<< Its hope awaken and its spirit soar?
«No dread of death-if with us die our foes
«Save that it seems even duller than repose:
<< Come when it will we snatch the life of lifeWhen lost what recks it—by disease or strife? Let him who crawls enamoured of decay,
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away;
<< Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head; << Ours the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed. · << While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
<< Ours with one pang-one bound- escapes control. << His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loathed his life may gild his grave: << Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed, << When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead. <«<For us, even banquets fond regret supply << In the red cup that crowns our memory; << And the brief epitaph in danger's day, "When those who win at length divide the prey, << And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow, «How had the brave who fell exulted now! »
Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle,
Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while;
Such were the sounds that thrilled the rocks along,
And unto ears as rugged seemed a song!
In scattered groups upon the golden sand,
They
game-carouse-converse-or whet the brand;
Select the arms-to each his blade assign,
And careless eye the blood that dims its shine:
Repair the boat, replace the helm or oar,
While others straggling muse along the shore,
For the wild bird the busy springes set,
Or spread beneath the sun the dripping net;
Gaze where some distant sail a speck supplies,
With all the thirsting eye of Euterprise;
Tell o'er the tales of many a night of toil,
And marvel where they next shall seize a spoil:
No matter where-their chief's allotment this;
Theirs, to believe no prey nor plan amiss.
But who that CHIEF? his name on every shore
Is famed and feared they ask and know no more.
With these he mingles not but to command;
Few are his words, but keen his eyc and hand.
Ne'er seasons he with mirth their jovial mess,
But they forgive his silence for success.
Ne'er for his lip the purpling cup they fill,
That goblet passes him untasted still-
And for his fare · the rudest of his crew
Would that, in turn, have passed untasted too;
Earth's coarsest bread, the garden's homeliest rools,
And scarce the summer luxury of fruits,
His short repast in humbleness supply
With all a hermit's board would scarce deny.
But while he shuns the grosser joys of sense,
Ilis mind seems nourished by that abstinence.
<< Steer to that shore! »- they said. « Do this! » - 'tis done :
«Now form and follow me!»-the spoil is won.
Thus prompt his accents and his actions still,
And all obey and few inquire his will;
To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye
Convey reproof, nor further deign reply.
« A sail! -a sail! -» a promised prize to Hope
Her nation-flag-how speaks the telescope?
No prize, alas!—but yet a welcome sail :
The blood red signal glitters in the gale.
Yes-she is ours — a home returning bark -
Blow fair, thou breeze!
she anchors ere the dark.
Already doubled is the cape-our bay
Receives that prow which proudly spurns the spray.
How gloriously her gallant course she goes!
Her white wings flying- -never from her foes-
She walks the waters like a thing of life,
And seems to dare the elements to strife.
Who would not brave the battle fire-the wreck-
To move the monarch of her peopled deck?
Hoarse o'er her side the rustling cable rings;
The sails are furled; and anchoring round she swings:
And gathering loiterers on the land discern
Her boat descending from the latticed stern.
'Tis manned ·
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;
The smile, the question, and the quick reply,
And the heart's promise of festivity!
The tidings spread, and gathering grows the crowd:
The hum of voices, and the laughter loud,
And woman's gentler anxious tone is heard
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 soars-the billows chafe-
They doubtless boldly did — but who are safe?
"Here let them haste to gladden and surprise,
«And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes!
"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; 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 lowly by the rock-hewn way,
To where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay,
By bushy brake, and wild flowers blossoming,
And freshness breathing from each silver spring,
Whose scattered streams from granite basins burst,
Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst;
From crag to cliff they mount - Near yonder cave,
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.
«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.
Him Juan sought, and told of their intentHe 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:
Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,
<< Much that >>-«< Peace, peace! »>-Ile cuts their prating short. Wondering they turn, abashed, while each to each Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech: They watch his glance with many a stealing look, To gather how that eye the tidings took; But, this as if he guessed, with head aside, perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride, He read the scroll - « My tablets, Juan, hark «< Where is Gonsalvo?
«In the anchored bark.
« There let him stay - to him this order bear.
Back to your duty - for my course prepare:
Myself this enterprise to-night will share. »
To-night, Lord Conrad?»
The breeze will freshen when the day is done.
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 sharpened of my boarding-brand, And give its guard more room to fit my hand. <<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.
They make obeisance, and retire in haste,
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;
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
Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain ?
What should it be that thus their fate can bind?
The power of Thought - the magic of the Mind!
Linked with success, assumed and kept with skill,
That moulds another's weakness to its will;
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,
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!
Unlike the heroes of each ancient race
Demons in act, but Gods at least in face,
In Conrad's form seems little to admire,
Though his dark eye-brow 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,
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;
And oft perforce his rising lip reveals
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