Selected Poems (116 page)

Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,

And feet that iron never shod,

And flanks unscarr’d by spur or rod,

A thousand horse the wild the free,

685

Like waves that follow o’er the sea,

Came thickly thundering on,

As if our faint approach to meet;

The sight re-nerved my courser’s feet,

A moment staggering, feebly fleet,

690

A moment, with a faint low neigh,

He answer’d, and then fell;

With gasps and glazing eyes he lay,

And reeking limbs immoveable,

His first and last career is done!

695

On came the troop – they saw him stoop,

They saw me strangely bound along

His back with many a bloody thong:

They stop – they start – they snuff the air,

Gallop a moment here and there,

700

Approach, retire, wheel round and round,

Then, plunging back with sudden bound,

Headed by one black mighty steed,

Who seem’d the patriarch of his breed,

Without a single speck or hair

705

Of white upon his shaggy hide;

They snort — they foam — neigh — swerve aside

And backward to the forest fly,

By instinct from a human eye. –

They left me there to my despair,

710

Link’d to the dead and stiffening wretch,

Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch,

Relieved from that unwonted weight,

From whence I could not extricate

Nor him nor me – and there we lay

715

The dying on the dead!

I little deem’d another day

Would see my houseless, helpless head.

‘And there from morn till twilight bound,

I felt the heavy hours toil round,

720

With just enough of life to see

My last of suns go down on me,

In hopeless certainty of mind,

That makes us feel at length resign’d

To that which our foreboding years

725

Presents the worst and last of fears

Inevitable – even a boon,

Nor more unkind for coming soon;

Yet shunn’d and dreaded with such care,

As if it only were a snare

730

That prudence might escape:

At times both wish’d for and implored

At times sought with self-pointed sword,

Yet still a dark and hideous close

To even intolerable woes,

735

And welcome in no shape.

And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure,

They who have revell’d beyond measure

In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure,

Die calm, or calmer, oft than he

740

Whose heritage was misery:

For he who hath in turn run through

All that was beautiful and new,

Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave;

And, save the future, (which is view’d

745

Not quite as men are base or good,

But as their nerves may be endued,)

With nought perhaps to grieve: –

The wretch still hopes his woes must end,

And Death, whom he should deem his friend,

750

Appears, to his distemper’d eyes,

Arrived to rob him of his prize,

The tree of his new Paradise.

To-morrow would have given him all,

Repaid his pangs, repair’d his fall;

755

To-morrow would have been the first

Of days no more deplored or curst,

But bright, and long, and beckoning years,

Seen dazzling through the mist of tears,

Guerdon of many a painful hour;

760

To-morrow would have given him power

To rule, to shine, to smite, to save –

And must it dawn upon his grave?

XVIII

‘The sun was sinking – still I lay

Chain’d to the chill and stiffening steed,

765

I thought to mingle there our clay;

And my dim eyes of death had need,

No hope arose of being freed:

I cast my last looks up the sky,

And there between me and the sun

770

I saw the expecting raven fly,

Who scarce would wait till both should die,

Ere his repast begun;

He flew, and perch’d, then flew once more,

And each time nearer than before;

775

I saw his wing through twilight flit,

And once so near me he alit

I could have smote, but lack’d the strength;

But the slight motion of my hand,

And feeble scratching of the sand,

780

The exerted throat’s faint struggling noise,

Which scarcely could be call’d a voice,

Together scared him off at length. –

I know no more – my latest dream

Is something of a lovely star

785

Which fix’d my dull eyes from afar,

And went and came with wandering beam,

And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense

Sensation of recurring sense,

And then subsiding back to death,

790

And then again a little breath,

A little thrill, a short suspense,

An icy sickness curdling o’er

My heart, and sparks that cross’d my brain –

A gasp, a throb, a start of pain,

795

A sigh, and nothing more.

XIX

‘I woke – Where was I? – Do I see

A human face look down on me?

And doth a roof above me close?

Do these limbs on a couch repose?

800

Is this a chamber where I lie?

And is it mortal yon bright eye,

That watches me with gentle glance?

I closed my own again once more,

As doubtful that the former trance

805

Could not as yet be o’er.

A slender girl, long-hair’d, and tall,

Sate watching by the cottage wall;

The sparkle of her eye I caught,

Even with my first return of thought;

810

For ever and anon she threw

A prying, pitying glance on me

With her black eyes so wild and free:

I gazed, and gazed, until I knew

No vision it could be, –

815

But that I lived, and was released

From adding to the vulture’s feast:

And when the Cossack maid beheld

My heavy eyes at length unseal’d,

She smiled – and I essay’d to speak,

820

But fail’d – and she approach’d, and made

With lip and finger signs that said,

I must not strive as yet to break

The silence, till my strength should be

Enough to leave my accents free;

825

And then her hand on mine she laid,

And smooth’d the pillow for my head,

And stole along on tiptoe tread,

And gently oped the door, and spake

In whispers – ne’er was voice so sweet!

830

Even music follow’d her light feet; –

But those she call’d were not awake,

And she went forth; but, ere she pass’d,

Another look on me she cast,

Another sign she made, to say,

835

That I had nought to fear, that all

Were near, at my command or call,

And she would not delay

Her due return: — while she was gone,

Methought I felt too much alone.

XX

840

‘She came with mother and with sire –

What need of more? — I will not tire

With long recital of the rest,

Since I became the Cossack’s guest.

They found me senseless on the plain –

845

They bore me to the nearest hut –

They brought me into life again –

Me – one day o’er their realm to reign!

Thus the vain fool who strove to glut

His rage, refining on my pain,

850

Sent me forth to the wilderness,

Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone,

To pass the desert to a throne, –