Selected Poems (47 page)

Once free, ’tis mine our horde again to guide;

Friends to each other, foes to aught beside:

Yet there we follow but the bent assign’d

By fatal Nature to man’s warring kind:

430

Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease!

He makes a solitude, and calls it – peace!

I like the rest must use my skill or strength,

But ask no land beyond my sabre’s length:

Power sways but by division – her resource

435

The blest alternative of fraud or force!

Ours be the last; in time deceit may come

When cities cage us in a social home:

There ev’n thy soul might err – how oft the heart

Corruption shakes which peril could not part!

440

And woman, more than man, when death or woe,

Or even Disgrace, would lay her lover low,

Sunk in the lap of Luxury will shame –

Away suspicion! –
not
Zuleika’s name!

But life is hazard at the best; and here

445

No more remains to win, and much to fear:

Yes, fear! – the doubt, the dread of losing thee,

By Osman’s power, and Giaffir’s stern decree.

That dread shall vanish with the favouring gale,

Which love to-night hath promised to my sail:

450

No danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest,

Their steps still roving, but their hearts at rest.

With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms;

Earth – sea alike – our world within our arms!

Ay – let the loud winds whistle o’er the deck,

455

So that those arms cling closer round my neck:

The deepest murmur of this lip shall be

No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!

The war of elements no fears impart

To Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art:

460

There
lie the only rocks our course can check;

Here
moments menace –
there
are years of wreck!

But hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror’s shape!

This hour bestows, or ever bars escape.

Few words remain of mine my tale to close:

465

Of thine but
one
to waft us from our foes;

Yea – foes – to me will Giaffir’s hate decline?

And is not Osman, who would part us, thine?

XXI

‘His head and faith from doubt and death

Return’d in time my guard to save;

470

Few heard, none told, that o’er the wave

From isle to isle I roved the while:

And since, though parted from my band,

Too seldom now I leave the land,

No deed they’ve done, nor deed shall do,

475

Ere I have heard and doom’d it too:

I form the plan, decree the spoil,

‘Tis fit I oftener share the toil.

But now too long I’ve held thine ear;

Time presses, floats my bark, and here

480

We leave behind but hate and fear.

To-morrow Osman with his train

Arrives – to-night must break thy chain:

And would’st thou save that haughty Bey,

Perchance,
his
life who gave thee thine,

485

With me, this hour away – away!

But yet, though thou art plighted mine,

Would’st thou recall thy willing vow,

Appall’d by truths imparted now,

Here rest I – not to see thee wed:

490

But be that peril on my head!’

XXII

Zuleika, mute and motionless,

Stood like that statue of distress,

When, her last hope for ever gone,

The mother harden’d into stone;

495

All in the maid that eye could see

Was but a younger Niobé.

But ere her lip, or even her eye,

Essay’d to speak, or look reply,

Beneath the garden’s wicket porch

500

Far flash’d on high a blazing torch!

Another – and another – and another –

‘Oh! fly – no more – yet now my more than brother!’

Far, wide, through every thicket spread,

The fearful lights are gleaming red;

505

Nor these alone – for each right hand

Is ready with a sheathless brand.

They part, pursue, return, and wheel

With searching flambeau, shining steel;

And last of all, his sabre waving,

510

Stern Giaffir in his fury raving:

And now almost they touch the cave –

Oh! must that grot be Selim’s grave?

XXIII

Dauntless he stood – ‘ ’T is come – soon past –

One kiss, Zuleika – ’tis my last:

515

But yet my band not far from shore

May hear this signal, see the flash;

Yet now too few – the attempt were rash:

No matter – yet one effort more.’

Forth to the cavern mouth he stept;

520

His pistol’s echo rang on high,

Zuleika started not, nor wept,

Despair benumb’d her breast and eye! –

‘They hear me not, or if they ply

Their oars, ’t is but to see me die;

525

That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh.

Then forth my father’s scimitar,

Thou ne’er hast seen less equal war!

Farewell, Zuleika! – Sweet! retire:

Yet stay within – here linger safe,

530

At thee his rage will only chafe.

Stir not – lest even to thee perchance

Some erring blade or ball should glance.

Fear’st thou for him? – may I expire

If in this strife I seek thy sire!

535

No – though by him that poison pour’d:

No – though again he call me coward!

But tamely shall I meet their steel?

No – as each crest save his may feel!’

XXIV

One bound he made, and gain’d the sand:

540

Already at his feet hath sunk

The foremost of the prying band,

A gasping head, a quivering trunk:

Another falls – but round him close

A swarming circle of his foes;

545

From right to left his path he cleft,

And almost met the meeting wave:

His boat appears – not five oars’ length –

His comrades strain with desperate strength –

Oh! are they yet in time to save?

550

His feet the foremost breakers lave;

His band are plunging in the bay

Their sabres glitter through the spray;

Wet – wild – unwearied to the strand

They struggle – now they touch the land!

555

They come – ’tis but to add to slaughter –

His heart’s best blood is on the water.

XXV

Escaped from shot, unharm’d by steel,

Or scarcely grazed its force to feel,

Had Selim won, betray’d, beset,

560

To where the strand and billows met;

There as his last step left the land,

And the last death-blow dealt his hand –

Ah! wherefore did he turn to look

For her his eye but sought in vain?

565

That pause, that fatal gaze he took,

Hath doom’d his death, or fix’d his chain.

Sad proof, in peril and in pain,

How late will Lover’s hope remain!

His back was to the dashing spray;

570

Behind, but close, his comrades lay,

When, at the instant, hiss’d the ball –

‘So may the foes of Giaffir fall!’

Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang?

Whose bullet through the night-air sang,

575

Too nearly, deadly aim’d to err?

‘Tis thine – Abdallah’s Murderer!

The father slowly rued thy hate,

The son hath found a quicker fate:

Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling,

580

The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling –

If aught his lips essay’d to groan,

The rushing billows choked the tone!

XXVI

Morn slowly rolls the clouds away;

Few trophies of the fight are there:

585

The shouts that shook the midnight-bay

Are silent; but some signs of fray