Selected Poems (115 page)

Had nerved him like the mountain-roe;

Nor faster falls the blinding snow

Which whelms the peasant near the door

Whose threshold he shall cross no more,

515

Bewilder’d with the dazzling blast,

Than through the forest-paths he past –

Untired, untamed, and worse than wild;

All furious as a favour’d child

Balk’d of its wish; or fiercer still –

520

A woman piqued – who has her will.

XIII

‘The wood was past; ’twas more than noon,

But chill the air, although in June;

Or it might be my veins ran cold —

Prolong’d endurance tames the bold;

525

And I was then not what I seem,

But headlong as a wintry stream,

And wore my feelings out before

I well could count their causes o’er:

And what with fury, fear, and wrath,

530

The tortures which beset my path,

Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress,

Thus bound in nature’s nakedness;

Sprung from a race whose rising blood

When stirr’d beyond its calmer mood,

535

And trodden hard upon, is like

The rattle-snake’s, in act to strike,

What marvel if this worn-out trunk

Beneath its woes a moment sunk?

The earth gave way, the skies roll’d round,

540

I seem’d to sink upon the ground;

But err’d, for I was fastly bound.

My heart turn’d sick, my brain grew sore,

And throbb’d awhile, then beat no more:

The skies spun like a mighty wheel;

545

I saw the trees like drunkards reel,

And a slight flash sprang o’er my eyes,

Which saw no farther: he who dies

Can die no more than then I died.

O’ertortured by that ghastly ride,

550

I felt the blackness come and go,

And strove to wake; but could not make

My senses climb up from below:

I felt as on a plank at sea,

When all the waves that dash o’er thee,

555

At the same time upheave and whelm,

And hurl thee towards a desert realm.

My undulating life was as

The fancied lights that flitting pass

Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when

560

Fever begins upon the brain;

But soon it pass’d, with little pain,

But a confusion worse than such:

I own that I should deem it much,

Dying, to feel the same again;

565

And yet I do suppose we must

Feel far more ere we turn to dust:

No matter; I have bared my brow

Full in Death’s face — before — and now.

XIV

‘My thoughts came back; where was I? Cold,

570

And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse

Life reassumed its lingering hold,

And throb by throb: till grown a pang

Which for a moment would convulse,

My blood reflow’d, though thick and chill;

575

My ear with uncouth noises rang,

My heart began once more to thrill;

My sight return’d, though dim; alas!

And thicken’d, as it were, with glass.

Methought the dash of waves was nigh;

580

There was a gleam too of the sky,

Studded with stars; — it is no dream;

The wild horse swims the wilder stream!

The bright broad river’s gushing tide

Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide,

585

And we are half-way, struggling o’er

To yon unknown and silent shore.

The waters broke my hollow trance,

And with a temporary strength

My stiffen’d limbs were rebaptized.

590

My courser’s broad breast proudly braves,

And dashes off the ascending waves,

And onward we advance!

We reach the slippery shore at length,

A haven I but little prized,

595

For all behind was dark and drear,

And all before was night and fear.

How many hours of night or day

In those suspended pangs I lay,

I could not tell; I scarcely knew

600

If this were human breath I drew.

XV

‘With glossy skin, and dripping mane,

And reeling limbs, and reeking flank,

The wild steed’s sinewy nerves still strain

Up the repelling bank.

605

We gain the top: a boundless plain

Spreads through the shadow of the night,

And onward, onward, onward, seems,

Like precipices in our dreams,

To stretch beyond the sight;

610

And here and there a speck of white,

Or scatter’d spot of dusky green,

In masses broke into the light,

As rose the moon upon my right.

But nought distinctly seen

615

In the dim waste would indicate

The omen of a cottage gate;

No twinkling taper from afar

Stood like a hospitable star;

Not even an ignis-fatuus rose

620

To make him merry with my woes:

That very cheat had cheer’d me then!

Although detected, welcome still,

Reminding me, through every ill,

Of the abodes of men.

XVI

625

‘Onward we went — but slack and slow;

His savage force at length o’erspent,

The drooping courser, faint and low,

All feebly foaming went.

A sickly infant had had power

630

To guide him forward in that hour;

But useless all to me.

His new-born tameness nought avail’d,

My limbs were bound; my force had fail’d,

Perchance, had they been free.

635

With feeble effort still I tried

To rend the bonds so starkly tied –

But still it was in vain;

My limbs were only wrung the more,

And soon the idle strife gave o’er,

640

Which but prolong’d their pain:

The dizzy race seem’d almost done,

Although no goal was nearly won:

Some streaks announced the coming sun –

How slow, alas! he came!

645

Methought that mist of dawning gray

Would never dapple into day;

How heavily it roll’d away –

Before the eastern flame

Rose crimson, and deposed the stars,

650

And call’d the radiance from their cars,

And fill’d the earth, from his deep throne,

With lonely lustre, all his own.

XVII

‘Up rose the sun; the mists were curl’d

Back from the solitary world

655

Which lay around – behind – before;

What booted it to traverse o’er

Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute,

Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot,

Lay in the wild luxuriant soil;

660

No sign of travel – none of toil;

The very air was mute;

And not an insect’s shrill small horn,

Nor matin bird’s new voice was borne

From herb nor thicket. Many a werst,

665

Panting as if his heart would burst,

The weary brute still stagger’d on;

And still we were – or seem’d – alone:

At length, while reeling on our way,

Methought I heard a courser neigh,

670

From out yon tuft of blackening firs.

Is it the wind those branches stirs?

No, no! from out the forest prance

A trampling troop; I see them come!

In one vast squadron they advance!

675

I strove to cry – my lips were dumb.

The steeds rush on in plunging pride;

But where are they the reins to guide?

A thousand horse — and none to ride!

With flowing tail, and flying mane,

680

Wide nostrils — never stretch’d by pain,