Selected Poems (49 page)

The sails are furl’d; and anchoring round she swings:

And gathering loiterers on the land discern

100

Her boat descending from the latticed stern.

’Tis mann’d – the oars keep concert to the strand,

Till grates her keel upon the shallow sand.

Hail to the welcome shout! – the friendly speech!

When hand grasps hand uniting on the beach;

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The smile, the question, and the quick reply,

And the heart’s promise of festivity!

V

The tidings spread, and gathering grows the crowd:

The hum of voices and the laughter loud

And woman’s gentler anxious tone is heard –

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Friends’ – husbands’ – lovers’ names in each dear word:

‘Oh! are they safe? we ask not of success –

But shall we see them? will their accents bless?

From where the battle roars – the billows chafe –

They doubtless boldly did – but who are safe?

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Here let them haste to gladden and surprise,

And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes!’

VI

‘Where is our chief? for him we bear report –

And doubt that joy – which hails our coming – short;

Yet thus sincere – ’tis cheering though so brief;

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But, Juan! instant guide us to our chief:

Our greeting paid, we’ll feast on our return,

And all shall hear what each may wish to learn.’

Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way,

To where his watch-tower beetles o’er the bay,

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By bushy brake, and wild flowers blossoming,

And freshness breathing from each silver spring,

Whose scatter’d streams from granite basins burst,

Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst;

From crag to cliff they mount – Near yonder cave,

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What lonely straggler looks along the wave?

In pensive posture leaning on the brand,

Not oft a resting-staff to that red hand?

‘ ’Tis he – ’tis Conrad – here – as wont – alone;

On – Juan! – on – and make our purpose known

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The bark he views – and tell him we would greet

His ear with tidings he must quickly meet:

We dare not yet approach – thou know’st his mood,

When strange or uninvited steps intrude.’

VII

Him Juan sought, and told of their intent; –

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He spake not – but a sign expressed assent.

These Juan calls – they come – to their salute

He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute.

‘These letters, Chief, are from the Greek – the spy,

Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:

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Whate’er his tidings, we can well report,

Much that’ – ‘Peace, peace!’ – he cuts their prating short.

Wondering they turn, abash’d, while each to each

Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech:

They watch his glance with many a stealing look,

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To gather how that eye the tidings took;

But, this as if guess’d, with head aside,

Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,

He read the scroll – ‘My tablets Juan, hark –

Where is Gonsalvo?

‘In the anchor’d bark.’

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‘There let him stay – to him this order bear –

Back to your duty – for my course prepare:

Myself this entreprise to-night will share.’

‘To-night, Lord Conrad?’

‘Ay! at set of sun:

The breeze will freshen when the day is done.

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My corslet – cloak – one hour – and we are gone.

Sling on thy bugle – see that free from rust

My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust;

Be the edge sharpen’d of my boarding-brand,

And give its guard more room to fit my hand.

165

This let the Armourer with speed dispose;

Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes:

Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired

To tell us when the hour of stay’s expired.’

VIII

They make obeisance, and retire in haste,

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Too soon to seek again the watery waste:

Yet they repine not – so that Conrad guides;

And who dare question aught that he decides?

That man of loneliness and mystery,

Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;

175

Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew,

And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue;

Still sways their souls with that commanding art

That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.

What is that spell, that thus his lawless train

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Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain?

What should it be, that thus their faith can bind?

The power of Thought – the magic of the Mind!

Link’d with success, assumed and kept with skill,

That moulds another’s weakness to its will;

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Wields with their hands, but, still to these unknown,

Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own.

Such hath it been – shall be – beneath the sun

The many still must labour for the one!

’Tis Nature’s doom – but let the wretch who toils,

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Accuse not hate not
him
who wears the spoils.

Oh! if he knew the weight of splendid chains

How light the balance of his humbler pains!

IX

Unlike the heroes of each ancient race,

Demons in act, but Gods at least in face,

195

In Conrad’s form seems little to admire

Though his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire:

Robust but not Herculean – to the sight

No giant frame sets forth his common height;

Yet, in the whole, who paused to look again,

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Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men;

They gaze and marvel how – and still confess

That thus it is, but why they cannot guess.

Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale

The sable curls in wild profusion veil;

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And oft perforce his rising lip reveals

The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals.

Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien,

Still seems there something he would not have seen:

His features’ deepening lines and varying hue

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At times attracted, yet perplex’d the view,

As if within that murkiness of mind

Work’d feelings fearful, and yet undefined;

Such might it be – that none could truly tell –

Too close enquiry his stern glance would quell.

215

There breathe but few whose aspect might defy

The full encounter of his searching eye:

He had the skill, when Cunning’s gaze would seek

To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek,

At once the observer’s purpose to espy,

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And on himself roll back his scrutiny,

Lest he to Conrad rather should betray

Some secret thought, than drag that chief’s to day.

There was a laughing Devil in his sneer,

That raised emotions both of rage and fear;

225

And where his frown of hatred darkly fell,

Hope withering fled – and Mercy sigh’d farewell!

X

Slight are the outward signs of evil thought,

Within – within – ’twas there the spirit wrought!

Love shows all changes – Hate, Ambition, Guile,

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Betray no further than the bitter smile;

The lip’s least curl, the lightest paleness thrown

Along the govern’d aspect, speak alone

Of deeper passions; and to judge their mien,

He, who would see, must be himself unseen.

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Then – with the hurried tread, the upward eye,

The clenched hand, the pause of agony,

That listens, starting, lest the step too near

Approach intrusive on that mood of fear:

Then – with each feature working from the heart,

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With feelings loosed to strengthen – not depart:

That rise – convulse – contend – that freeze or glow,

Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow;

Then – Stranger! if thou canst, and tremblest not,

Behold his soul – the rest that soothes his lot!

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Mark – how that lone and blighted bosom sears

The scathing thought of execrated years!

Behold – but who hath seen, or e’er shall see,