by Lord Byron
In scattered groups upon the golden sand,
They game — carouse — converse — or whet the brand;
Select the arms — to each his blade assign,
And careless eye the blood that dims its shine; 50
Repair the boat, replace the helm or oar,
While others straggling muse along the shore;
For the wild bird the busy springes set,
Or spread beneath the sun the dripping net:
Gaze where some distant sail a speck supplies,
With all the thirsting eye of Enterprise;
Tell o’er the tales of many a night of toil,
And marvel where they next shall seize a spoil:
No matter where — their chief’s allotment this;
Theirs to believe no prey nor plan amiss. 60
But who that Chief? his name on every shore
Is famed and feared — they ask and know no more
With these he mingles not but to command;
Few are his words, but keen his eye and hand.
Ne’er seasons he with mirth their jovial mess,
But they forgive his silence for success.
Ne’er for his lip the purpling cup they fill,
That goblet passes him untasted still —
And for his fare — the rudest of his crew
Would that, in turn, have passed untasted too; 70
Earth’s coarsest bread, the garden’s homeliest roots,
And scarce the summer luxury of fruits,
His short repast in humbleness supply
With all a hermit’s board would scarce deny.
But while he shuns the grosser joys of sense,
His mind seems nourished by that abstinence.
“Steer to that shore!” — they sail. “Do this!” — ‘tis done:
“Now form and follow me!” — the spoil is won.
Thus prompt his accents and his actions still,
And all obey and few inquire his will; 80
To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye
Convey reproof, nor further deign reply.
III.
“A sail! — a sail!” — a promised prize to Hope!
Her nation — flag — how speaks the telescope?
No prize, alas! but yet a welcome sail:
The blood-red signal glitters in the gale.
Yes — she is ours — a home-returning bark —
Blow fair, thou breeze! — she anchors ere the dark.
Already doubled is the cape — our bay
Receives that prow which proudly spurns the spray. 90
How gloriously her gallant course she goes!
Her white wings flying — never from her foes —
She walks the waters like a thing of Life!
And seems to dare the elements to strife.
Who would not brave the battle-fire, the wreck,
To move the monarch of her peopled deck!
IV.
Hoarse o’er her side the rustling cable rings:
The sails are furled; and anchoring round she swings;
And gathering loiterers on the land discern
Her boat descending from the latticed stern. 100
‘Tis manned — the oars keep concert to the strand,
Till grates her keel upon the shallow sand.
Hail to the welcome shout! — the friendly speech!
When hand grasps hand uniting on the beach;
The smile, the question, and the quick reply,
And the Heart’s promise of festivity!
V.
The tidings spread, and gathering grows the crowd:
The hum of voices, and the laughter loud,
And Woman’s gentler anxious tone is heard —
Friends’ — husbands’ — lovers’ names in each dear word: 110
“Oh! are they safe? we ask not of success —
But shall we see them? will their accents bless?
From where the battle roars, the billows chafe,
They doubtless boldly did — but who are safe?
Here let them haste to gladden and surprise,
And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes!”
VI.
“Where is our Chief? for him we bear report —
And doubt that joy — which hails our coming — short;
Yet thus sincere — ‘tis cheering, though so brief;
But, Juan! instant guide us to our Chief: 120
Our greeting paid, we’ll feast on our return,
And all shall hear what each may wish to learn.”
Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way,
To where his watch-tower beetles o’er the bay,
By bushy brake, the wild flowers blossoming,
And freshness breathing from each silver spring,
Whose scattered streams from granite basins burst,
Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst;
From crag to cliff they mount — Near yonder cave,
What lonely straggler looks along the wave? 130
In pensive posture leaning on the brand,
Not oft a resting-staff to that red hand?
“‘Tis he — ‘tis Conrad — here — as wont — alone;
On — Juan! — on — and make our purpose known.
The bark he views — and tell him we would greet
His ear with tidings he must quickly meet:
We dare not yet approach — thou know’st his mood,
When strange or uninvited steps intrude.”
VII.
Him Juan sought, and told of their intent; —
He spake not, but a sign expressed assent, 140
These Juan calls — they come — to their salute
He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute.
“These letters, Chief, are from the Greek — the spy,
Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:
Whate’er his tidings, we can well report,
Much that” — “Peace, peace!” — he cuts their prating short.
Wondering they turn, abashed, while each to each
Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech:
They watch his glance with many a stealing look,
To gather how that eye the tidings took; 150
But, this as if he guessed, with head aside,
Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,
He read the scroll — “My tablets, Juan, hark —
Where is Gonsalvo?”
“In the anchored bark.”
“There let him stay — to him this order bear —
Back to your duty — for my course prepare:
Myself this enterprise to-night will share.”
“To-night, Lord Conrad?”
“Aye! at set of sun:
The breeze will freshen when the day is done.
My corslet — cloak — one hour and we are gone. 160
Sling on thy bugle — see that free from rust
My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust;
Be the edge sharpened of my boarding-brand,
And give its guard more room to fit my hand.
This let the Armourer with speed dispose;
Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes;
Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired,
To tell us when the hour of stay’s expired.”
VIII.
They make obeisance, and retire in haste,
Too soon to seek again the watery waste: 170
Yet they repine not — so that Conrad guides;
And who dare question aught that he decides?
That man of loneliness and mystery,
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;
Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew,
And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue;
Still sways their souls w
ith that commanding art
That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
What is that spell, that thus his lawless train
Confess and envy — yet oppose in vain? 180
What should it be, that thus their faith can bind?
The power of Thought — the magic of the Mind!
Linked with success, assumed and kept with skill,
That moulds another’s weakness to its will;
Wields with their hands, but, still to these unknown,
Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own.
Such hath it been — shall be — beneath the Sun
The many still must labour for the one!
‘Tis Nature’s doom — but let the wretch who toils,
Accuse not — hate not — him who wears the spoils. 190
Oh! if he knew the weight of splendid chains,
How light the balance of his humbler pains!
IX.
Unlike the heroes of each ancient race,
Demons in act, but Gods at least in face,
In Conrad’s form seems little to admire,
Though his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire:
Robust but not Herculean — to the sight
No giant frame sets forth his common height;
Yet, in the whole, who paused to look again,
Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men; 200
They gaze and marvel how — and still confess
That thus it is, but why they cannot guess.
Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale
The sable curls in wild profusion veil;
And oft perforce his rising lip reveals
The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals.
Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien,
Still seems there something he would not have seen:
His features’ deepening lines and varying hue
At times attracted, yet perplexed the view, 210
As if within that murkiness of mind
Worked feelings fearful, and yet undefined;
Such might it be — that none could truly tell —
Too close inquiry his stern glance would quell.
There breathe but few whose aspect might defy
The full encounter of his searching eye;
He had the skill, when Cunning’s gaze would seek
To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek,
At once the observer’s purpose to espy,
And on himself roll back his scrutiny, 220
Lest he to Conrad rather should betray
Some secret thought, than drag that Chief’s to day.
There was a laughing Devil in his sneer,
That raised emotions both of rage and fear;
And where his frown of hatred darkly fell,
Hope withering fled — and Mercy sighed farewell!
X.
Slight are the outward signs of evil thought,
Within — within — ‘twas there the spirit wrought!
Love shows all changes — Hate, Ambition, Guile,
Betray no further than the bitter smile; 230
The lip’s least curl, the lightest paleness thrown
Along the governed aspect, speak alone
Of deeper passions; and to judge their mien,
He, who would see, must be himself unseen.
Then — with the hurried tread, the upward eye,
The clenchéd hand, the pause of agony,
That listens, starting, lest the step too near
Approach intrusive on that mood of fear:
Then — with each feature working from the heart,
With feelings, loosed to strengthen — not depart, 240
That rise — convulse — contend — that freeze or glow,
Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow;
Then — Stranger! if thou canst, and tremblest not,
Behold his soul — the rest that soothes his lot!
Mark how that lone and blighted bosom sears
The scathing thought of execrated years!
Behold — but who hath seen, or e’er shall see,
Man as himself — the secret spirit free?
XI.
Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent
To lead the guilty — Guilt’s worse instrument — 250
His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven
Him forth to war with Man and forfeit Heaven.
Warped by the world in Disappointment’s school,
In words too wise — in conduct there a fool;
Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop,
Doomed by his very virtues for a dupe,
He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill,
And not the traitors who betrayed him still;
Nor deemed that gifts bestowed on better men
Had left him joy, and means to give again. 260
Feared — shunned — belied — ere Youth had lost her force,
He hated Man too much to feel remorse,
And thought the voice of Wrath a sacred call,
To pay the injuries of some on all.
He knew himself a villain — but he deemed
The rest no better than the thing he seemed;
And scorned the best as hypocrites who hid
Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.
He knew himself detested, but he knew
The hearts that loathed him, crouched and dreaded too. 270
Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
From all affection and from all contempt:
His name could sadden, and his acts surprise;
But they that feared him dared not to despise:
Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake
The slumbering venom of the folded snake:
The first may turn, but not avenge the blow;
The last expires, but leaves no living foe;
Fast to the doomed offender’s form it clings,
And he may crush — not conquer — still it stings! 280
XII.
None are all evil — quickening round his heart,
One softer feeling would not yet depart;
Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled
By passions worthy of a fool or child;
Yet ‘gainst that passion vainly still he strove,
And even in him it asks the name of Love!
Yes, it was love — unchangeable — unchanged,
Felt but for one from whom he never ranged;
Though fairest captives daily met his eye,
He shunned, nor sought, but coldly passed them by; 290
Though many a beauty drooped in prisoned bower,
None ever soothed his most unguarded hour,
Yes — it was Love — if thoughts of tenderness,
Tried in temptation, strengthened by distress,
Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime,
And yet — Oh more than all! — untired by Time;
Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile,
Could render sullen were She near to smile,
Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent
On her one murmur of his discontent; 300
Which still would meet with joy, with calmness part,
Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart;
Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove —
If there be Love in mortals — this was Love!
He was a villain — aye, reproaches shower
On him — but not the Passion, nor its power,
Which only proved — all other virtues gone —
Not Guilt itself could quench this loveliest one!
XIII.
He paused a moment — till his hastening men
Passed the first winding downward
to the glen. 310
“Strange tidings! — many a peril have I passed,
Nor know I why this next appears the last!
Yet so my heart forebodes, but must not fear,
Nor shall my followers find me falter here.
‘Tis rash to meet — but surer death to wait
Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate;
And, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smile,
We’ll furnish mourners for our funeral pile.
Aye, let them slumber — peaceful be their dreams!
Morn ne’er awoke them with such brilliant beams 320
As kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze!)
To warm these slow avengers of the seas.
Now to Medora — Oh! my sinking heart,
Long may her own be lighter than thou art!
Yet was I brave — mean boast where all are brave!
Ev’n insects sting for aught they seek to save.
This common courage which with brutes we share,
That owes its deadliest efforts to Despair,
Small merit claims — but ‘twas my nobler hope
To teach my few with numbers still to cope; 330
Long have I led them — not to vainly bleed:
No medium now — we perish or succeed!
So let it be — it irks not me to die;
But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly.
My lot hath long had little of my care,
But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare:
Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last
Hope, Power and Life upon a single cast?
Oh, Fate! — accuse thy folly — not thy fate;
She may redeem thee still — nor yet too late.” 340
XIV.
Thus with himself communion held he, till
He reached the summit of his tower-crowned hill:
There at the portal paused — for wild and soft
He heard those accents never heard too oft!
Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung,
And these the notes his Bird of Beauty sung:
1.
“Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,
Lonely and lost to light for evermore,
Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,
Then trembles into silence as before. 350
2.
“There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp
Burns the slow flame, eternal — but unseen;
Which not the darkness of Despair can damp,
Though vain its ray as it had never been.
3.
“Remember me — Oh! pass not thou my grave
Without one thought whose relics there recline:
The only pang my bosom dare not brave
Must be to find forgetfulness in thine.
4.
“My fondest — faintest — latest accents hear —