The Circassian Chief: A Romance of Russia
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thy youth? Wai! wai! wai! Wasit for this that thou wast reared, the boldest, the bravest, the mostbeautiful? No more shall I hear thy joyous laugh resounding through thegroves, or see thy graceful form bounding on thy steed, across the greenmeadows. My son! my son! Curses on the foes who have slain thee! Maythey, like me, be made childless! Can they give me another son likethee? Bear him along," she cried to the attendants, "bear my son to ourhome, that I may mourn over him. Wai! wai!"
The followers of the Hadji carried the bier of their young lord asordered; the women leading Zara, who seemed like one in a trance, hereye resting alone on the bier; yet she faltered not in her steps, nordid a word escape her. Her grief was too deep for words or cries. Herheart was not broken; gentle and soft, as she seemed, it was of tootough a texture for that; though none, not even she herself, would havedeemed it so.
We know not of what nature we are, until we are tried. She would havethought that she could not have borne the sight of blood, or theslightest misery, without sinking beneath the blow: but now, alas! sheknew herself. Her heart, in a moment, was seared and blighted, as bythe breath of the dark simoon, in an instant, the traveller isoverwhelmed and scorched. Her breast was now hardened to feelings ofpity, and burnt with vengeance against those who had deprived her of herloved one.
Such are the cursed effects of war. Let the victorious conqueror lookaround beyond the dazzling scene, and the gorgeous pageant which attendshis triumph, and he would shudder, were he to see the agony, thehopeless despair, of one alone out of the thousands, of whose misery heis the cause. The heaps of slain are as nothing; the eye soon growsaccustomed to gaze on them: the feelings become familiarised with thesight of blood, which first sickened at the thought. The slain haveplayed their game of life, and are at rest; but it is those who watchanxiously for their return, who suffer: the fond parents, the dotingwife, or mistress, the affectionate sister--it is their loving heartswhich are wrung with anguish--it is their curses which blast thelaurel-crowned brow of ambition!
The Hadji accompanied his son's body to the door of his home, where hesaw it committed to the charge of the youth's weeping mother; usheringhis friends into the guest-house, he insisted on performing the dutiesof hospitality. After these had been accomplished, he called for hishorse, and rode hastily away into the neighbouring forest. There,unseen by the eye of any, he gave way to the grief and torment of hisbreast. "The boy died for me! Oh! Allah! that I might have been inhis place!" he cried, in a burst of agony.
Selem with his father and several other chiefs remained to pay the lastsad respects to the gallant young hero. The funeral cry sounded throughthe woods with a deep and thrilling solemnity; all the women of theneighbouring hamlet assembling to increase the melancholy wail.
In about two hours before the sun sunk low, the Hadji returned; the bodyof Alp was then brought out from the house, round which a largeconcourse of people had assembled, to accompany it to its lastresting-place.
The cemetery was on a terrace, on the side of the hill; a beautifulspot, where grew the Cyprus and the plane-tree, shading the tombs of thebrave warriors who there lay at rest. A venerable bard, with sightlessorbs, was led up by his attendants, at the moment the bier, borne by sixyouths, the companions of the deceased, was brought out. He took hisstation at the head of the procession. His mother and other womenfollowed weeping; and Zara, in a trance-like state, neither weeping norspeaking, walked on mechanically; her eye not for an instant withdrawnfrom the body of her betrothed. The Hadji next followed, with a firmstep and erect posture; a slight movement of the mouth, and a contractedbrow, alone betokening his mental agony. Arslan Gherrei and the otherchiefs supported him on either side, followed by the inhabitants of thehamlet.
As the procession moved slowly on, the aged minstrel tuned his lyre to alow and plaintive strain, his voice trembling as he sung: at the end ofeach verse, the mourners joining in chorus with a melancholy cadence.As they approached the place of sepulture the words were to thefollowing effect, continuing to be chaunted as the mourners stood roundthe grave:--
Mourn, children of Atteghei, mourn for the brave, Whose heart with true glory beat high. Weep, weep, as ye lower him into his grave, No more to the charge will he cry. His father to rescue, amid the thick foe, He flew as they hemmed him around; When a treacherous shot from afar laid him low, And bleeding he fell to the ground.
Weep, weep, for the hero, the pride of our land, Who ne'er from the foemen would fly, As he fought 'mid a host who outnumber'd his band, His falchion was waving on high. And his battle cry raising, he charged them so well, As the dastardly foe pressed around. His sword drank their blood, and e'er bravely he fell, Full many had bitten the ground.
Lay the hero to rest who so bravely hath died. 'Mid the clust'ring ranks of the foe, "And his glittering falchion part not from his side, As calmly he slumbers below." He was found where he fell, 'mid the heaps of the slain, His weapon still grasp'd in his hand, Which faithfully serv'd him, and there shall remain, For who is more worthy that brand?
Weep, weep, for the hero who rests in his grave, And ever be sacred the ground, Nor let it be trod by the foot of a slave, While his spirit still wanders around. And fondly shall ever be cherished his name, As his deeds by our minstrels are sung, With the martyrs who won the bright chaplet of fame, O'er his fate shall a halo be flung.
The warrior maidens of Atteghei mourn. Ah sad was the grief of his bride! When home on his war-steed from fight he was borne, As fainting she fell by his side. Wreathe fair chaplets of flowers to hang round his tomb, Weep, weep, for the youth's early fate, And when to bewail him, as yearly you come, The deeds of the hero relate.
[Note] _Vide_ Poems by T. Moore.
There was a deep and solemn silence as all that remained of the young,the brave, and the truly-loving Alp was lowered into the narrow graveyawning to receive him. As the body reached its final resting-place,this silence was broken by the sobs which burst from his mother's breastand from the women who accompanied her. Even hardy warriors, who neverthought or dreamed of fear, and seemed steeled to all the softersympathies of our nature, were moved to tears. As the first handful ofearth was thrown on the uncoffined body, all present knelt down circlingthe grave; and the aged bard, his hands raised on high, offered upprayers for the soul of the deceased young warrior. Then, joining theirvoices, the assembly petitioned heaven for its quick passage to therealms of bliss. The venerable sire now arose from his knees, and in adeep and solemn tone thus addressed the company:
"Men of Atteghei, another victim has been offered up to the enmity ofour hated foes; a sacrifice well worthy of the altars of Liberty; forwho more brave, who more noble than he? Gentle as a lamb in peace,daring as a lion in war, loved by his friends, dreaded by his foe, whois here that loved him not? Who would not have been ready to shelterhis life with his own? Why then was he taken from us, cut off in theflower of his youth? Why, my countrymen? Because the most noble altardemands the noblest sacrifice; and what altar is more noble than that ofLiberty, and where a fitter victim than he for whom we mourn?
"His fate is glorious and happy. Even now his spirit is ascending tothe realms of bliss, while we, still loaded with our mortal chains,mourn his loss. Yet still, many, many more sacrifices must be made,before our country can be free from our detested foes; but think notthat our warriors will die in vain. Even now I see dimly andindistinctly, an era approaching, when our enemies shall be driven fromthe confines of our territories, far back to the barren lands whencethey came; and our country, freed from oppression, shall rise above herformer state and take her place among the nations of the earth."
The oration being concluded, again they knelt in prayer, while the earthhid the heroic Alp for ever from the sight of those who loved him. Aslab of stone was placed on his grave, over which was erected a lightbuilding of wood, sufficiently large to shelter those who would c
ome onthe anniversary of his death to offer up prayers, and to commemorate thegallant actions of the young warrior.
The bereaved Zara was led to her home; and, for many live-long days, shesat, motionless, regardless of all around her. Stunned and bewilderedby her grief, she constantly brooded over her loss.
The Hadji appeared to have recovered from the shock sooner than the restof his family: but many observed that the elastic spirits of the old manhad flown for ever. A change had come over him. His whole thoughts andattention were given to forming plans for defeating the Russians, anddefending the country against their attacks in the coming spring.
So different is man's grief, for a loved lost object, to that of awoman! He has resources whereupon to employ his mind and his energies.The fierce excitement of war, the ardour of the chase, the banquet, thecouncil, and a hundred other objects offer opportunities to distract