The Works of Lord Byron Volume III Part 76

Sent that soft and tender moan?[365]

He lifted his head, and he looked on the sea, But it was unrippled as gla.s.s may be; He looked on the long gra.s.s--it waved not a blade; How was that gentle sound conveyed?

He looked to the banners--each flag lay still, So did the leaves on Cithaeron's hill, And he felt not a breath come over his cheek; What did that sudden sound bespeak? 530 He turned to the left--is he sure of sight?

There sate a lady, youthful and bright![pt][366]

XX.

He started up with more of fear Than if an armed foe were near.

"G.o.d of my fathers! what is here?

Who art thou? and wherefore sent So near a hostile armament?"

His trembling hands refused to sign The cross he deemed no more divine: He had resumed it in that hour,[pu] 540 But Conscience wrung away the power.

He gazed, he saw; he knew the face Of beauty, and the form of grace; It was Francesca by his side, The maid who might have been his bride![pv]

The rose was yet upon her cheek, But mellowed with a tenderer streak: Where was the play of her soft lips fled?

Gone was the smile that enlivened their red.

The Ocean's calm within their view,[pw] 550 Beside her eye had less of blue; But like that cold wave it stood still, And its glance, though clear, was chill.[367]

Around her form a thin robe twining, Nought concealed her bosom shining; Through the parting of her hair, Floating darkly downward there, Her rounded arm showed white and bare: And ere yet she made reply, Once she raised her hand on high; 560 It was so wan, and transparent of hue, You might have seen the moon shine through.

XXI.

"I come from my rest to him I love best, That I may be happy, and he may be blessed.

I have pa.s.sed the guards, the gate, the wall; Sought thee in safety through foes and all.

'Tis said the lion will turn and flee[368]

From a maid in the pride of her purity; And the Power on high, that can shield the good Thus from the tyrant of the wood, 570 Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well From the hands of the leaguering Infidel.

I come--and if I come in vain, Never, oh never, we meet again!

Thou hast done a fearful deed In falling away from thy fathers' creed: But dash that turban to earth, and sign The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine; Wring the black drop from thy heart, And to-morrow unites us no more to part." 580

"And where should our bridal couch be spread?

In the midst of the dying and the dead?

For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame The sons and the shrines of the Christian name.

None, save thou and thine, I've sworn, Shall be left upon the morn: But thee will I bear to a lovely spot, Where our hands shall be joined, and our sorrow forgot.

There thou yet shall be my bride, When once again I've quelled the pride 590 Of Venice; and her hated race Have felt the arm they would debase Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those Whom Vice and Envy made my foes."

Upon his hand she laid her own-- Light was the touch, but it thrilled to the bone, And shot a chillness to his heart,[px]

Which fixed him beyond the power to start.

Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold, He could not loose him from its hold; 600 But never did clasp of one so dear Strike on the pulse with such feeling of fear, As those thin fingers, long and white, Froze through his blood by their touch that night.

The feverish glow of his brow was gone, And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone, As he looked on the face, and beheld its hue,[py]

So deeply changed from what he knew: Fair but faint--without the ray Of mind, that made each feature play 610 Like sparkling waves on a sunny day; And her motionless lips lay still as death, And her words came forth without her breath, And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell,[pz]

And there seemed not a pulse in her veins to dwell.

Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fixed,[369]

And the glance that it gave was wild and unmixed With aught of change, as the eyes may seem Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream; Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare, 620 Stirred by the breath of the wintry air[qa]

So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light,[qb]

Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight; As they seem, through the dimness, about to come down From the shadowy wall where their images frown; Fearfully flitting to and fro, As the gusts on the tapestry come and go.[370]

"If not for love of me be given Thus much, then, for the love of Heaven,-- Again I say--that turban tear 630 From off thy faithless brow, and swear Thine injured country's sons to spare, Or thou art lost; and never shalt see-- Not earth--that's past--but Heaven or me.

If this thou dost accord, albeit A heavy doom' tis thine to meet, That doom shall half absolve thy sin, And Mercy's gate may receive thee within:[371]

But pause one moment more, and take The curse of Him thou didst forsake; 640 And look once more to Heaven, and see Its love for ever shut from thee.

There is a light cloud by the moon--[372]

'Tis pa.s.sing, and will pa.s.s full soon-- If, by the time its vapoury sail Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil, Thy heart within thee is not changed, Then G.o.d and man are both avenged; Dark will thy doom be, darker still Thine immortality of ill." 650

Alp looked to heaven, and saw on high The sign she spake of in the sky; But his heart was swollen, and turned aside, By deep interminable pride.[qc]

This first false pa.s.sion of his breast Rolled like a torrent o'er the rest.

_He_ sue for mercy! _He_ dismayed By wild words of a timid maid!

_He_, wronged by Venice, vow to save Her sons, devoted to the grave! 660 No--though that cloud were thunder's worst, And charged to crush him--let it burst!

He looked upon it earnestly, Without an accent of reply; He watched it pa.s.sing; it is flown: Full on his eye the clear moon shone, And thus he spake--"Whate'er my fate, I am no changeling--'tis too late: The reed in storms may bow and quiver, Then rise again; the tree must shiver. 670 What Venice made me, I must be, Her foe in all, save love to thee: But thou art safe: oh, fly with me!"

He turned, but she is gone!

Nothing is there but the column stone.

Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air?

He saw not--he knew not--but nothing is there.

XXII.

The night is past, and shines the sun As if that morn were a jocund one.[373]

Lightly and brightly breaks away 680 The Morning from her mantle grey,[374]

And the Noon will look on a sultry day.[375]

Hark to the trump, and the drum, And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn, And the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne, And the neigh of the steed, and the mult.i.tude's hum, And the clash, and the shout, "They come! they come!"

The horsetails[376] are plucked from the ground, and the sword From its sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.

Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, 690 Strike your tents, and throng to the van; Mount ye, spur ye, skirr the plain,[377]

That the fugitive may flee in vain, When he breaks from the town; and none escape, Aged or young, in the Christian shape; While your fellows on foot, in a fiery ma.s.s, Bloodstain the breach through which they pa.s.s.[378]

The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein; Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane; White is the foam of their champ on the bit; 700 The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit; The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar, And crush the wall they have crumbled before:[379]

Forms in his phalanx each Janizar; Alp at their head; his right arm is bare, So is the blade of his scimitar; The Khan and the Pachas are all at their post; The Vizier himself at the head of the host.

When the culverin's signal is fired, then on; Leave not in Corinth a living one-- 710 A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls, A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls.

G.o.d and the prophet--Alla Hu![380]

Up to the skies with that wild halloo!

"There the breach lies for pa.s.sage, the ladder to scale; And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail?

He who first downs with the red cross may crave[381]

His heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, and have!"

Thus uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless Vizier;[382]

The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear, 720 And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire:-- Silence--hark to the signal--fire!

XXIII.

As the wolves, that headlong go On the stately buffalo, Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar, And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore, He tramples on earth, or tosses on high The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die Thus against the wall they went, Thus the first were backward bent;[383] 730 Many a bosom, sheathed in bra.s.s, Strewed the earth like broken gla.s.s,[qd]

Shivered by the shot, that tore The ground whereon they moved no more: Even as they fell, in files they lay, Like the mower's gra.s.s at the close of day,[qe]

When his work is done on the levelled plain; Such was the fall of the foremost slain.[384]

XXIV.

As the spring-tides, with heavy plash, From the cliffs invading dash 740 Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow, Till white and thundering down they go, Like the avalanche's snow On the Alpine vales below; Thus at length, outbreathed and worn, Corinth's sons were downward borne By the long and oft renewed Charge of the Moslem mult.i.tude.

In firmness they stood, and in ma.s.ses they fell, Heaped by the host of the Infidel, 750 Hand to hand, and foot to foot: Nothing there, save Death, was mute;[385]

Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry For quarter, or for victory, Mingle there with the volleying thunder, Which makes the distant cities wonder How the sounding battle goes, If with them, or for their foes; If they must mourn, or may rejoice In that annihilating voice, 760 Which pierces the deep hills through and through With an echo dread and new: You might have heard it, on that day, O'er Salamis and Megara; (We have heard the hearers say,)[qf]

Even unto Piraeus' bay.

XXV.

From the point of encountering blades to the hilt, Sabres and swords with blood were gilt;[386]

But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun, And all but the after carnage done. 770 Shriller shrieks now mingling come From within the plundered dome: Hark to the haste of flying feet, That splash in the blood of the slippery street; But here and there, where 'vantage ground Against the foe may still be found, Desperate groups, of twelve or ten, Make a pause, and turn again-- With banded backs against the wall, Fiercely stand, or fighting fall. 780 There stood an old man[387]--his hairs were white, But his veteran arm was full of might: So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray, The dead before him, on that day, In a semicircle lay; Still he combated unwounded, Though retreating, unsurrounded.

Many a scar of former fight Lurked[388] beneath his corslet bright; But of every wound his body bore, 790 Each and all had been ta'en before: Though aged, he was so iron of limb, Few of our youth could cope with him, And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay, Outnumbered his thin hairs[389] of silver grey.