Selected Poems (51 page)

Worm-like ’twas trampled – adder-like avenged,

400

Without one hope on earth beyond thy love,

And scarce a glimpse of mercy from above.

Yet the same feeling which thou dost condemn,

My very love to thee is hate to them,

So closely mingling here, that disentwined,

405

I cease to love thee when I love mankind:

Yet dread not this – the proof of all the past

Assures the future that my love will last;

But – Oh, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart,

This hour again – but not for long – we part.’

410

‘This hour we part! – my heart foreboded this:

Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss.

This hour – it cannot be – this hour away!

Yon bark hath hardly anchor’d in the bay;

Her consort still is absent, and her crew

415

Have need of rest before they toil anew:

My love! thou mock’st my weakness; and wouldst steel

My breast before the time when it must feel;

But trifle now no more with my distress,

Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness.

420

Be silent, Conrad! – dearest! come and share

The feast these hands delighted to prepare;

Light toil! to cull and dress thy frugal fare!

See, I have pluck’d the fruit that promised best,

And where not sure, perplex’d, but pleased, I guess’d

425

At such as seem’d the fairest; thrice the hill

My steps have wound to try the coolest rill;

Yes! thy sherbet to-night will sweetly flow,

See how it sparkles in its vase of snow!

The grapes’ gay juice thy bosom never cheers;

430

Thou more than Moslem when the cup appears:

Think not I mean to chide – for I rejoice

What others deem a penance is thy choice.

But come, the board is spread; our silver lamp

Is trimm’d, and heeds not the sirocco’s damp:

435

Then shall my handmaids while the time along,

And join with me the dance, or wake the song;

Or my guitar, which still thou lov’st to hear,

Shall soothe or lull – or, should it vex thine ear,

We’ll turn the tale, by Ariosto told,

440

Of fair Olympia loved and left of old.
¹

Why – thou wert worse than he who broke his vow

To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me now;

Or even that traitor chief – I’ve seen thee smile,

When the clear sky show’d Ariadne’s Isle,

445

Which I have pointed from these cliffs the while:

And thus half sportive, half in fear, I said,

Lest Time, should raise that doubt to more than dread,

Thus Conrad, too will quit me for the main:

And he deceived me – for – he came again!’

450

‘Again – again – and oft again – my love!

If there be life below, and hope above,

He will return – but now the moments bring

The time of parting with redoubled wing:

The why – the where – what boots it now to tell

455

Since all must end in that wild word – farewell!

Yet would I fain – did time allow – disclose –

Fear not – these are no formidable foes;

And here shall watch a more than wonted guard,

For sudden siege and long defence prepared:

460

Nor be thou lonely – though thy lord’s away,

Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay;

And this thy comfort – that, when next we meet,

Security shall make repose more sweet.

List! – ’tis the bugle – Juan shrilly blew –

465

One kiss – one more – another – Oh! Adieu!’

She rose – she sprung – she clung to his embrace,

Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face.

He dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye,

Which downcast droop’d in tearless agony.

470

Her long fair hair lay floating o’er his arms,

In all the wildness of dishevell’d charms;

Scarce beat that bosom where his image dwelt

So full –
that
feeling seem’d almost unfelt!

Hark – peals the thunder of the signal-gun!

475

It told ’twas sunset – and he cursed that sun.

Again – again – that form he madly press’d,

Which mutely clasp’d, imploring caress’d!

And tottering to the couch his bride he bore,

One moment gazed – as if to gaze no more;

480

Felt – that for him earth held but her alone,

Kiss’d her cold forehead – turn’d – is Conrad gone?

XV

‘And is he gone?’ – on sudden solitude

How oft that fearful question will intrude!

‘ ’Twas but an instant past – and here he stood!

485

And now’ – without the portal’s porch she rush’d,

And then at length her tears in freedom gush’d;

Big – bright – and fast, unknown to her they fell;

But still her lips refused to send – ‘Farewell!’

For in that word – that fatal word – howe’er

490

We promise – hope – believe – there breathes despair.

O’er every feature of that still, pale face,

Had sorrow fix’d what time can ne’er erase:

The tender blue of that large loving eye

Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy,

495

Till – Oh, how far! – it caught a glimpse of him,

And then it flow’d – and phrensied seem’d to swim

Through those long dark and glistening lashes dew’d

With drops of sadness oft to be renew’d.

‘He’s gone!’ – against her heart that hand is driven,

500

Convulsed and quick – then gently raised to heaven;

She look’d and saw the heaving of the main;

The white sail set – she dared not look again;

But turn’d with sickening soul within the gate –

‘It is no dream – and I am desolate!’

XVI

505

From crag to crag descending – swiftly sped

Stern Conrad down, nor once he turn’d his head;

But shrunk whene’er the windings of his way

Forced on his eye what he would not survey,

His lone, but lovely dwelling on the steep,

510

That hail’d him first when homeward from the deep:

And she - the dim and melancholy star,

Whose ray of beauty reach’d him from afar,

On her he must not gaze, he must not think,

There he might rest – but on Destruction’s brink:

515

Yet once almost he stopp’d – and nearly gave

His fate to chance, his projects to the wave:

But no – it must not be – a worthy chief

May melt, but not betray to woman’s grief.

He sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind,

520

And sternly gathers all his might of mind.

Again he hurries on – and as he hears

The clang of tumult vibrate on his ears,

The busy sounds, the bustle of the shore,

The shout, the signal, and the dashing oar;

525

As marks his eye the seaboy on the mast,

The anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast,

The wavin kerchiefs of the crowd that ure

That mute adieu to those who stem the surge;

And more than all, his blood-red flag aloft,

530

He marvell’d how his heart could seem so soft.

Fire in his glance, and wildness in his breast,

He feels of all his former self possest;

He bounds – he flies – until his footsteps reach

The verge where ends the cliff, begins the beach,

535

There checks his speed; but pauses less to breathe

The breezy freshness of the deep beneath,

Than there his wonted statelier step renew;

Nor rush, disturb’d by haste, to vulgar view:

For well had Conrad learn’d to curb the crowd,

540

By arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud;

His was the lofty port, the distant mien,

That seems to shun the sight – and awes if seen:

The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye,

That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy;

545

All these he wielded to command assent:

But where he wished to win, so well unbent,

That kindness cancell’d fear in those who heard,

And others’ gifts show’d mean beside his word,

When echo’d to the heart as from his own

550

His deep yet tender melody of tone:

But such was foreign to his wonted mood,