Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past,
He watched it wistfully, until away
’Twas borne by the rude wave wherein’twas cast.
Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering,
And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering.
91
Now overhead a rainbow, bursting through
The scattering clouds, shone, spanning the dark sea,
Resting its bright base on the quivering blue,
And all within its arch appeared to be
Clearer than that without, and its wide hue
Waxed broad and waving, like a banner free,
Then changed like to a bow that’s bent, and then
Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwrecked men.
92
It changed of course – a heavenly chameleon,
The airy child of vapour and the sun,
Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermilion,
Baptized in molten gold and swathed in dun,
Glittering like crescents o’er a Turk’s pavilion
And blending every colour into one,
Just like a black eye in a recent scuffle
(For sometimes we must box without the muffle).
93
Our shipwrecked seamen thought it a good omen;
It is as well to think so now and then.
’Twas an old custom of the Greek and Roman,
And may become of great advantage when
Folks are discouraged; and most surely no men
Had greater need to nerve themselves again
Than these, and so this rainbow looked like hope,
Quite a celestial kaleidoscope.
94
About this time a beautiful white bird,
Webfooted, not unlike a dove in size
And plumage (probably it might have erred
Upon its course), passed oft before their eyes
And tried to perch, although it saw and heard
The men within the boat, and in this guise
It came and went and fluttered round them till
Night fell. This seemed a better omen still.
95
But in this case I also must remark,
’Twas well this bird of promise did not perch,
Because the tackle of our shattered bark
Was not so safe for roosting as a church,
And had it been the dove from Noah’s ark,
Returning there from her successful search,
Which in their way that moment chanced to fall,
They would have eat her, olive branch and all.
96
With twilight it again came on to blow,
But not with violence. The stars shone out,
The boat made way; yet now they were so low
They knew not where nor what they were about.
Some fancied they saw land, and some said, ‘No!’
The frequent fog banks gave them cause to doubt.
Some swore that they heard breakers, others guns,
And all mistook about the latter once.
97
As morning broke the light wind died away,
When he who had the watch sung out and swore,
If’twas not land that rose with the sun’s ray,
He wished that land he never might see more.
And the rest rubbed their eyes and saw a bay
Or thought they saw, and shaped their course for shore,
For shore it was and gradually grew
Distinct and high and palpable to view.
98
And then of these some part burst into tears,
And others, looking with a stupid stare,
Could not yet separate their hopes from fears
And seemed as if they had no further care,
While a few prayed (the first time for some years).
And at the bottom of the boat three were
Asleep; they shook them by the hand and head
And tried to awaken them, but found them dead.
99
The day before, fast sleeping on the water,
They found a turtle of the hawksbill kind,
And by good fortune gliding softly, caught her,
Which yielded a day’s life and to their mind
Proved even still a more nutritious matter,
Because it left encouragement behind.
They thought that in such perils more than chance
Had sent them this for their deliverance.
100
The land appeared a high and rocky coast,
And higher grew the mountains as they drew,
Set by a current, toward it. They were lost
In various conjectures, for none knew
To what part of the earth they had been tost,
So changeable had been the winds that blew.
Some thought it was Mount Etna, some the highlands
Of Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other islands.
101
Meantime the current, with a rising gale,
Still set them onwards to the welcome shore,
Like Charon’s bark of spectres, dull and pale.
Their living freight was now reduced to four,
And three dead, whom their strength could not avail
To heave into the deep with those before,
Though the two sharks still followed them and dashed
The spray into their faces as they splashed.
102
Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat had done
Their work on them by turns, and thinned them to
Such things a mother had not known her son
Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew.
By night chilled, by day scorched, thus one by one
They perished, until withered to these few,
But chiefly by a species of self-slaughter,
In washing down Pedrillo with salt water.
103
As they drew nigh the land, which now was seen
Unequal in its aspect here and there,
They felt the freshness of its growing green,
That waved in forest-tops and smoothed the air,
And fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen
From glistening waves and skies so hot and bare.
Lovely seemed any object that should sweep
Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep.
104
The shore looked wild without a trace of man
And girt by formidable waves; but they
Were mad for land, and thus their course they ran,
Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay.
A reef between them also now began
To show its boiling surf and bounding spray,
But finding no place for their landing better,
They ran the boat for shore and overset her.
105
But in his native stream, the Guadalquivir,
Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont,
And having learnt to swim in that sweet river,
Had often turned the art to some account.
A better swimmer you could scarce see ever,
He could perhaps have passed the Hellespont,
As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided)
Leander, Mr Ekenhead, and I did.
106
So here, though faint, emaciated, and stark,
He buoyed his boyish limbs and strove to ply
With the quick wave and gain, ere it was dark,
The beach which lay before him, high and dry.
The greatest danger here was from a shark,
That carried off his neighbour by the thigh.
As for the other two they could not swim,
So nobody arrived on shore but him.
107
Nor yet had he arrived but for the oar,
Which providentially for him was washed
Just as his feeble arms could st
rike no more,
And the hard wave o’erwhelmed him as’twas dashed
Within his grasp. He clung to it, and sore
The waters beat while he thereto was lashed.
At last with swimming, wading, scrambling, he
Rolled on the beach, half senseless, from the sea.
108
There breathless, with his digging nails he clung
Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave,
From whose reluctant roar his life he wrung,
Should suck him back to her insatiate grave.
And there he lay full length, where he was flung,
Before the entrance of a cliff-worn cave,
With just enough of life to feel its pain
And deem that it was saved, perhaps in vain.
109
With slow and staggering effort he arose,
But sunk again upon his bleeding knee
And quivering hand; and then he looked for those
Who long had been his mates upon the sea,
But none of them appeared to share his woes,
Save one, a corpse from out the famished three,
Who died two days before and now had found
An unknown barren beach for burial ground.
110
And as he gazed, his dizzy brain spun fast
And down he sunk, and as he sunk, the sand
Swam round and round, and all his senses passed.
He fell upon his side, and his stretched hand
Drooped dripping on the oar (their jury mast),
And like a withered lily, on the land
His slender frame and pallid aspect lay,
As fair a thing as e’er was formed of clay.
111
How long in his damp trance young Juan lay
He knew not, for the earth was gone for him,
And time had nothing more of night nor day
For his congealing blood and senses dim.
And how this heavy faintness passed away
He knew not, till each painful pulse and limb
And tingling vein seemed throbbing back to life,
For Death, though vanquished, still retired with strife.
112
His eyes he opened, shut, again unclosed,
For all was doubt and dizziness. He thought
He still was in the boat and had but dozed,
And felt again with his despair o’erwrought,
And wished it death in which he had reposed,
And then once more his feelings back were brought,
And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen
A lovely female face of seventeen.
113
’Twas bending close o’er his, and the small mouth
Seemed almost prying into his for breath.
And chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth
Recalled his answering spirits back from death,
And bathing his chill temples tried to soothe
Each pulse to animation, till beneath
Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigh
To these kind efforts made a low reply.
114
Then was the cordial poured, and mantle flung
Around his scarce-clad limbs; and the fair arm
Raised higher the faint head which o’er it hung.
And her transparent cheek, all pure and warm,
Pillowed his death-like forehead. Then she wrung
His dewy curls, long drenched by every storm,
And watched with eagerness each throb that drew
A sigh from his heaved bosom – and hers too.
115
And lifting him with care into the cave,
The gentle girl and her attendant – one
Young, yet her elder, and of brow less grave,
And more robust of figure – then begun
To kindle fire, and as the new flames gave
Light to the rocks that roofed them, which the sun
Had never seen, the maid or whatsoe’er
She was appeared distinct and tall and fair.
116
Her brow was overhung with coins of gold,
That sparkled o’er the auburn of her hair,
Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were rolled
In braids behind, and though her stature were
Even of the highest for a female mould,
They nearly reached her heel. And in her air
There was a something which bespoke command,
As one who was a lady in the land.
117
Her hair, I said, was auburn, but her eyes
Were black as death, their lashes the same hue,
Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies
Deepest attraction, for when to the view
Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies,
Ne’er with such force the swiftest arrow flew.
’Tis as the snake late coiled, who pours his length
And hurls at once his venom and his strength.
118
Her brow was white and low, her cheek’s pure dye
Like twilight rosy still with the set sun.
Short upper lip – sweet lips! that make us sigh
Ever to have seen such; for she was one
Fit for the model of a statuary
(A race of mere impostors, when all’s done;
I’ve seen much finer women, ripe and real,
Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal).
119
I’ll tell you why I say so, for’tis just
One should not rail without a decent cause.
There was an Irish lady, to whose bust
I ne’er saw justice done, and yet she was
A frequent model; and if e’er she must
Yield to stern Time and Nature’s wrinkling laws,
They will destroy a face which mortal thought
Ne’er compassed, nor less mortal chisel wrought.
120
And such was she, the lady of the cave.
Her dress was very different from the Spanish,
Simpler and yet of colours not so grave,
For as you know, the Spanish women banish
Bright hues when out of doors, and yet, while wave
Around them (what I hope will never vanish)
The basquina and the mantilla, they
Seem at the same time mystical and gay.
121
But with our damsel this was not the case;
Her dress was many-coloured, finely spun.
Her locks curled negligently round her face,
But through them gold and gems profusely shone.
Her girdle sparkled, and the richest lace
Flowed in her veil, and many a precious stone
Flashed on her little hand, but what was shocking,
Her small snow feet had slippers, but no stocking.
122
The other female’s dress was not unlike,
But of inferior materials. She
Had not so many ornaments to strike,
Her hair had silver only, bound to be
Her dowry, and her veil, in form alike,
Was coarser, and her air, though firm, less free.
Her hair was thicker, but less long, her eyes
As black, but quicker and of smaller size.
123
And these two tended him and cheered him both
With food and raiment and those soft attentions,
Which are (as I must own) of female growth,
And have ten thousand delicate inventions.
They made a most superior mess of broth,
A thing which poesy but seldom mentions,
But the best dish that e’er was cooked since Homer’s
Achilles ordered dinner for newcomers.
124
I’ll tell you who they were, this female pair,
Lest they should seem princesses in dis
guise.
Besides I hate all mystery and that air
Of claptrap, which your recent poets prize.
And so in short the girls they really were
They shall appear before your curious eyes,
Mistress and maid; the first was only daughter
Of an old man, who lived upon the water.
125
A fisherman he had been in his youth,
And still a sort of fisherman was he.
But other speculations were, in sooth,
Added to his connexion with the sea,
Perhaps not so respectable, in truth.
A little smuggling and some piracy
Left him at last the sole of many masters
Of an ill-gotten million of piastres.
126
A fisher therefore was he, though of men,
Like Peter the Apostle, and he fished
For wandering merchant vessels now and then
And sometimes caught as many as he wished.
The cargoes he confiscated, and gain
He sought in the slave market too and dished
Full many a morsel for that Turkish trade,
By which no doubt a good deal may be made.
127
He was a Greek, and on his isle had built
(One of the wild and smaller Cyclades)
A very handsome house from out his guilt,
And there he lived exceedingly at ease.
Heaven knows what cash he got or blood he spilt;
A sad old fellow was he, if you please.
But this I know, it was a spacious building,
Full of barbaric carving, paint, and gilding.
128
He had an only daughter, called Haidée,
The greatest heiress of the Eastern Isles;
Besides, so very beautiful was she
Her dowry was as nothing to her smiles.
Still in her teens, and like a lovely tree
She grew to womanhood, and between whiles
Rejected several suitors, just to learn
How to accept a better in his turn.
129
And walking out upon the beach below
The cliff, towards sunset, on that day she found,
Insensible, not dead, but nearly so,
Don Juan, almost famished and half drowned.
But being naked, she was shocked, you know,
Yet deemed herself in common pity bound,
As far as in her lay, ‘to take him in,
A stranger’ dying, with so white a skin.
130
But taking him into her father’s house
Was not exactly the best way to save,
But like conveying to the cat the mouse,
Or people in a trance into their grave,
Because the good old man had so much vouς.
Unlike the honest Arab thieves so brave,
He would have hospitably cured the stranger
And sold him instantly when out of danger.
131
And therefore with her maid she thought it best
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