The Works of Lord Byron Volume III Part 41

"Aye! at set of sun: The breeze will freshen when the day is done.

My corslet--cloak--one hour and we are gone. 160 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."

VIII.

They make obeisance, and retire in haste, Too soon to seek again the watery waste: 170 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? 180 What should it be, that thus their faith can bind?

The power of Thought--the magic of the Mind!

Linked with success, a.s.sumed 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. 190 Oh! if he knew the weight of splendid chains, How light the balance of his humbler pains!

IX.

Unlike the heroes of each ancient race, Demons in act, but G.o.ds at least in face, In Conrad's form seems little to admire, Though his dark eyebrow 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; 200 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 The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals.[hn]

Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien, Still seems there something he would not have seen: His features' deepening lines and varying hue At times attracted, yet perplexed the view, 210 As if within that murkiness of mind Worked feelings fearful, and yet undefined; Such might it be--that none could truly tell-- Too close inquiry his stern glance would quell.

There breathe but few whose aspect might defy The full encounter of his searching eye; He had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek[ho]

To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek, At once the observer's purpose to espy, And on himself roll back his scrutiny, 220 Lest he to Conrad rather should betray Some secret thought, than drag that Chief's to day.

There was a laughing Devil in his sneer, That raised emotions both of rage and fear; And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, Hope withering fled--and Mercy sighed farewell![200]

X.[201]

Slight are the outward signs of evil thought, Within--within--'twas there the spirit wrought!

Love shows all changes--Hate, Ambition, Guile, Betray no further than the bitter smile; 230 The lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown Along the governed aspect, speak alone Of deeper pa.s.sions; and to judge their mien, He, who would see, must be himself unseen.

Then--with the hurried tread, the upward eye, The clenched hand, the pause of agony, That listens, starting, lest the step too near Approach intrusive on that mood of fear: Then--with each feature working from the heart, With feelings, loosed to strengthen--not depart, 240 That rise--convulse--contend--that freeze or glow,[hp]

Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow; Then--Stranger! if thou canst, and tremblest not, Behold his soul--the rest that soothes his lot![hq]

Mark how that lone and blighted bosom sears The scathing thought of execrated years!

Behold--but who hath seen, or e'er shall see, Man as himself--the secret spirit free?

XI.

Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent To lead the guilty--Guilt's worse instrument-- 250 His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven Him forth to war with Man and forfeit Heaven.

Warped by the world in Disappointment's school, In words too wise--in conduct _there_ a fool; Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop, Doomed by his very virtues for a dupe, He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill, And not the traitors who betrayed him still; Nor deemed that gifts bestowed on better men Had left him joy, and means to give again. 260 Feared--shunned--belied--ere Youth had lost her force, He hated Man too much to feel remorse, And thought the voice of Wrath a sacred call, To pay the injuries of some on all.

He knew himself a villain--but he deemed The rest no better than the thing he seemed; And scorned the best as hypocrites who hid Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.

He knew himself detested, but he knew The hearts that loathed him, crouched and dreaded too. 270 Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt From all affection and from all contempt: His name could sadden, and his acts surprise; But they that feared him dared not to despise: Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake The slumbering venom of the folded snake: The first may turn, but not avenge the blow; The last expires, but leaves no living foe; Fast to the doomed offender's form it clings, And he may crush--not conquer--still it stings![202] 280

XII.

None are all evil--quickening round his heart, One softer feeling would not yet depart; Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled By pa.s.sions worthy of a fool or child; Yet 'gainst that pa.s.sion vainly still he strove, And even in him it asks the name of Love!

Yes, it was love--unchangeable--unchanged, Felt but for one from whom he never ranged; Though fairest captives daily met his eye, He shunned, nor sought, but coldly pa.s.sed them by; 290 Though many a beauty drooped in prisoned bower, None ever soothed his most unguarded hour, Yes--it was Love--if thoughts of tenderness, Tried in temptation, strengthened by distress, Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime, And yet--Oh more than all!--untired by Time; Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile, Could render sullen were She near to smile, Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent On her one murmur of his discontent; 300 Which still would meet with joy, with calmness part, Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart; Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove-- If there be Love in mortals--this was Love!

He was a villain--aye, reproaches shower On him--but not the Pa.s.sion, nor its power, Which only proved--all other virtues gone-- Not Guilt itself could quench this loveliest one![hr]

XIII.

He paused a moment--till his hastening men Pa.s.sed the first winding downward to the glen. 310 "Strange tidings!--many a peril have I pa.s.sed, Nor know I why this next appears the last!

Yet so my heart forebodes, but must not fear, Nor shall my followers find me falter here.

'Tis rash to meet--but surer death to wait Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate; And, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smile, We'll furnish mourners for our funeral pile.

Aye, let them slumber--peaceful be their dreams!

Morn ne'er awoke them with such brilliant beams 320 As kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze!) To warm these slow avengers of the seas.

Now to Medora--Oh! my sinking heart,[hs]

Long may her own be lighter than thou art!

Yet was I brave--mean boast where all are brave!

Ev'n insects sting for aught they seek to save.

This common courage which with brutes we share, That owes its deadliest efforts to Despair, Small merit claims--but 'twas my n.o.bler hope To teach my few with numbers still to cope; 330 Long have I led them--not to vainly bleed: No medium now--we perish or succeed!

So let it be--it irks not me to die; But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly.

My lot hath long had little of my care, But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare: Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last Hope, Power and Life upon a single cast?

Oh, Fate!--accuse thy folly--not thy fate; She may redeem thee still--nor yet too late." 340

XIV.

Thus with himself communion held he, till He reached the summit of his tower-crowned hill: There at the portal paused--for wild and soft He heard those accents never heard too oft!

Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung, And these the notes his Bird of Beauty sung:

1.

"Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, Lonely and lost to light for evermore, Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, Then trembles into silence as before. 350

2.

"There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp Burns the slow flame, eternal--but unseen; Which not the darkness of Despair can damp, Though vain its ray as it had never been.

3.

"Remember me--Oh! pa.s.s not thou my grave Without one thought whose relics there recline: The only pang my bosom dare not brave Must be to find forgetfulness in thine.

4.

"My fondest--faintest--latest accents hear--[ht]

Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove; 360 Then give me all I ever asked--a tear,[203]

The first--last--sole reward of so much love!"

He pa.s.sed the portal, crossed the corridor, And reached the chamber as the strain gave o'er: "My own Medora! sure thy song is sad--"

"In Conrad's absence would'st thou have it glad?

Without thine ear to listen to my lay, Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray: Still must each accent to my bosom suit, My heart unhushed--although my lips were mute! 370 Oh! many a night on this lone couch reclined, My dreaming fear with storms hath winged the wind, And deemed the breath that faintly fanned thy sail The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale; Though soft--it seemed the low prophetic dirge, That mourned thee floating on the savage surge: Still would I rise to rouse the beacon fire, Lest spies less true should let the blaze expire; And many a restless hour out.w.a.tched each star, And morning came--and still thou wert afar. 380 Oh! how the chill blast on my bosom blew, And day broke dreary on my troubled view, And still I gazed and gazed--and not a prow Was granted to my tears--my truth--my vow!

At length--'twas noon--I hailed and blest the mast That met my sight--it neared--Alas! it pa.s.sed!

Another came--Oh G.o.d! 'twas thine at last!

Would that those days were over! wilt thou ne'er, My Conrad! learn the joys of peace to share?

Sure thou hast more than wealth, and many a home 390 As bright as this invites us not to roam: Thou know'st it is not peril that I fear, I only tremble when thou art not here; Then not for mine, but that far dearer life, Which flies from love and languishes for strife-- How strange that heart, to me so tender still, Should war with Nature and its better will!"

"Yea, strange indeed--that heart hath long been changed; Worm-like 'twas trampled--adder-like avenged-- Without one hope on earth beyond thy love, 400 And scarce a glimpse of mercy from above.

Yet the same feeling which thou dost condemn, My very love to thee is hate to them, So closely mingling here, that disentwined, I cease to love thee when I love Mankind: Yet dread not this--the proof of all the past a.s.sures the future that my love will last; But--Oh, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart; This hour again--but not for long--we part."

"This hour we part!--my heart foreboded this: 410 Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss.

This hour--it cannot be--this hour away!

Yon bark hath hardly anch.o.r.ed in the bay: Her consort still is absent, and her crew Have need of rest before they toil anew; My Love! thou mock'st my weakness; and wouldst steel My breast before the time when it must feel; But trifle now no more with my distress, Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness.

Be silent, Conrad!--dearest! come and share 420 The feast these hands delighted to prepare; Light toil! to cull and dress thy frugal fare!