English Narrative Poems Part 6

XIII

I saw them--and they were the same, They were not changed like me in frame; I saw their thousand years of snow On high--their wide long lake below, 335 And the blue Rhone in fullest flow; I heard the torrents leap and gush O'er channelled rock and broken bush; I saw the white-walled distant town, And whiter sails go skimming down; 340 And then there was a little isle,[122]

Which in my very face did smile, The only one in view; A small green isle it seemed no more, Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, 345 But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing, Of gentle breath and hue. 350 The fish swam by the castle wall, And they seemed joyous each and all; The eagle rode the rising blast, Methought he never flew so fast As then to me he seemed to fly, 355 And then new tears came in my eye, And I felt troubled--and would fain I had not left my recent chain; And when I did descend again, The darkness of my dim abode 360 Fell on me as a heavy load; It was as is a new-dug grave, Closing o'er one we sought to save,-- And yet my glance, too much oppressed, Had almost need of such a rest. 365

XIV

It might be months, or years, or days, I kept no count--I took no note, I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote; At last men came to set me free, 370 I asked not why, and recked not where, It was at length the same to me, Fettered or fetterless to be, I learned to love despair.

And thus when they appeared at last, 375 And all my bonds aside were cast, These heavy walls to me had grown A hermitage--and all my own!

And half I felt as they were come To tear me from a second home: 380 With spiders I had friendship made, And watched them in their sullen trade, Had seen the mice by moonlight play, And why should I feel less than they?

We were all inmates of one place, 385 And I, the monarch of each race, Had power to kill--yet, strange to tell!

In quiet we had learned to dwell-- My very chains and I grew friends, So much a long communion tends 390 To make us what we are:--even I Regained my freedom with a sigh.[123]

MAZEPPA

I

'Twas after dread Pultowa's[124] day, When Fortune left the royal Swede.

Around a slaughter'd army lay, No more to combat and to bleed.

The power and glory of the war, 5 Faithless as their vain votaries, men, Had pa.s.s'd to the triumphant Czar, And Moscow's walls were safe again, Until a day more dark and drear,[125]

And a more memorable year, 10 Should give to slaughter and to shame A mightier host and haughtier name; A greater wreck, a deeper fall, A shock to one--a thunderbolt to all.

II

Such was the hazard of the die[126]; 15 The wounded Charles was taught to fly By day and night through field and flood, Stain'd with his own and subjects' blood; For thousands fell that flight to aid; And not a voice was heard t' upbraid 20 Ambition in his humbled hour, When truth had naught to dread from power.

His horse was slain, and Gieta[127] gave His own--and died the Russians' slave.

This too sinks after many a league 25 Of well-sustain'd, but vain fatigue; And in the depth of forests darkling, The watch-fires in the distance sparkling-- The beacons of surrounding foes-- A king must lay his limbs at length. 30 Are these the laurels and repose For which the nations strain their strength?

They laid him by a savage tree, In outworn nature's agony; His wounds were stiff--his limbs were stark-- 35 The heavy hour was chill and dark; The fever in his blood forbade a transient slumber's fitful aid: And thus it was; but yet through all, Kinglike the monarch bore his fall, 40 And made, in this extreme of ill, His pangs the va.s.sals of his will: All silent and subdued were they, As once the nations round him lay.

III

A band of chiefs!--alas! how few, 45 Since but the fleeting of a day Had thinn'd it; but this wreck was true And chivalrous: upon the clay Each sate him down, all sad and mute, Beside his monarch and his steed, 50 For danger levels man and brute,[128]

And all are fellows in their need.

Among the rest, Mazeppa made His pillow in an old oak's shade-- Himself as rough, and scarce less old, 55 The Ukraine's hetman,[129] calm and bold.

But first, outspent with his long course, The Cossack prince rubb'd down his horse, And made for him a leafy bed, And smooth'd his fetlocks and his mane, 60 And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein, And joy'd to see how well he fed; For until now he had the dread His wearied courser might refuse To browse beneath the midnight dews: 65 But he was hardy as his lord, And little cared for bed and board; But spirited and docile too; Whate'er was to be done, would do.

s.h.a.ggy and swift, and strong of limb, 70 All Tartar-like he carried him; Obey'd his voice, and came to call, And knew him in the midst of all: Though thousands were around,--and Night, Without a star, pursued her flight,-- 75 That steed from sunset until dawn His chief would follow like a fawn.

IV

This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak, And laid his lance beneath his oak, Felt if his arms in order good 80 The long day's march had well withstood-- If still the powder fill'd the pan, And flints unloosen'd kept their lock-- His sabre's hilt and scabbard felt, And whether they had chafed his belt-- 85 And next the venerable man, From out his haversack and can, Prepared and spread his slender stock; And to the monarch and his men The whole or portion offer'd then 90 With far less of inquietude Than courtiers at a banquet would.

And Charles of this his slender share With smiles partook a moment there, To force of cheer a greater show, 95 And seem above both wounds and woe;-- And then he said--"Of all our band, Though firm of heart and strong of hand, In skirmish, march, or forage, none Can less have said or more have done 100 Than thee, Mazeppa! On the earth So fit a pain had never birth, Since Alexander's days till now, As thy Bucephalus[130] and thou: All Scythia's[131] fame to thine should yield 105 For p.r.i.c.king on o'er flood and field."

Mazeppa answer'd--"Ill betide The school wherein I learn'd to ride!"

Quoth Charles--"Old Hetman, wherefore so, Since thou hast learn'd the art so well?" 110 Mazeppa said--"'Twere long to tell; And we have many a league to go, With every now and then a blow, And ten to one at least the foe, Before our steeds may graze at ease 115 Beyond the swift Borysthenes[132]; And, sire, your limbs have need of rest, And I will be the sentinel Of this your troop."--"But I request,"

Said Sweden's monarch, "thou wilt tell 120 This tale of thine, and I may reap, Perchance, from this the boon of sleep; For at this moment from my eyes The hope of present slumber flies."

"Well, sire, with such a hope, I'll track 125 My seventy years of memory back: I think 'twas in my twentieth spring-- Ay, 'twas,--when Casimir was king-- John Casimir,--I was his page Six summers, in my earlier age. 130 A learned monarch, faith! was he, And most unlike your majesty: He made no wars, and did not gain New realms to lose them back again; And (save debates in Warsaw's diet) 135 He reign'd in most unseemly quiet; Not that he had no cares to vex, He loved the muses and the s.e.x; And sometimes these so froward are, They made him wish himself at war; 140 But soon his wrath being o'er, he took Another mistress, or new book.

And then he gave prodigious fetes-- All Warsaw gather'd round his gates To gaze upon his splendid court, 145 And dames, and chiefs, of princely port: He was the Polish Solomon, So sung his poets, all but one, Who, being unpension'd, made a satire, And boasted that he could not flatter. 150 It was a court of jousts and mimes,[133]

Where every courtier tried at rhymes; Even I for once produced some verses, And sign'd my odes 'Despairing Thyrsis.[134]'

There was a certain Palatine,[135] 155 A count of far and high descent, Rich as a salt or silver mine; And he was proud, ye may divine, As if from heaven he had been sent.

He had such wealth in blood and ore 160 As few could match beneath the throne; And he would gaze upon his store, And o'er his pedigree would pore, Until by some confusion led, Which almost look'd like want of head, 165 He thought their merits were his own.

His wife was not of his opinion-- His junior she by thirty years-- Grew daily tired of his dominion; And, after wishes, hopes, and fears, 170 To virtue a few farewell tears, A restless dream or two, some glances At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances, Awaited but the usual chances, (Those happy accidents which render 175 The coldest dames so very tender,) To deck her Count with t.i.tles given, 'Tis said, as pa.s.sports into heaven; But, strange to say, they rarely boast Of these, who have deserved them most. 180

V

"I was a goodly stripling then; At seventy years I so may say, That there were few, or boys or men, Who, in my dawning time of day, Of va.s.sal or of knight's degree, 185 Could vie in vanities with me; For I had strength, youth, gaiety, A port, not like to this ye see, But as smooth as all is rugged now; For time, and care, and war, have plough'd 190 My very soul from out my brow; And thus I should be disavow'd By all my kind and kin, could they Compare my day and yesterday.

This change was wrought, too, long ere age 195 Had ta'en my features for his page: With years, ye know, have not declined My strength, my courage, or my mind, Or at this hour I should not be Telling old tales beneath a tree, 200 With starless skies my canopy.

But let me on: Theresa's form-- Methinks it glides before me now, Between me and yon chestnut's bough, The memory is so quick and warm; 205 And yet I find no words to tell The shape of her I loved so well.

She had the Asiatic eye, Such as our Turkish neighbourhood, Hath mingled with our Polish blood, 210 Dark as above us is the sky; But through it stole a tender light, Like the first moonrise of midnight; Large, dark, and swimming in the stream, Which seem'd to melt to its own beam; 215 All love, half languor, and half fire, Like saints that at the stake expire, And lift their raptured looks on high As though it were a joy to die;-- A brow like a midsummer lake, 220 Transparent with the sun therein, When waves no murmur dare to make, And heaven beholds her face within; A cheek and lip--but why proceed?

I loved her then--I love her still; 225 And such as I am, love indeed In fierce extremes--in good and ill; But still we love even in our rage, And haunted to our very age With the vain shadow of the past, 230 As is Mazeppa to the last.

VI

"We met--we gazed--I saw, and sigh'd, She did not speak, and yet replied: There are ten thousand tones and signs We hear and see, but none defines-- 235 Involuntary sparks of thought, Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought[136]

And form a strange intelligence Alike mysterious and intense, Which link the burning chain that binds, 240 Without their will, young hearts and minds: Conveying, as the electric wire, We know not how, the absorbing fire.-- I saw, and sigh'd--in silence wept, And still reluctant distance kept, 245 Until I was made known to her, And we might then and there confer Without suspicion--then, even then, I long'd, and was resolved to speak; But on my lips they died again, 250 The accents tremulous and weak, Until one hour.--There is a game, A frivolous and foolish play, Wherewith we while away the day; It is--I have forgot the name-- 255 And we to this, it seems, were set, By some strange chance, which I forget: I reckon'd not if I won or lost, It was enough for me to be So near to hear, and oh! to see 260 The being whom I loved the most.

I watch'd her as a sentinel, (May ours this dark night watch as well!) Until I saw, and thus it was, That she was pensive, nor perceived 265 Her occupation, nor was grieved Nor glad to lose or gain; but still Play'd on for hours, as if her will Yet bound her to the place, though not That hers might be the winning lot. 270 Then through my brain the thought did pa.s.s Even as a flash of lightning there, That there was something in her air Which would not doom me to despair; And on the thought my words broke forth, 275 All incoherent as they were-- Their eloquence was little worth, But yet she listen'd--'tis enough-- Who listens once will listen twice; Her heart, be sure, is not of ice, 280 And one refusal no rebuff.

VII

"I loved, and was beloved again-- They tell me, sire, you never knew Those gentle frailties; if 'tis true, I shorten all my joy or pain; 285 To you 'twould seem absurd as vain; But all men are not born to reign, Or o'er their pa.s.sions, or as you Thus o'er themselves and nations too.

I am--or rather _was_--a prince, 290 A chief of thousands, and could lead Them on where each would foremost bleed; But could not o'er myself evince The like control.--But to resume: I loved, and was beloved again; 295 In sooth, it is a happy doom, But yet where happiest ends in pain.-- We met in secret, and the hour Which led me to that lady's bower Was fiery Expectation's dower. 300 My days and nights were nothing--all Except that hour which doth recall In the long lapse from youth to age No other like itself--I'd give The Ukraine back again to live 305 It o'er once more--and be a page, The happy page, who was the lord Of one soft heart and his own sword, And had no other gem nor wealth Save nature's gift of youth and health.-- 310 We met in secret--doubly sweet, Some say, they find it so to meet; I know not that--I would have given My life but to have call'd her mine In the full view of earth and heaven; 315 For I did oft and long repine That we could only meet by stealth.

VIII

"For lovers there are many eyes, And such there were on us;--the devil On such occasions should be civil-- 320 The devil!--I'm loth to do him wrong, It might be some untoward saint, Who would not be at rest too long But to his pious bile gave vent-- But one fair night, some lurking spies 325 Surprised and seized us both.

The Count was something more than wroth-- I was unarm'd; but if in steel, All cap-a-pie[137] from head to heel, What 'gainst their numbers could I do?-- 330 'Twas near his castle, far away From city or from succour near, And almost on the break of day; I did not think to see another, My moments seem'd reduced to few; 335 And with one prayer to Mary Mother, And, it may be, a saint or two, As I resign'd me to my fate, They led me to the castle gate: Theresa's doom I never knew, 340 Our lot was henceforth separate-- An angry man, ye may opine, Was he, the proud Count Palatine; And he had reason good to be, But he was most enraged lest such 345 An accident should chance to touch Upon his future pedigree; Nor less amazed, that such a blot His n.o.ble 'scutcheon[138] should have got, While he was highest of his line; 350 Because unto himself he seem'd The first of men, nor less he deem'd In others' eyes, and most in mine.

'Sdeath! with a _page_--perchance a king Had reconciled him to the thing; 355 But with a stripling of a page-- I felt--but cannot paint his rage.

IX

"'Bring forth the horse!'--the horse was brought; In truth, he was a n.o.ble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, 360 Who look'd as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs; but he was wild, Wild as the wild deer, and untaught, With spur and bridle undefined-- 'Twas but a day he had been caught; 365 And snorting, with erected mane, And struggling fiercely, but in vain, In the full foam of wrath and dread To me the desert-born was led.

They bound me on, that menial throng, 370 Upon his back with many a thong; They loosed him with a sudden lash-- Away!--away!--and on we dash!-- Torrents less rapid and less rash.

X