Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series
Page 93
Rough as a bear, but willing as a brother, —
Ben Bunting, who essayed to wash, and wipe,
And bind his wound — then calmly lit his pipe,
A trophy which survived a hundred fights,
A beacon which had cheered ten thousand nights.
The fourth and last of this deserted group
Walked up and down — at times would stand, then stoop 110
To pick a pebble up — then let it drop —
Then hurry as in haste — then quickly stop —
Then cast his eyes on his companions — then
Half whistle half a tune, and pause again —
And then his former movements would redouble,
With something between carelessness and trouble.
This is a long description, but applies
To scarce five minutes passed before the eyes;
But yet what minutes! Moments like to these
Rend men’s lives into immortalities. 120
V.
At length Jack Skyscrape, a mercurial man,
Who fluttered over all things like a fan,
More brave than firm, and more disposed to dare
And die at once than wrestle with despair,
Exclaimed, “G — d damn!” — those syllables intense, —
Nucleus of England’s native eloquence,
As the Turk’s “Allah!” or the Roman’s more
Pagan “Proh Jupiter!” was wont of yore
To give their first impressions such a vent,
By way of echo to embarrassment. 130
Jack was embarrassed, — never hero more,
And as he knew not what to say, he swore:
Nor swore in vain; the long congenial sound
Revived Ben Bunting from his pipe profound;
He drew it from his mouth, and looked full wise,
But merely added to the oath his eyes;
Thus rendering the imperfect phrase complete,
A peroration I need not repeat.
VI.
But Christian, of a higher order, stood
Like an extinct volcano in his mood; 140
Silent, and sad, and savage, — with the trace
Of passion reeking from his clouded face;
Till lifting up again his sombre eye,
It glanced on Torquil, who leaned faintly by.
“And is it thus?” he cried, “unhappy boy!
And thee, too, thee — my madness must destroy!”
He said, and strode to where young Torquil stood,
Yet dabbled with his lately flowing blood;
Seized his hand wistfully, but did not press,
And shrunk as fearful of his own caress; 150
Enquired into his state: and when he heard
The wound was slighter than he deemed or feared,
A moment’s brightness passed along his brow,
As much as such a moment would allow.
“Yes,” he exclaimed, “we are taken in the toil,
But not a coward or a common spoil;
Dearly they have bought us — dearly still may buy, —
And I must fall; but have you strength to fly?
‘Twould be some comfort still, could you survive;
Our dwindled band is now too few to strive. 160
Oh! for a sole canoe! though but a shell,
To bear you hence to where a hope may dwell!
For me, my lot is what I sought; to be,
In life or death, the fearless and the free.”
VII.
Even as he spoke, around the promontory,
Which nodded o’er the billows high and hoary,
A dark speck dotted Ocean: on it flew
Like to the shadow of a roused sea-mew;
Onward it came — and, lo! a second followed —
Now seen — now hid — where Ocean’s vale was hollowed; 170
And near, and nearer, till the dusky crew
Presented well-known aspects to the view,
Till on the surf their skimming paddles play,
Buoyant as wings, and flitting through the spray; —
Now perching on the wave’s high curl, and now
Dashed downward in the thundering foam below,
Which flings it broad and boiling sheet on sheet,
And slings its high flakes, shivered into sleet:
But floating still through surf and swell, drew nigh
The barks, like small birds through a lowering sky. 180
Their art seemed nature — such the skill to sweep
The wave of these born playmates of the deep.
VIII.
And who the first that, springing on the strand,
Leaped like a Nereid from her shell to land,
With dark but brilliant skin, and dewy eye
Shining with love, and hope, and constancy?
Neuha — the fond, the faithful, the adored —
Her heart on Torquil’s like a torrent poured;
And smiled, and wept, and near, and nearer clasped,
As if to be assured ‘twas him she grasped; 190
Shuddered to see his yet warm wound, and then,
To find it trivial, smiled and wept again.
She was a warrior’s daughter, and could bear
Such sights, and feel, and mourn, but not despair.
Her lover lived, — nor foes nor fears could blight
That full-blown moment in its all delight:
Joy trickled in her tears, joy filled the sob
That rocked her heart till almost heard to throb;
And Paradise was breathing in the sigh
Of Nature’s child in Nature’s ecstasy. 200
IX.
The sterner spirits who beheld that meeting
Were not unmoved; who are, when hearts are greeting?
Even Christian gazed upon the maid and boy
With tearless eye, but yet a gloomy joy
Mixed with those bitter thoughts the soul arrays
In hopeless visions of our better days,
When all’s gone — to the rainbow’s latest ray.
“And but for me!” he said, and turned away;
Then gazed upon the pair, as in his den
A lion looks upon his cubs again; 210
And then relapsed into his sullen guise,
As heedless of his further destinies.
X.
But brief their time for good or evil thought;
The billows round the promontory brought
The plash of hostile oars. — Alas! who made
That sound a dread? All around them seemed arrayed
Against them, save the bride of Toobonai:
She, as she caught the first glimpse o’er the bay
Of the armed boats, which hurried to complete
The remnant’s ruin with their flying feet, 220
Beckoned the natives round her to their prows,
Embarked their guests and launched their light canoes;
In one placed Christian and his comrades twain —
But she and Torquil must not part again.
She fixed him in her own. — Away! away!
They cleared the breakers, dart along the bay,
And towards a group of islets, such as bear
The sea-bird’s nest and seal’s surf-hollowed lair,
They skim the blue tops of the billows; fast
They flew, and fast their fierce pursuers chased. 230
They gain upon them — now they lose again, —
Again make way and menace o’er the main;
And now the two canoes in chase divide,
And follow different courses o’er the tide,
To baffle the pursuit. — Away! away!
As Life is on each paddle’s flight to-day,
And more than Life or lives to Neuha: Love
Freights
the frail bark and urges to the cove;
And now the refuge and the foe are nigh —
Yet, yet a moment! Fly, thou light ark, fly! 240
CANTO THE FOURTH.
I.
White as a white sail on a dusky sea,
When half the horizon’s clouded and half free,
Fluttering between the dun wave and the sky,
Is Hope’s last gleam in Man’s extremity.
Her anchor parts; but still her snowy sail
Attracts our eye amidst the rudest gale:
Though every wave she climbs divides us more,
The heart still follows from the loneliest shore.
II.
Not distant from the isle of Toobonai,
A black rock rears its bosom o’er the spray, 10
The haunt of birds, a desert to mankind,
Where the rough seal reposes from the wind,
And sleeps unwieldy in his cavern dun,
Or gambols with huge frolic in the sun:
There shrilly to the passing oar is heard
The startled echo of the Ocean bird,
Who rears on its bare breast her callow brood,
The feathered fishers of the solitude.
A narrow segment of the yellow sand
On one side forms the outline of a strand; 20
Here the young turtle, crawling from his shell,
Steals to the deep wherein his parents dwell;
Chipped by the beam, a nursling of the day,
But hatched for ocean by the fostering ray;
The rest was one bleak precipice, as e’er
Gave mariners a shelter and despair;
A spot to make the saved regret the deck
Which late went down, and envy the lost wreck.
Such was the stern asylum Neuha chose
To shield her lover from his following foes; 30
But all its secret was not told; she knew
In this a treasure hidden from the view.
III.
Ere the canoes divided, near the spot,
The men that manned what held her Torquil’s lot,
By her command removed, to strengthen more
The skiff which wafted Christian from the shore.
This he would have opposed; but with a smile
She pointed calmly to the craggy isle,
And bade him “speed and prosper.” She would take
The rest upon herself for Torquil’s sake. 40
They parted with this added aid; afar,
The Proa darted like a shooting star,
And gained on the pursuers, who now steered
Right on the rock which she and Torquil neared.
They pulled; her arm, though delicate, was free
And firm as ever grappled with the sea,
And yielded scarce to Torquil’s manlier strength.
The prow now almost lay within its length
Of the crag’s steep inexorable face,
With nought but soundless waters for its base; 50
Within a hundred boats’ length was the foe,
And now what refuge but their frail canoe?
This Torquil asked with half upbraiding eye,
Which said — “Has Neuha brought me here to die?
Is this a place of safety, or a grave,
And yon huge rock the tombstone of the wave?”
IV.
They rested on their paddles, and uprose
Neuha, and pointing to the approaching foes,
Cried, “Torquil, follow me, and fearless follow!”
Then plunged at once into the Ocean’s hollow. 60
There was no time to pause — the foes were near —
Chains in his eye, and menace in his ear;
With vigour they pulled on, and as they came,
Hailed him to yield, and by his forfeit name.
Headlong he leapt — to him the swimmer’s skill
Was native, and now all his hope from ill:
But how, or where? He dived, and rose no more;
The boat’s crew looked amazed o’er sea and shore.
There was no landing on that precipice,
Steep, harsh, and slippery as a berg of ice. 70
They watched awhile to see him float again,
But not a trace rebubbled from the main:
The wave rolled on, no ripple on its face,
Since their first plunge recalled a single trace;
The little whirl which eddied, and slight foam,
That whitened o’er what seemed their latest home,
White as a sepulchre above the pair
Who left no marble (mournful as an heir)
The quiet Proa wavering o’er the tide
Was all that told of Torquil and his bride; 80
And but for this alone the whole might seem
The vanished phantom of a seaman’s dream.
They paused and searched in vain, then pulled away;
Even Superstition now forbade their stay.
Some said he had not plunged into the wave,
But vanished like a corpse-light from a grave;
Others, that something supernatural
Glared in his figure, more than mortal tall;
While all agreed that in his cheek and eye
There was a dead hue of Eternity. 90
Still as their oars receded from the crag,
Round every weed a moment would they lag,
Expectant of some token of their prey;
But no — he had melted from them like the spray.
V.
And where was he the Pilgrim of the Deep,
Following the Nereid? Had they ceased to weep
For ever? or, received in coral caves,
Wrung life and pity from the softening waves?
Did they with Ocean’s hidden sovereigns dwell,
And sound with Mermen the fantastic shell? 100
Did Neuha with the mermaids comb her hair
Flowing o’er ocean as it streamed in air?
Or had they perished, and in silence slept
Beneath the gulf wherein they boldly leapt?
VI.
Young Neuha plunged into the deep, and he
Followed: her track beneath her native sea
Was as a native’s of the element,
So smoothly — bravely — brilliantly she went,
Leaving a streak of light behind her heel,
Which struck and flashed like an amphibious steel, 110
Closely, and scarcely less expert to trace
The depths where divers hold the pearl in chase,
Torquil, the nursling of the northern seas,
Pursued her liquid steps with heart and ease.
Deep — deeper for an instant Neuha led
The way — then upward soared — and as she spread
Her arms, and flung the foam from off her locks,
Laughed, and the sound was answered by the rocks.
They had gained a central realm of earth again,
But looked for tree, and field, and sky, in vain. 120
Around she pointed to a spacious cave,
Whose only portal was the keyless wave,
(A hollow archway by the sun unseen,
Save through the billows’ glassy veil of green,
In some transparent ocean holiday,
When all the finny people are at play,)
Wiped with her hair the brine from Torquil’s eyes,
And clapped her hands with joy at his surprise;
Led him to where the rock appeared to jut,
And form a something like a Triton’s hut; 130
For all was darkness for a space, till day,
Through clefts above let in a sobered ray;
As in some old cathedral’s glimmering aisle
The dusty monuments from light recoil,
Thus sadly in their refuge submarine
The vault drew half her shadow from the scene.
VII.
Forth from her bosom the young savage drew
A pine torch, strongly girded with gnatoo;
A plantain-leaf o’er all, the more to keep
Its latent sparkle from the sapping deep. 140
This mantle kept it dry; then from a nook
Of the same plantain-leaf a flint she took,
A few shrunk withered twigs, and from the blade
Of Torquil’s knife struck fire, and thus arrayed
The grot with torchlight. Wide it was and high,
And showed a self-born Gothic canopy;
The arch upreared by Nature’s architect,
The architrave some Earthquake might erect;
The buttress from some mountain’s bosom hurled,
When the Poles crashed, and water was the world; 150
Or hardened from some earth-absorbing fire,
While yet the globe reeked from its funeral pyre;
The fretted pinnacle, the aisle, the nave,
Were there, all scooped by Darkness from her cave.
There, with a little tinge of phantasy,
Fantastic faces moped and mowed on high,
And then a mitre or a shrine would fix
The eye upon its seeming crucifix.
Thus Nature played with the stalactites,
And built herself a Chapel of the Seas. 160
VIII.
And Neuha took her Torquil by the hand,
And waved along the vault her kindled brand,
And led him into each recess, and showed
The secret places of their new abode.
Nor these alone, for all had been prepared
Before, to soothe the lover’s lot she shared:
The mat for rest; for dress the fresh gnatoo,
And sandal oil to fence against the dew;
For food the cocoa-nut, the yam, the bread
Born of the fruit; for board the plantain spread 170
With its broad leaf, or turtle-shell which bore
A banquet in the flesh it covered o’er;
The gourd with water recent from the rill,
The ripe banana from the mellow hill;
A pine-torch pile to keep undying light,
And she herself, as beautiful as night,
To fling her shadowy spirit o’er the scene,
And make their subterranean world serene.
She had foreseen, since first the stranger’s sail
Drew to their isle, that force or flight might fail, 180
And formed a refuge of the rocky den
For Torquil’s safety from his countrymen.
Each dawn had wafted there her light canoe,
Laden with all the golden fruits that grew;
Each eve had seen her gliding through the hour
With all could cheer or deck their sparry bower;