Selected Poems (50 page)

Man as himself – the secret spirit free?

XI

Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent

250

To lead the guilty – guilt’s worst instrument –

His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven

Him forth to war with man and forfeit heaven.

Warp’d by the world in Disappointment’s school,

In words too wise, in conduct
there
a fool;

255

Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop,

Doom’d by his very virtues for a dupe,

He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill

And not the traitors who betray’d him still;

Nor deem’d that gifts bestow’d on better men

260

Had left him joy, and means to give again.

Fear’d – shunn’d – belied – ere youth had lost her force,

He hated man too much to feel remorse,

And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call,

To pay the injuries of some on all.

265

He knew himself a villain – but he deem’d

The rest no better than the thing he seem’d;

And scorn’d the best as hypocrites who hid

Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.

He knew himself detested, but he knew

270

The hearts that loath’d him, crouch’d and dreaded too.

Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt

From all affection and from all contempt:

His name could sadden, and his acts surprise;

But they that fear’d him dared not to despise:

275

Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake

The slumbering venom of the folded snake;

The first may turn – but not avenge the blow;

The last expires – but leaves no living foe;

Fast to the doom’d offender’s form it clings

280

And he may crush – not conquer – still it stings!

XII

None are all evil – quickening round his heart,

One softer feeling would not yet depart;

Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled

By passions worthy of a fool or child;

285

Yet ’gainst that passion vainly still he strove,

And even in him it asks the name of Love!

Yes, it was love – unchangeable – unchanged,

Felt but for one from whom he never ranged;

Though fairest captives daily met his eye

290

He shunn’d, nor sought, but coldly pass’d them by;

Though many a beauty droop’d in prison’d bower,

None ever sooth’d his most unguarded hour.

Yes – it was Love – if thoughts of tenderness,

Tried in temptation, strengthen’d by distress,

295

Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime,

And yet – Oh more than all! – untired by time;

Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile,

Could render sullen were she ne’er to smile,

Nor rage could fire nor sickness fret to vent

300

On her one murmur of his discontent;

Which still would meet with joy, with calmness part,

Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart;

Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove –

If there be love in mortals – this was love!

305

He was a villain – ay – reproaches shower

On him – but not the passion, nor its power,

Which only proved, all other virtues gone,

Not guilt itself could quench this loveliest one!

XIII

He paused a moment – till his hastening men

310

Pass’d the first winding downward to the glen.

‘Strange tidings! – many a peril have I past,

Nor know I why this next appears the last!

Yet so my heart forebodes, but must not fear,

Nor shall my followers find me falter here.

315

’Tis rash to meet, but surer death to wait

Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate;

And, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smile,

We’ll furnish mourners for our funeral pile.

Ay – let them slumber – peaceful be their dreams!

320

Morn ne’er awoke them with such brilliant beams

As kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze!)

To warm these slow avengers of the seas.

Now to Medora – Oh! my sinking heart

Long may her own be lighter than thou art!

325

Yet was I brave – mean boast where all are brave!

Ev’n insects sting for aught they seek to save.

This common courage which with brutes we share,

That owes its deadliest efforts to despair,

Small merit claims – but ’twas my nobler hope

330

To teach my few with numbers still to cope;

Long have I led them – not to vainly bleed;

No medium now – we perish or succeed!

So let it be – it irks not me to die;

But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly.

335

My lot hath long had little of my care,

But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare:

‘Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last

Hope, power, and life upon a single cast?

Oh, Fate! – accuse thy folly, not thy fate –

340

She may redeem thee still – nor yet too late.’

XIV

Thus with himself communion held he, till

He reach’d the summit of his tower-crown’d hill:

There at the portal paused – for wild and soft

He heard those accents never heard too oft;

345

Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung,

And these the notes the bird of beauty sung:

1

‘Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,

Lonely and lost to light for evermore,

Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,

350

Then trembles into silence as before.

2

‘There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp

Burns the slow flame, eternal – but unseen;

Which not the darkness of despair can damp,

Though vain its ray as it had never been.

3

355

‘Remember me – Oh! pass not thou my grave

Without one thought whose relics there recline:

The only pang my bosom dare not brave

Must be to find forgetfulness in thine.

4

‘My fondest – faintest – latest accents hear –

360

Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove;

Then give me all I ever ask’d – a tear,

The first – last – sole reward of so much love!’

He pass’d the portal – cross’d the corridore,

And reach’d the chamber as the strain gave o’er:

365

‘My own Medora! sure thy song is sad –’

‘In Conrad’s absence wouldst thou have it glad?

Without thine ear to listen to my lay,

Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray:

Still must each accent to my bosom suit,

370

My heart unhush’d – although my lips were mute!

Oh! man a niht on this lone couch reclined

My dreaming fear with storms hath wing’d the wind,

And deem’d the breath that faintly fann’d thy sail

The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale;

375

Though soft, it seem’d the low prophetic dirge,

That mourn’d thee floating on the savage surge:

Still would I rise to rouse the beacon fire,

Lest spies less true should let the blaze expire;

And many a restless hour outwatch’d each star,

380

And morning came – and still thou wert afar.

Oh! how the chill blast on my bosom blew,

And day broke dreary on my troubled view,

And still I gazed and gazed – and not a prow

Was granted to my tears – my truth – my vow!

385

At length – ’twas noon – I hail’d and blest the mast

That met my sight – it near’d – Alas! it past!

Another came – Oh God! ’twas thine at last!

Would that those days were over! wilt thou ne’er,

My Conrad! learn the joys of peace to share?

390

Sure thou hast more than wealth, and many a home

As bright as this invites us not to roam:

Thou know’st it is not peril that I fear:

I only tremble when thou art not here;

Then not for mine, but that far dearer life,

395

Which flies from love and languishes for strife –

How strange that heart, to me so tender still,

Should war with nature and its better will!’

‘Yea, strange indeed – that heart hath long been changed;