Mazeppa

1'Twas after dread Pultowa's day,
2When Fortune left the royal Swede--
3Around a slaughtered army lay,
4No more to combat and to bleed.
5The power and glory of the war,
6Faithless as their vain votaries, men,
7Had passed to the triumphant Czar,
8And Moscow's walls were safe again--
9Until a day more dark and drear,
10And a more memorable year,
11Should give to slaughter and to shame
12A mightier host and haughtier name;
13A greater wreck, a deeper fall,
14A shock to one--a thunderbolt to all.

15Such was the hazard of the die;
16The wounded Charles was taught to fly
17By day and night through field and flood,
18Stained with his own and subjects' blood;
19For thousands fell that flight to aid:
20And not a voice was heard to upbraid
21Ambition in his humbled hour,
22When Truth had nought to dread from Power.
23His horse was slain, and Gieta gave
24His own--and died the Russians' slave.
25This, too, sinks after many a league
26Of well-sustained, but vain fatigue;
27And in the depth of forests darkling,
28The watch-fires in the distance sparkling--
29The beacons of surrounding foes--
30A King must lay his limbs at length.
31Are these the laurels and repose
32For which the nations strain their strength?
33They laid him by a savage tree,
34In outworn Nature's agony;
35His wounds were stiff, his limbs were stark;
36The heavy hour was chill and dark;
37The fever in his blood forbade
38A transient slumber's fitful aid:
39And thus it was; but yet through all,
40Kinglike the monarch bore his fall,
41And made, in this extreme of ill,
42His pangs the vassals of his will:
43All silent and subdued were they.
44As once the nations round him lay.

45A band of chiefs!--alas! how few,
46Since but the fleeting of a day
47Had thinned it; but this wreck was true
48And chivalrous: upon the clay
49Each sate him down, all sad and mute,
50Beside his monarch and his steed;
51For danger levels man and brute,
52And all are fellows in their need.
53Among the rest, Mazeppa made
54His pillow in an old oak's shade--
55Himself as rough, and scarce less old,
56The Ukraine's Hetman, calm and bold;
57But first, outspent with this long course,
58The Cossack prince rubbed down his horse,
59And made for him a leafy bed,
60And smoothed his fetlocks and his mane,
61And slacked his girth, and stripped his rein,
62And joyed to see how well he fed;
63For until now he had the dread
64His wearied courser might refuse
65To browse beneath the midnight dews:
66But he was hardy as his lord,
67And little cared for bed and board;
68But spirited and docile too,
69Whate'er was to be done, would do.
70Shaggy and swift, and strong of limb,
71All Tartar-like he carried him;
72Obeyed his voice, and came to call,
73And knew him in the midst of all:
74Though thousands were around,--and Night,
75Without a star, pursued her flight,--
76That steed from sunset until dawn
77His chief would follow like a fawn.

78This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak,
79And laid his lance beneath his oak,
80Felt if his arms in order good
81The long day's march had well withstood--
82If still the powder filled the pan,
83And flints unloosened kept their lock--
84His sabre's hilt and scabbard felt,
85And whether they had chafed his belt;
86And next the venerable man,
87From out his havresack and can,
88Prepared and spread his slender stock;
89And to the Monarch and his men
90The whole or portion offered then
91With far less of inquietude
92Than courtiers at a banquet would.
93And Charles of this his slender share
94With smiles partook a moment there,
95To force of cheer a greater show,
96And seem above both wounds and woe;--
97And then he said--"Of all our band,
98Though firm of heart and strong of hand,
99In skirmish, march, or forage, none
100Can less have said or more have done
101Than thee, Mazeppa! On the earth
102So fit a pair had never birth,
103Since Alexander's days till now,
104As thy Bucephalus and thou:
105All Scythia's fame to thine should yield
106For pricking on o'er flood and field."
107Mazeppa answered--"Ill betide
108The school wherein I learned to ride!"
109Quoth Charles--"Old Hetman, wherefore so,
110Since thou hast learned the art so well?"
111Mazeppa said--"'Twere long to tell;
112And we have many a league to go,
113With every now and then a blow,
114And ten to one at least the foe,
115Before our steeds may graze at ease,
116Beyond the swift Borysthenes:
117And, Sire, your limbs have need of rest,
118And I will be the sentinel
119Of this your troop."--"But I request,"
120Said Sweden's monarch, "thou wilt tell
121This tale of thine, and I may reap,
122Perchance, from this the boon of sleep;
123For at this moment from my eyes
124The hope of present slumber flies."

125"Well, Sire, with such a hope, I'll track
126My seventy years of memory back:
127I think 'twas in my twentieth spring,--
128Aye 'twas,--when Casimir was king --
129John Casimir,--I was his page
130Six summers, in my earlier age:
131A learnéd monarch, faith! was he,
132And most unlike your Majesty;
133He made no wars, and did not gain
134New realms to lose them back again;
135And (save debates in Warsaw's diet)
136He reigned in most unseemly quiet;
137Not that he had no cares to vex;
138He loved the Muses and the Sex;
139And sometimes these so froward are,
140They made him wish himself at war;
141But soon his wrath being o'er, he took
142Another mistress--or new book:
143And then he gave prodigious fetes--
144All Warsaw gathered round his gates
145To gaze upon his splendid court,
146And dames, and chiefs, of princely port.
147He was the Polish Solomon,
148So sung his poets, all but one,
149Who, being unpensioned, made a satire,
150And boasted that he could not flatter.
151It was a court of jousts and mimes,
152Where every courtier tried at rhymes;
153Even I for once produced some verses,
154And signed my odes 'Despairing Thyrsis.'
155There was a certain Palatine,
156A Count of far and high descent,
157Rich as a salt or silver mine;
158And he was proud, ye may divine,
159As if from Heaven he had been sent;
160He had such wealth in blood and ore
161As few could match beneath the throne;
162And he would gaze upon his store,
163And o'er his pedigree would pore,
164Until by some confusion led,
165Which almost looked like want of head,
166He thought their merits were his own.
167His wife was not of this opinion;
168His junior she by thirty years,
169Grew daily tired of his dominion;
170And, after wishes, hopes, and fears,
171To Virtue a few farewell tears,
172A restless dream or two--some glances
173At Warsaw's youth--some songs, and dances,
174Awaited but the usual chances,
175Those happy accidents which render
176The coldest dames so very tender,
177To deck her Count with titles given,
178'Tis said, as passports into Heaven;
179But, strange to say, they rarely boast
180Of these, who have deserved them most.

181"I was a goodly stripling then;
182At seventy years I so may say,
183That there were few, or boys or men,
184Who, in my dawning time of day,
185Of vassal or of knight's degree,
186Could vie in vanities with me;
187For I had strength--youth--gaiety,
188A port, not like to this ye see,
189But smooth, as all is rugged now;
190For Time, and Care, and War, have ploughed
191My very soul from out my brow;
192And thus I should be disavowed
193By all my kind and kin, could they
194Compare my day and yesterday;
195This change was wrought, too, long ere age
196Had ta'en my features for his page:
197With years, ye know, have not declined
198My strength--my courage--or my mind,
199Or at this hour I should not be
200Telling old tales beneath a tree,
201With starless skies my canopy.
202But let me on: Theresa's form--
203Methinks it glides before me now,
204Between me and yon chestnut's bough,
205The memory is so quick and warm;
206And yet I find no words to tell
207The shape of her I loved so well:
208She had the Asiatic eye,
209Such as our Turkish neighbourhood
210Hath mingled with our Polish blood,
211Dark as above us is the sky;
212But through it stole a tender light,
213Like the first moonrise of midnight;
214Large, dark, and swimming in the stream,
215Which seemed to melt to its own beam;
216All love, half languor, and half fire,
217Like saints that at the stake expire,
218And lift their raptured looks on high,
219As though it were a joy to die.
220A brow like a midsummer lake,
221Transparent with the sun therein,
222When waves no murmur dare to make,
223And heaven beholds her face within.
224A cheek and lip--but why proceed?
225I loved her then, I love her still;
226And such as I am, love indeed
227In fierce extremes--in good and ill.
228But still we love even in our rage,
229And haunted to our very age
230With the vain shadow of the past,--
231As is Mazeppa to the last.

232"We met--we gazed--I saw, and sighed;
233She did not speak, and yet replied;
234There are ten thousand tones and signs
235We hear and see, but none defines--
236Involuntary sparks of thought,
237Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought,
238And form a strange intelligence,
239Alike mysterious and intense,
240Which link the burning chain that binds,
241Without their will, young hearts and minds;
242Conveying, as the electric wire,
243We know not how, the absorbing fire.
244I saw, and sighed--in silence wept,
245And still reluctant distance kept,
246Until I was made known to her,
247And we might then and there confer
248Without suspicion--then, even then,
249I longed, and was resolved to speak;
250But on my lips they died again,
251The accents tremulous and weak,
252Until one hour.--There is a game,
253A frivolous and foolish play,
254Wherewith we while away the day;
255It is--I have forgot the name--
256And we to this, it seems, were set,
257By some strange chance, which I forget:
258I recked not if I won or lost,
259It was enough for me to be
260So near to hear, and oh! to see
261The being whom I loved the most.
262I watched her as a sentinel,
263(May ours this dark night watch as well!)
264Until I saw, and thus it was,
265That she was pensive, nor perceived
266Her occupation, nor was grieved
267Nor glad to lose or gain; but still
268Played on for hours, as if her will
269Yet bound her to the place, though not
270That hers might be the winning lot .
271Then through my brain the thought did pass,
272Even as a flash of lightning there,
273That there was something in her air
274Which would not doom me to despair;
275And on the thought my words broke forth,
276All incoherent as they were;
277Their eloquence was little worth,
278But yet she listened--'tis enough--
279Who listens once will listen twice;
280Her heart, be sure, is not of ice--
281And one refusal no rebuff.

282"I loved, and was beloved again--
283They tell me, Sire, you never knew
284Those gentle frailties; if 'tis true,
285I shorten all my joy or pain;
286To you 'twould seem absurd as vain;
287But all men are not born to reign,
288Or o'er their passions, or as you
289Thus o'er themselves and nations too.
290I am--or rather was--a Prince,
291A chief of thousands, and could lead
292Them on where each would foremost bleed;
293But could not o'er myself evince
294The like control--But to resume:
295I loved, and was beloved again;
296In sooth, it is a happy doom,
297But yet where happiest ends in pain.--
298We met in secret, and the hour
299Which led me to that lady's bower
300Was fiery Expectation's dower.
301My days and nights were nothing--all
302Except that hour which doth recall,
303In the long lapse from youth to age,
304No other like itself: I'd give
305The Ukraine back again to live
306It o'er once more, and be a page,
307The happy page, who was the lord
308Of one soft heart, and his own sword,
309And had no other gem nor wealth,
310Save Nature's gift of Youth and Health.
311We met in secret--doubly sweet ,
312Some say, they find it so to meet;
313I know not that--I would have given
314My life but to have called her mine
315In the full view of Earth and Heaven;
316For I did oft and long repine
317That we could only meet by stealth.

318"For lovers there are many eyes,
319And such there were on us; the Devil
320On such occasions should be civil--
321The Devil!--I'm loth to do him wrong,
322It might be some untoward saint,
323Who would not be at rest too long,
324But to his pious bile gave vent--
325But one fair night, some lurking spies
326Surprised and seized us both.
327The Count was something more than wroth--
328I was unarmed; but if in steel,
329All cap-à-pie from head to heel,
330What 'gainst their numbers could I do?
331'Twas near his castle, far away
332From city or from succour near,
333And almost on the break of day;
334I did not think to see another,
335My moments seemed reduced to few;
336And with one prayer to Mary Mother,
337And, it may be, a saint or two,
338As I resigned me to my fate,
339They led me to the castle gate:
340Theresa's doom I never knew,
341Our lot was henceforth separate.
342An angry man, ye may opine,
343Was he, the proud Count Palatine;
344And he had reason good to be,
345But he was most enraged lest such
346An accident should chance to touch
347Upon his future pedigree;
348Nor less amazed, that such a blot
349His noble 'scutcheon should have got,
350While he was highest of his line;
351Because unto himself he seemed
352The first of men, nor less he deemed
353In others' eyes, and most in mine.
354'Sdeath! with a page--perchance a king
355Had reconciled him to the thing;
356But with a stripling of a page--
357I felt--but cannot paint his rage.

358"'Bring forth the horse!'--the horse was brought!
359In truth, he was a noble steed,
360A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,
361Who looked as though the speed of thought
362Were in his limbs; but he was wild,
363Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
364With spur and bridle undefiled--
365'Twas but a day he had been caught;
366And snorting, with erected mane,
367And struggling fiercely, but in vain,
368In the full foam of wrath and dread
369To me the desert-born was led:
370They bound me on, that menial throng,
371Upon his back with many a thong;
372They loosed him with a sudden lash--
373Away!--away!--and on we dash!--
374Torrents less rapid and less rash.

375"Away!--away!--My breath was gone,
376I saw not where he hurried on:
377'Twas scarcely yet the break of day,
378And on he foamed--away!--away!
379The last of human sounds which rose,
380As I was darted from my foes,
381Was the wild shout of savage laughter,
382Which on the wind came roaring after
383A moment from that rabble rout:
384With sudden wrath I wrenched my head,
385And snapped the cord, which to the mane
386Had bound my neck in lieu of rein,
387And, writhing half my form about,
388Howled back my curse; but 'midst the tread,
389The thunder of my courser's speed,
390Perchance they did not hear nor heed:
391It vexes me--for I would fain
392Have paid their insult back again.
393I paid it well in after days:
394There is not of that castle gate,
395Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight,
396Stone--bar--moat--bridge--or barrier left;
397Nor of its fields a blade of grass,
398Save what grows on a ridge of wall,
399Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall;
400And many a time ye there might pass,
401Nor dream that e'er the fortress was.
402I saw its turrets in a blaze,
403Their crackling battlements all cleft,
404And the hot lead pour down like rain
405From off the scorched and blackening roof,
406Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof.
407They little thought that day of pain,
408When launched, as on the lightning's flash,
409They bade me to destruction dash,
410That one day I should come again,
411With twice five thousand horse, to thank
412The Count for his uncourteous ride.
413They played me then a bitter prank,
414When, with the wild horse for my guide,
415They bound me to his foaming flank:
416At length I played them one as frank--
417For Time at last sets all things even--
418And if we do but watch the hour,
419There never yet was human power
420Which could evade, if unforgiven,
421The patient search and vigil long
422Of him who treasures up a wrong.

423"Away!--away!--my steed and I,
424Upon the pinions of the wind!
425All human dwellings left behind,
426We sped like meteors through the sky,
427When with its crackling sound the night
428Is chequered with the Northern light.
429Town--village--none were on our track,
430But a wild plain of far extent,
431And bounded by a forest black ;
432And, save the scarce seen battlement
433On distant heights of some strong hold,
434Against the Tartars built of old,
435No trace of man. The year before
436A Turkish army had marched o'er;
437And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod,
438The verdure flies the bloody sod:
439The sky was dull, and dim, and gray,
440And a low breeze crept moaning by--
441I could have answered with a sigh--
442But fast we fled,--away!--away!--
443And I could neither sigh nor pray;
444And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain
445Upon the courser's bristling mane;
446But, snorting still with rage and fear,
447He flew upon his far career:
448At times I almost thought, indeed,
449He must have slackened in his speed;
450But no--my bound and slender frame
451Was nothing to his angry might,
452And merely like a spur became:
453Each motion which I made to free
454My swoln limbs from their agony
455Increased his fury and affright:
456I tried my voice,--'twas faint and low--
457But yet he swerved as from a blow;
458And, starting to each accent, sprang
459As from a sudden trumpet's clang:
460Meantime my cords were wet with gore,
461Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er;
462And in my tongue the thirst became
463A something fierier far than flame.

464"We neared the wild wood--'twas so wide,
465I saw no bounds on either side:
466'Twas studded with old sturdy trees,
467That bent not to the roughest breeze
468Which howls down from Siberia's waste,
469And strips the forest in its haste,--
470But these were few and far between,
471Set thick with shrubs more young and green,
472Luxuriant with their annual leaves,
473Ere strown by those autumnal eyes
474That nip the forest's foliage dead,
475Discoloured with a lifeless red ,
476Which stands thereon like stiffened gore
477Upon the slain when battle's o'er;
478And some long winter's night hath shed
479Its frost o'er every tombless head--
480So cold and stark--the raven's beak
481May peck unpierced each frozen cheek:
482'Twas a wild waste of underwood,
483And here and there a chestnut stood,
484The strong oak, and the hardy pine;
485But far apart--and well it were,
486Or else a different lot were mine--
487The boughs gave way, and did not tear
488My limbs; and I found strength to bear
489My wounds, already scarred with cold;
490My bonds forbade to loose my hold.
491We rustled through the leaves like wind,--
492Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;
493By night I heard them on the track,
494Their troop came hard upon our back,
495With their long gallop, which can tire
496The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire:
497Where'er we flew they followed on,
498Nor left us with the morning sun;
499Behind I saw them, scarce a rood,
500At day-break winding through the wood,
501And through the night had heard their feet
502Their stealing, rustling step repeat.
503Oh! how I wished for spear or sword,
504At least to die amidst the horde,
505And perish--if it must be so--
506At bay, destroying many a foe!
507When first my courser's race begun,
508I wished the goal already won;
509But now I doubted strength and speed:
510Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed
511Had nerved him like the mountain-roe--
512Nor faster falls the blinding snow
513Which whelms the peasant near the door
514Whose threshold he shall cross no more,
515Bewildered with the dazzling blast,
516Than through the forest-paths he passed--
517Untired, untamed, and worse than wild--
518All furious as a favoured child
519Balked of its wish; or--fiercer still--
520A woman piqued--who has her will!

521"The wood was passed; 'twas more than noon,
522But chill the air, although in June;
523Or it might be my veins ran cold--
524Prolonged endurance tames the bold;
525And I was then not what I seem,
526But headlong as a wintry stream,
527And wore my feelings out before
528I well could count their causes o'er:
529And what with fury, fear, and wrath,
530The tortures which beset my path--
531Cold--hunger--sorrow--shame--distress--
532Thus bound in Nature's nakedness;
533Sprung from a race whose rising blood
534When stirred beyond its calmer mood,
535And trodden hard upon, is like
536The rattle-snake's, in act to strike--
537What marvel if this worn-out trunk
538Beneath its woes a moment sunk?
539The earth gave way, the skies rolled round,
540I seemed to sink upon the ground;
541But erred--for I was fastly bound.
542My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore,
543And throbbed awhile, then beat no more:
544The skies spun like a mighty wheel;
545I saw the trees like drunkards reel,
546And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes,
547Which saw no farther. He who dies
548Can die no more than then I died,
549O'ertortured by that ghastly ride.
550I felt the blackness come and go,
551And strove to wake; but could not make
552My senses climb up from below:
553I felt as on a plank at sea,
554When all the waves that dash o'er thee,
555At the same time upheave and whelm,
556And hurl thee towards a desert realm.
557My undulating life was as
558The fancied lights that flitting pass
559Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when
560Fever begins upon the brain;
561But soon it passed, with little pain,
562But a confusion worse than such:
563I own that I should deem it much,
564Dying, to feel the same again;
565And yet I do suppose we must
566Feel far more ere we turn to dust!
567No matter! I have bared my brow
568Full in Death's face--before--and now.

569"My thoughts came back. Where was I? Cold,
570And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse
571Life reassumed its lingering hold,
572And throb by throb,--till grown a pang
573Which for a moment would convulse,
574My blood reflowed, though thick and chill;
575My ear with uncouth noises rang,
576My heart began once more to thrill;
577My sight returned, though dim; alas!
578And thickened, as it were, with glass.
579Methought the dash of waves was nigh;
580There was a gleam too of the sky,
581Studded with stars;--it is no dream;
582The wild horse swims the wilder stream!
583The bright broad river's gushing tide
584Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide,
585And we are half-way, struggling o'er
586To yon unknown and silent shore.
587The waters broke my hollow trance,
588And with a temporary strength
589My stiffened limbs were rebaptized.
590My courser's broad breast proudly braves,
591And dashes off the ascending waves,
592And onward we advance!
593We reach the slippery shore at length,
594A haven I but little prized,
595For all behind was dark and drear,
596And all before was night and fear.
597How many hours of night or day
598In those suspended pangs I lay,
599I could not tell; I scarcely knew
600If this were human breath I drew.

601"With glossy skin, and dripping mane,
602And reeling limbs, and reeking flank,
603The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain
604Up the repelling bank.
605We gain the top: a boundless plain
606Spreads through the shadow of the night,
607And onward, onward, onward--seems,
608Like precipices in our dreams,
609To stretch beyond the sight;
610And here and there a speck of white,
611Or scattered spot of dusky green,
612In masses broke into the light,
613As rose the moon upon my right:
614But nought distinctly seen
615In the dim waste would indicate
616The omen of a cottage gate;
617No twinkling taper from afar
618Stood like a hospitable star;
619Not even an ignis-fatuus rose
620To make him merry with my woes:
621That very cheat had cheered me then!
622Although detected, welcome still,
623Reminding me, through every ill,
624Of the abodes of men.

625"Onward we went--but slack and slow;
626His savage force at length o'erspent,
627The drooping courser, faint and low,
628All feebly foaming went:
629A sickly infant had had power
630To guide him forward in that hour!
631But, useless all to me,
632His new-born tameness nought availed--
633My limbs were bound; my force had failed,
634Perchance, had they been free.
635With feeble effort still I tried
636To rend the bonds so starkly tied,
637But still it was in vain;
638My limbs were only wrung the more,
639And soon the idle strife gave o'er,
640Which but prolonged their pain.
641The dizzy race seemed almost done,
642Although no goal was nearly won:
643Some streaks announced the coming sun--
644How slow, alas! he came!
645Methought that mist of dawning gray
646Would never dapple into day,
647How heavily it rolled away!
648Before the eastern flame
649Rose crimson, and deposed the stars,
650And called the radiance from their cars,
651And filled the earth, from his deep throne,
652With lonely lustre, all his own.

653"Uprose the sun; the mists were curled
654Back from the solitary world
655Which lay around--behind--before.
656What booted it to traverse o'er
657Plain--forest--river? Man nor brute,
658Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot,
659Lay in the wild luxuriant soil--
660No sign of travel, none of toil--
661The very air was mute:
662And not an insect's shrill small horn,
663Nor matin bird's new voice was borne
664From herb nor thicket. Many a werst,
665Panting as if his heart would burst,
666The weary brute still staggered on;
667And still we were--or seemed--alone:
668At length, while reeling on our way,
669Methought I heard a courser neigh,
670From out yon tuft of blackening firs.
671Is it the wind those branches stirs?
672No, no! from out the forest prance
673A trampling troop; I see them come!
674In one vast squadron they advance!
675I strove to cry--my lips were dumb!
676The steeds rush on in plunging pride;
677But where are they the reins to guide?
678A thousand horse, and none to ride!
679With flowing tail, and flying mane,
680Wide nostrils never stretched by pain,
681Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,
682And feet that iron never shod,
683And flanks unscarred by spur or rod,
684A thousand horse, the wild, the free,
685Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
686Came thickly thundering on,
687As if our faint approach to meet!
688The sight re-nerved my courser's feet,
689A moment staggering, feebly fleet,
690A moment, with a faint low neigh,
691He answered, and then fell!
692With gasps and glazing eyes he lay,
693And reeking limbs immoveable,
694His first and last career is done!
695On came the troop--they saw him stoop,
696They saw me strangely bound along
697His back with many a bloody thong.
698They stop--they start--they snuff the air,
699Gallop a moment here and there,
700Approach, retire, wheel round and round,
701Then plunging back with sudden bound,
702Headed by one black mighty steed,
703Who seemed the Patriarch of his breed,
704Without a single speck or hair
705Of white upon his shaggy hide;
706They snort--they foam--neigh--swerve aside,
707And backward to the forest fly,
708By instinct, from a human eye.
709They left me there to my despair,
710Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch,
711Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch,
712Relieved from that unwonted weight,
713From whence I could not extricate
714Nor him nor me--and there we lay,
715The dying on the dead!
716I little deemed another day
717Would see my houseless, helpless head.

718"And there from morn to twilight bound,
719I felt the heavy hours toil round,
720With just enough of life to see
721My last of suns go down on me,
722In hopeless certainty of, mind,
723That makes us feel at length resigned
724To that which our foreboding years
725Present the worst and last of fears:
726Inevitable--even a boon,
727Nor more unkind for coming soon,
728Yet shunned and dreaded with such care,
729As if it only were a snare
730That Prudence might escape:
731At times both wished for and implored,
732At times sought with self-pointed sword,
733Yet still a dark and hideous close
734To even intolerable woes,
735And welcome in no shape.
736And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure,
737They who have revelled beyond measure
738In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure,
739Die calm, or calmer, oft than he
740Whose heritage was Misery.
741For he who hath in turn run through
742All that was beautiful and new,
743Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave;
744And, save the future, (which is viewed
745Not quite as men are base or good,
746But as their nerves may be endued,)
747With nought perhaps to grieve:
748The wretch still hopes his woes must end,
749And Death, whom he should deem his friend,
750Appears, to his distempered eyes,
751Arrived to rob him of his prize,
752The tree of his new Paradise.
753To-morrow would have given him all,
754Repaid his pangs, repaired his fall;
755To-morrow would have been the first
756Of days no more deplored or curst,
757But bright, and long, and beckoning years,
758Seen dazzling through the mist of tears,
759Guerdon of many a painful hour;
760To-morrow would have given him power
761To rule--to shine--to smite--to save--
762And must it dawn upon his grave?

763"The sun was sinking--still I lay
764Chained to the chill and stiffening steed!
765I thought to mingle there our clay;
766And my dim eyes of death had need,
767No hope arose of being freed.
768I cast my last looks up the sky,
769And there between me and the sun
770I saw the expecting raven fly,
771Who scarce would wait till both should die,
772Ere his repast begun;
773He flew, and perched, then flew once more,
774And each time nearer than before;
775I saw his wing through twilight flit,
776And once so near me he alit
777I could have smote, but lacked the strength;
778But the slight motion of my hand,
779And feeble scratching of the sand,
780The exerted throat's faint struggling noise,
781Which scarcely could be called a voice,
782Together scared him off at length.
783I know no more--my latest dream
784Is something of a lovely star
785Which fixed my dull eyes from afar,
786And went and came with wandering beam,
787And of the cold--dull--swimming--dense
788Sensation of recurring sense,
789And then subsiding back to death,
790And then again a little breath,
791A little thrill--a short suspense,
792An icy sickness curdling o'er
793My heart, and sparks that crossed my brain--
794A gasp--a throb--a start of pain,
795A sigh--and nothing more.

796"I woke--where was I?--Do I see
797A human face look down on me?
798And doth a roof above me close?
799Do these limbs on a couch repose?
800Is this a chamber where I lie?
801And is it mortal yon bright eye,
802That watches me with gentle glance?
803I closed my own again once more,
804As doubtful that my former trance
805Could not as yet be o'er.
806A slender girl, long-haired, and tall,
807Sate watching by the cottage wall.
808The sparkle of her eye I caught,
809Even with my first return of thought;
810For ever and anon she threw
811A prying, pitying glance on me
812With her black eyes so wild and free:
813I gazed, and gazed, until I knew
814No vision it could be,--
815But that I lived, and was released
816From adding to the vulture's feast:
817And when the Cossack maid beheld
818My heavy eyes at length unsealed,
819She smiled--and I essayed to speak,
820But failed--and she approached, and made
821With lip and finger signs that said,
822I must not strive as yet to break
823The silence, till my strength should be
824Enough to leave my accents free;
825And then her hand on mine she laid,
826And smoothed the pillow for my head,
827And stole along on tiptoe tread,
828And gently oped the door, and spake
829In whispers--ne'er was voice so sweet!
830Even music followed her light feet.
831But those she called were not awake,
832And she went forth; but, ere she passed,
833Another look on me she cast,
834Another sign she made, to say,
835That I had nought to fear, that all
836Were near, at my command or call,
837And she would not delay
838Her due return:--while she was gone,
839Methought I felt too much alone.