The Works of Lord Byron Volume IV Part 38

X.

"Away!--away!--My breath was gone, I saw not where he hurried on: 'Twas scarcely yet the break of day, And on he foamed--away!--away!

The last of human sounds which rose, As I was darted from my foes, 380 Was the wild shout of savage laughter, Which on the wind came roaring after A moment from that rabble rout: With sudden wrath I wrenched my head, And snapped the cord, which to the mane Had bound my neck in lieu of rein, And, writhing half my form about, Howled back my curse; but 'midst the tread, The thunder of my courser's speed, Perchance they did not hear nor heed: 390 It vexes me--for I would fain Have paid their insult back again.

I paid it well in after days: There is not of that castle gate, Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight, Stone--bar--moat--bridge--or barrier left; Nor of its fields a blade of gra.s.s, Save what grows on a ridge of wall, Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall; And many a time ye there might pa.s.s, 400 Nor dream that e'er the fortress was.

I saw its turrets in a blaze, Their crackling battlements all cleft, And the hot lead pour down like rain From off the scorched and blackening roof, Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof.

They little thought that day of pain, When launched, as on the lightning's flash, They bade me to destruction dash, That one day I should come again, 410 With twice five thousand horse, to thank The Count for his uncourteous ride.

They played me then a bitter prank, When, with the wild horse for my guide, They bound me to his foaming flank: At length I played them one as frank-- For Time at last sets all things even-- And if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power Which could evade, if unforgiven, 420 The patient search and vigil long Of him who treasures up a wrong.

XI.

"Away!--away!--my steed and I, Upon the pinions of the wind!

All human dwellings left behind, We sped like meteors through the sky, When with its crackling sound the night[262]

Is chequered with the Northern light.

Town--village--none were on our track, But a wild plain of far extent, 430 And bounded by a forest black[263]; And, save the scarce seen battlement On distant heights of some strong hold, Against the Tartars built of old, No trace of man. The year before A Turkish army had marched o'er; And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod, The verdure flies the b.l.o.o.d.y sod: The sky was dull, and dim, and gray, And a low breeze crept moaning by-- 440 I could have answered with a sigh-- But fast we fled,--away!--away!-- And I could neither sigh nor pray; And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain Upon the courser's bristling mane; But, snorting still with rage and fear, He flew upon his far career: At times I almost thought, indeed, He must have slackened in his speed; But no--my bound and slender frame 450 Was nothing to his angry might, And merely like a spur became: Each motion which I made to free My swoln limbs from their agony Increased his fury and affright: I tried my voice,--'twas faint and low-- But yet he swerved as from a blow; And, starting to each accent, sprang As from a sudden trumpet's clang: Meantime my cords were wet with gore, 460 Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er; And in my tongue the thirst became A something fierier far than flame.

XII.

"We neared the wild wood--'twas so wide, I saw no bounds on either side: 'Twas studded with old st.u.r.dy trees, That bent not to the roughest breeze Which howls down from Siberia's waste, And strips the forest in its haste,-- But these were few and far between, 470 Set thick with shrubs more young and green, Luxuriant with their annual leaves, Ere strown by those autumnal eyes That nip the forest's foliage dead, Discoloured with a lifeless red[bu], Which stands thereon like stiffened gore Upon the slain when battle's o'er; And some long winter's night hath shed Its frost o'er every tombless head-- So cold and stark--the raven's beak 480 May peck unpierced each frozen cheek: 'Twas a wild waste of underwood, And here and there a chestnut stood, The strong oak, and the hardy pine; But far apart--and well it were, Or else a different lot were mine-- The boughs gave way, and did not tear My limbs; and I found strength to bear My wounds, already scarred with cold; My bonds forbade to loose my hold. 490 We rustled through the leaves like wind,-- Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind; By night I heard them on the track, Their troop came hard upon our back, With their long gallop, which can tire The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire: Where'er we flew they followed on, Nor left us with the morning sun; Behind I saw them, scarce a rood, At day-break winding through the wood, 500 And through the night had heard their feet Their stealing, rustling step repeat.

Oh! how I wished for spear or sword, At least to die amidst the horde, And perish--if it must be so-- At bay, destroying many a foe!

When first my courser's race begun, I wished the goal already won; But now I doubted strength and speed: Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed 510 Had nerved him like the mountain-roe-- Nor faster falls the blinding snow Which whelms the peasant near the door Whose threshold he shall cross no more, Bewildered with the dazzling blast, Than through the forest-paths he pa.s.sed-- Untired, untamed, and worse than wild-- All furious as a favoured child Balked of its wish; or--fiercer still-- A woman piqued--who has her will! 520

XIII.

"The wood was pa.s.sed; 'twas more than noon, But chill the air, although in June; Or it might be my veins ran cold-- Prolonged endurance tames the bold; And I was then not what I seem, But headlong as a wintry stream, And wore my feelings out before I well could count their causes o'er: And what with fury, fear, and wrath, The tortures which beset my path-- 530 Cold--hunger--sorrow--shame--distress-- Thus bound in Nature's nakedness; Sprung from a race whose rising blood When stirred beyond its calmer mood, And trodden hard upon, is like The rattle-snake's, in act to strike-- What marvel if this worn-out trunk Beneath its woes a moment sunk?[264]

The earth gave way, the skies rolled round, I seemed to sink upon the ground; 540 But erred--for I was fastly bound.

My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore, And throbbed awhile, then beat no more: The skies spun like a mighty wheel; I saw the trees like drunkards reel, And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes, Which saw no farther. He who dies Can die no more than then I died, O'ertortured by that ghastly ride.[265]

I felt the blackness come and go, 550 And strove to wake; but could not make My senses climb up from below: I felt as on a plank at sea, When all the waves that dash o'er thee, At the same time upheave and whelm, And hurl thee towards a desert realm.

My undulating life was as The fancied lights that flitting pa.s.s Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when Fever begins upon the brain; 560 But soon it pa.s.sed, with little pain, But a confusion worse than such: I own that I should deem it much, Dying, to feel the same again; And yet I do suppose we must Feel far more ere we turn to dust!

No matter! I have bared my brow Full in Death's face--before--and now.

XIV.

"My thoughts came back. Where was I? Cold, And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse 570 Life rea.s.sumed its lingering hold, And throb by throb,--till grown a pang Which for a moment would convulse, My blood reflowed, though thick and chill; My ear with uncouth noises rang, My heart began once more to thrill; My sight returned, though dim; alas!

And thickened, as it were, with gla.s.s.

Methought the dash of waves was nigh; There was a gleam too of the sky, 580 Studded with stars;--it is no dream; The wild horse swims the wilder stream!

The bright broad river's gus.h.i.+ng tide Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide, And we are half-way, struggling o'er To yon unknown and silent sh.o.r.e.

The waters broke my hollow trance, And with a temporary strength My stiffened limbs were rebaptized.

My courser's broad breast proudly braves, 590 And dashes off the ascending waves, And onward we advance!

We reach the slippery sh.o.r.e at length, A haven I but little prized, For all behind was dark and drear, And all before was night and fear.

How many hours of night or day[266]

In those suspended pangs I lay, I could not tell; I scarcely knew If this were human breath I drew. 600

XV.

"With glossy skin, and dripping mane, And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain Up the repelling bank.

We gain the top: a boundless plain Spreads through the shadow of the night, And onward, onward, onward--seems, Like precipices in our dreams,[267]

To stretch beyond the sight; And here and there a speck of white, 610 Or scattered spot of dusky green, In ma.s.ses broke into the light, As rose the moon upon my right: But nought distinctly seen In the dim waste would indicate The omen of a cottage gate; No twinkling taper from afar Stood like a hospitable star; Not even an ignis-fatuus rose[268]

To make him merry with my woes: 620 That very cheat had cheered me then!

Although detected, welcome still, Reminding me, through every ill, Of the abodes of men.

XVI.

"Onward we went--but slack and slow; His savage force at length o'erspent, The drooping courser, faint and low, All feebly foaming went: A sickly infant had had power To guide him forward in that hour! 630 But, useless all to me, His new-born tameness nought availed-- My limbs were bound; my force had failed, Perchance, had they been free.

With feeble effort still I tried To rend the bonds so starkly tied, But still it was in vain; My limbs were only wrung the more, And soon the idle strife gave o'er, Which but prolonged their pain. 640 The dizzy race seemed almost done, Although no goal was nearly won: Some streaks announced the coming sun-- How slow, alas! he came!

Methought that mist of dawning gray Would never dapple into day, How heavily it rolled away!

Before the eastern flame Rose crimson, and deposed the stars, And called the radiance from their cars,[bv] 650 And filled the earth, from his deep throne, With lonely l.u.s.tre, all his own.

XVII.

"Uprose the sun; the mists were curled Back from the solitary world Which lay around--behind--before.

What booted it to traverse o'er Plain--forest--river? Man nor brute, Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, Lay in the wild luxuriant soil-- No sign of travel, none of toil-- 660 The very air was mute: And not an insect's shrill small horn,[269]

Nor matin bird's new voice was borne From herb nor thicket. Many a _werst,_ Panting as if his heart would burst, The weary brute still staggered on; And still we were--or seemed--alone: At length, while reeling on our way, Methought I heard a courser neigh, From out yon tuft of blackening firs. 670 Is it the wind those branches stirs?[270]

No, no! from out the forest prance A trampling troop; I see them come!

In one vast squadron they advance!

I strove to cry--my lips were dumb!

The steeds rush on in plunging pride; But where are they the reins to guide?

A thousand horse, and none to ride!

With flowing tail, and flying mane, Wide nostrils never stretched by pain, 680 Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscarred by spur or rod, A thousand horse, the wild, the free, Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on, As if our faint approach to meet!

The sight re-nerved my courser's feet, A moment staggering, feebly fleet, A moment, with a faint low neigh, 690 He answered, and then fell!

With gasps and glazing eyes he lay, And reeking limbs immoveable, His first and last career is done!

On came the troop--they saw him stoop, They saw me strangely bound along His back with many a b.l.o.o.d.y thong.

They stop--they start--they snuff the air, Gallop a moment here and there, Approach, retire, wheel round and round, 700 Then plunging back with sudden bound, Headed by one black mighty steed, Who seemed the Patriarch of his breed, Without a single speck or hair Of white upon his s.h.a.ggy hide; They snort--they foam--neigh--swerve aside, And backward to the forest fly, By instinct, from a human eye.

They left me there to my despair, Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch, 710 Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, Relieved from that unwonted weight, From whence I could not extricate Nor him nor me--and there we lay, The dying on the dead!

I little deemed another day Would see my houseless, helpless head.

"And there from morn to twilight bound, I felt the heavy hours toil round, With just enough of life to see 720 My last of suns go down on me, In hopeless certainty of, mind, That makes us feel at length resigned To that which our foreboding years Present the worst and last of fears: Inevitable--even a boon, Nor more unkind for coming soon, Yet shunned and dreaded with such care, As if it only were a snare That Prudence might escape: 730 At times both wished for and implored, At times sought with self-pointed sword, Yet still a dark and hideous close To even intolerable woes, And welcome in no shape.

And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure, They who have revelled beyond measure In beauty, wa.s.sail, wine, and treasure, Die calm, or calmer, oft than he Whose heritage was Misery. 740 For he who hath in turn run through All that was beautiful and new, Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave; And, save the future, (which is viewed Not quite as men are base or good, But as their nerves may be endued,) With nought perhaps to grieve: The wretch still hopes his woes must end, And Death, whom he should deem his friend, Appears, to his distempered eyes, 750 Arrived to rob him of his prize, The tree of his new Paradise.

To-morrow would have given him all, Repaid his pangs, repaired his fall; To-morrow would have been the first Of days no more deplored or curst, But bright, and long, and beckoning years, Seen dazzling through the mist of tears, Guerdon of many a painful hour; To-morrow would have given him power 760 To rule--to s.h.i.+ne--to smite--to save-- And must it dawn upon his grave?

XVIII.

"The sun was sinking--still I lay Chained to the chill and stiffening steed!

I thought to mingle there our clay;[271]

And my dim eyes of death had need, No hope arose of being freed.

I cast my last looks up the sky, And there between me and the sun[272]

I saw the expecting raven fly, 770 Who scarce would wait till both should die, Ere his repast begun;[273]

He flew, and perched, then flew once more, And each time nearer than before; I saw his wing through twilight flit, And once so near me he alit I could have smote, but lacked the strength; But the slight motion of my hand, And feeble scratching of the sand, The exerted throat's faint struggling noise, 780 Which scarcely could be called a voice, Together scared him off at length.

I know no more--my latest dream Is something of a lovely star Which fixed my dull eyes from afar, And went and came with wandering beam, And of the cold--dull--swimming--dense Sensation of recurring sense, And then subsiding back to death, And then again a little breath, 790 A little thrill--a short suspense, An icy sickness curdling o'er My heart, and sparks that crossed my brain-- A gasp--a throb--a start of pain, A sigh--and nothing more.

XIX.

"I woke--where was I?--Do I see A human face look down on me?

And doth a roof above me close?

Do these limbs on a couch repose?

Is this a chamber where I lie? 800 And is it mortal yon bright eye, That watches me with gentle glance?

I closed my own again once more, As doubtful that my former trance Could not as yet be o'er.

A slender girl, long-haired, and tall, Sate watching by the cottage wall.

The sparkle of her eye I caught, Even with my first return of thought; For ever and anon she threw 810 A prying, pitying glance on me With her black eyes so wild and free: I gazed, and gazed, until I knew No vision it could be,-- But that I lived, and was released From adding to the vulture's feast: And when the Cossack maid beheld My heavy eyes at length unsealed, She smiled--and I essayed to speak, But failed--and she approached, and made 820 With lip and finger signs that said, I must not strive as yet to break The silence, till my strength should be Enough to leave my accents free; And then her hand on mine she laid, And smoothed the pillow for my head, And stole along on tiptoe tread, And gently oped the door, and spake In whispers--ne'er was voice so sweet![274]