The Works of Lord Byron Volume V Part 146

By Neuha's side he sate, and watched the waters,-- Neuha, the sun-flower of the island daughters, Highborn, (a birth at which the herald smiles, Without a scutcheon for these secret isles,) Of a long race, the valiant and the free, The naked knights of savage chivalry, Whose gra.s.sy cairns ascend along the sh.o.r.e; And thine--I've seen--Achilles! do no more.[386]

She, when the thunder-bearing strangers came, 220 In vast canoes, begirt with bolts of flame, Topped with tall trees, which, loftier than the palm, Seemed rooted in the deep amidst its calm: But when the winds awakened, shot forth wings Broad as the cloud along the horizon flings, And swayed the waves, like cities of the sea, Making the very billows look less free;-- She, with her paddling oar and dancing prow, Shot through the surf, like reindeer through the snow, Swift-gliding o'er the breaker's whitening edge, 230 Light as a Nereid in her ocean sledge, And gazed and wondered at the giant hulk, Which heaved from wave to wave its trampling bulk.

The anchor dropped; it lay along the deep, Like a huge lion in the sun asleep, While round it swarmed the Proas' flitting chain, Like summer bees that hum around his mane.

XI.

The white man landed!--need the rest be told?

The New World stretched its dusk hand to the Old; Each was to each a marvel, and the tie 240 Of wonder warmed to better sympathy.

Kind was the welcome of the sun-born sires, And kinder still their daughters' gentler fires.

Their union grew: the children of the storm Found beauty linked with many a dusky form; While these in turn admired the paler glow, Which seemed so white in climes that knew no snow.

The chace, the race, the liberty to roam, The soil where every cottage showed a home; The sea-spread net, the lightly launched canoe, 250 Which stemmed the studded archipelago, O'er whose blue bosom rose the starry isles; The healthy slumber, earned by sportive toils; The palm, the loftiest Dryad of the woods, Within whose bosom infant Bacchus broods, While eagles scarce build higher than the crest Which shadows o'er the vineyard in her breast; The Cava feast, the Yam, the Cocoa's root, Which bears at once the cup, and milk, and fruit; The Bread-tree, which, without the ploughshare, yields 260 The unreaped harvest of unfurrowed fields, And bakes its unadulterated loaves Without a furnace in unpurchased groves, And flings off famine from its fertile breast, A priceless market for the gathering guest;-- These, with the luxuries of seas and woods, The airy joys of social solitudes, Tamed each rude wanderer to the sympathies Of those who were more happy, if less wise, Did more than Europe's discipline had done, 270 And civilised Civilisation's son!

XII.

Of these, and there was many a willing pair, Neuha[387] and Torquil were not the least fair: Both children of the isles, though distant far; Both born beneath a sea-presiding star; Both nourished amidst Nature's native scenes, Loved to the last, whatever intervenes Between us and our Childhood's sympathy, Which still reverts to what first caught the eye.

He who first met the Highlands' swelling blue 280 Will love each peak that shows a kindred hue, Hail in each crag a friend's familiar face, And clasp the mountain in his Mind's embrace.

Long have I roamed through lands which are not mine, Adored the Alp, and loved the Apennine, Revered Parna.s.sus, and beheld the steep Jove's Ida and Olympus crown the deep: But 'twas not all long ages' lore, nor all _Their_ nature held me in their thrilling thrall; The infant rapture still survived the boy, 290 And Loch-na-gar with Ida looked o'er Troy,[388]

Mixed Celtic memories with the Phrygian mount, And Highland linns with Castalie's clear fount.

Forgive me, Homer's universal shade!

Forgive me, Phbus! that my fancy strayed; The North and Nature taught me to adore Your scenes sublime, from those beloved before.

XIII.

The love which maketh all things fond and fair, The youth which makes one rainbow of the air, The dangers past, that make even Man enjoy 300 The pause in which he ceases to destroy, The mutual beauty, which the sternest feel Strike to their hearts like lightning to the steel, United the half savage and the whole, The maid and boy, in one absorbing soul.

No more the thundering memory of the fight Wrapped his weaned bosom in its dark delight; No more the irksome restlessness of Rest Disturbed him like the eagle in her nest, Whose whetted beak[389] and far-pervading eye 310 Darts for a victim over all the sky: His heart was tamed to that voluptuous state, At once Elysian and effeminate, Which leaves no laurels o'er the Hero's urn;-- These wither when for aught save blood they burn; Yet when their ashes in their nook are laid, Doth not the myrtle leave as sweet a shade?

Had Caesar known but Cleopatra's kiss, Rome had been free, the world had not been his.

And what have Caesar's deeds and Caesar's fame 320 Done for the earth? We feel them in our shame.

The gory sanction of his Glory stains The rust which tyrants cherish on our chains.

Though Glory--Nature--Reason--Freedom, bid Roused millions do what single Brutus did-- Sweep these mere mock-birds of the Despot's song From the tall bough where they have perched so long,-- Still are we hawked at by such mousing owls,[390]

And take for falcons those ign.o.ble fowls, When but a word of freedom would dispel 330 These bugbears, as their terrors show too well.

XIV.

Rapt in the fond forgetfulness of life, Neuha, the South Sea girl, was all a wife, With no distracting world to call her off From Love; with no Society to scoff At the new transient flame; no babbling crowd Of c.o.xcombry in admiration loud, Or with adulterous whisper to alloy Her duty, and her glory, and her joy: With faith and feelings naked as her form, 340 She stood as stands a rainbow in a storm, Changing its hues with bright variety, But still expanding lovelier o'er the sky, Howe'er its arch may swell, its colours move, The cloud-compelling harbinger of Love.

XV.

Here, in this grotto of the wave-worn sh.o.r.e, They pa.s.sed the Tropic's red meridian o'er; Nor long the hours--they never paused o'er time, Unbroken by the clock's funereal chime,[391]

Which deals the daily pittance of our span, 350 And points and mocks with iron laugh at man.[fn]

What deemed they of the future or the past?

The present, like a tyrant, held them fast: Their hour-gla.s.s was the sea-sand, and the tide, Like her smooth billow, saw their moments glide Their clock the Sun, in his unbounded tower They reckoned not, whose day was but an hour; The nightingale, their only vesper-bell, Sung sweetly to the rose the day's farewell;[392]

The broad Sun set, but not with lingering sweep, 360 As in the North he mellows o'er the deep; But fiery, full, and fierce, as if he left The World for ever, earth of light bereft, Plunged with red forehead down along the wave, As dives a hero headlong to his grave.

Then rose they, looking first along the skies, And then for light into each other's eyes, Wondering that Summer showed so brief a sun, And asking if indeed the day were done.

XVI.

And let not this seem strange: the devotee 370 Lives not in earth, but in his ecstasy; Around him days and worlds are heedless driven, His Soul is gone before his dust to Heaven.

Is Love less potent? No--his path is trod, Alike uplifted gloriously to G.o.d; Or linked to all we know of Heaven below, The other better self, whose joy or woe Is more than ours; the all-absorbing flame Which, kindled by another, grows the same,[fo]

Wrapt in one blaze; the pure, yet funeral pile, 380 Where gentle hearts, like Bramins, sit and smile.

How often we forget all time, when lone, Admiring Nature's universal throne, Her woods--her wilds--her waters--the intense Reply of _hers_ to our intelligence!

Live not the Stars and Mountains? Are the Waves Without a spirit? Are the dropping caves Without a feeling in their silent tears?[393]

No, no;--they woo and clasp us to their spheres, Dissolve this clog and clod of clay before 390 Its hour, and merge our soul in the great sh.o.r.e.

Strip off this fond and false ident.i.ty!-- Who thinks of self when gazing on the sky?

And who, though gazing lower, ever thought, In the young moments ere the heart is taught Time's lesson, of Man's baseness or his own?

All Nature is his realm, and Love his throne.

XVII.

Neuha arose, and Torquil: Twilight's hour Came sad and softly to their rocky bower, Which, kindling by degrees its dewy spars, 400 Echoed their dim light to the mustering stars.

Slowly the pair, partaking Nature's calm, Sought out their cottage, built beneath the palm; Now smiling and now silent, as the scene; Lovely as Love--the Spirit!--when serene.

The Ocean scarce spoke louder with his swell, Than breathes his mimic murmurer in the sh.e.l.l,[394]

As, far divided from his parent deep, The sea-born infant cries, and will not sleep, Raising his little plaint in vain, to rave 410 For the broad bosom of his nursing wave: The woods drooped darkly, as inclined to rest, The tropic bird wheeled rockward to his nest, And the blue sky spread round them like a lake Of peace, where Piety her thirst might slake.

XVIII.

But through the palm and plantain, hark, a Voice!

Not such as would have been a lover's choice, In such an hour, to break the air so still; No dying night-breeze, harping o'er the hill, Striking the strings of nature, rock and tree, 420 Those best and earliest lyres of Harmony, With Echo for their chorus; nor the alarm Of the loud war-whoop to dispel the charm; Nor the soliloquy of the hermit owl, Exhaling all his solitary soul, The dim though large-eyed winged anchorite, Who peals his dreary Paean o'er the night; But a loud, long, and naval whistle, shrill As ever started through a sea-bird's bill; And then a pause, and then a hoa.r.s.e "Hillo! 430 Torquil, my boy! what cheer? Ho! brother, ho!"

"Who hails?" cried Torquil, following with his eye The sound. "Here's one," was all the brief reply.

XIX.

But here the herald of the self-same mouth[395]

Came breathing o'er the aromatic south, Not like a "bed of violets" on the gale, But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale, Borne from a short frail pipe, which yet had blown Its gentle odours over either zone, And, puffed where'er winds rise or waters roll, 440 Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole, Opposed its vapour as the lightning flashed, And reeked, 'midst mountain-billows, unabashed, To aeolus a constant sacrifice, Through every change of all the varying skies.

And what was he who bore it?--I may err, But deem him sailor or philosopher.[396]

Sublime Tobacco! which from East to West Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest; Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides 450 His hours, and rivals opium and his brides; Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand; Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe, When tipped with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe: Like other charmers, wooing the caress, More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far[fp]

Thy naked beauties--Give me a cigar![397]

XX.

Through the approaching darkness of the wood 460 A human figure broke the solitude, Fantastically, it may be, arrayed, A seaman in a savage masquerade; Such as appears to rise out from the deep, When o'er the line the merry vessels sweep, And the rough Saturnalia of the tar Flock o'er the deck, in Neptune's borrowed car;[398]

And, pleased, the G.o.d of Ocean sees his name Revive once more, though but in mimic game Of his true sons, who riot in the breeze 470 Undreamt of in his native Cyclades.

Still the old G.o.d delights, from out the main, To s.n.a.t.c.h some glimpses of his ancient reign.

Our sailor's jacket, though in ragged trim, His constant pipe, which never yet burned dim, His foremast air, and somewhat rolling gait, Like his dear vessel, spoke his former state; But then a sort of kerchief round his head, Not over tightly bound, nor nicely spread; And, 'stead of trowsers (ah! too early torn! 480 For even the mildest woods will have their thorn) A curious sort of somewhat scanty mat Now served for inexpressibles and hat; His naked feet and neck, and sunburnt face, Perchance might suit alike with either race.

His arms were all his own, our Europe's growth, Which two worlds bless for civilising both; The musket swung behind his shoulders broad, And somewhat stooped by his marine abode, But brawny as the boar's; and hung beneath, 490 His cutla.s.s drooped, unconscious of a sheath, Or lost or worn away; his pistols were Linked to his belt, a matrimonial pair-- (Let not this metaphor appear a scoff, Though one missed fire, the other would go off); These, with a bayonet, not so free from rust As when the arm-chest held its brighter trust, Completed his accoutrements, as Night Surveyed him in his garb heteroc.l.i.te.

XXI.