The Works of Lord Byron Volume V Part 145

We leave them to their fate, but not unknown Nor unredressed. Revenge may have her own:[fd]

Roused Discipline aloud proclaims their cause, And injured Navies urge their broken laws.

Pursue we on his track the mutineer, Whom distant vengeance had not taught to fear.

Wide o'er the wave--away! away! away!

Once more his eyes shall hail the welcome bay; Once more the happy sh.o.r.es without a law Receive the outlaws whom they lately saw; 210 Nature, and Nature's G.o.ddess--Woman--woos To lands where, save their conscience, none accuse; Where all partake the earth without dispute,[fe]

And bread itself is gathered as a fruit;[366]

Where none contest the fields, the woods, the streams:-- The goldless Age, where Gold disturbs no dreams, Inhabits or inhabited the sh.o.r.e, Till Europe taught them better than before; Bestowed her customs, and amended theirs, But left her vices also to their heirs.[367] 220 Away with this! behold them as they were, Do good with Nature, or with Nature err.

"Huzza! for Otaheite!" was the cry, As stately swept the gallant vessel by.

The breeze springs up; the lately flapping sail Extends its arch before the growing gale; In swifter ripples stream aside the seas, Which her bold bow flings off with dashing ease.

Thus Argo ploughed the Euxine's virgin foam,[ff]

But those she wafted still looked back to home; 230 These spurn their country with their rebel bark, And fly her as the raven fled the Ark; And yet they seek to nestle with the dove, And tame their fiery spirits down to Love.

End of Canto 1^st^, J^n 14.

CANTO THE SECOND.

I.

How pleasant were the songs of Toobonai,[368]

When Summer's Sun went down the coral bay!

Come, let us to the islet's softest shade, And hear the warbling birds! the damsels said: The wood-dove from the forest depth shall coo, Like voices of the G.o.ds from Bolotoo;[369]

We'll cull the flowers that grow above the dead, For these most bloom where rests the warrior's head; And we will sit in Twilight's face, and see The sweet Moon glancing through the Tooa[370] tree, 10 The lofty accents of whose sighing bough Shall sadly please us as we lean below; Or climb the steep, and view the surf in vain Wrestle with rocky giants o'er the main, Which spurn in columns back the baffled spray.

How beautiful are these! how happy they, Who, from the toil and tumult of their lives, Steal to look down where nought but Ocean strives!

Even He too loves at times the blue lagoon, And smooths his ruffled mane beneath the Moon. 20

II.

Yes--from the sepulchre we'll gather flowers, Then feast like spirits in their promised bowers, Then plunge and revel in the rolling surf, Then lay our limbs along the tender turf, And, wet and shining from the sportive toil, Anoint our bodies with the fragrant oil, And plait our garlands gathered from the grave, And wear the wreaths that sprung from out the brave.

But lo! night comes, the Mooa[371] woos us back, The sound of mats[372] are heard along our track; 30 Anon the torchlight dance shall fling its sheen In flashing mazes o'er the Marly's[373] green; And we too will be there; we too recall The memory bright with many a festival, Ere Fiji blew the sh.e.l.l of war, when foes For the first time were wafted in canoes.[fg]

Alas! for them the flower of manhood bleeds; Alas! for them our fields are rank with weeds: Forgotten is the rapture, or unknown,[fh]

Of wandering with the Moon and Love alone. 40 But be it so:--_they_ taught us how to wield The club, and rain our arrows o'er the field: Now let them reap the harvest of their art!

But feast to-night! to-morrow we depart.

Strike up the dance! the Cava bowl[374] fill high!

Drain every drop!--to-morrow we may die.

In summer garments be our limbs arrayed; Around our waists the Tappa's white displayed; Thick wreaths shall form our coronal,[375] like Spring's, And round our necks shall glance the Hooni strings; 50 So shall their brighter hues contrast the glow Of the dusk bosoms that beat high below.

III.

But now the dance is o'er--yet stay awhile; Ah, pause! nor yet put out the social smile.

To-morrow for the Mooa we depart, But not to-night--to-night is for the heart.

Again bestow the wreaths we gently woo, Ye young Enchantresses of gay Licoo![376]

How lovely are your forms! how every sense Bows to your beauties, softened, but intense,[fi] 60 Like to the flowers on Mataloco's steep, Which fling their fragrance far athwart the deep!-- We too will see Licoo; but--oh! my heart!-- What do I say?--to-morrow we depart!

IV.

Thus rose a song--the harmony of times Before the winds blew Europe o'er these climes.

True, they had vices--such are Nature's growth-- But only the barbarian's--we have both; The sordor of civilisation, mixed With all the savage which Man's fall hath fixed. 70 Who hath not seen Dissimulation's reign, The prayers of Abel linked to deeds of Cain?

Who such would see may from his lattice view The Old World more degraded than the New,-- Now _new_ no more, save where Columbia rears Twin giants, born by Freedom to her spheres, Where Chimborazo, over air,--earth,--wave,-- Glares with his t.i.tan eye, and sees no slave.[fj][377]

V.

Such was this ditty of Tradition's days, Which to the dead a lingering fame conveys 80 In song, where Fame as yet hath left no sign Beyond the sound whose charm is half divine; Which leaves no record to the sceptic eye, But yields young History all to Harmony; A boy Achilles, with the Centaur's lyre In hand, to teach him to surpa.s.s his sire.

For one long-cherished ballad's[378] simple stave, Rung from the rock, or mingled with the wave, Or from the bubbling streamlet's gra.s.sy side, Or gathering mountain echoes as they glide, 90 Hath greater power o'er each true heart and ear, Than all the columns Conquest's minions rear;[fk]

Invites, when Hieroglyphics[379] are a theme For sages' labours, or the student's dream; Attracts, when History's volumes are a toil,-- The first, the freshest bud of Feeling's soil.

Such was this rude rhyme--rhyme is of the rude-- But such inspired the Norseman's solitude, Who came and conquered; such, wherever rise Lands which no foes destroy or civilise, 100 Exist: and what can our accomplished art Of verse do more than reach the awakened heart?[380]

VI.

And sweetly now those untaught melodies Broke the luxurious silence of the skies, The sweet siesta of a summer day, The tropic afternoon of Toobonai, When every flower was bloom, and air was balm, And the first breath began to stir the palm, The first yet voiceless wind to urge the wave All gently to refresh the thirsty cave, 110 Where sat the Songstress with the stranger boy, Who taught her Pa.s.sion's desolating joy, Too powerful over every heart, but most O'er those who know not how it may be lost; O'er those who, burning in the new-born fire, Like martyrs revel in their funeral pyre, With such devotion to their ecstacy, That Life knows no such rapture as to die: And die they do; for earthly life has nought Matched with that burst of Nature, even in thought; 120 And all our dreams of better life above But close in one eternal gush of Love.

VII.

There sat the gentle savage of the wild, In growth a woman, though in years a child, As childhood dates within our colder clime, Where nought is ripened rapidly save crime; The infant of an infant world, as pure From Nature--lovely, warm, and premature; Dusky like night, but night with all her stars; Or cavern sparkling with its native spars; 130 With eyes that were a language and a spell, A form like Aphrodite's in her sh.e.l.l, With all her loves around her on the deep, Voluptuous as the first approach of sleep; Yet full of life--for through her tropic cheek The blush would make its way, and all but speak; The sun-born blood suffused her neck, and threw O'er her clear nut-brown skin a lucid hue, Like coral reddening through the darkened wave, Which draws the diver to the crimson cave. 140 Such was this daughter of the southern seas, Herself a billow in her energies,[fl]

To bear the bark of others' happiness, Nor feel a sorrow till their joy grew less: Her wild and warm yet faithful bosom knew No joy like what it gave; her hopes ne'er drew Aught from Experience, that chill touchstone, whose Sad proof reduces all things from their hues: She feared no ill, because she knew it not, Or what she knew was soon--too soon--forgot: 150 Her smiles and tears had pa.s.sed, as light winds pa.s.s O'er lakes to ruffle, not destroy, their gla.s.s, Whose depths unsearched, and fountains from the hill, Restore their surface, in itself so still, Until the Earthquake tear the Naiad's cave, Root up the spring, and trample on the wave, And crush the living waters to a ma.s.s, The amphibious desert of the dank mora.s.s!

And must their fate be hers? The eternal change But grasps Humanity with quicker range; 160 And they who fall but fall as worlds will fall, To rise, if just, a Spirit o'er them all.

VIII.

And who is he? the blue-eyed northern child[381]

Of isles more known to man, but scarce less wild; The fair-haired offspring of the Hebrides, Where roars the Pentland with its whirling seas; Rocked in his cradle by the roaring wind, The tempest-born in body and in mind, His young eyes opening on the ocean-foam, Had from that moment deemed the deep his home, 170 The giant comrade of his pensive moods, The sharer of his craggy solitudes, The only Mentor of his youth, where'er His bark was borne; the sport of wave and air; A careless thing, who placed his choice in chance, Nursed by the legends of his land's romance; Eager to hope, but not less firm to bear, Acquainted with all feelings save despair.

Placed in the Arab's clime he would have been As bold a rover as the sands have seen, 180 And braved their thirst with as enduring lip As Ishmael, wafted on his Desert-Ship;[382]

Fixed upon Chili's sh.o.r.e, a proud cacique: On h.e.l.las' mountains, a rebellious Greek;[383]

Born in a tent, perhaps a Tamerlane; Bred to a throne, perhaps unfit to reign.

For the same soul that rends its path to sway, If reared to such, can find no further prey Beyond itself, and must retrace its way,[384]

Plunging for pleasure into pain: the same 190 Spirit which made a Nero, Rome's worst shame, A humbler state and discipline of heart, Had formed his glorious namesake's counterpart;[385]

But grant his vices, grant them all his own, How small their theatre without a throne!

IX.

Thou smilest:--these comparisons seem high To those who scan all things with dazzled eye; Linked with the unknown name of one whose doom Has nought to do with glory or with Rome, With Chili, h.e.l.las, or with Araby;-- 200 Thou smilest?--Smile; 'tis better thus than sigh; Yet such he might have been; he was a man, A soaring spirit, ever in the van, A patriot hero or despotic chief,[fm]

To form a nation's glory or its grief, Born under auspices which make us more Or less than we delight to ponder o'er.

But these are visions; say, what was he here?

A blooming boy, a truant mutineer.

The fair-haired Torquil, free as Ocean's spray, 210 The husband of the bride of Toobonai.

X.