembling Adelaide affrighted came;
Pale was her cheek, and tear-drops glistened there
Bright as the gems that sparkled in her hair,
And her clasped hands expressed a deep distress
That ill accorded with the bridal dress,
As thus in speechless agony of grief
She bent her lovely form before the Chief.
On Ulric's brow, each trace of fury flown—
The gloominess of grief remained alone.
He dropped the fatal point—who could forbear
When tears implored and beauty urged the prayer?
But still internally his stubborn pride
Strove the best feelings of his heart to hide,
And still each pang he struggled to conceal,
As though he deemed it weakness thus to feel.
But Nature triumphed! Though he turned aside
Abrupt, his changing countenance to hide,
From his dark eyes unwonted tear-drops rushed
(So from the smitten rock the waters gushed);
Beneath his cloak he sought the drops to shroud,
But bursting sighs bespoke his grief aloud.
The gloominess of grief remained alone.
709
When tears implored and beauty urged the prayer?
But still internally his stubborn pride
Strove the best feelings of his heart to hide,
And still each pang he struggled to conceal,
As though he deemed it weakness thus to feel.
But Nature triumphed! Though he turned aside
Abrupt, his changing countenance to hide,
From his dark eyes unwonted tear-drops rushed
(So from the smitten rock the waters gushed);
Beneath his cloak he sought the drops to shroud,
But bursting sighs bespoke his grief aloud.
‘Oh, Adelaide! a joyless wretch I came,
With frenzied purpose and infernal aim,
To 'venge the falsehood that had caused my woe,
And make thy blood as now thy tear-drops flow;
But, lo! my heart forgets not that it knew
The time, alas! it only throbbed for you,
And, loving yet, rebels against my will,
And prompts my faltering tongue to bless you still.
Be blessed! Forget my love! The solemn vow
That with my wretched heart is broken now.
But, ah, to you may ne'er its sorrows reach,
And I alone feel wretched in the breach;
Forget all these! with that unhappy man
Who bids you still be happy—if you can!’
With frenzied purpose and infernal aim,
To 'venge the falsehood that had caused my woe,
And make thy blood as now thy tear-drops flow;
But, lo! my heart forgets not that it knew
The time, alas! it only throbbed for you,
And, loving yet, rebels against my will,
And prompts my faltering tongue to bless you still.
Be blessed! Forget my love! The solemn vow
That with my wretched heart is broken now.
But, ah, to you may ne'er its sorrows reach,
And I alone feel wretched in the breach;
Forget all these! with that unhappy man
Who bids you still be happy—if you can!’
Faltering she answered, but her faint reply
Was drowned amid the robbers' angry cry,
Whose scornful words strove vainly to condemn
The Chieftain's weakness as unknown to them;
And one more daring seized the kneeling bride—
‘Be this my prize! I claim her first!’ he cried.
Surprised and awed, accustomed to his sway,
They loudly murmured, but they still obey;
Amid them all he stands, unhurt, alone,
And all the band submit and crouch to one!
Was drowned amid the robbers' angry cry,
Whose scornful words strove vainly to condemn
The Chieftain's weakness as unknown to them;
And one more daring seized the kneeling bride—
‘Be this my prize! I claim her first!’ he cried.
Surprised and awed, accustomed to his sway,
They loudly murmured, but they still obey;
Amid them all he stands, unhurt, alone,
And all the band submit and crouch to one!
‘'Tis vain. No longer I pretend to wield
The sword of justice, or the weak to shield,
Or hurl that vengeance which the Final Day
More surely and less blindly will repay.
Enough! From all your oaths I now release;
And this, my last command—Depart in peace.
Your Chief no longer, in some private cell,
Far from the busy haunts of men, I'll dwell,
And strive to wash my many crimes away
By sorrowing nights, and sighs and tears by day.
Would that ye also left your crimes, and then
Were less a scourge and curse to better men!’
The sword of justice, or the weak to shield,
Or hurl that vengeance which the Final Day
More surely and less blindly will repay.
Enough! From all your oaths I now release;
And this, my last command—Depart in peace.
Your Chief no longer, in some private cell,
Far from the busy haunts of men, I'll dwell,
And strive to wash my many crimes away
By sorrowing nights, and sighs and tears by day.
710
Were less a scourge and curse to better men!’
As thus he spoke, in bitterness of heart,
He, sad and sorrowing, turned him to depart;
But, sudden bursting in the hall again,
Came Wolf, and led a strong and armed train.
‘Behold our prize! Yon sable plume behold!
Seize—seize him! for his head is gold!
On, comrades, on!’—At once the robbers poured
And seized the Chieftain ere he gained his sword.
One only dared to strike in his defence,
And smote the assailant, but at life's expense.
The Chieftain saw and seized the falling brand,
And broke resistless from the circling band;
Then, as a lion, when the foes surround,
Springs on the first and tears him to the ground,
Headlong he rushed—death followed on each stroke—
And felled the foremost till the sabre broke.
Thrice Arden joining in the unequal strife
Had stayed the steel that pointed at his life;
But soon a sword too keen—too surely prest—
Escaped his zeal and gored the Chieftain's breast.
He staggered—sunk—and on the bloody ground
Still feebly combated with all around,
Then rose again and rushed against the foe—
Another effort and a final blow;—
With steady purpose and unerring hand
He raised the fragment of the faithless brand;
On Wolf with violence he pressed the blade,
And lifeless at his feet the robber laid!
Again he falls—faint, wounded, and beset,
He fights exhausted but undaunted yet.
More close the circling foes assault him round,
From every side he feels the biting wound;
Blade after blade the crimson current drinks,
And steals his strength—he struggles—wavers—sinks!
The broken sabre quits his feeble grasp,
And life just seems to hang upon a gasp.
Now he can fight no more, but, doomed to die,
Gazes on his murderers with angry eye:
Loud swells the shout for triumph vilely won,
The prize is conquered and the deed is done;
But other spoil invites—they turn to where
Bright diamonds sparkle 'mid dishevelled hair
Blest if no violence should take them there!
In vain they kneel, and gentler pity claim,
They plead to those who never knew the name.
The robbers seize!—but, bursting from the wall,
What sudden blaze illuminates the hall?
It is the taper, or the robbers' aim,
Has set the lighted drapery in flame?
All through the robbers burst their fearful way—
Perhaps death to go—but never death to stay!
He, sad and sorrowing, turned him to depart;
But, sudden bursting in the hall again,
Came Wolf, and led a strong and armed train.
‘Behold our prize! Yon sable plume behold!
Seize—seize him! for his head is gold!
On, comrades, on!’—At once the robbers poured
And seized the Chieftain ere he gained his sword.
One only dared to strike in his defence,
And smote the assailant, but at life's expense.
The Chieftain saw and seized the falling brand,
And broke resistless from the circling band;
Then, as a lion, when the foes surround,
Springs on the first and tears him to the ground,
Headlong he rushed—death followed on each stroke—
And felled the foremost till the sabre broke.
Thrice Arden joining in the unequal strife
Had stayed the steel that pointed at his life;
But soon a sword too keen—too surely prest—
Escaped his zeal and gored the Chieftain's breast.
He staggered—sunk—and on the bloody ground
Still feebly combated with all around,
Then rose again and rushed against the foe—
Another effort and a final blow;—
With steady purpose and unerring hand
He raised the fragment of the faithless brand;
On Wolf with violence he pressed the blade,
And lifeless at his feet the robber laid!
Again he falls—faint, wounded, and beset,
He fights exhausted but undaunted yet.
More close the circling foes assault him round,
From every side he feels the biting wound;
Blade after blade the crimson current drinks,
And steals his strength—he struggles—wavers—sinks!
The broken sabre quits his feeble grasp,
And life just seems to hang upon a gasp.
Now he can fight no more, but, doomed to die,
Gazes on his murderers with angry eye:
Loud swells the shout for triumph vilely won,
The prize is conquered and the deed is done;
But other spoil invites—they turn to where
Bright diamonds sparkle 'mid dishevelled hair
Blest if no violence should take them there!
In vain they kneel, and gentler pity claim,
They plead to those who never knew the name.
The robbers seize!—but, bursting from the wall,
What sudden blaze illuminates the hall?
711
Has set the lighted drapery in flame?
All through the robbers burst their fearful way—
Perhaps death to go—but never death to stay!
‘Who fired the curtain? 'Twas a foolish deed!
Molest them not, but to the cave with speed.
Haste, comrades, bear yon body in your arms,
Ere yon red blaze the villagers alarms!’
Molest them not, but to the cave with speed.
Haste, comrades, bear yon body in your arms,
Ere yon red blaze the villagers alarms!’
They seize the Chief unconscious of his lot,
And wildly hurry from the fatal spot;
And wondering villagers collect the while
And gaze in terror on the burning pile.
And wildly hurry from the fatal spot;
And wondering villagers collect the while
And gaze in terror on the burning pile.
With rapid stride the blaze ascends on high,
Now gains the roof and blushes in the sky;
Each space, each chink, the fiery guest betrays,
And through each window bursts the angry blaze,
And rocking walls and burning beams impend,
And crackling timbers with a crash descend!
Downward they hurl, still blazing as they go,
And fall, half-smothering the flames below!
And lo! the brightest and the last of all—
One turret trembles at its threatened fall;
In vain through many a long and stormy age
It braved the battle and the tempest's rage,
Now o'er its frowning crest, that once so proud
Looked down exulting o'er the misty cloud,
The roaring flames and spiral blazes curl,
And fire and smoke in mingled eddies whirl;—
It shakes—it totters on its shattered base,
And headlong falls with brave Glenallan's race.
Soon will the nettle's humble top alone
Look proudly down upon the fallen stone;
And waving grass will flourish o'er the head
Of him who scarcely lingers from the dead.
Now gains the roof and blushes in the sky;
Each space, each chink, the fiery guest betrays,
And through each window bursts the angry blaze,
And rocking walls and burning beams impend,
And crackling timbers with a crash descend!
Downward they hurl, still blazing as they go,
And fall, half-smothering the flames below!
And lo! the brightest and the last of all—
One turret trembles at its threatened fall;
In vain through many a long and stormy age
It braved the battle and the tempest's rage,
Now o'er its frowning crest, that once so proud
Looked down exulting o'er the misty cloud,
The roaring flames and spiral blazes curl,
And fire and smoke in mingled eddies whirl;—
It shakes—it totters on its shattered base,
And headlong falls with brave Glenallan's race.
Soon will the nettle's humble top alone
Look proudly down upon the fallen stone;
And waving grass will flourish o'er the head
Of him who scarcely lingers from the dead.
CANTO THIRD
Loud crows the cock—the peasant's slumbers cease!
He wakes to days of innocence and peace;
And with the lark that leaves the yellow corn
Begins the matin song and hails the morn,
While peering in the East, the rising sun
Proclaims a bright, a new-born day begun;
Aurora, blushing, hails the god of day,
Who comes to kiss the glittering tears away;
And opening buds and flowers expanding rise,
And blush with colours borrowed from the skies.
All wakens into life—the chiding hound
And huntsman's horn awake the echoes round,
And rouse the stag who listens to the strain,
Then starts away and bounds along the plain!
Men, horses, hounds, the flying game pursue,
And ruddy health attends the happy crew.
He wakes to days of innocence and peace;
And with the lark that leaves the yellow corn
Begins the matin song and hails the morn,
While peering in the East, the rising sun
Proclaims a bright, a new-born day begun;
Aurora, blushing, hails the god of day,
Who comes to kiss the glittering tears away;
And opening buds and flowers expanding rise,
And blush with colours borrowed from the skies.
712
And huntsman's horn awake the echoes round,
And rouse the stag who listens to the strain,
Then starts away and bounds along the plain!
Men, horses, hounds, the flying game pursue,
And ruddy health attends the happy crew.
Where'er they fall the pleasing rays adorn—
Now gild the stream, and now the waving corn,
On all they glow;—but ah! where'er they strike
They gild the evil and the good alike;
The cloud that's golden when beneath the ray
Is gloomy, dark and ugly when away.
The beam that played upon the rosy bower
Now gilds the summit of yon dungeon tower,
And, through the close and narrow grating cast,
Is hailed by the sad captive as his last!
Now gild the stream, and now the waving corn,
On all they glow;—but ah! where'er they strike
They gild the evil and the good alike;
The cloud that's golden when beneath the ray
Is gloomy, dark and ugly when away.
The beam that played upon the rosy bower
Now gilds the summit of yon dungeon tower,
And, through the close and narrow grating cast,
Is hailed by the sad captive as his last!
With that first ray the fettered Chieftain rose
From fearful visions and disturbed repose;
For him that sun would never rise again.
Towards the grate he dragged his heavy chain.
‘This is my latest day, but ere I die,
Fain would I gaze upon the earth and sky.
Oh, heavens! how lovely is the new-born day!
All Nature smiles, all beautiful and gay,
Oh, in my youth, what fairy dreams of bliss
Would Fancy picture on a morn like this!
When like the buds I felt my soul expand,
And pictured love and joy on every hand!
When ne'er expecting aught less fair to find,
I ope'd my heart in love to all mankind.
From fearful visions and disturbed repose;
For him that sun would never rise again.
Towards the grate he dragged his heavy chain.
‘This is my latest day, but ere I die,
Fain would I gaze upon the earth and sky.
Oh, heavens! how lovely is the new-born day!
All Nature smiles, all beautiful and gay,
Oh, in my youth, what fairy dreams of bliss
Would Fancy picture on a morn like this!
When like the buds I felt my soul expand,
And pictured love and joy on every hand!
When ne'er expecting aught less fair to find,
I ope'd my heart in love to all mankind.
‘Ah! thus my fancy in my youth's gay morn
Would her bright images of life adorn;
Yea—like yon sky-lark that so gaily sings
To heaven, aspiring on exulting wings—
Would leave this world below and wildly soar
To add to that fair heaven one heaven more;
Life, like yon firmament she drew serene,
Nor clouds obscured—nor storms disturbed the scene,
And Friendship, Pleasure, Love, and Hope, were given
To shine as stars in her ideal heaven!
'Twas all delusion! What are earthly joys
But pleasing dreams our wakening destroys;
And I have wakened, yea, to scenes of pain
That make me wish that I could dream again.
Would her bright images of life adorn;
Yea—like yon sky-lark that so gaily sings
To heaven, aspiring on exulting wings—
Would leave this world below and wildly soar
To add to that fair heaven one heaven more;
Life, like yon firmament she drew serene,
Nor clouds obscured—nor storms disturbed the scene,
And Friendship, Pleasure, Love, and Hope, were given
To shine as stars in her ideal heaven!
'Twas all delusion! What are earthly joys
But pleasing dreams our wakening destroys;
And I have wakened, yea, to scenes of pain
That make me wish that I could dream again.
‘Love is a madness—happiness a dream!
And Hope and Friendship things that only seem.
I've tried them all, and found them all untrue,
And long have bid them and the world adieu;
I loved it once, and prized its idle state—
Suspected—then despised—and now—I hate!’
And Hope and Friendship things that only seem.
I've tried them all, and found them all untrue,
And long have bid them and the world adieu;
713
Suspected—then despised—and now—I hate!’
Thus spoke the Chief, but now in angry tone
He spoke aloud—‘Why am I here alone?
Why am I fettered when all else are free,
And left to act their crimes at large but me?
And greater villains that deserve my fate’—
He turned indignantly and left the grate,
Where he could see the swallows round him skim,
And all in happy liberty but him.
He spoke aloud—‘Why am I here alone?
Why am I fettered when all else are free,
And left to act their crimes at large but me?
And greater villains that deserve my fate’—
He turned indignantly and left the grate,
Where he could see the swallows round him skim,
And all in happy liberty but him.
E'en thus, a wild enthusiast in all
The Chief had been, and it had shed his fall.
One he had known—his honourable sire—
Such as his heart could cherish and admire,
And loved to imitate, and Fancy dressed
And with his virtues painted all the rest—
Free, open, generous, gay, noble, young,
Assailed too often by the flattering tongue;
Affected love and proferred friendships fell,
He prized too highly and believed too well;
Beloved, he thought, by all, and loving too,
These were the best, the happiest days he knew;
Blest in his blindness! For how blest is he
Who sees the world as it ought to be;
Who, pressed by want, or misery, or woe,
Still finds, or fancies, friends, but not a foe,
And with Despair successfully can cope,
Buoyed up by frail but never-failing Hope,
Though never realized, and blessed at last
If the veil drops not and reveals the past.
The Chief had been, and it had shed his fall.
One he had known—his honourable sire—
Such as his heart could cherish and admire,
And loved to imitate, and Fancy dressed
And with his virtues painted all the rest—
Free, open, generous, gay, noble, young,
Assailed too often by the flattering tongue;
Affected love and proferred friendships fell,
He prized too highly and believed too well;
Beloved, he thought, by all, and loving too,
These were the best, the happiest days he knew;
Blest in his blindness! For how blest is he
Who sees the world as it ought to be;
Who, pressed by want, or misery, or woe,
Still finds, or fancies, friends, but not a foe,
And with Despair successfully can cope,
Buoyed up by frail but never-failing Hope,
Though never realized, and blessed at last
If the veil drops not and reveals the past.
Not so with him, for soon as fortune wore
A frowning look, and friends were friends no more,
But shunned his woe, not blushing to condemn
The very faults that had exalted them;
Or rising undisguised as open foes,
Scarce deigned to hide they triumphed in his woes;
But hailed the fall that left him now too weak
Just vengeance for their injuries to wreak!
Then from his cheated eyes the film soon cleared,
And all the world's deformity appeared.
Once he had loved it, and too highly prized,
But now as strongly hated and despised
He fled its vile contagion with speed—
A misanthrope—nor more in word than deed!
A frowning look, and friends were friends no more,
But shunned his woe, not blushing to condemn
The very faults that had exalted them;
Or rising undisguised as open foes,
Scarce deigned to hide they triumphed in his woes;
But hailed the fall that left him now too weak
Just vengeance for their injuries to wreak!
Then from his cheated eyes the film soon cleared,
And all the world's deformity appeared.
Once he had loved it, and too highly prized,
But now as strongly hated and despised
He fled its vile contagion with speed—
A misanthrope—nor more in word than deed!
By Flattery, that with the world began
The woes, abasement, and the fall of man;
That, demon-like, still ruins and beguiles,
And while betraying each sad victim smiles!
Thus felt the Chief. How hapless are the great,
If such their evils and too oft their fate.
Truth they ne'er know divested of disguise,
And scarcely see but through another's eyes;—
But, knowing other men—and, what is more,
Knowing themselves—how happy are the poor;
Too oft condemned for vices they have not,
And scarce allowed the virtues they have got;
None ever flatter them—nor oft they fail
Betrayed by vanity or flattering tale.
The woes, abasement, and the fall of man;
That, demon-like, still ruins and beguiles,
And while betraying each sad victim smiles!
714
If such their evils and too oft their fate.
Truth they ne'er know divested of disguise,
And scarcely see but through another's eyes;—
But, knowing other men—and, what is more,
Knowing themselves—how happy are the poor;
Too oft condemned for vices they have not,
And scarce allowed the virtues they have got;
None ever flatter them—nor oft they fail
Betrayed by vanity or flattering tale.
But to my theme. The Chieftain turned away
As though he sought to shun the light of day.
On his hard couch he threw his limbs once more,
All racked with pain, or stiff with clotted gore;
And while across his pale and varying cheek
The sudden throbs of anguish seemed to speak,
His wild and working brain appeared as fraught
With far more keen and agonizing thought;
Remembrance, perhaps, of gay and happier times,
Linked with the memory of after crimes,
And keen remorse that shudders o'er the past,
With deep regret for joys that fled too fast,
And doubtings of the future and his fate,
And all the sorrows of his present state,
With all their varied pangs, were mingled there,
Nor sunk nor settled, but in calm despair.
As though he sought to shun the light of day.
On his hard couch he threw his limbs once more,
All racked with pain, or stiff with clotted gore;
And while across his pale and varying cheek
The sudden throbs of anguish seemed to speak,
His wild and working brain appeared as fraught
With far more keen and agonizing thought;
Remembrance, perhaps, of gay and happier times,
Linked with the memory of after crimes,
And keen remorse that shudders o'er the past,
With deep regret for joys that fled too fast,
And doubtings of the future and his fate,
And all the sorrows of his present state,
With all their varied pangs, were mingled there,
Nor sunk nor settled, but in calm despair.
Oh, who can speak that wandering of thought,
When, with all varied recollections fraught,
In wild confusion the bewildered brain
Now turns from woe to joy—from joy to pain;
Now sinks and saddens over present woes,
And now o'er scenes of former pleasure glows;
Regretting joys and means which, once possessed,
If better known or valued, would have blessed;
Thus boiled the Chieftain's brain, and pondered o'er
The scenes of long-lost happiness once more.
When, with all varied recollections fraught,
In wild confusion the bewildered brain
Now turns from woe to joy—from joy to pain;
Now sinks and saddens over present woes,
And now o'er scenes of former pleasure glows;
Regretting joys and means which, once possessed,
If better known or valued, would have blessed;
Thus boiled the Chieftain's brain, and pondered o'er
The scenes of long-lost happiness once more.
Yes; 'twas the mansion of his sires he eyed,
Such as it had been in the days of pride,
Though many a lingering, long, and painful day
Since he had left its roof had passed away;
Yet could not time nor misery efface
Of former joys the long remembered trace.
No; though each hope of happiness had flown—
Had left the bitterness of life alone;
Though deeds of guilt his soul had long bereft
Of the last solace to the wretched left;
Undimmed the retrospect of happy years
Shone bright through times of misery and tears;
And oft, as in delusive dream restored,
We greet departed friends we've long deplored,
His mind forgot the sense of present pain,
And dreamed o'er scenes of happiness again.
E'en now, abstracted from his present state,—
His pain, misfortune, and impending fate,—
His mind retraced the ever-pleasing scene
Of things, times, pleasures, feelings that had been.
Such as it had been in the days of pride,
Though many a lingering, long, and painful day
Since he had left its roof had passed away;
Yet could not time nor misery efface
Of former joys the long remembered trace.
No; though each hope of happiness had flown—
Had left the bitterness of life alone;
Though deeds of guilt his soul had long bereft
Of the last solace to the wretched left;
Undimmed the retrospect of happy years
Shone bright through times of misery and tears;
715
We greet departed friends we've long deplored,
His mind forgot the sense of present pain,
And dreamed o'er scenes of happiness again.
E'en now, abstracted from his present state,—
His pain, misfortune, and impending fate,—
His mind retraced the ever-pleasing scene
Of things, times, pleasures, feelings that had been.
But, suddenly, a harsh discordant sound
Roused him to consciousness of things around.
He started, and strove vainly to recall
The fleeting phantoms on the dungeon wall,
But they had fled in air like parting breath,
And left him with the Messenger of Death!
Roused him to consciousness of things around.
He started, and strove vainly to recall
The fleeting phantoms on the dungeon wall,
But they had fled in air like parting breath,
And left him with the Messenger of Death!
With calm, unaltered voice, unvarying cheek,
The fated Prisoner was the first to speak:
‘I know thy message—no unwelcome one
To him whose days of misery are done.
The time is gone such tidings could impart
Reluctance, grief, or terror to my heart.
Too long the cup of bitterness I've quaffed
Without one hope e'er mingled in the draught
To quit this wretched being with regret;
And as for Death—why, I can brave him yet;—
Nay, as an Angel—Harbinger of Peace—
I'll hail the Spectre if he bring release!’—
The fated Prisoner was the first to speak:
‘I know thy message—no unwelcome one
To him whose days of misery are done.
The time is gone such tidings could impart
Reluctance, grief, or terror to my heart.
Too long the cup of bitterness I've quaffed
Without one hope e'er mingled in the draught
To quit this wretched being with regret;
And as for Death—why, I can brave him yet;—
Nay, as an Angel—Harbinger of Peace—
I'll hail the Spectre if he bring release!’—
‘Enough!’—
Harsh as the grating hinge, and rough,
Responsive rung the keeper's loud ‘Enough.’
Surprised, he turned again—ne'er till that hour,
Of all the inmates of that gloomy tower,
None had he known who gazed on Death so near
With such rejoicing and so little fear.
But, lo! he started as he seemed to trace
Some dear remembrance in the captive's face;
Swift to embrace the prisoner he flew—
‘Oh, heaven!—my lord—my master—is it you?’
Responsive rung the keeper's loud ‘Enough.’
Surprised, he turned again—ne'er till that hour,
Of all the inmates of that gloomy tower,
None had he known who gazed on Death so near
With such rejoicing and so little fear.
But, lo! he started as he seemed to trace
Some dear remembrance in the captive's face;
Swift to embrace the prisoner he flew—
‘Oh, heaven!—my lord—my master—is it you?’
Up rose the Chieftain with a sudden start,
That voice had struck upon his throbbing heart!
‘Ha! Is it Donald! or a mocking dream?
Are these things so, or do they only seem?
Am I awake? The gaoler bent the knee—
‘Alas, no dream—dear master, I am he!’
That voice had struck upon his throbbing heart!
‘Ha! Is it Donald! or a mocking dream?
Are these things so, or do they only seem?
Am I awake? The gaoler bent the knee—
‘Alas, no dream—dear master, I am he!’
All pride forgotten quite, the Chieftain pressed
His former steward warmly to his breast,
But rudely bursting from the Chief's embrace
He paused, and wildly gazed around the place.
‘Oh, I forgot you lingered here to die.
Behold the keys! Oh, take them now and fly:
My clothes, perchance, will happily disguise
And shroud your person from more careless eyes.
For, ah, though Arden kneels before the throne,
I fear 'twill change the punishment alone—
The gibbet to the block—our nobles hate
The noble soul that made you once so great.
No hope remains but this—let me implore
Your speedy flight.’
His former steward warmly to his breast,
But rudely bursting from the Chief's embrace
He paused, and wildly gazed around the place.
716
Behold the keys! Oh, take them now and fly:
My clothes, perchance, will happily disguise
And shroud your person from more careless eyes.
For, ah, though Arden kneels before the throne,
I fear 'twill change the punishment alone—
The gibbet to the block—our nobles hate
The noble soul that made you once so great.
No hope remains but this—let me implore
Your speedy flight.’
The Chieftain frowned—‘No more!
Perchance 'tis justice dooms me now to bleed,
And you would save me by a traitor's deed!
When have I fled my foes or valued life,
Or shrunk when Death menaced me in the strife?
Perhaps one more in love with life than I
Would hail the terms, but now I scorn to fly!
Beside your hate and punishment, too sure,
Would leave my safety still too insecure.’
Perchance 'tis justice dooms me now to bleed,
And you would save me by a traitor's deed!
When have I fled my foes or valued life,
Or shrunk when Death menaced me in the strife?
Perhaps one more in love with life than I
Would hail the terms, but now I scorn to fly!
Beside your hate and punishment, too sure,
Would leave my safety still too insecure.’
Proudly he answered—‘Have you then forgot
The loathsome dungeon—once my cruel lot
To linger there a sad and joyless time—
Misfortune's punishment, and not for crime?
Your bounty freed me thence, and now 'tis due
From gratitude to pay the same for you.
And, ah! my life I cheerfully resign,
For many woes—few comforts—now are mine!
Oh, add one more—O, hark! The warning bell,
One short hour more, it tolls your parting knell.
I pray!—I kneel!’—
The loathsome dungeon—once my cruel lot
To linger there a sad and joyless time—
Misfortune's punishment, and not for crime?
Your bounty freed me thence, and now 'tis due
From gratitude to pay the same for you.
And, ah! my life I cheerfully resign,
For many woes—few comforts—now are mine!
Oh, add one more—O, hark! The warning bell,
One short hour more, it tolls your parting knell.
I pray!—I kneel!’—
‘O give me not the pain,’
The Chieftain said, ‘to see you kneel in vain.
I am resolved—a solemn oath I swore
To leave these hated walls with life no more.
That oath I keep; but, would you glad my soul,
Bring me a dagger or a poisoned bowl.
This last request I urge with latest breath,
Oh! spare your Chief an ignominious death!’
The Chieftain said, ‘to see you kneel in vain.
I am resolved—a solemn oath I swore
To leave these hated walls with life no more.
That oath I keep; but, would you glad my soul,
Bring me a dagger or a poisoned bowl.
This last request I urge with latest breath,
Oh! spare your Chief an ignominious death!’
‘Alas, I know Glenallan's word too well
To hope to move you now, my Lord—Farewell!
I have a dagger, but my heart shall feel
Its deepest reach ere you shall use the steel.
What! can no other hand but mine be pressed
To lend the dagger for my Patron's breast!
Ah! it must be! once more, my lord, adieu;
My death alone surrenders it to you!’
He raised his hand, but with a sudden clasp
The Chieftain caught the dagger in his grasp.
‘Ha! Now I laugh to scorn the feeble chain,
The guarded fortress shall not e'en detain.
In vain shall vengeful crowds impatient flock
To see my head fall streaming from the block;
Exulting peers shall not behold me fall,
And for their tortures I elude them all.
Dungeon and fetters may the limbs control,
But what can fetter or confine the soul?
Now I am free—live to behold me die,
And tell the world Glenallan scorned to fly;
And tell with all the courage of a friend
No sign of weakness marked my latter end.
Live, I command you! say to Arden this—
I thank his zeal and pray heaven send him bliss;
Tell him to love’—it died upon his tongue,
The gaoler's hand in agony he wrung.
Each strove to speak, but wept, embraced anew,
They only in their hearts could say—‘Adieu!’
To hope to move you now, my Lord—Farewell!
I have a dagger, but my heart shall feel
Its deepest reach ere you shall use the steel.
What! can no other hand but mine be pressed
To lend the dagger for my Patron's breast!
Ah! it must be! once more, my lord, adieu;
My death alone surrenders it to you!’
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The Chieftain caught the dagger in his grasp.
‘Ha! Now I laugh to scorn the feeble chain,
The guarded fortress shall not e'en detain.
In vain shall vengeful crowds impatient flock
To see my head fall streaming from the block;
Exulting peers shall not behold me fall,
And for their tortures I elude them all.
Dungeon and fetters may the limbs control,
But what can fetter or confine the soul?
Now I am free—live to behold me die,
And tell the world Glenallan scorned to fly;
And tell with all the courage of a friend
No sign of weakness marked my latter end.
Live, I command you! say to Arden this—
I thank his zeal and pray heaven send him bliss;
Tell him to love’—it died upon his tongue,
The gaoler's hand in agony he wrung.
Each strove to speak, but wept, embraced anew,
They only in their hearts could say—‘Adieu!’
Thus had they lingered, but the distant sound
Of hurried footsteps broke the silence round.
Still nearer comes the noise—they rush apart,
A moment more, he aims against his heart—
'Tis missed—he strikes again—too sure the aim—
The deathless spirit quits its mortal frame,
That still and silent lies amid its gore,
And tells to all—Glenallan is no more!
Of hurried footsteps broke the silence round.
Still nearer comes the noise—they rush apart,
A moment more, he aims against his heart—
'Tis missed—he strikes again—too sure the aim—
The deathless spirit quits its mortal frame,
That still and silent lies amid its gore,
And tells to all—Glenallan is no more!
Again the bolts recede, the jarring din
No more disturbs the prisoner within;
He wakes no more, nor can that sound impart
One quicker throb of terror to his heart;
Too late the lingering voice of mercy calls,
And ‘Pardon!’ ‘Pardon!’ echoes to the walls.
He hears it not—nor would the tidings give
More joy, perchance, or pleasure did he live.
But o'er his body hath he still a friend,
Who seems in silent agony to bend.
All knew his crimes too well, and some had wept
The loss of friends where his revenge had swept,
But Arden weeps his breathless body o'er,
And Donald's tears are mingled with his gore;
Together now they pour the sorrowing sigh,
Nor let him quite unwept, unpitied die!
No more disturbs the prisoner within;
He wakes no more, nor can that sound impart
One quicker throb of terror to his heart;
Too late the lingering voice of mercy calls,
And ‘Pardon!’ ‘Pardon!’ echoes to the walls.
He hears it not—nor would the tidings give
More joy, perchance, or pleasure did he live.
But o'er his body hath he still a friend,
Who seems in silent agony to bend.
All knew his crimes too well, and some had wept
The loss of friends where his revenge had swept,
But Arden weeps his breathless body o'er,
And Donald's tears are mingled with his gore;
Together now they pour the sorrowing sigh,
Nor let him quite unwept, unpitied die!
| The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood | |