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 A dark and melancholy band 
 Upon then- deck the Pirates stand, 
 Gazing with stern revengeful eye, 
 Upon the bannered pall, where lie, 
 Wreathed lightly with its folds of red, 
 The cold limbs of their leader dead. 
 
 (Unto I. v. 71- 
 
THE 
 
 
 KUBI; 
 
 A TALE OF THE SEA. 
 
 FREDERICK W. MANT, 
 
 LATE R.N. 
 
 A brig dismasted on the lee, 
 And labouring in the heavy sea. 
 
 Canto II. v. 360. 
 
 LONDON: 
 JOHN W. PARKER, WEST STRAND. 
 
 M.DOOO.XL. 
 
IOAN STACK 
 
PRwh 
 
 TO THE 
 
 LORD BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR, 
 
 AS A TESTIMONY OF AFFECTION 
 
 AND RESPECT, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING TALE IS GRATEFULLY 
 
 DEDICATED, 
 
 BY HIS ATTACHED SON, 
 
 FREDERICK W. MANT. 
 
 784 
 
PRELIMINARY NOTICE. 
 
 A bawbling vessel was he captain of, 
 For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable; 
 With which such scathful grapple did he make 
 With the most noble bottom of our fleet, 
 That very envy, and the tongue of loss, 
 Cried fame and honour on him. 
 
 Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, Act v. Scene L 
 
 The following tale is founded on the history of 
 those lawless adventurers, who in the end of the 
 Seventeenth and beginning of the Eighteenth cen- 
 turies, harassed the coasts of Southern America 
 and the adjacent Isles; immediately succeeding the 
 Buccaneers, and forming, as it were, a link between 
 those notorious freebooters, and the more obscure 
 pirates of later days. Equal in atrocities, but far 
 inferior in numbers and internal government, to 
 their formidable predecessors, they are compara- 
 tively little known ; enough, however, has survived 
 in legend and record, in the regions of their exploits, 
 to afford sufficient ground for a description of them 
 in tale and lay. 
 
 a2 
 
IV PRELIMINARY NOTICE. 
 
 Of the story produced from these sources, 
 many of the particular incidents are historical facts. 
 Many, at the same time, are imaginary; while the 
 structure of the whole in a connected narrative is 
 purely fictitious. 
 
 The scene is laid first in the Caribbean sea; 
 then in a bay on the south-eastern coast of the 
 Island of Cuba; and, lastly, among the keys or 
 islets of the Bay of Honduras. 
 
 The time occupied by the action is a period 
 of thirty days, twenty of which are supposed to 
 elapse between the conclusion of the first Canto, 
 and the opening of the second; and about eight 
 or nine early in the sixth. The remaining space 
 of about thirty hours is occupied by the inter- 
 mediate Cantos. 
 
 The tale is entitled The Rubi, after the Pirate- 
 ship, which is, so to speak, the hero, or more 
 properly the heroine, of the story. The Pirates 
 are represented in conformity with their historical 
 character; for it has been no part of the purpose 
 of the author to extenuate the enormity of vice, 
 much less to invest it with the semblance of 
 virtue. 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 THE ESCAPE. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE glass has swept the ocean's verge, 
 
 Not a sail is floating there: 
 Has she sunk on the breast of the surge, 
 
 Or melted into air? 
 Has the sun of the Rover set, 
 
 And his blood-red banner quail'd? 
 They turn them with regret, 
 
 For the hope of their cruise has fail'd. 
 And the helm is up: and in the sky 
 The thin white canvass flutters on high, 10 
 
 Rising, as feathers on sea-bird's wing, 
 To court the softest whispering 
 Of the evening breeze, whose murmurs play 
 Round the glowing cheek of the closing day. 
 Onward the gallant frigate glides, 
 Brushing the waves with her rolling sides: 
 Onward and onward still she flies, 
 To tell her tale in other skies; 
 1 
 
2 CANTO I. 
 
 A tale of joy to the isles and the flood, 
 
 That the Rover has struck his banner of blood, 20 
 
 And has left the shores of the ocean free 
 
 From the rod of his ruthless tyranny. 
 
 II. 
 
 The moon has ris'n upon her flight, 
 
 Bathing the billows in streams of light. 
 
 The frigate has past; but that bright ray 
 
 Shone on the deep, where drifting lay 
 
 A low dark hull, whose masts alone, 
 
 Shadowy and slight, were scarcely shown, 
 
 Dismantled of rigging, and narrow, and bare : 
 
 No lofty topmast tapering in air, 30 
 
 No yards with outline dark to aid 
 
 The tracery of that airy shade : 
 
 But the shrouds and the spars were strew'd on the deck, 
 
 And she seem'd was she not indeed? a wreck. 
 
 The frigate had heedlessly past her by: 
 
 Her arrowy masts in the evening sky, 
 
 Where the light of the day was well-nigh gone, 
 
 Were no marks for the eye to rest upon. 
 
 A night and a day 
 
 Have glided away; 40 
 
 Helmless and motionless there she lay, 
 Toss'd by the surges and dash'd by the spray, 
 A shapeless speck amidst the foam 
 But that shapeless speck is the Rover's home. 
 
THE ESCAPE. 
 
 III. 
 
 It is evening and the sun is set, 
 
 But the track of his glory is beaming yet, 
 
 Spreading along the horison's line 
 
 With a mellow'd radiance of light divine, 
 
 As the echo of song at the music's close, 
 
 Or the lingering scent of the wither'd rose. 50 
 
 IV. 
 
 There came a moaning on the water, 
 
 But it was not a woman's cry, 
 As of a mother or a daughter 
 
 In the first wild agony 
 Of death's bereavement; nor the broken tone 
 
 Of childhood wailing for some early grief, 
 The first, perchance, its little heart has known, 
 
 Falling like eastern showers, as full and brief; 
 Where the next smile, that sparkles in the eye, 
 Bathes in the tear-drop, ere it passes by. 60 
 
 This was no infant's grief, no woman's mourning: 
 
 But one long murmur, deepening as it rose 
 Above the waters, as the hollow warning 
 
 Of distant surges ere the tempest blows; 
 The voice of manhood's misery, in his pride 
 Scorning the weakness that he seeks to hide, 
 As if that gentlest passion were his worst; 
 Till, growing by concealment, it has burst 
 
 12 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 Forth from his bosom, and obtained relief 
 
 In accents more of anger than of grief. 70 
 
 V. 
 
 A dark and melancholy band, 
 
 Upon their deck the Pirates stand, 
 
 Gazing with stern revengeful eye 
 
 Upon the banner'd pall, where lie, 
 
 Wreathed lightly with its folds of red, 
 
 The cold limbs of their leader dead. 
 
 The first, the only, victim he 
 
 Of that dread frigate's battery, 
 
 Ere the thick storm-cloud lent its night 
 
 To screen the Pirates from her sight, 80 
 
 Nor raised its veil, until in vain 
 
 She sought the baffling foe again. 
 
 VI. 
 
 He was their chief! What is he now? 
 
 The curling lip, the bended brow, 
 
 Speak of one passion left alone, 
 
 When life, and all of life, are gone : 
 
 As if some fiend in very scorn 
 
 Had bid that look in death be worn, 
 
 In mockery of the thought that pride 
 
 Should with mortality abide, 90 
 
 When every wretch it trampled o'er 
 
 May spurn the dust so feared before. 
 
THE ESCAPE. > 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet seldom pride had left its trace 
 
 Imprinted on a nobler face! 
 
 Of lightest brown the clustering hair 
 
 Hung o'er a cheek that once was fair, 
 
 Till frequent suns had rudely spread 
 
 A varied stain of dazzling red, 
 
 Whose tinge a ghastly contrast threw 
 
 On those pale lips' decaying hue. 100 
 
 Light were the lashes on the lid, 
 
 Which, shrunk and fallen now, had hid 
 
 The flashing eye, whose blue gave trace 
 
 Of Europe's hardy northern race, 
 
 In one whom merit ill repaid, 
 
 Or cherish'd wrong, or hope delay 'd, 
 
 Or thirst of gold, or love of sway, 
 
 Had lured from England's flag away. 
 
 None but a youth, who with him came, 
 
 Knew, or his lineage, or his name : 110 
 
 The remnant neither ask'd nor knew 
 
 Of all the brave but motley crew, 
 
 Where Afric's sons claimed equal place 
 
 With Gaul and Spain's vindictive race. 
 
 Yet was he loved, if sense like love 
 
 Can e'er such rugged natures move: 
 
 He was adored. Were any brave, 
 
 He was the bravest: on the wave, 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 In the dark tempest's midnight hour, 
 
 Did any claim the seaman's power, 120 
 
 'Twas his the task, 'twas his the pride, 
 
 The vessel's madden'd course to guide, 
 
 And hold her in his firm command, 
 
 With seaman's eye, and seaman's hand. 
 
 His was the voice that urged the fray; 
 
 His the keen brand in danger's day; 
 
 And his the heart, whose pride return'd 
 
 Amidst his crew the spoil he spurn'd. 
 
 Each loved him, for they each could find 
 
 In him that envied skill, 130 
 
 That mighty mastery of the mind, 
 Which can inferior natures bind, 
 
 And turn them to its will 
 And is this mind so lowly bow'd? 
 Is this the heart that beat so proud, 
 
 Now laid so cold and still? 
 In varying numbers, wild and slow, 
 Arose the Pirates' dirge of woe. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE DIRGE. 
 1. 
 
 Thy last fight is fought, 
 
 And thy last cruise is over: 140 
 
 Farewell the stout-hearted! 
 
 Farewell to the Rover! 
 
THE ESCAPE. / 
 
 Sound may thy slumbers be 
 
 Under the wave! 
 There has thy pillow been 
 
 There is thy grave. 
 
 2. 
 Red flow'd the blood, 
 
 Where thy banner was blowing; 
 Wild were the cries, 
 
 Where its red field was glowing: 150 
 
 Struck though that banner now, 
 
 Torn though it lies, 
 Redder the blood shall he- 
 Wilder the cries. 
 3. 
 We mourn for thy fate, 
 
 As the brave should be mourned: 
 We shed not above thee 
 
 The tear thou hadst scorned. 
 Comrades in battle fray, 
 
 Did we shrink then? 160 
 
 Now is our parting come, 
 
 Part we as men! 
 4. 
 The fallow deer s misery 
 
 Breaks forth in tears: 
 The lion in agony 
 Bounds on the spears. 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 Sorrow may pass away; 
 
 Hate cannot change: 
 Others may weep for thee 
 
 We will revenge. 170 
 
 IX. 
 
 Around the chieftain's stiffening side 
 
 The crimson mantle is closer tied, 
 
 Hiding the sword which he clasped in death, 
 
 And the steel-set pistols that gleam'd beneath. 
 
 For the boldest heart in that Rover's band 
 
 Had not ventured his life on a dead man's brand. 
 
 The body has sunk, and the vessel's sides 
 
 Are wet with the splash as the wave divides: 
 
 The body has sunk, but they still may trace 
 
 Its wavering way to its resting-place, 180 
 
 Till the small faint speck of crimson hue 
 
 Is lost in the depths of the ocean blue ; 
 
 And the ground shark glides from his coral cave, 
 
 To prowl o'er the seat of the Pirate's grave. 
 
 X. 
 
 The chief has fall'n, but still his band remain, 
 
 And turn them to their work of death again. 
 
 All, all are busy. These arrange the guard; 
 
 These point the masts, or cross the tapering yard; 
 
 These the strong tackles for the bark prepare, 
 
 New cordage reeve, the wounded shrouds repair. 190 
 
THE ESCAPE. SJ 
 
 Sail after sail beneath their skilful hands 
 Its snow-white bosom to the breeze expands : 
 Graceful she glides upon her watery way, 
 The broad bows streaming with the silver spray; 
 Whilst that dread banner, rising o'er the flood, 
 Mocks the pale moonbeam with its field of blood. 
 
 XL 
 
 And who shall be their Captain now ? 
 
 Whose is the master mind to bow 
 
 The passions of a crew so rude, 
 
 And curb them in their wildest mood? 200 
 
 On many a brow the moonbeams play'd, 
 
 That silver hairs but scantly shade: 
 
 On many a rugged face and form, 
 
 Scarr'd in the fight and scathed by storm: 
 
 On many a sinewy arm and hand, 
 
 That well might wield a leader's brand. 
 
 But all stood mute, and not a sound 
 
 Broke through the still night air around, 
 
 Save the canvass struggling in the blast, 
 
 And the dark yards crushing against the mast, 210 
 
 And the ringing of blocks as the sails are set, 
 
 And the clashing of loose ropes quivering yet: 
 
 And when at intervals, low and brief, 
 
 Arose the orders of their chief, 
 
 Those orders fell on the ear alone 
 
 In a beardless stripling's silvery tone. 
 
10 CANTO 
 
 XII. 
 
 The sails are set, the yards are trimm'd, 
 
 The gallant bark moves on: 
 In silence from the Rubi's deck 
 
 The Rubi's crew are gone. 220 
 
 The watchful guardian of the night, 
 
 In drear and listless mood, 
 Along the deck with changeless step 
 
 His weary walk pursued. 
 All seem'd security and calm: 
 
 Yet ever and anon, 
 As that tall sailor's manly form 
 
 The moonbeams fell upon, 
 His burnish'd arms, but half conceal'd, 
 
 In the soft radiance shone. 230 
 
 Silent and stern the helmsman stood 
 
 The vessel's wheel beside: 
 And there was one, who lean'd his head 
 
 Over the vessel's side, 
 As if he counted every wave, 
 
 Her dripping bows divide. 
 That was a young and slender boy, 
 
 Who gaz'd upon the sea: 
 That young boy is the Rover now, 
 
 Chief of that company. 240 
 
THE ESCAPE. 1 1 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The yellow moon looks languidly 
 
 Upon the still and silent sea, 
 
 And the shadowy clouds, whose breasts surround her, 
 
 Reflect in beauty the splendour around her, 
 
 And the blue of the heavens is deep and bright, 
 
 And the ocean is studded with gems of light. 
 
 He sees not the pale moon shining on high, 
 
 Nor the deep bright blue of the beaming sky, 
 
 Nor the thin clouds changing with every breath, 
 
 Nor the sparkling billows that dance beneath. 250 
 
 With the thoughts of the past is his bosom yearning, 
 
 Through the lapse of a few short years returning; 
 
 And again, far over the ocean's foam, 
 
 He sees the walls of his father's home, 
 
 Where the jessamine spreads its leaves of green, 
 
 And the clematis' blossoms are white between, 
 
 And the woodbine's fragrant tendril glides 
 Up the gothic window's ancient sides; 
 
 And there, hard by the garden gate, 
 
 He sees his fair young sisters wait, 260 
 
 With their braided hair and their bright blue eyes, 
 
 And their soft cheeks blooming with health's own dies, 
 
 And each young maiden's slender waist 
 
 In turn by as slight an arm embraced, 
 
 United by the beautiful band 
 
 Of sister love ! Yes, there they stand, 
 
12 CANTO I. 
 
 As oft they have stood in the well-known track, 
 
 To welcome their wanderer's footsteps back; 
 
 As oft they may watch, but watch in vain, 
 
 For one who must never return again! 270 
 
 XIV. 
 
 To darker scenes has his fancy roved; 
 To his parting hour from those only loved; 
 But that moment's agony bursts upon him, 
 And pale sad faces are gazing on him, 
 And he draws his hand across his eyes, 
 To hide the pang of his memories. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Such thoughts were bitter; but bitterer came 
 
 The burning feelings of wrath and shame, 
 
 As the sense of the present past him by 
 
 In all its dread reality. 280 
 
 How changed from him, who had raised his brand 
 
 Amidst the ranks of his native land ! 
 
 Who had seen his youthful name enrolTd 
 
 Beneath her flag's majestic fold, 
 
 That flag, which he gloried to see unfurl'd, 
 
 And spread its wings o'er the waves of the world ! 
 
 But, alas! the banner he now must bear, 
 
 It may not wave in the upper air; 
 
 But when the joy of the last light dies, 
 
 You may see its gloomy shadow arise, 290 
 
THE ESCAPE. IS 
 
 Hovering as bird of evil doom 
 
 Around the precincts of the tomb; 
 
 And there, in the tempest's wildest blast, 
 
 When the thunder crashes, the rain beats fast, 
 
 And the green seas are dashing heavy and chill, 
 
 And the hearts of the bravest with terror thrill ; 
 
 As the fiend of mischief gazing 
 
 On the storm of his own wild raising, 
 
 That bloody symbol is floating still! 
 
 His courage is madness; his thoughts are worse; 300 
 
 His deeds a horror; his name a curse; 
 
 Chased as the war-wolf over the sea, 
 
 To every sail an enemy; 
 
 Dreaded by all; and loved by none 
 
 Since yesterday: for he was gone, 
 
 That one, who long with him had borne 
 
 Their petty tyrants' spite and scorn; 
 
 That one, who from their power had fled 
 
 A renegade and he was dead! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 He shook his clenched hand in the air, 310 
 
 And he dash'd from his brow his waving hair, 
 And he rais'd that pale clear brow on high, 
 And a wild light shone in his large blue eye, * 
 That fiercely and fitfully wandered round, 
 And his parched lips moved without a sound, 
 
14 CANTO I. 
 
 As if the curse might not be named, 
 
 That his heart in its bitterness had framed. 
 
 The moon had passed behind a cloud, 
 
 And riot and laughter came lengthening and loud, 
 
 As his crew below, in maddened glee, 320 
 
 Pour'd forth their boisterous melody. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 SONG THE PIRATE'S CAROUSE. 
 1. 
 
 Pass the toast around, 
 For the wine is crown'd, 
 And the bubbles are sparkling bright; 
 
 The goblets of gold, 
 
 That its juices hold, 
 Are streaming with ruddy light. 
 
 There is joy to the soul 
 
 In the brimming bowl, 
 But its joys are too quickly past; 330 
 
 There is joy to our eyes 
 
 In the gold we prize, 
 But it may not for ever last: 
 
 Yet dearer joys 
 
 Have we, my boys, 
 And joys that are meet for men : 
 
 For blood is the draught, 
 
 That we oft have quafTd, 
 And blood will we quaff again. 
 
THE ESCAPE. 15 
 
 2. 
 
 When the battle shout 340 
 
 Is pealing out, 
 Shall that maddening draught be poured; 
 
 The battle-cry 
 
 Our melody, 
 Fit strain for such banquet board. 
 
 And the dark-red stain 
 
 On our brands shall remain, 
 And shall flush our lips and brow; 
 
 A glorious thirst 
 
 For a race accurst, 350 
 
 As the landsmen call us now. 
 
 i 
 
 Away with the fools, 
 
 And their craven rules, 
 We are lords of the wild sea-flood ; 
 
 Our charters of right 
 
 Are our sabres bright, 
 And the cry of our onset blood. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Tis a bitter thing in this life of pain, 
 
 When the spirit has spurn'd its earthly chain, 
 
 And sought in the bosom's still recess 360 
 
 The joy of its own deep loneliness; 
 
 And though the sensations, which then we feel, 
 
 May be rather of sorrow than of weal, 
 
16 CANTO I. 
 
 It is something to think there is that in their tone, 
 
 Which the spirit may drink in, all its own: 
 
 It is bitter then to hear the din 
 
 Of another's voice break rudely in, 
 
 And mar the mirror, which just has caught 
 
 Some bright reflexion, some cherish'd thought, 
 
 Some vision wove with so slight a spell, 370 
 
 That a sound or a word may the charm dispel, 
 
 And leave no trace of its path behind, 
 
 But a restless vacancy of mind : 
 
 As in those fair pictures, that lie imprest 
 
 On a lake of the mountain's tranquil breast; 
 
 Shadows, so faultless in shapes and dies, 
 
 That they only are not realities; 
 
 Let an air but steal down the mountain's side; 
 
 Let a pebble the sleeping waters divide; 
 
 Let a leaf but fall from a wither'd spray, 380 
 
 The fairy delusion will pass away, 
 
 And ripples and circles will crowd o'er the scene, 
 
 And confusion will revel where beauty has been. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 But how felt he, when those rude strains broke 
 
 Upon his musings, and awoke 
 
 His spirit from its troubled dreams? 
 
 Pale, ashy pale, at first he seems 
 
 As marble; then a flush of red 
 
 Sudden, and deep, and bright is spread 
 
THE ESCAPE. 17 
 
 O'er neck, cheek, forehead, all around, 390 
 
 As thick blood gushing from a wound. 
 
 It seem'd as if his veins must burst 
 
 From very fulness, as he curst 
 
 Those who had dared to give a name 
 
 To his own thoughts of sin and shame. 
 
 XX. 
 
 For vengeance did his prayer aspire, 
 As keen as theirs, as deep, as dire; 
 Yet no vain passion of a brood 
 Cradled and nursed in scenes of blood, 
 Who with the world in fell debate 400 
 
 Repaid its scorn with fiendish hate, 
 A hate, that spared nor sex nor age, 
 But sought against mankind to wage 
 Its warfare, banquetting in gore, 
 Insatiate, craving still for more. 
 Not such was his: his cherish'd long 
 For deep despite and bitter wrong; 
 His cherish'd only against those, 
 Whom injury had mark'd his foes, 
 Whose pride, whose tyranny, had driven 410 
 
 His name from earth, his soul from heaven. , 
 For this his prayers were daily rear'd 
 For vengeance; yet ev'n these appear'd 
 As almost hallowed, and allied 
 To justice, whilst, in very pride, 
 2 
 
18 CANTO I. 
 
 Ev'n in his greatest agony 
 
 He only pray'd that he might be 
 
 His own avenger, and might stand 
 
 Against his tyrants, hand to hand, 
 
 Free from the galling chains that bind 420 
 
 Man below man, mind beneath mind; 
 
 Those chains, that, failing to control, 
 
 Would rather crush the indignant soul, 
 
 Than let one thought continue free 
 
 To breathe the name of liberty. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Such visions erst his fancy drew, 
 
 What time he joined that lawless crew, 
 
 Smarting beneath the recent wound 
 
 Of wanton injury, and bound 
 
 By friendship to that one alone 430 
 
 Whose wrongs seem'd greater than his own. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Months pass'd away: his comrade's name 
 Wide and more wide had spread his fame: 
 His matchless speed and skilfulness, 
 His pride, his daring, his success, 
 Each had its tale, and fancy shed 
 A deeper halo round his head; 
 Whilst each new tale, that rumour told, 
 Added new wonder to the old. 
 
THE ESCAPE. 19 
 
 Before him foreign powers had quailed; 440 
 
 In his pursuit had England failed; 
 
 Scarce was he seen on any coast, 
 
 And folio w'd, when the trace was lost; 
 
 And distant shores beheld with dread 
 
 The waving of his banner red. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Yet, ever 'mid the toil, the strife, 
 
 The hurry of a rovers life, 
 
 Still to his secret purpose true, 
 
 He kept one cherished end in view. 
 
 And, though unable to restrain 450 
 
 His fierce associates' thirst for gain, 
 
 He gave profuse his plunder'd store, 
 
 As huntsman, when the chase is o'er, 
 
 Throws the blood-morsel to the pack; 
 
 Ever his own dark thoughts came back 
 
 To one lone ship, one guilty head, 
 
 On which was all concentrated, 
 
 His hopes and hate: and as at night 
 
 The figure of some wasted sprite 
 
 Still dogs the murderer; day by day, 460 
 
 In stream, in harbour, and in bay, 
 
 Where'er that haughty cruiser lay, 
 
 Thither impatient for his game 
 
 Secret and swift the rover came, 
 
 2-2 
 
20 CANTO I. 
 
 True to his prey, as are the brood 
 Of famish'd wolf in scent of blood. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Such was the Pirate's life and fame; 
 
 He, who had borne the Pirate's name, 
 
 With all his griefs and crimes is gone. 
 
 But his revenge will still live on, 470 
 
 In all its bitterness imprest 
 
 On that young Leader's gloomy breast. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 He turns; the white deck, whiter yet, 
 
 Contrasted with its lines of jet, 
 
 Glares painfully upon the sight; 
 
 The mazes of cordage are dipt in light, 
 
 And many a broken moonbeam streams 
 
 Through the fall sails' distended seams. 
 
 He starts; two eye-balls, large and black 
 
 And sparkling, pay his glances back: 480 
 
 A seaman, unobserv'd, unseen, 
 
 With secret step has join'd the scene ; 
 
 Leans on the mast, and looks around 
 
 Without a sign, a word, a sound. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The intruder seem'd of daring mood; 
 His manly features dark and rude; 
 
THE ESCAPE. 21 
 
 And darker still their shade appear'd 
 
 From black moustache and ample beard. 
 
 One of a hardy race was he, 
 
 Owning no mother but the sea, 490 
 
 Who had endow'd her rugged child 
 
 With passions varying, strong, and wild; 
 
 Ev'n as her own, whose temper roves 
 
 With every breath of wind that moves. 
 
 His brow was open, bold, and high; 
 
 Sparkling and bright his laughing eye, 
 
 Whose blythe expression well belied 
 
 His curling lip's habitual pride. 
 
 His simple dress was unconfined; 
 
 No rules of art his limbs to bind; 500 
 
 No shape of quaint device controll'd 
 
 His sinewy form's majestic mould. 
 
 Naked his throat; his head was bare; 
 
 In thick dark ringlets curl'd his hair. 
 
 A crimson scarf begirt his waist ; 
 
 A golden chain his shoulders graced, 
 
 His only ornament, and bore 
 
 A call of gold, such as of yore 
 
 The admirals of England wore. 
 
 His arms were folded on his breast; 510 
 
 His lip a rising sneer represt, 
 
 As thus he watch'd with curious eye 
 
 His youthful leader's revery. 
 
22 CANTO I. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 With painful effort to dispel 
 
 The tyranny of that deep spell, 
 
 Which memory o'er his soul had cast 
 
 From the sad visions of the past, 
 
 The youth impatiently awoke 
 
 From his dark musings As he spoke, 
 
 With tone of careless scorn concealing 520 
 
 A hidden strain of deeper feeling, 
 
 While rush'd unbidden to his mind 
 
 Doubts without form and undefined: 
 
 Such doubts as haunt the guilty breast; 
 
 Such doubts as break the wretch's rest, 
 
 Whose comrades live beyond the awe 
 
 Of human right and human law. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 * What ho, Latharo ! Has the song 
 
 No charm the banquet to prolong? 
 
 Have early brawls the feast restrained? 530 
 
 Or is the bowl already drained, 
 
 That thus a seaman finds delight 
 
 In lonely deck and moonlight night? 
 
 Methought that in the song I heard, 
 
 Breathing of vengeance every word, 
 
 I traced your voice: or am I wrong, 
 
 Or would you moralize your song?" 
 
THE ESCAPE. 23 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The sturdy seaman felt the taunt implied, 
 
 Smiled in derision, and unmoved replied, 
 
 " They miss you, chief! with loud acclaim 540 
 
 And frequent murmurs call upon your name. 
 
 Upon your first command at least 
 
 You might have graced our mirthful feast. 
 
 For, though our ancient Rover's law 
 
 Some certain lines of deference draw, 
 
 Yet one so young had well begin 
 
 Not to demand it; but to win." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The Captain started at the abrupt reply, 
 
 Flush'd his light cheek, and flash'd his haughty eye. 
 
 His hand involuntary motion made, 550 
 
 As if to grasp the handle of his blade, 
 
 Then back return'd: for memory came again, 
 
 The heedless act of anger to restrain. 
 
 He knew the passions of his crew how rude, 
 
 When wine or conquest had inflam'd their blood: 
 
 And now he fear'd those passions to awake; 
 
 Not for himself he fear'd, but for the sake 
 
 Of that one darling end : not now the time 
 
 To rouse to wrath his instruments of crime; 
 
 Rude speech or haughty look must now be borne. 560 
 
 Calmly he spoke, and yet he spoke with scorn. 
 
24 CANTO I. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " I love not revels, that afford 
 
 No respite from the festal board. 
 
 I love not riots, that deny 
 
 All boundary to debauchery; 
 
 The frequent draughts, and maddening calls 
 
 For midnight catch and drunken brawls. 
 
 Let there be enterprise to dare, 
 
 Be mine the first, the greatest share! 
 
 Be this at least my proper aim! 570 
 
 But every custom I disclaim, 
 
 That rudely ventures to intrude 
 
 Upon a leader's solitude." 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Latharo smiled. "If, as I fear, 
 
 My rude attempts have jarr'd upon your ear, 
 
 Ev'n as I left the board, the jovial throng 
 
 Had call'd on Albert for a gentler song. 
 
 Perchance the lovesick stripling's lay 
 
 May chase one jealous doubt away." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 He paus'd; for, as he spoke, 580 
 
 The sound of music broke 
 Upon the midnight air: 
 
THE ESCAPE. 25 
 
 From the cadence of its tone 
 Some softer notes had gone, 
 For the wine-cup of excess 
 Had marr'd its loveliness; 
 
 Yet it swell'd so sweetly there, 
 That the seaman's lip the while 
 Forbore its bitter smile, 
 
 And the youthful leaders breast 590 
 
 For a moment seem'd at rest 
 
 Beneath its witchery rare. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 ALBERT'S LOVE-SONG. 
 1. 
 
 Lady, come with me 
 
 To my wild home on the sea! 
 Soft is the couch where your limbs are lying; 
 Light are the breezes around you sighing; 
 Gentle the slumbers the night-star brings, 
 And lovely your morn's awakenings; 
 
 Rude on the sea 
 
 Will your slumbers be, 600 
 
 Yet, Lady, come with me! 
 
 2. 
 Lady, come with me 
 To my wild home on the sea! 
 
26 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 There are sweet sounds, Lady, about your bower, 
 The hum of the bee on the opening flower, 
 The voice of the lark on his sportive wing, 
 And the mountain streamlet murmuring. 
 
 Rude on the sea 
 
 Will your melody be, 
 
 Yet, lady, come with me. 610 
 
 3. 
 
 Lady, come with me 
 
 To my wild home on the sea! 
 There are bright forms, lady, watching by thee; 
 The young and the noble are ever nigh thee; 
 Each voice is music, and there the tone 
 Of anger and passion are never known. 
 
 Ruder are we 
 
 Upon the sea, 
 
 Yet, lady, come with me! 
 
 4. 
 
 Lady, come with me 620 
 
 To my wild home on the sea! 
 For the diamond shines in the darkest cell, 
 And the white pearl is bom in the roughest shell, 
 And there lives not on shore a heart so true, 
 As beats for you now on the ocean blue. 
 
 Rude though we be 
 
 Upon the sea, 
 
THE ESCAPE. 27 
 
 Yet faithful and true will we prove to thee, 
 
 Then, lady, come with me! 
 And ever as died the strain away, 630 
 
 His comrades' voices took up the lay, 
 
 "Rude though we he 
 
 Upon the sea, 
 
 Yet faithful and true will we prove to thee, 
 
 Lady, come with me!" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 As the last echoes ceased, Latharo's hand, 
 
 With a stern gesture of assumed command, 
 
 Grasp'd his young leaders arm: and, as he stayed 
 
 His parting step, with earnest fervour said: 
 
 "I come not with an idle hoast, 640 
 
 A herald from yon drunken host: 
 
 Idiots! who neither know nor care, 
 
 Who fail or who the banquet share, 
 
 Soon as the twice replenish'd bowl 
 
 Has drown'd the reason of the soul. 
 
 I come, but with a higher end, 
 
 To proffer service as a friend. 
 
 I come, with purpose to disclose 
 
 The danger that around you grows, 
 
 For without aid you seek in vain 650 
 
 This boisterous rabble to restrain. 
 
 Listen, in whom you may confide, 
 
 Before my faith's more deeply tried! 
 
28 CANTO I. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Of all the gallant vessels mann'd 
 
 To combat for their own right hand, 
 
 To brave the licensed tyrannies 
 
 Of every haughty flag that flies; 
 
 For daring deed, by fortune crown'd, 
 
 The Golondrina was renown'd. 
 
 Where'er the West in beauty smiles 660 
 
 The empress of her hundred isles, 
 
 And ancient seamen still revere 
 
 The legends of the Buccaneer, 
 
 A thousand tongues still wake to tell 
 
 Her speed, her courage, and the spell 
 
 That wafted her from every eye, 
 
 When mightier foes had press'd her nigh. 
 
 I was her captain, and my name 
 
 Became engrafted on her fame. 
 
 I need not to my hearer swear, 670 
 
 My spell was in the sword I wear: 
 
 A gallant bark, a hardy crew, 
 
 Were all the charms I ever knew: 
 
 Some daring acts by fortune blest, 
 
 And their own terrors, did the rest. 
 
 It skill'd not: where my flag appear'd, 
 
 I was caress'd, admir'd, and fear'd; 
 
 And my opponents, one by one, 
 
 Or shunn'd me, or they seem'd to shun. 
 
THE ESCAPE. 29 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " One only vessel unsubdued 680 
 
 With ceaseless chase my flight pursued: 
 
 An English cruizer, o'er whose band 
 
 A skilful veteran bore command. 
 
 Thrice had he held me in his toil; 
 
 Thrice had I giv'n his arms the foil; 
 
 And, had not fickle fate denied, 
 
 I still had foil'd him, still defied. 
 
 But treachery lurk'd among my crew; 
 
 And well my wary foeman knew 
 
 The powerful agency of gold. 690 
 
 Enough! He bought me, and they sold. 
 
 Surprised, outnumberd, and betray'd, 
 
 A gallant stand my comrades made, 
 
 And long bore up that desperate night 
 
 To turn the fortune of the fight. 
 
 What could they do against a host? 
 
 My men o'erpower'd, my bark was lost; 
 
 And I alone remain'd to tell, 
 
 How long they struggled and how well. 
 
 How further fared the desperate fray, 700 
 
 I know not: let my hearer say. 
 
 Nay, start not! I have learn'd to know 
 
 My leader in a former foe; 
 
 And well may venture to confide 
 
 In the brave blade myself have tried." 
 
30 CANTO I. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The youth with interest unconceal'd 
 
 Had mark'd the tale, the man reveal'd, 
 
 In silence: but towards its close 
 
 Some doubt within his bosom rose, 
 
 Prompting his cool unmoved reply. 710 
 
 "Perchance my memory can supply 
 
 One fact, that scarcely answers well 
 
 As sequel to the tale you tell. 
 
 I saw in Kingston's crowded street 
 
 In wondering throngs the rabble meet. 
 
 I saw Guyatanos' pirate band 
 
 Guarded and fetter'd, hand to hand, 
 
 Led to receive their destin'd meed 
 
 For broken laws and bloody deed. 
 
 One gallows, higher than the rest, 720 
 
 In the dread centre stood confest, 
 
 Destined their leader's weight to bear. 
 
 Mark me, Latharo ! I was there, 
 
 A willing witness to his fate, 
 
 And saw that wood receive its freight. 
 Hence, and relate your wondrous lot 
 To other ears! I trust you not." 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 He turn'd him from the vessel's side. 
 "We part not thus," the seaman cried: 
 
THE ESCAPE. 31 
 
 " Proofs do you need ? you shall receive 730 
 
 Proofs that you must perforce believe. 
 
 Till then, suppose my story true: 
 
 I was the captain of that crew, 
 
 And I alone escaped the chain, 
 
 When all the rest were kill'd or ta'en. 
 
 It is sufficient now to know, 
 
 That I escaped, no matter how. 
 
 But when my comrades of the flood 
 
 Had closed their brave career in blood, 
 
 Little my foes' exulting host 740 
 
 Guess'd that their greatest prize was lost. 
 
 For, when the day of trial came, 
 
 Another bore that leader's name, 
 
 With all its obloquy and blame; 
 
 And nobly faithful to the last, 
 
 Held ev'n in death the secret fast. 
 
 He's gone; but I will pay him yet, 
 
 If blood can wash away the debt ; 
 
 Had not the knowledge come too late, 
 
 Perchance I might have changed his fate. 750 
 
 XL. 
 
 " But I was on the bed of pain, 
 With fever's lightnings in my brain; 
 And in my ears the constant sounds 
 Of rushing waters, while my wounds, 
 
32 CANTO I. 
 
 Fretted by agony and ire, 
 
 Well'd forth in streams of liquid fire. 
 
 And ever to my dizzy eyes 
 
 Appeared the wildest fantasies, 
 
 Of trunkless heads that grinn'd and stared, 
 
 And headless eyes that rolled and glared 760 
 
 In mockery at me, till in pain 
 
 I grinn'd, and howl'd, and glared again. 
 
 Methought in every vivid face 
 
 An absent comrade I might trace; 
 
 And then methought that I had died, 
 
 And these were demons at my side. 
 
 Exhausted nature could no more 
 
 Sustain the fight, but gave it o'er. 
 
 A blank ensued, which memory's ray 
 
 Is all too weak to drive away. 770 
 
 Painful and bitter is the strife, 
 
 Where death contends the prize with life. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 "I rose at length, subdued and weak: 
 
 And the first words my lips could speak, 
 
 Ask'd for my vessel and my crew. 
 
 Well those I asked my interest knew, 
 
 And pity soothed the tale they told, 
 
 That these had perished, that was sold. 
 
 I brooded on my cherish'd wrong, 
 
 Until my shattered frame grew strong. 780 
 
THE ESCAPE. 33 
 
 I swore she should be mine again; 
 
 They spoke of hazard, but in vain ; 
 
 For I had traced her, and she wore 
 
 The flag that she had braved before. 
 
 They manned her, tyrants of the waves, 
 
 A crew of England's practised slaves. 
 
 They tried her, but with altered name. 
 
 Fools! could she still remain the same, 
 
 As I had found her? Could it be, 
 
 That she, the beautiful, the free, 790 
 
 Should groan beneath their cursed chain, 
 
 And yet bound lightly o'er the main, 
 
 As lightly as when sea and sky, 
 
 The winds and waves, obeyed her sovereignty? 
 
 All gloried in her; all foretold 
 
 Her future triumphs from her old. 
 
 Yet ne'er beneath their hated sway, 
 
 The ' broken-hearted' bore the prize away; 
 
 But listless in her course she moved, 
 
 As if she mourned for those she loved. 800 
 
 XLII. 
 
 "Say, youth, for thou canst say, has then' indeed 
 My darling mistress lost her boasted speed?" 
 He stamp'd upon the deck in high disdain, 
 Look'd proudly round, and then resumed again. 
 "Yes, she is mine! The dotards sold 
 The gem, they could not prize, for gold. 
 3 
 
34 CANTO I. 
 
 I sent my agents; but my fate 
 
 Delayed their coming till too late. 
 
 A stranger from a foreign shore 
 
 Had bought her, and they knew no more, 810 
 
 Though rumour whispered that again 
 
 The Rover's flag might sweep the main. 
 
 I joined myself among his crew, 
 
 With scarce a settled end in view. 
 
 Had opportunity been shown, 
 
 I might have claimed her for my own, 
 
 And paid the price; or had his hand 
 
 Appeared too feeble to command, 
 
 I might have chanced to claim her still, 
 
 Without the price, without his will. 820 
 
 XLIII. 
 "But such vague day-dreams soon gave place, 
 When I had seen that leader's face. 
 1 saw, I knew him; once before 
 We met beneath the cannon's roar. 
 I knew him by his bearing high, 
 And his proud spirit's mastery, 
 The unbending firmness of his word, 
 And the cool courage of his sword. 
 I knew him for that one, by fate 
 Whom I was bound and sworn to hate. 830 
 
 And yet I could not hate him now! 
 He had rent the triumphs from my brow, 
 
THE ESCAPE. 35 
 
 Had quenched the lustre of my shine, 
 
 Had done despite to me and mine; 
 
 And now he in my grasp appeared, 
 
 I could not hate him, I revered. 
 
 I asked of him from all, but found 
 
 That mystery had wrapt him round, 
 
 Which none had dared to penetrate: 
 
 None knew the secret of his fate. 840 
 
 To few his courtesy was shown; 
 
 His confidence to one alone. 
 
 You were that one. Oh, need I say, 
 
 How I bethought me of the day, 
 
 When all my hopes were overthrown 
 
 By those that now I gazed upon? 
 
 Did I not swear to be revenged? 
 
 I swore it, but my heart was changed. 
 
 No single foe my bosom felt; 
 
 But on that bark, from which was dealt 850 
 
 The ruin on my comrades' head, 
 
 I vow'd destruction deep and dread. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 "Now rose my hopes: our leader's aim, 
 And my own ends, appeared the same: 
 And much I marvell'd, that he sought 
 That flag, beneath whose folds he had fought 
 So lately, with a hate whose tone 
 Seemed as remorseless as my own. 
 
 32 
 
36 CANTO I. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " Following meanwhile from spot to spot 
 
 In her pursuit, I ne'er forgot, 860 
 
 That she, I never could resign, 
 
 Obeyed another hand than mine. 
 
 Yet have I almost felt a pride, 
 
 To stand unnoticed oft beside 
 
 My noble captain's dauntless form ; 
 
 And in the frenzy of the storm, 
 
 Behold how well his matchless skill 
 
 Curb'd her wild motions to his will. 
 
 Enough; I plighted him my troth, 
 
 And faithfully I kept my oath. 870 
 
 XLVI. 
 "But he is gone; and the command 
 Is vested in a weaker hand. 
 Nay, frown not at my honest word! 
 A firmer heart, a keener sword, 
 We own not in our gallant crew ; 
 But this can be no life for you. 
 The rover's boisterous career; 
 The heart that knows nor ruth nor fear; 
 The steady purpose, fixed and strong, 
 Which will not shrink from sense of wrong, 880 
 
 Nor sense of crime ; but holds its course, 
 Unchecked by pity or remorse: 
 
THE ESCAPE. 37 
 
 This is no life for you, though pride 
 
 Or rage has lured you to our side. 
 
 Have I not seen you turn away, 
 
 After some well-contested fray, 
 
 Which your own blade had mainly won; 
 
 Yet turn you, when the fray was done, 
 
 From the last agony of those, 
 
 Whom you had bravely faced as foes,. 890 
 
 And whom the Rover's changeless doom 
 
 Gave in the wave a living tomb? 
 
 Have I not seen your secret share 
 
 In the distracted maiden's prayer 
 
 Only for death? Have you not told 
 
 Almost yon captive's weight in gold, 
 
 To stop the child's disastrous fate, 
 
 When old Battista swore to freight 
 
 His sharkhook with a living bait? 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 " These are no pirate's virtues, youth! 900 
 
 Already do they doubt your truth; 
 
 Already have I heard the threat, 
 
 The whisper'd murmur, the regret, 
 
 And the injurious contrast spread 
 
 Betwixt the living and the dead. 
 
 Already half your crew combine 
 
 To wrest away your right: 
 Doubt not ! The other half are mine ; 
 
 And still in hell's despite 
 
38 CANTO I. 
 
 Will we support you to the last, 910 
 
 Until your day of vengeance past. 
 But when that day is past away, 
 
 And stretched beneath your feet 
 Are those your last, your deadliest foes, 
 
 I ask you, I entreat, 
 That this the bark which I have loved, 
 To which my earlier right is proved, 
 May once again be mine to boast, 
 At twice the value she has cost. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 "Nay, ponder, ere you make reply, 920 
 
 Nor spurn my proffer hastily; 
 
 Or wait until your eyes accord 
 
 More sure conviction than my word. 
 
 Farewell! But see, the threatening sky 
 
 Proclaims the approaching storm is nigh! 
 
 Wild is the tempest's angriest form, 
 
 And hard the struggle with the storm: 
 
 Yet rather would a seaman brave 
 
 The fury of the wind and wave, 
 
 Than seek by reason's rules to bind 
 
 The frenzied passions of mankind." 930 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 The Pirate turned: unmarked, unseen the while 
 The face of heaven had lost its peaceful smile ; 
 
THE ESCAPE. 39 
 
 Dark scuds swept hurrying thro' the vast profound; 
 And chill and damp the night dews hung around. 
 By fits the moon her joyless lustre shed, 
 A watery halo circled round her head; 
 The stars, but dimly seen, forebore to shine, 
 And hovering mists obscured the horizon's line. 
 
 L. 
 
 The wind had ceased, but left the swell behind; 
 
 The sails hung loose, deserted by the wind. 940 
 
 The helpless bark, unsteadied by the breeze, 
 
 Bathed her proud bowsprit in the heaving seas 
 
 At every plunge; at every rise again, 
 
 The straining bulwarks creak, the masts complain. 
 
 But on the bow the signs of coming storm 
 
 Assumed a nearer and more threatening form. 
 
 There murky clouds, expanding as they rise, 
 
 Spread their deep mantle o'er the waning skies; 
 
 Their sides, with tempest fraught, and swol'n with rain, 
 
 Flung their huge shadows o'er the darkened main; 950 
 
 With mighty groans within, the wind advanced, 
 
 And the gloom darkened where the lightning glanced. 
 
 Above, their tops were swelling into light; 
 
 Below, the billows' crests were edged with white; 
 
 In hollow murmurs moaned the distant swell, 
 
 And one by one the scattered raindrops fell. 
 
40 CANTO I. 
 
 LI. 
 
 The seamen's glances met, 
 
 Yet they spoke but with the eye; 
 Though the heavens grew darker yet, 
 
 And the tempest it was nigh. 960 
 
 But a breath has reached the shroud, 
 
 And the leader raised his hand, 
 And the golden call rang loud 
 
 At the sign of his command. 
 The golden call rang shrill 
 
 With a clear and warning tone, 
 And the revelry was still, 
 
 And the sounds of riot gone ; 
 As the breeze upon the hill 
 
 Where the morning beams have shone. 970 
 
 LII. 
 
 And then there was trampling of feet as in haste, 
 And the rushing of dark forms thronging the waist, 
 And the oath and the curse, as they looked on the sky, 
 In defiance of God when his anger was nigh. 
 Unscathed by debauch at their duties they stand, 
 And each station is filled by the best of the band. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 One moment, hovering on the face of night, 
 The gallant schooner spread her pinions white; 
 
THE ESCAPE. 41 
 
 Another, and again the summons rings; 
 
 And, as the sea-bird folds her ruffled wings, 980 
 
 Smooths the rough feathers on her oily breast, 
 
 And, reckless of the tempest, sinks to rest 
 
 On the wild waters; ere that moment past, 
 
 Each sail had vanished from its lightened mast, 
 
 And nought remained but the stript spars alone, 
 
 For the vexed storm to vent its rage upon. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 It came: it closed in darkness round the bark; 
 
 It burst in deluge down; a flash, and hark! 
 
 The thunder crashes overhead; and now 
 
 A hurricane of tempest strikes the bow, 990 
 
 Rushing resistless. But its baffled wrath 
 
 Bore down no heedless victim in its path. 
 
 One momentary lurch the Rubi gave, 
 
 Burying her leeward gunnel in the wave, 
 
 Then rose uninjured, and with altered course, 
 
 Raised her broad bow to meet the* tempest's force, 
 
 Breasting it proudly; whilst the parted spray 
 
 Forced o'er the reeling decks its idle way 
 
 Sweeping in torrents; and the storm again 
 
 Howl'd through the quivering shrouds and spars, in vain. 1000 
 
CANTO II. 
 
 THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 I. 
 
 IT is she! it is she! she is treading the deep, 
 
 As a spirit of beauty and song; 
 The heavens laugh above her, the tempest winds sleep, 
 And gaily around her the tiny waves creep, 
 
 And caress as they bear her along. 
 It is she! and the Virgin has granted our prayer: 
 
 She returns with her freight and her store. 
 Red, red is her gold, and her silks they are fair; 
 And the hearts of the wise and the wealthy are there ; 
 
 Joy, joy for the Saint Isidore! 10 
 
 But her bright flags floated in the breeze, 
 
 As the ship to her anchors came; 
 And they told of a bark from other seas, 
 And they told of another name. 
 And anxious eyes 
 
 Kept watch again, 
 For her tall white sails 
 On the distant main. 
 
44 CANTO II. 
 
 II. 
 
 It is she ! it is she ! she is entering the bay, 
 
 When the storm in its rage is at hand, 20 
 
 See writhing in tempest, and buried in spray, 
 How wildly she urges her desperate way, 
 
 And still presses on the land. 
 It is she ! let the hearts of the lovely beat high, 
 
 For the friends long expected are near; 
 But loud howls the blast, as the vessel draws nigh, 
 And dire is the strife of the sea and the sky, 
 
 And their greetings are stifled in fear. 
 Still onward she rushes! she strikes! she swings round! 
 
 One reel, and her struggle is o'er. 30 
 
 They may shriek in their anguish in vain, for the sound 
 In the din of the horrible conflict is drown'd: 
 
 "Woe, woe for the Saint Isidore! 
 But a broken boat was washed to the beach, 
 
 As the swell from the wreck return'd; 
 And the name was in words of a foreign speech, 
 
 And it was not the bark they mourn'd. 
 
 III. 
 
 Where is the lost one? Many a month has past 
 Since the proud vessel, with her gallant mast, 
 Crowded with canvass, parted from the shore, 40 
 
 Faded in distance, and was seen no more. 
 Where are her crew, her merchandise? and where 
 Her noblest freight, Estella's blooming heir? 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 45. 
 
 There are stately tombs in the abbey's shade, 
 To show where the lords of his race are laid; 
 There were funeral songs round the bed of death, 
 Where the lords of his race resign'd their breath; 
 Have his tender limbs been given to sleep 
 In the cold embrace of the midnight deep ? 
 Has the sea mew's song, on the ocean dim, 60 
 
 Pour'd forth its mournful dirge for him, 
 And raised its wild shrill voice on high, 
 To mix with the young boy's drowning cry? 
 The ruined merchant may long deplore 
 The hapless bark, and her perished store, 
 The rich bales toss'd on the whirling waves, 
 And the red gold sunk in the dark sea-caves. 
 But what is his grief to the agony wild 
 Of the mother who mourns for her only child; 
 Of the mother, whose heart would gladly give 60 
 To the friend who could say, "Thy son may live," 
 Double the value, and double the cost, 
 Of the countless wealth in that vessel lost ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Alone, and in the midnight hour, 
 
 The mother sits unseen, 
 Where hangs Estella's ancient tower 
 
 The sea and sky between. 
 There's a festive throng at the banquet board, 
 
 And the lustres are burning bright, 
 
CANTO II. 
 
 And freely the blood-red wine is pour'd 70 
 
 For the high and the bold that night. 
 There's a festive throng in the stately hall, 
 
 A throng of the young and gay, 
 Prolonging the joy of the midnight ball 
 
 To the first warm light of day: 
 And the jewels' shine in that dazzling room 
 
 Is dimm'd by the bright eyes there; 
 And young cheeks are glowing with richer bloom, 
 
 Than the roses in their hair: 
 And young lips are whispering, what none may tell, 80 
 
 To young ears that tremble to hear; 
 And one hour of pleasure has broken the spell 
 
 Of months of suspense and fear. 
 And the good red wine has done its part, 
 
 Has flushed the cheek of the brave, 
 Has opened the hoary statesman's heart, 
 
 And has smoothed the brow of the grave. 
 There was joy that night at the banquet board, 
 
 There was joy in the festive hall; 
 But not one thrill can their charms afford 90 
 
 To her who owns them all! 
 That castle's mistress is all alone, 
 
 Alone in her secret bower; 
 And wearily she makes her moan 
 
 From old Estella's tower: 
 It is a painful sight to see, 
 How earnestly, how fixedly, 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 47 
 
 That lady looks on the midnight sea 
 In the lonely, midnight hour! 
 
 V. 
 
 There rises a bright fire through the night! 100 
 
 Is it the watch-fire beams? 
 Far to the right, with steadier light, 
 
 The faithful beacon gleams. 
 And clearer yet, more round, more red, 
 
 The rising lustre grew; 
 It is the moon that lifts her head 
 
 In the cloudless paths of blue. 
 But is it a speck on the moon's broad field, 
 
 That has caught that lady's eye? 
 Or why upon her bright red shield 110 
 
 Does she gaze so wishfully? 
 Where the moon is resting her nether limb, 
 
 And the waters join the sky, 
 A slight dark shape appears to swim 
 
 On her outmost boundary. 
 A small cloud rising from the bay ? 
 A feather floating amid the spray? 
 A bird's wing glancing the waves between? 
 A palm-tree's top ere the land is seen? 
 What may that dark, that strange form be, 120 
 
 Which the lady has marked upon the sea? 
 But why has she started from her chair, 
 With her dark eyes raised to heaven in prayer? 
 
48 CANTO II. 
 
 Why are her hands fast-locked, and prest 
 So closely to her throbbing breast, 
 With her thin lips moving, as if to speak, 
 And a transient flush on her delicate cheek, 
 And the tear that falls down her neck of snow, 
 As bright as the dew-drop on morning's brow? 
 
 VI. 
 
 It is a ship! Can it have proved 130 
 
 The absent one, the lost, the loved? 
 
 Alas! when they, who have spent their prime, 
 
 As aliens, in a foreign clime, 
 
 Prepare at length to seek once more 
 
 Their childhood's friends and their native shore; 
 
 To those, whose kindred bosoms yearn 
 
 With trembling hopes for their blest return, 
 
 And seek on the ocean's boundless track 
 
 The bark that shall bear the expected back, 
 
 The proudest ship of England's war, 140 
 
 The smallest cruizer that rises afar, 
 
 The veriest boat that they look upon, 
 
 Appears that one, that only one; 
 
 As if not a sail on the deep might stir, 
 
 But she that brings the wanderer! 
 
 VII. 
 
 But now the ascending moon more clearly shone, 
 And with the light the mother's hopes are gone: 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 49 
 
 Her pensive eyes relax their straining gaze, 
 
 And on her cheek the transient flush decays. 
 
 For all too well had painful memory taught 150 
 
 The well-known features of the bark she sought. 
 
 Not these the giant limbs, the massive weight, 
 
 Of merchant trader loaden with her freight; 
 
 The dark rude canvass, and the ponderous bow 
 
 Crushing the billows as she forces through; 
 
 The crowded mass of blocks and ropes combined, 
 
 And heavy side that stoops not to the wind. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 With tall masts bending to the swell, 
 
 With low dark hull scarce visible, 
 
 Save when at every bound she gave, 1(>0 
 
 Borne as in air from wave to wave, 
 
 She raised her fairy frame; 
 With light sails white as mountain mist, 
 Ere morning's sun its brow has kist, 
 With filmy cordage spread on high, 
 As spider's web on evening sky, 
 Gallant in all her tracery, 
 
 The graceful stranger came. 
 Till, narrower as becomes the bay, 
 The landward breezes round her play, 170 
 
 And calmer grows the sea, 
 With sidelong course, a devious track, 
 From shore to shore, on tack and tack, 
 
 The bark moves tranquilly. 
 4 
 
50 CANTO II. 
 
 Scarce can you mark her altering place, 
 Scarce can your eye her motion trace, 
 
 Till, as she draws more near, 
 Ever the while by sail and mast 
 The wooded shores are gliding past, 
 
 In still but swift career. 180 
 
 IX. 
 
 The lady watched her movements fair, 
 
 With fixed and anxious eye, 
 As if she had an interest there, 
 
 She knew not what or why. 
 She marked her leave the towel's behind, 
 
 Till on her lee they lay, 
 Then turn her from the baffled wind, 
 
 And backward trace her way: 
 And ere again the towers she near'd, 
 Sail after sail had disappeared, 190 
 
 As mists before the sun; 
 Stript of their fair apparelling, 
 The slender spars were seen to spring, 
 As fibres from the beetle's wing; 
 
 Save from the bow alone, 
 One tapering sail appeared to rise, 
 And as self-balanced in the skies 
 
 Still bore the vessel on. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 51 
 
 X. 
 
 Onward with stealthy step and slow, 
 
 Beside the beach she seemed to go: 200 
 
 So have I seen, at evening tide, 
 
 The creeping serpent homeward glide, 
 
 Which, moving, scarcely seemed to move 
 
 Along the margin of the grove, 
 
 With length far trailed upon the ground, 
 
 And peering eyes that sought around 
 
 For every opening in the brake: 
 
 Striving the narrow pass to take 
 
 To some low hollow, thickly spread 
 
 With wither'd leaves, his nightly bed. 210 
 
 XI. 
 
 She ranged beneath the turret brown: 
 
 The lady from her seat looked down 
 
 On that strange bark that passed beneath; 
 
 But not a sound she heard, nor breath, 
 
 Save the short splashing in the sea, 
 
 As the faithful lead dropt heavily; 
 
 And not a form her eye could trace, 
 
 Save where the helmsman held his place. 
 
 But the artillery darkly frowned, 
 
 In warlike guise the decks around; 
 
 And in their shade, she could not tell, 220 
 
 Yet might the crew have sheltered well 
 
 4-2 
 
5 C 2 CANTO II. 
 
 Unseen, and every gun supplied 
 
 At danger's call a living tide. 
 
 The beach was near, the current strong; 
 
 Secret and swift she swept along. 
 
 Beneath her bow the breakers lay, 
 
 Devious and narrow seemed the way; 
 
 No stranger might her path explore 
 
 Through those wild tides and breakers hoar. 
 
 But rocks and shoals are nearing fast, 230 
 
 The channel enter'd, traced, and past, 
 
 And well her daring course betrayed, 
 
 No stranger's hand that bark obeyed. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Not far removed, but screened from sight, 
 
 Sank in the land a sandy bight; 
 
 Before whose narrow entrance laid, 
 
 A wooded isle the barrier made. 
 
 The secret pass, on either side, 
 
 Dark groups of pointed rocks divide ; 
 
 Which, when the surges heave and swell, 240 
 
 From their bared tops the foam repel; 
 
 But, when the winds of ocean sleep, 
 
 Retire beneath the tranquil deep. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The stranger has gained the secret pass; 
 The water within is smooth as glass; 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 53 
 
 She may trace the rocks that around her lie, 
 
 Through the depths of the blue transparency. 
 
 The channel beneath her is dark and deep, 
 
 The shore beside her is low and steep, 
 
 And it seems, so close has she brushed the land, 250 
 
 That her yards hang over the points of sand. 
 
 She has wound her way round the wooded isle, 
 
 And rested her keel from her course the while, 
 
 For the lady may hear the rush and the rout, 
 
 And the sound of the hoarse chain rattling out : 
 
 But she may not mark, how thickly then 
 
 That moment has peopled her decks with men, 
 
 When the anchor sank to its oozy home, 
 
 And the sea closed over its path in foam, 
 
 For the tapering masts are scarcely seen 260 
 
 Above the tops of that tangled screen. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And now, on the verge of the eastern bay, 
 
 The heavens are bright with the blush of day; 
 
 The air is rent with the sharp report 
 
 Of the daylight gun from the embattled fort, 
 
 Where heavily rose above the main 
 
 The haughty standard of ancient Spain. 
 
 Was it an echo on airy track 
 
 That bore the daylight summons back? 
 
 From the wooded isle, from the bark it came: 270 
 
 The leaves of the mangroves have hid the flame ; 
 
54 CANTO II. 
 
 But the lady may see the smoke-wreath rest 
 
 Around the cocoa's chaplet crest, 
 
 And may see the stranger's masts on high 
 
 Rolling above it heavily. 
 
 But the shock is over, the masts are still, 
 
 Ere the wreath has faded above the hill; 
 
 The mimic swell, ere it bathes the shore, 
 
 Grows fainter and fainter, and heaves no more: 
 
 And the stranger lies concealed from sight, 280 
 
 A secret thing in the hidden bight. 
 
 XV. 
 
 In breathless beauty arose the day: 
 The night-dew had not left the spray, 
 The mist, that nature's slumbers hide, 
 Still floated o'er the mountain side, 
 Or curled itself the leaves between 
 Of the magnolia's glossy green. 
 Beneath, the interminable sea 
 Lay stretched in calm tranquillity; 
 And of its thousand tones not one 290 
 
 The morning stillness broke upon, 
 Save where, beneath the mangrove's shade, 
 A simple brook its course had made, 
 And, as it sought its ocean grave, 
 Along the pebbly channel gave 
 A quiet murmuring: 
 
THE CAPTIVE. .55 
 
 Unmixed but with the plaintive cry 
 Of the red ibis wading nigh, 
 Or where the pelican sail'd by 
 
 With heavy weight of wing; 300 
 
 Or, ever and anon, the crash 
 Of the thick jungle, where with splash, 
 Startling and sudden, from the bank 
 The alligator plunged and sank 
 
 In the depths of his native spring. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 It was nature reposing, beneath and on high, 
 
 In the still sleep of ocean, the calm of the sky. 
 
 But there seem'd nought so still on the morn of that day, 
 
 As the form of the stranger that rode in the bay, 
 
 So quiet, so peaceful, that well might she be 310 
 
 Fit creature to dwell in so tranquil a sea. 
 
 O, was she not lovely? Her delicate form, 
 
 Could it ever have struggled with tumult and storm? 
 
 Yet have we not seen her contend in her path 
 
 With the fiend of the tempest, and baffle his wrath ? 
 
 O, was she not lovely? Her fairy-like frame, 
 
 Could this be the victim of battle and flame ? 
 
 Alas! for her bulwarks are dark with the smoke, 
 
 On her flight where the frigate's artillery broke, 
 
 And the planks of her deck are discoloured and red, 
 
 Where the blood of her best and her bravest was shed. 320 
 
56 CANTO II. 
 
 Her dark yards are lowered, and repose, as in sleep, 
 
 With their wide-spreading arms o'er the mirror-like deep; 
 
 Her proud sails are furl'd, and but steal on the sight, 
 
 Where they skirt the dark yards with their outline of white ; 
 
 While around them the rigging its tracery blends, 
 
 And the cordage its intricate mazes extends; 
 
 And above them the pendant, unwaved by a breath, 
 
 Hangs down to its shade in the water beneath. 
 
 Oh! was she not lovely? Alas! for within 330 
 
 Was the whirlwind of passion, the tempest of sin: 
 
 Revenge in his madness was swelling on high, 
 
 And malice was stealing in secrecy by; 
 
 And moody mistrust was o'ershadowing the whole, 
 
 The tyrant of reason, the gloom of the soul. 
 
 Yes; fair as her semblance, as well might you take 
 
 To your arms the rich spots of Caffr aria's snake; 
 
 As well to your bosom's embraces might court 
 
 The keen forked lightning, and deem it in sport; 
 
 Or choose for your couch a volcano's abyss, 340 
 
 As trust to a form so deceitful as this. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 See, there is life within her ! One has past 
 From the dark shelter of the slender mast, 
 Which had conceal'd him. Ah ! I know him now, 
 That form's stern grandeur, and that haughty brow. 
 It is Latharo ! See his scornful gait, 
 While murmuring with himself he holds debate ! 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 57 
 
 " The thoughtless stripling trusts me. Strange to find, 
 
 Amidst a race abhorr'd of all mankind, 
 
 The confidence of innocence and truth ! 350 
 
 Yet thus he trusts me. 'Tis a gallant youth! 
 
 And can I blame him, if he shews belief 
 
 In my own honour? True! a pirate chief 
 
 Should have reposed his confidence in none; 
 
 No, not have trusted his own father's son. 
 
 Yet he, forsooth, this wild, this wayward boy, 
 
 With all to vex, to harass, to annoy, 
 
 With treachery's secret web beneath him spread, 
 
 And open malice hovering o'er his head, 
 
 The very place, he seeks for shelter, rife 360 
 
 With fifty weapons panting for his life: 
 
 This boy can lay him down, and sink to rest 
 
 As calm as infant on his mother's breast. 
 
 Alas, my mistress! Thou hast found indeed 
 
 A feeble leader in thy hour of need ! 
 
 Yet have I pledged my word; nor, to obtain 
 
 My life's best object, must that pledge be vain. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " How stands our purpose % Eager for the spoil 
 
 Our proud pursuer draws upon the toil. 
 
 To-morrow brings him, if our trusty spy 370 
 
 Perform his part true to his treachery. 
 
 Enter they may not: from a night attack, 
 
 (Would they might venture!) none shall straggle back: 
 
58 CANTO II. 
 
 And so, if fortune smile,, the Raven lies, 
 Weaken'd in men and arms, an easy prize. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Now for internal foes ! And more I dread 
 
 The subtle venom of La Gata's head, 
 
 Coward at once and traitor, than to wait 
 
 The open force of old Battista's hate. 
 
 Yet both are dangerous : be they so ! my toil 380 
 
 Shall offer force to force, and wile to wile. 
 
 Idiots! am I their plaything?" As he turn'd, 
 
 A shadowy object with his foot he spurn'd, 
 
 That lay almost conceal'd beneath the shade 
 
 Of the huge carriage of a carronade. 
 
 " Pipi!" he whisper'd, and from out the lair 
 
 Sprang forth a stripling with dark, clustering hair, 
 
 Dripping with night-dew, whose thick drops were hung 
 
 Glistening like pearl-gems the black curls among. 
 
 A slight slim lad he seem'd; but keen and sly 390 
 
 Shone the dark lustre of his jet-black eye; 
 
 And in his swarthy features you might trace 
 
 The lines that mark'd Jamaica's mountain race. 
 
 But little from the shore that boy could claim, 
 
 Save that it lent him lineament and name: 
 
 Whom, when his life was new, his mother gave, 
 
 Or heartless barter'd, for a pirate's slave; 
 
 Where, rudely nursed, his infancy passed by, 
 
 Rock'd by the winds, and curtain'd by the sky. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 59 
 
 But when the boy had from the rover train 400 
 
 His fortune learned, and who had hound the chain, 
 
 He shrank from her, who could her child disown, 
 
 Confest no parent but the deep alone, 
 
 Enter'd on life, while still in boyhood's prime, 
 
 And, bred a pirate, scarcely knew the crime. 
 
 Rough had his nurture been, his comrades rude: 
 
 But he had borne with sturdy fortitude 
 
 His life of hardship, till at length he grew, 
 
 Nor without cause, the favourite of the crew, 
 
 Wild nature's nursling, vengeful, not unjust, 410 
 
 Grateful for kindness, faithful to a trust. 
 
 Such was a pirate's slave, and such was he 
 
 Who met Latharo's call on bended knee, 
 
 With eye upturn'd, as if his piercing look 
 
 Would catch the meaning ere the words were spoke. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Pipi ! quick, urchin, quick ! I fain would know 
 
 What murmuring voices reach me from below. 
 
 Hie to the gun-room; frame some quaint excuse 
 
 For your appearance; shrink not from abuse, 
 
 Or ev'n from threats. I have, will both repay: 420 
 
 Be cool, be cautious, but be swift; away!" 
 
 The stripling rose; the deck in silence crost, 
 
 Gain'd the dark hatchway, and below was lost. 
 
60 CANTO II. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Latharo listen'd: on the deck beneath 
 
 Still sounded voices in an under breath, 
 
 Then ceas'd a moment. "Ay, the opening door 
 
 Admits my trusty spy. I hear no more. 
 
 A curse! Battista's. Then a laugh! I'd swear, 
 
 La Gata's fiendish mirth is ringing there. 
 
 A sound represt ! Is it a cry of pain ? 430 
 
 Wretches! they have not dared the door again 
 
 Softly and quickly closed! I hear the key: 
 
 How! would they brave me in their treachery? 
 
 " Welcome, my trusty boy ! Hist ! aft repair ; 
 
 And now your tidings! was Battista there?" 
 
 " He was : with him La Gata sate alone 
 
 In deep debate. Beside them overthrown 
 
 The negro's brawny limbs were stow'd away, 
 
 And mid the wreck of his debauchery lay." 
 
 u In deep debate ? Ay, well ?" " A chart display 'd, 440 
 
 But what I know not, was before them laid." 
 
 "Is that their study? We will foil them yet. 
 
 What said they to the intrusion? Did they threat?" 
 
 "Battista threaten'd, Gata tried at harm: 
 
 Behold his spite !" He bared his slender arm, 
 
 Where through the skin the purple marks remain'd 
 
 Of brutal fingers, so intensely strained, 
 
 That every nail had left a bleeding wound 
 
 In the boy's flesh. Darkly Latharo frown'd. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 6l 
 
 "There for your mission! Gold will toil repay, 450 
 But blood blood only, washes blood away: 
 Would you have vengeance? To your secret post, 
 Ere yet the traces of their path are lost ! 
 In every unmark'd deed, forgotten word, 
 Their hour of retribution is deferr'd." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Alas, for pity! savage all and wild 
 
 Flash the bright glances of the mountain child, 
 
 While through his veins the streams of passion run, 
 
 Fervent and glowing as his native sun. 
 
 He turned to pass. But, as he hasten'd by, 460 
 
 A weapon's glitter caught Latharo's eye 
 
 Within the stripling's simple garment hid: 
 
 He seized him with his heavy hand, undid 
 
 The slender fastenings, and to sight reveal'd 
 
 The bravo's dagger, that its folds conceal'd, 
 
 The bare steel resting on his naked breast: 
 
 Whilst, struggling with the venom he represt, 
 
 The youth's slight fingers trembled in the clasp 
 
 Of the rude handle he essay'd to grasp. 
 
 "How now? what! think you I my work design 470 
 
 For such frail weapons, and an arm like thine? 
 
 The man, who feels, may crush the hornet's sting: 
 
 But, ere I give my little insect wing, 
 
 Lest he bewray us by a feeble stroke 
 
 Your dagger, boy! Now forward!" As he spoke 
 
62 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 With scornful words, obedient to command, 
 The youth resign'd the weapon to his hand; 
 While the fast tears, to pain and fear denied, 
 Flow'd at the ready call of humbled pride. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The messenger past onward: in the bow, 480 
 
 Beneath the booms, a scuttle led below: 
 
 He glided down; then, creeping, made his way 
 
 Beneath the hammocks, where his messmates lay 
 
 In heavy slumber, till his progress stay'd 
 
 Where the spare sails were for occasion laid; 
 
 Thence serpent-like he wound his slender form 
 
 Amongst the canvass, bleach'd with many a storm, 
 
 Till a thin lining barr'd his further track; 
 
 Then cautious slid the loosen'd pannels back, 
 
 And through the narrow passage forced his way, 490 
 
 Drawing his breast along, until he lay 
 
 Beside the bulwark of the room of state, 
 
 Where at their board the desperadoes sate 
 
 Intent, and thoughtless of the lurking spy, 
 
 Whose ear observ'd them, and whose ready eye 
 
 Had found a partial passage for his sight, 
 
 Where a worn knot had opened in the light. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Within his dark recess the spy 
 Lay still, with ear intent, and eye 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 6S 
 
 Half blinded by the glare ; 500 
 
 Though feeble was the light that came 
 From the faint lamp's expiring flame, 
 . That hung suspended there, 
 And vainly flicker'd, sank, and fell; 
 Then, for a moment visible, 
 Revived to join its sickly ray 
 With the young beams of early day, 
 That slowly struggled through the gloom 
 Of the night revellers' banquet-room. 
 But, as his sight more practised grew, 510 
 
 And all around his glance he threw, 
 
 So foul the scene he eyed, 
 So grimly lower'd each haggard face, 
 Though nursed in that unhallow'd place, 
 
 He turn'd his look aside. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Fresh is fair beauty's cheek and bright 
 
 Within the festive room, 
 Yet may not brook the morning light 
 
 When night has brush'd its bloom. 
 And bright is valour's mailed vest, 520 
 
 Yet, soil'd in nightly jar, 
 It may not bear with ruffled crest 
 
 To meet the morning star. 
 But more unseemly is the view, 
 
 When morning beams are pour'd 
 
64 CANTO II. 
 
 On signs of revelry that strew 
 
 The late carousal board. 
 And still unseemlier than the signs, 
 
 On that foul board you trace, 
 Are the deep-drawn inveterate lines 530 
 
 That mark the reveller's face. 
 The brow with clammy moisture spread, 
 The beating pulse, the languid head, 
 The cheek's pale glow with wrinkles hid, 
 The bloodless lip, the heavy lid, 
 The reddening eye's unsteady glance, 
 These are thy marks, Intemperance! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But though such deep-drawn lines disgrace, 
 
 By time imprest, each ruffian's face, 
 
 Continual habits of excess 540 
 
 Had made the present symptoms less. 
 
 And if their cheeks wore paler hue, 
 
 Their sallow skins more ghastly grew; 
 
 There lack'd not strength and skill prepared, 
 
 Were deeds of danger to be dared. 
 
 Each brooding on his own intent, 
 
 With heart that knew not to relent, 
 
 Whate'er of ill or crime it meant, 
 
 They sate their board beside: 
 How could remorse on these await? 550 
 
 The present world they view'd with hate, 
 
 A future they denied. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 65 
 
 Perchance by slow degree was gain'd 
 The callousness their hearts retain'd: 
 I know not: but, when life is new, 
 We shun that guilt's alluring hue, 
 
 Pursued in after time; 
 Till, hardening in the soul within, 
 The deeper grows the accustom'd sin, 
 
 The lighter seems the crime. 560 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Around the pair the scatter'd floor 
 Some relics of the riot bore, 
 With broken cups and viands strew'd, 
 With stains of wine, and spots of blood ; 
 For seldom from a festal day 
 The revellers past unharm'd away. 
 Between the beams, in ranks array'd, 
 Hung arquebuse and boarding blade, 
 And every instrument to aid 
 
 In plunder or offence: 570 
 
 Compass and glass beneath them lay, 
 With plans and charts of coast and bay, 
 Plumed caps, and bonnets richly laced, 
 But now decay'd and left to waste, 
 
 In thriftless negligence. 
 Such was the scene: and through the whole 
 Mingled the war-steel with the bowl; 
 Fit emblems of a rover's life, 
 Alternate revelry and strife. 
 
 5 
 
66 CANTO II. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Meanwhile the inmates of the hell, 580 
 
 Themselves had made, agree too well 
 
 With their own dwelling; for they seem 
 
 Like fiendish shapes, the sick man's dream 
 
 In fever's wild delirium tost; 
 
 When the mind's eye, by frenzy crost, 
 
 Its clear reflective power has lost; 
 
 And every form that fancy shows, 
 
 To some misshapen monster grows. 
 
 And all was dismal silence round, 
 
 Save when arose the boisterous sound, 590 
 
 As still his bowl Battista quafF'd, 
 
 And urged the oft repeated draught. 
 
 Then yet unscathed, though many an hour 
 
 Of deep debauch had tried his power, 
 
 Across the board he forward bent, 
 
 On his right hand his forehead leant, 
 
 Slowly his shaggy eyelids raised, 
 
 And on La Gata closely gazed. 
 
 That deeper villain ill could brook 
 
 To meet his comrade's scornful look, 600 
 
 But turn'd him from the tell-tale light, 
 
 And veil'd his darken'd face from sight. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Some moments pass'd; unchanged their state, 
 There, motionless and breathless, sate 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 67 
 
 The hoary ruffians. Long ere now 
 
 Age had on each marauder's brow 
 
 Infix'd the sign of many a year, 
 
 Though different far the marks appear, 
 
 As craftier thoughts were here display'd, 
 
 There ruder passions threw their shade. 610 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Time had not bowed Battista's form, 
 
 Or weaken'd his giant power; 
 Uninjur'd by climate, unscathed by storm, 
 
 He stood as a mighty tower: 
 As a tower of ancient days he stood, 
 As the veteran oak of the forest wood, 
 Which stands of its branches and leaves bereft, 
 With the earliest strength of its trunk still left, 
 
 And left to its latest hour. 
 But years, as they sprinkled his head with snow, 620 
 
 Had rent its pride away; 
 There were few scant locks on his forehead now, 
 
 And those few scant locks were gray, 
 And over the Pirate's wrinkled brow 
 
 In thin loose flakes they lay. 
 But nor time could quench, nor age could quell, 
 
 The light of his cruel eye ; 
 Ruthless and keen its flashes fell, 
 
 As the hounds when the chase is nigh; 
 The fires, that wont in their orbs to dwell, 630 
 
 Still burn'd incessantly. 
 
 52 
 
68 CANTO II. 
 
 Savage as man in his wildest state; 
 But open his malice, and bold his hate; 
 He had not deign'd, that heart of pride, 
 One villainous thought of his soul to hide. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 His comrade's form was mean and spare, 
 Unthinn'd by time his shaggy hair, 
 
 In masses crisp'd and white; 
 As lies the frost-work of the morn, 
 Encrusted on the wither'd thorn, 640 
 
 After a winter's night. 
 His wasted cheek and sallow skin 
 Spoke of a restless soul within : 
 A restless soul that you might mark 
 In wrinkled forehead, high and dark; 
 In downcast look, and eye askance, 
 Cast ever round with rapid glance; 
 And the pale lip's deceitful smile, 
 Veiling the heart's envenom'd wile. 
 His limbs, of dis-proportion'd length, 650 
 
 Were void of symmetry and strength, 
 And ill became the varied die 
 Of his rich vest's embroidery. 
 For either pirate's trim array 
 Spoke of the spoils of battle day : 
 Each wore a crimson scarf; each waist 
 A heavy row of pistols braced; 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 69 
 
 And either's cutlass lay beneath, 
 
 Fall'n half uncover'd from its sheath. 
 
 Neither looked up, and neither spoke; 660 
 
 Their breath alone the stillness broke, 
 
 Which hung around them as a spell: 
 
 Such power have guilty thoughts to quell 
 
 The spirit, and with magic chain 
 
 The tongue's reluctant force restrain. 
 
 XXXII. 
 At length La Gata raised his wrinkled brow, 
 Slowly and cautiously: "What say you now, 
 Now, that the spy is gone?" "I know not why," 
 Battista answered, "you can dread a spy 
 In every face. For me, I little care 670 
 
 Who knows my thoughts. Ay, were Latharo there, 
 Ev'n where you sit opposed, he would but know, 
 What now he knows, Battista is his foe, 
 His foe for pride and bitter insult borne; 
 Our stripling leader, he is but my scorn. 
 Yet both must die !" His comrade interposed 
 With his deep voice: "Yes, ere two days are closed, 
 Our promised plan shall give them both a prey 
 To their worst foe. And then, away, away! 
 Our gallant vessel shall shake off her sloth, 680 
 
 To us transfer her crew's submissive oath, 
 And yield to one obedience, or to both." 
 
70 CANTO II. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 "Such plans I like not!" and the frowning brow 
 Join'd with Battista's answer, to avow 
 His bolder purpose: "Grant our comrade's tale 
 Shall bring the Raven headlong on the trail: 
 Grant our two foes betray'd: shall we retire, 
 Think you, uninjur'd by the cruizer's fire? 
 Or that the Rum can her deeds atone 
 
 By the poor sacrifice of two alone ? 690 
 
 Attend my better course; let us unite, 
 
 And thus Latharo meet in open fight: 
 
 Fall as he must, who then will care or grieve 
 
 If our boy captain either die or live? 
 
 Rather, unworthy of a brave man's hand, 
 
 Leave him deserted on some barren strand. 
 
 And then be yours or mine the single sway: 
 
 Let lots decide it; one must needs obey; 
 
 One must command: for, trust me, all will share 
 
 The wavering empire of a rival pair." 700 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Little did plan for open force or word 
 
 With his associate's meaner mind accord, 
 
 Who track'd with coward fraud his poisonous way, 
 
 Or, coil'd in treacherous ambush, mark'd his prey. 
 
 "Such be our after-plot," he slowly said, 
 
 "But till to-morrow be that plot delay 'd. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 71 
 
 To-morrow brings the bark: our charts reveal 
 
 No depth of water for a heavier keel. 
 
 Beyond her range, we scorn the Raven's powers; 
 
 The choice of treating, and the terms are ours; 710 
 
 While with internal strife and outward foes, 
 
 In vain our leaders shall our wills oppose. 
 
 Let them as pledges of our faith be sent; 
 
 If forfeited, be theirs the punishment : 
 
 And we far off, untrammelTd on the sea, 
 
 How reck we what that punishment may be?" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 "Fruitful in arts," Battista with a sneer 
 
 Replied, "how think you that Latharo here 
 
 Will lose his caution, and thus madly go, 
 
 Trusting to either's faith, with each his foe? 720 
 
 I like it not: nor do I like this bay, 
 
 Which with unwonted shelter bars our way. 
 
 Were storms portended, or were danger here, 
 
 Know we not Escondido's harbour near, 
 
 Whose secret pass, and hidden length of ways, 
 
 Deceive pursuers with their wooded maze ? 
 
 Nor can I think our comrade's course unknown 
 
 To other eyes, or plann'd by us alone. 
 
 The morning of his flight, did you not. mark, 
 
 Though lour'd with rage Latharo' s visage dark, 730 
 
 And our boy-captain's woman cheek was flush'd 
 
 With hasty passion, how the thought was hush'd 
 
72 CANTO II. 
 
 Of all pursuit ? Bethought me I could spy 
 Some ill-hid triumph lurk in either's eye. 
 The one with prouder look his orders gave: 
 The other hasten'd to his urchin slave; 
 And I might catch the glance of boyish glee, 
 As the young menial clung around his knee." 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 "Curse on that child!" La Gata's forehead glared 
 
 Fierce as a fiend's: "When you the urchin spared 740 
 
 On that red night, what power, Battista, say, 
 
 Lured your old temper's stern resolves away, 
 
 Breaking our pirate law, that well denies 
 
 The boon of life to bless the meanest prize ?" 
 
 Then, as he touch'd Battista' s mantle's fold, 
 
 Heavy with golden tags and braided gold, 
 
 Whose stuff of choicest silk but ill became 
 
 The hoary veteran's ungainly frame, 
 
 "Already every eye from every shore, 
 
 May recognise some kinsman's missing store: 750 
 
 And if that child " Battista growl'd, "I sold 
 
 The brat for what I needed most, for gold: 
 
 Gold have I now enough; and, for the slave, 
 
 With ease can I recall the life I gave, 
 
 If need or humour leads me. When I reign 
 
 Lord of this bark, and ruler of the main, 
 
 That urchin's blood, to bind the solemn rite, 
 
 Shall stain our wine-cup on the banquet night; 
 
THE CAPTIVE. IS 
 
 While, more to satisfy your craven fears, 
 
 Young Pipi's body, maim'd of nose and ears, 760 
 
 Shall glut your vengeance, and with deeper awe 
 
 Stamp the dread records of the pirates' law. 
 
 To-morrow night Latharo must not live! 
 
 Such respite to La Gata's plans I give. 
 
 But then the path be mine: let fortune smile 
 
 On open force, for wile may conquer wile. 
 
 Bat hark ! the splashing of a distant oar." 
 
 "The hoarding boat has traced us from the shore: 
 
 The crafty Spaniards seldom lose their prize 
 
 From bark like this: although with specious guise, 770 
 
 Of borrow'd colours and a spurious name, 
 
 Our cautious chiefs conceal the Rubi's aim." 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The deck the comrades reached. There by the side 
 
 Appear'd Latharo, in his wonted pride, 
 
 Firm and erect. Abaft, without a breath 
 
 To show the rich emblazonry beneath, 
 
 Hung at the peak Saint George's banner white: 
 
 Thence, casting o'er the narrow pass their sight, 
 
 Gliding by rock and stone, their eyes may note 
 
 The dark swift passage of the approaching boat. 780 
 
 Nearer she comes, more near; the oars are tost, 
 
 And on she keeps, nor way nor motion lost, 
 
 Till short the ready crew her passage check, 
 
 And the sole steersman lightly leaps on deck. 
 
74 CANTO II. 
 
 Few summers on his cheek the stranger wears; 
 The arms and lineaments of Spain he bears, 
 And frequent orders on his breast proclaim 
 The proud descendant of some ancient name. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 "Your chief?" he said. Latharo bow'd, 
 
 And led him from the assembled crowd, 790 
 
 Who waited nigh with anxious ear 
 
 The tidings from the shore to hear. 
 
 "To whom, sir, do I make report?" 
 
 " Son to the Governor of the Fort," 
 
 Rearing his slender form with pride 
 
 To its full height, the youth replied. 
 
 "From him the due demands I bear: 
 
 Your nation and your name declare; 
 
 From whence and wherefore are you here?" 
 
 "From England first, a privateer: 800 
 
 From thence we likewise chiefly drew, 
 
 Though mingled now, our vessel's crew. 
 
 We call our bark The Hope. Our trade 
 
 Is various; but is chiefly laid, 
 
 As on from port to port we range, 
 
 In goods for purchase or exchange. 
 
 Two months ago we left the strait, 
 
 At Kingston clear d, renewed our freight, 
 
 And here would gladly wait by stealth 
 
 Recovery of our Captain's health. 810 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 75 
 
 He lies below: and much he grieves 
 Another your commands receives; 
 But hopes that should a happier day- 
 Revive him, on our further stay- 
 He may himself pay deference due 
 To your high father and to you." 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 "The freight -with which your bark is stored?" 
 
 " Is divers : of the best on board 
 
 Our captain wills me to consign 
 
 To your kind charge these casks of wine, 820 
 
 An island's vintage; and this store 
 
 Of silks from India's distant shore. 
 
 Poor offerings these ! yet they may prove 
 
 His humble reverence and his love. 
 
 Eye you this sabre's gorgeous hilt, 
 
 Inlaid with gems, and richly gilt: 
 
 'Tis your's. The jewels are of cost, 
 
 But the good blade I value most. 
 
 Its blue bespeaks an eastern land; 
 
 And, wielded in your gallant hand, 830 
 
 Will doubtless well the pride maintain 
 
 That compasses the crown of Spain." 
 
 XL. 
 
 "Thanks for your kindness! Can you say, 
 If you have noted on your way 
 
76 CANTO II. 
 
 A vessel from our mother shore, 
 
 Bound for these isles; the Isidore? 
 
 Three tedious months our landsmen wait 
 
 Some tidings of that vessel's fate.' 
 
 There sailed the lord, to whose command 
 
 Belong these princely towers and land, 840 
 
 Of high descent, by birthright styled 
 
 Estella's Count; a puny child, 
 
 Whom twelve months since his father bore 
 
 To claim on Andalusia's shore 
 
 His native lands, to which the sight 
 
 Of the next heir preserves the right. 
 
 There died the sire: but the young boy, 
 
 Of age to be his mother's joy, 
 
 Who holds the castle on your track, 
 
 His friends dismissed in honour back, 850 
 
 So says report, with gold and cost; 
 
 But bark, gold, boy, and all are lost." 
 
 XLI. 
 
 No change Latharo's visage knew: 
 
 Calmly he answer'd, "Hard it blew, 
 
 After we pass'd Madeira's isle. 
 
 Three days and nights we drove the while, 
 
 But the third evening there appear'd 
 
 Beside us, as the dark mist clear'd, 
 
 A brig dismasted on the lee, 860 
 
 And labouring in the heavy sea. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 77 
 
 We kept away, our aid to show: 
 
 But dark closed in, the mists hung low, 
 
 And the wind rose, till to the gale 
 
 We dared not spread an inch of sail: 
 
 'Twas well we weather'd out the night. 
 
 We sought the bark by morning's light, 
 
 When all was clear around: our eye 
 
 Met the black sea and clouded sky. 
 
 In the black sea that bark lies low." 870 
 
 Well may he tell, well does he know, 
 
 The night that vessel met her foe. 
 
 Above her roll'd the black sea flood; 
 
 But the black sea was stain'd with blood. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 "But could your keen observance mark 
 Aught that could name that hapless bark?' 
 Latharo answer d: "What remain'd 
 Of the rent masts was lately stain'd 
 A yellow dye; the black hull round 
 Was with a crimson ribbon bound: 
 And, as we caught her image, where 
 The deep swell heaved her frame in air, 
 Our seamen might at times discern 
 A gilded cross upon the stern. 
 A sainted form with lifted hand, 
 So it appeared, had held his stand 
 
78 CANTO II. 
 
 Upon her bow: but sea and spray 
 
 Had wash'd the head and arm away; 
 
 The cope-clad bosom still was seen, 
 
 And stump where once the arm had been. 890 
 
 In these we but discern'd the doom 
 
 To which the fated bark must come." 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 The dark eyes of the Spanish boy 
 
 Were bright with ill-dissembled joy. 
 
 At once, forgetful of command, 
 
 He seized the Pirate's rugged hand, 
 
 And, as he press'd it in his own, 
 
 Spoke in a low and earnest tone. 
 
 " Convey this message to your chief: 
 
 If this your tale may gain belief, 900 
 
 Keep counsel, and your privateer 
 
 Shall surely find her shelter here, 
 
 Whilst in our harbour you remain, 
 
 Protected by the seal of Spain. 
 
 I go, your friendly news to bear, 
 
 Unlook'd for, to my father's ear, 
 
 Lord Alvez, now the nearest heir 
 
 To these broad lands and castle fair. 
 
 Meanwhile, for scenes of glad carouse 
 
 The seaman's wandering life allows, 910 
 
 Already in the passage note, 
 
 Where onward bears Estella's boat, 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 79 
 
 Bringing the lady's wonted call 
 
 For all and each to bower and hall. 
 
 Thither, my friends, with glee repair; 
 
 The board, the bowl, await you there. 
 
 But cautious let no tidings slip 
 
 Of what befel the missing ship ; 
 
 Lest words and deeds of lawless might 
 
 Bar the successor from his right: 920 
 
 For little love exists, I ween, 
 
 The countess and her heir between. 
 
 And mark me, not unknown you lie 
 
 Protected by our privacy, 
 
 For far is spread the Rubi's fame, 
 
 Though now conceal'd in humbler name." 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 He gave the passport paper, gaily sprung 
 Towards his boat, and the rich sabre flung 
 Careless before him: at the sign and word, 
 The bowmen bent, obedient to their lord; 930 
 
 Bore off the side, and with the springing oar 
 Dash'd the light galley quivering to the shore. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 La Gata, who with restless eye 
 Had watch'd the scene, drew slowly nigh 
 With Ins associate. "Mate, what cheer? 
 What tidings strange have reach'd us here? 
 
80 CANTO II. 
 
 For gladly would our comrades know 
 
 What such unwonted speech may show." 
 
 "No news/' Latharo coldly said: 
 
 "The usual duties have been paid. 94C 
 
 But one, it seems, has seen before 
 
 Our vessel on the western shore, 
 
 And recognised her graceful line. 
 
 The ready store of silks and wine 
 
 Have purchased, long as we remain, 
 
 The secrecy and aid of Spain. 
 
 Such might your ready wit discern: 
 
 For me, I have as yet to learn 
 
 The title of the crew to hear 
 
 The tidings for their captain's ear. 950 
 
 To him I give my due report, 
 
 When yonder strangers from the fort 
 
 Have shown their purpose." As he spoke, 
 
 Borne onwards with a steady stroke, 
 
 The barge drew near. In order placed, 
 
 With gold and azure liveries graced, 
 
 The well-timed crew bent to the oar: 
 
 Azure and gold the badge they bore 
 
 Upon their shoulders: in the bow 
 
 Waved graceful o'er the deep below 900 
 
 E Stella's standard's azure fold, 
 
 Emblazon'd with a cross of gold, 
 
 Whose sacred sign on either side 
 
 Two naked swords in gold divide. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 81 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 The stately barge the bark attain'd; 
 
 The deck the ancient steersman gain'd, 
 
 And bent, his lady's will to tell: 
 
 "Estella's countess greets you well; 
 
 Prays of your courtesy to say, 
 
 If, haply on your ocean way, 970 
 
 You may have met the Isidore, 
 
 From ancient Spain for Cuba's shore: 
 
 A gallant brig, for whose return 
 
 In vain our fondest wishes burn." 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 "No brig," Latharo said, "from Spain 
 Has past our vessel on the main: 
 And scarcely could a bark that sails 
 Have met unscathed the boisterous gales; 
 Which we ourselves could hardly scape 
 Between the north and southern cape, 980 
 
 Within whose bounds the tempests sweep 
 O'er Biscay's ever restless deep." 
 "Alas! too well arose my fear, 
 What ill-starr'd news might meet me here," 
 The old man cried, and wiped away 
 The tears that fill'd his lashes gray, 
 And trickled down his faded face: 
 " Yet of her hospitable grace 
 6 
 
82 CANTO II. 
 
 My lady prays, that all will come 
 And claim her castle for their home. 990 
 
 For all the festal board is spreads- 
 Prepared for each the tranquil bed; 
 Prompt to relieve the wants and pain 
 Of hapless wanderers on the main." 
 "Thanks to her care!" Latharo said: 
 "Straight to our chief shall be convey'd 
 The welcome summons; on whose will 
 Await our humbler wishes still: 
 For us, we all would gladly share 
 As grateful guests the lady's fare." 1000 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 The boat is gone: a moment's space, 
 The deck Latharo's footsteps trace; 
 A moment stands he, wrapt in thought, 
 Or ere his leader's couch he sought, 
 To whose young ears must now be borne 
 The unlook'd for tidings of the morn. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Within the shade of a close recess, 
 
 Lost in a brief forgetfulness, 
 
 Lay Ermingade: his simple bed 
 
 On a hammock of plaited grass was spread, 1010 
 
 And there the youth reposed and smiled. 
 
 His wasted features were calm and mild; 
 
THE CAPTIVE. S3 
 
 No picture his sleeping fancy drew 
 
 Of his pirate life and his traitor crew : 
 
 No bitter visions disturb'd his mind 
 
 Of the rankling wrong from his fellow kind. 
 
 But he thought of his home of other days, 
 
 Of his peaceful scenes and his happier ways ; 
 
 And he thought of his youth, till his features wore 
 
 The joyous smile of his youth once more. 1020 
 
 L. 
 
 But he heard the sound of Latharo's tread, 
 
 And the blessed joy of his visions fled. 
 
 He waked not yet: but his varying dream 
 
 Assumed a darker, a deadlier theme. 
 
 And then he thought of his childish page, 
 
 Preserved of late from his comrades' rage : 
 
 And the room was throng'd with a desperate brood, 
 
 Demanding the little victim's blood. 
 
 And he thought Latharo stood coldly by, 
 
 And view'd the scene with a careless eye. 1030 
 
 Till, when alone he madly tried 
 
 The innocent child from their wrath to hide, 
 
 Latharo's hand his arm restrain'd. 
 
 He woke : the scene of his dream remain'd ; 
 
 Latharo's hand was lightly prest 
 
 Upon the sleeper's struggling breast. 
 
 6-2 
 
84 CANTO II. 
 
 LI. 
 
 "Your pardon for the intrusion, chief! 
 
 Yet if my eyes may gain belief, 
 
 But little your repose will miss 
 
 From loss of slumber such as this. 1040 
 
 The important news, we meet with here, 
 
 Such as requires your instant ear, 
 
 Pleads my excuse." Then calm and grave 
 
 The tidings of the morn he gave; 
 
 And added, "Let the truth be told! 
 
 If this our cherish'd purpose hold, 
 
 That luckless captive's rescued life 
 
 May prove the cause of fatal strife. 
 
 Our present shelter here appears 
 
 Dependent on the hopes and fears 10.50 
 
 Of one, against whose claim of sway 
 
 This child alone obstructs the way; 
 
 And, sooth, were his existence known, 
 
 To us would little grace be shown. 
 
 Think not, I care for the support 
 
 And safeguard of this batter'd fort : 
 
 But vainly have we spread the lure, 
 
 To make our day of vengeance sure, 
 
 If that fell sloop the means command 
 
 To hem us in by sea and land: 1060 
 
 And great our peril, lest a word 
 
 Betray the secret to the lord: 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 85 
 
 Betray it in the latest hour, 
 
 Too late perchance to brave his power. 
 
 One way is safe." He whisper'd low: 
 
 Sprang from his couch the leader ; " No, 
 
 Never!" while struggled in his eye 
 
 Disdain and rage for mastery. 
 
 Rush'd to his. cheek the island blood : 
 
 In firmer, manlier grace he stood, 1070 
 
 And thus his prompt resolve pursued. 
 
 LII. 
 
 "He shall not die: no, not were all 
 
 Our hopes o'erthrown, he shall not fall; 
 
 Fall, whilst one sword obeys my will, 
 
 And I have life and feeling still." 
 
 Roused by his voice's altered tone, 
 
 Upsprang the captive, where alone 
 
 He lay unheeded; not from fear, 
 
 For England's speech unused to hear, 
 
 The words fell senseless on his ear. 1080 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Latharo's brow relax'd. He smiled 
 
 To see the bearing of the child. 
 
 O'er his soft cheek their tinge of red 
 
 Scarce six short summer's suns had spread; 
 
 So rich his lips' vermillion hue, 
 
 The freshness of the rose seem'd new : 
 
86 CANTO II. 
 
 The hazel of his eye so bright, 
 
 It seem'd yet moist with dews of light : 
 
 In glossy curls his tresses black 
 
 Hung clustering down his neck and back, 1090 
 
 Met by the close and simple vest, 
 
 Whose white his servile state confest. 
 
 But innate grandeur mark'd the air 
 
 Of that young child, so slight and fair: 
 
 His little form raised to its height; 
 
 His slight arm'd rear'd in puny might, 
 
 The other held the pirate's hand; 
 
 His mild eye flashing in command; 
 
 For lightened up in that mild eye 
 
 Were both command and sovereignty. 1100 
 
 Then as he scann'd his champion's face, 
 
 His features lost their former grace: 
 
 Enquiry and alarm they wore; 
 
 And, while his fancy wander'd o'er 
 
 Sad thoughts of shadowy ills at hand,' 
 
 In accents from his native land, 
 
 So soft, so sweet, he murmur'd low 
 
 An unknown pray'r. "Latharo, no! 
 
 Breathe not a word of scath or woe," 
 
 The chief resumed: "In spring's blithe hour, 1110 
 
 Could human heart put forth the power 
 
 To nip so sweet, so fair a flower? 
 
 Here, as he hath till now remain'd, 
 
 By bonds of kindness only chain'd, 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 87 
 
 Here let him stay a captive yet, 
 
 Till we have claim'd our bloody debt. 
 
 That end attain'd, when I resign 
 
 The bark, the power, now hardly mine ; 
 
 Of all the spoils, my right may own, 
 
 I seek this captive boy alone: 1120 
 
 And swear by all below, above, 
 
 That once I dared to fear and love, 
 
 That mother's child, that castle's lord, 
 
 To his own father's right restor'd, 
 
 Shall lend to memory's sky one ray 
 
 To cheer me on my dying day. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 But should perchance a wayward fate 
 
 Expose him to his kinsman's hate; 
 
 Or should my bloody comrades dare 
 
 To threat one ringlet of his hair; 1130 
 
 That very day, that very hour, 
 
 Shall yield him to his mother's tower, 
 
 Though, by one act of mercy crost, 
 
 Our present vengeance all be lost. 
 
 That end, for which I've madly sought, 
 
 For which I've sinn'd, for which I've fought, 
 
 Would lose, when gain'd, its promised bliss, 
 
 If sullied by such blood as this." 
 
88 CANTO II. 
 
 LV. 
 
 "I would not choose," Latharo said, 
 
 "An urchin's life our hopes betray'd; 1140 
 
 Nor would I willingly destroy 
 
 The life uncall'd for of the boy. 
 
 Your purpose for the coming night? 
 
 Should we forego the promised rite, 
 
 Absence might breed suspicion." "No, 
 
 Thither will I in person go." 
 
 The captain quick replied; 
 "Attended by a chosen few, 
 The best, the trustiest, of our crew, 
 
 My safeguard and my pride. 1150 
 
 Perchance my presence may obtain 
 Intelligence, not wholly vain, 
 For our intent. Battista there 
 Shall likewise in my train repair; 
 Little I fear, his bragging tongue 
 Shall breed despite, or do us wrong, 
 What time the lady's ample bowl 
 Has clogg'd with wine the drunkard's soul. 
 La Gata's rude ungentle mien 
 
 As little suits the festal scene, 1160 
 
 As is his gross and villain mind 
 Despiteful to his fellow kind. 
 Thus may we sever and defy 
 Brute strength and fraudful treachery. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 89 
 
 Give to the chosen few command, 
 And be the boats at sunset mann'd." 
 
 LVI. 
 
 "At sunset shall your followers wait: 
 
 Estella's" "Hush!" But all too late 
 
 The cautious leader made essay 
 
 The scarcely utter'd sound to stay. 1170 
 
 The attentive page that instant heard 
 
 With quicken'd ear the well-known word. 
 
 Rush'd through his mind with livelier powers 
 
 The memory of his father's towers. 
 
 With streaming eyes and lifted hands, 
 
 Mute and amazed awhile he stands; 
 
 Then from his guardian's side he springs, 
 
 And wildly round Latharo clings. 
 
 A while his voice's struggling sound 
 
 Sob after sob convulsive drown'd, 1180 
 
 And, when he spoke, scarce-uttered came 
 
 In broken tones his mother's name. 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 THE BANQUET. 
 
 I. 
 FAIR was the scene in Estella's hall, 
 
 Where in a gallant band 
 The Rovers held high festival 
 
 With the nobles of the land. 
 Proud names were there of ancient praise, 
 
 Themes of their country's strains, 
 Renown'd in Moorish battle-days 
 
 On Andalusia's plains. 
 Some who had fled their native shore 
 
 From Moorish hate or fear; 10 
 
 Some who had sought the buried ore 
 
 Of Eldorado here. 
 But age has clouded fancy's glass, 
 
 And dimm'd her dazzling beams, 
 As with the days of boyhood pass 
 
 The boy's delightful dreams. 
 In youth they left their fathers' land 
 
 With expectations high : 
 
92 CANTO III. 
 
 As old men on a foreign strand, 
 
 They only stay'd to die. 20 
 
 And there they rear'd their stately forts 
 
 With new-born sympathies, 
 And saw within their growing courts 
 
 Another race arise. 
 Yet mid a life of toil and ill 
 
 Did their thoughts of home remain : 
 And they call'd their children Spaniards still, 
 
 And they call'd their country Spain. 
 
 II. 
 
 But what avails their deeds to trace, 
 
 Their titles or their powers ? 30 
 
 Their race is a forgotten race, 
 
 And the grass is on their towers. 
 The turkey cries within their halls, 
 
 The wild cat prowls for food; 
 There is scarcely shelter in their walls 
 
 For the western pirate's brood. 
 The sportsman, who with venturous feet 
 
 Through the thick jungle strays, 
 May in his wanderings chance to meet 
 
 Relics of other days: 40 
 
 May rest him on some sculptured stone, 
 
 Or buttress old and bare; 
 But thoughtlessly he passes on , 
 
 Time has no record there. 
 
THE BANQUET. 93 
 
 III. 
 
 Unworthy of such gloomy fate 
 
 The fair and lovely band, 
 Who with their sires and kinsmen sate, 
 
 The ladies of the land ; 
 Bright pictures of a noble race, 
 
 With looks that still maintain 50 
 
 The deep rich bloom, the haughty grace, 
 
 And the dark proud eye of Spain. 
 Theirs was the dance, and theirs the song; 
 
 And, if the song was mute, 
 'Twas their the memory to prolong 
 
 Of their old country's lute: 
 And light and soft that lute was strung 
 
 At their high sires' behests, 
 And many a lovely lay was sung 
 
 To greet their stranger guests. 60 
 
 Forgotten was the life of blood, 
 
 Of rapine, and of crime, 
 In the courage and the hardihood 
 
 Of the Rovers of the time. 
 Thus glory graced of yore the name 
 
 Of the northmen's chieftains bold; 
 Thus England's lays record the fame 
 
 Of the ocean kings of old ; 
 For courage is a wandering star, 
 
 Whose bright and glittering ray 70 
 
94* CANTO III. 
 
 Diverts us from the cloud of war, 
 
 That oft o'erhangs its way. 
 And thus in old Estella's hall, 
 
 A rude and daring band, 
 The rovers held high festival 
 
 With the nobles of the land. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The mistress of the castle, yet 
 
 In her raiment's sable fold, 
 By her ancestral coronet 
 
 Her honour'd station told. 80 
 
 A sable scarf the circle bound, 
 
 And its sparkling pride conceal'd, 
 A funeral pall the throne around 
 
 The armorial ensigns veil'd. 
 And there within the dark recess 
 
 The lady sate that night, 
 A form of pensive loveliness 
 
 A melancholy light. 
 Her forehead wore a death-like whiteness 
 
 Amid the drapery's gloom, 90 
 
 Her black eyes an unearthly brightness 
 
 From the lustre of the room; 
 Waved o'er her neck her shadowy hair, 
 
 And midst its darkness shone 
 A carcanet of jewels rare, 
 
 The jewels of a throne. 
 
THE BANQUET. 95 
 
 Calm and unmoved she seem'd; but when 
 
 Her kinsman's glances came, 
 There was a slight convulsion then, 
 
 A shuddering through her frame, 100 
 
 As to the mother's feelings rush'd 
 
 The downfall of her race : 
 But the deep emotion soon was hushed, 
 
 And with a woman's grace 
 Glanced her proud look around the hall, 
 
 And each who met her eye 
 Felt on his inmost bosom fall 
 
 The silent courtesy. 
 
 V. 
 
 But chiefly fell that courteous grace 
 
 On him who held the unwonted place 110 
 
 Of honour at her bridal hand, 
 
 The leader of the pirate band ; 
 
 Preferr'd as guest of high degree 
 
 Amidst that noble company. 
 
 To him she turn'd: for in his eye 
 
 The sadness seem'd like sympathy; 
 
 And calm his mien, unlike the crowd 
 
 Of his companions, rude and loud. 
 
 To him she bent her listening ear, 
 
 The soft sounds of his voice to hear, 120 
 
 Though strangely on his accents hung 
 
 The sweet notes of her native tongue. 
 
96 CANTO III. 
 
 She watch'd him with a sister's look, 
 As if she scarce the thought could brook 
 That that slight youth, so fair and mild, 
 Should be the ocean's rugged child. 
 
 VI. 
 
 For him she fill'd the bowl; the strain 
 
 Roused by her call went round in vain 
 
 His eye survey'd the festal hall, 
 
 And rested on the funeral pall; 130 
 
 And he had seen the bitter strife 
 
 Of feeling, struggling into life, 
 
 A moment still'd, but unreprest, 
 
 Within the widow'd mother's breast. 
 
 And there she sate, unconscious, nigh 
 
 The cause of half her agony : 
 
 And he had once a mother too ! 
 
 Pale and more pale his features grew: 
 
 The lady mark'd him; with a sign 
 
 Bore to his hand a bowl of wine, 140 
 
 And gave the pledge. The choral throng 
 
 Raised at the word the welcoming song; 
 
 And bright eyes on the youth were cast, 
 
 As thus the lay of greeting past. 
 
THE BANQUET. 97 
 
 VII. 
 
 SONG OF WELCOME. 
 1. 
 
 Waken the song for the stranger! 
 
 He comes from the seas afar; 
 O'er the wide ocean a ranger, 
 
 He comes from the fields of war. 
 The hand, that the goblet presses, 
 
 Has wielded a hoarder's brand; 150 
 
 The curls of his rich brown tresses 
 
 Have waved in a distant land; 
 The glance that now falls on beauty, 
 
 From a cold and a careless eye, 
 Was stern in the hour of duty, 
 
 And bright when the foe was nigh. 
 
 2. 
 Waken the song for the stranger ! 
 
 Oh! deem not his bosom cold, 
 If nurtured in scenes of danger, 
 
 He seem as the grave and old. 160 
 
 Through his heart may be currents stealing, 
 
 Redundant with life and truth, 
 As a boy's first passionate feeling 
 
 In the early dawn of youth. 
 Though their freshness may now be faded, 
 
 Though clouded his heart and brow, 
 They have not been always shaded; 
 
 Oh, wake them to brightness now ! 
 7 
 
98 CANTO III. 
 
 3. 
 Waken the song of greeting ! 
 
 For, oh ! in his native bowers 170 
 
 May be bosoms as kindly beating, 
 
 And glances as bright as ours. 
 Though their memory may now be shaken, 
 
 By an absence of toil and strife, 
 Be it ours to again awaken, 
 
 And call those forms to life. 
 If a smile on his features brighten, 
 
 That smile shall our care repay; 
 But the thoughts that his bosom lighten, 
 
 Be their's who are far away ! 180 
 
 VIII. 
 
 With powerful effort sate the chief, and felt 
 
 The inward pang each well-meant accent dealt; 
 
 Then gracefully, as ceased the bitter strain, 
 
 With tranquil look of well-dissembled pain, 
 
 Bow'd his fair greetings to the festal train, 
 
 And call'd on Albert; for beside the board 
 
 The minstrel sate, at distance from his lord. 
 
 Albert, a gentle youth, in whom combined 
 
 The tuneful voice, the imaginative mind, 
 
 Of softer manners than might well befit 190 
 
 The rough compeers with whom his lot was knit. 
 
 Well was he versed in legend, tale, and lay, 
 
 And well could while the weary night away; 
 
THE BANQUET. 99 
 
 And few there were, who, in their milder hour, 
 
 Cared not for Albert's song, and own'd its power. 
 
 But more than others, by attraction moved 
 
 Of kindred taste, the chief his minstrel loved ; 
 
 Oft in his strains a spell-like requiem sought, 
 
 To lull the tumult of unquiet thought ; 
 
 And bade him now his warbled sea-notes suit 
 
 In meet requital of the kind salute. 200 
 
 IX. 
 
 "Ho, Albert! can our ocean find no lay, 
 
 That may such gentle welcoming repay? 
 
 Rude are our notes, for which the vaulted sky 
 
 Affords the hall, the sea our harmony. 
 
 Yet may our courteous hosts in hours like these 
 
 Confess a pleasure in the will to please." 
 
 The sailor heard; and, rising at the word, 
 
 Left the unfinish'd wine-cup on the board; 
 
 And, whilst on high his eyes in fancy roved, 210 
 
 Sang the wild praises of the life he loved. 
 
 X. 
 
 THE SAILOR'S SONG. 
 1. 
 
 I cannot sing in courtly strains, 
 
 For what are courts to me? 
 I cannot sing of tented plains, 
 
 My home is on the sea. 
 But when the storm has waked the wave, 
 
 And turn'd the dark to foam, 
 
 7-2 
 
100 CANTO III, 
 
 The soul, that can the tempest brave, 
 May sing his ocean home. 
 
 2. 
 
 I cannot sing of maidens' truth, 220 
 
 Who ne'er that truth have proved: 
 I cannot sing the love of youth, 
 
 Who ne'er in youth have loved. 
 But I can sing of forms as fair 
 
 As lordly hall contains, 
 The fairy forms of sea and air, 
 
 That throng our wide domains. 
 
 3. 
 Their sighs the languid breeze inspire, 
 
 That scarce the sail unfurls; 
 Their eyes are in the sparks of fire 230 
 
 Of ocean's midnight curls; 
 Their thrones are in the streaks of light 
 
 That track the horizon's line, 
 When daybreak bursts the shades of night, 
 
 And bids old ocean shine. 
 
 4. 
 Their tears, the streams of glittering spray 
 
 That angry breakers pour; 
 Their smiles, the green, green fields away, 
 
 Beyond the breaker's roar; 
 
THE BANQUET. 1Q1 
 
 Their robes, the thin and misty shroud 240 
 
 That veils the approach of eve, 
 Mix'd with the golden-tissued cloud 
 
 That setting sun-beams leave. 
 
 5. 
 Oh, tell me not the thoughts are vain 
 
 That fancy's vision meet! 
 Oh, tell me not my wayward brain 
 
 Contains a vague conceit! 
 Oh, tell me not that beauties rare 
 
 Exist where'er I roam! 
 I may not light on forms so fair 250 
 
 As throng my ocean home. 
 
 XI. 
 
 With shout and laugh the merry throng 
 Receiv'd young Albert's wayward song: 
 Though on the recreant, sooth to tell, 
 Some bright indignant glances fell, 
 Grieved that the might of fairy arms 
 Should wrest the palm from beauty's charms. 
 
 XII. 
 
 "But ill," the leader, smiling, said, 
 
 "My comrade has your grace repaid: 
 
 But ever thus the wilful child 260 
 
 Indulges in his fancies wild: 
 
102 canto in. 
 
 For him the spirit of the storms 
 
 Assumes a thousand uncouth forms: 
 
 The common changes of the seas 
 
 Present romantic images; 
 
 And every cloud that shades the air 
 
 Seems some fantastic shape to wear." 
 
 "Blame not for this the favour'd boy/' 
 
 The lady said: "nor fain destroy 
 
 The happy visions of a mind 270 
 
 Exalted o'er his fellow kind! 
 
 Oh, trust me, in a life like this, 
 
 I envy him the unfailing bliss 
 
 O'er nature's elements to brood, 
 
 Associates of his solitude ; 
 
 To screen himself his world within, 
 
 And fly from folly and from sin. 
 
 Trust me, I envy to his eye 
 
 The pictures of the changing sky; 
 
 I envy to the dreamer's mind 280 
 
 His converse with the fitful wind; 
 
 To hear the gentle southern leave 
 
 Her love-notes on the ear of eve, 
 
 Hear the majestic north proclaim 
 
 The terrors of a mightier name: 
 
 And, oh, how sweetly to his soul 
 
 The music of that breeze must roll, 
 
 Whose infant murmurings wander o'er 
 
 The green fields of his native shore !" 
 
THE BANQUET. 103 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The leader answer'd, "not in vain, 290 
 
 Your praise is spoke; for, hark! again 
 
 The daring youth renews the strain. 
 
 If rightly may this prelude tell 
 
 The coming air, I know it well, 
 
 A legend of the northmen old, 
 
 And by alternate voices told. 
 
 The youth will bear, as best he may, 
 
 The two-fold burden of the lay." 
 
 In softest notes, whose liquid thrill 
 
 Fair lips might envy and be still, 300 
 
 Had Albert raised his simple song; 
 
 Such notes awhile the strain prolong: 
 
 Then skilfully away they die, 
 
 And deeper notes the part supply. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE NORTH PIRATE AND HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 1. 
 
 Our galley, how madly 
 
 She darts on her way! 
 Her bows and her bulwarks 
 
 Are streaming with spray; 
 Her lofty yards buckle, 
 
 And bends the tall mast; 310 
 
 O, save me, my love, 
 
 From the strength of the blast ! 
 
J04 CANTO III. 
 
 2. 
 
 O, save me, my dearest! 
 
 Not such is the breeze, 
 That scarcely awakens 
 
 A curl on the seas; 
 When rich with the perfumes 
 
 Of Araby's sky, 
 The noon's fiery pinions 
 
 Float languidly by. 320 
 
 3. 
 I love the light breezes 
 
 That blow from that strand; 
 They tell of the sweets 
 
 Of my own native land; 
 But my heart sinks within me, 
 
 I shrink when comes forth 
 The keen bitter voice 
 
 Of the boisterous north. 
 
 1. 
 
 Nay, tremble not, loved one, 
 
 For steady, though strong, 330 
 
 Is the breeze that I hail, 
 
 As it bears us along. 
 Its voice, as it sweeps 
 
 O'er the moonlight-lit sea, 
 
THE BANQUET. 105 
 
 Is more dear than the gales 
 Of Arabia to me. 
 
 2. 
 The air, that hangs heavy 
 
 And languid at noon, 
 In passionate gusts 
 
 May awaken too soon; 340 
 
 And the sail, that scarce swells 
 
 To its breathing at morn, 
 May at eve, by its fury, 
 
 Be shattered and torn. 
 
 3. 
 I love the proud tones 
 
 Of the shadowy north 
 When it takes o'er the billows 
 
 Its mighty march forth; 
 I bow to its presence, 
 
 Fit veil for the forms 350 
 
 Of the spirits that dwell 
 
 In my island of storms. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Meanwhile Lord Alvez, who by right 
 
 The banquet's second place possest, 
 Had vainly tried the livelong night 
 
 To hide the conflict in his breast. 
 
106 CANTO III. 
 
 Scarce might he, as a truth, receive 
 
 The tale he panted to believe; 
 
 And with shrewd questions, but in vain, 
 
 Had oft assail'd the pirate train. 360 
 
 The evasive speech, and blunt reply, 
 
 Still foil'd him in his scrutiny; 
 
 For not in vain Latharo's skill 
 
 Had warn'd them of the expected ill, 
 
 Lest, by such specious arts essay'd, 
 
 The weighty secret be betray 'd. 
 
 Thus foil'd he mark'd, with anxious mien, 
 
 The varying features of the scene ; 
 
 And turn'd to where without control 
 
 Battista drain d the frequent bowl, 370 
 
 Whilst deepen'd in his large wild eye 
 
 The red light of debauchery. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 He might not, mid the assembled crowd, 
 
 Pursue his course with question loud. 
 
 Yet much he hoped, when for the ball 
 
 The banqueters had left the hall, 
 
 From that rude reveller might be caught 
 
 Some tidings of the tale he sought. 
 
 Would that the hall were clear'd! But how? 
 
 Calm was the lady's lofty brow, 380 
 
 Forgetful of the passing time 
 
 In varying speech, and tale, and rhyme; 
 
THE BANQUET. 107 
 
 And, pleas'd with her companion mild, 
 
 Smooth was her cheek, almost it smiled. 
 
 Would that the hall were clear'd! Apart, 
 
 Associate of his father's art, 
 
 His son with well-dissemhled care 
 
 Appear'd the blithest reveller there. 
 
 The father caught his eye; the youth drew near, 
 
 Bent for a moment his attentive ear, 390 
 
 And well the listener may at once divine 
 
 The hasty whisper'd word, and secret sign. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Then loud Lord Alvez spoke: "In tale and lay 
 
 The seamen bear the palm away. 
 
 Sebastian, rise! to you belong 
 
 Some favours of a child of song : 
 
 Not the rich bird-notes, such as hung 
 
 On yonder youthful minstrel's tongue; 
 
 But simpler numbers, which the ear 
 
 Of village maid might list to hear. 400 
 
 Sebastian, rise; sing to my choice!" 
 
 Obedient to his father's voice, 
 
 Slowly he rose, and paused till all 
 
 Were silent in the festal hall; 
 
 Then, in a low and mellow tone, 
 
 The melancholy lay went on. 
 
108 CANTO III. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 O cruelty! such sounds to bear 
 
 To a distracted mother's ear! 
 
 O cruelty! to wake again 
 
 To agony her slumbering pain, 410 
 
 And bid her wasted bosom thrill 
 
 With feelings, for a moment still! 
 
 The Spaniard's lay was soft and sweet, 
 
 For mourner's secret sorrows meet; 
 
 But ill became the lighted hall, 
 
 Bright with the giddy festival. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 SEBASTIAN'S SONG. 
 THE MOTHER AND CHILD. 
 
 1. 
 
 They met, the mother and the child, 
 
 To take a fond farewell; 
 The agony, the transport wild, 
 
 Their sad foreboding tell. 420 
 
 She to her lonely home has past, 
 
 His path is on the main: 
 Their first farewell has been their last; 
 
 They may not meet again! 
 
 2. 
 The thrush may fearless build her nest 
 That mother's cot beside, 
 
THE BANQUET. 109 
 
 The wind must lull that boy to rest 
 
 Far on the ocean tide. 
 But though around his weary head 
 
 Its rage is pour'd in vain, 430 
 
 Though brand and ball have harmless sped, 
 
 They may not meet again! 
 
 3. 
 Oh ! deep the memory of the past 
 
 Within his bosom burn'd, 
 When to his native home at last 
 
 The wanderer had returned. 
 But a passing bell has struck his ear, 
 
 He saw a funeral train; 
 His mother's voice he could not hear, 
 
 They never met again! 440 
 
 XX. 
 
 The ballad ceased, and through the room 
 
 All sate in silence and in gloom. 
 
 The sob represt, the softer sigh, 
 
 And tears in many a lovely eye, 
 
 And that sad silence, deep and long, 
 
 Bore burden to the minstrel's song. 
 
 At length the lady waved her hand, 
 
 Scarce could her struggling voice command, 
 
 " Friends, to the ball !" Low as she spoke, 
 
 Her voice the painful silence broke. 460 
 
110 CANTO III. 
 
 The hall was clear'd. Then, proud and high, 
 She turn'd and met that noble's eye; 
 And ill by craven might be borne 
 Her calm cold look of deepest scorn. 
 Pride had controll'd affection's power, 
 Or she had fainted in that hour. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 I said the hall was clear'd; but still remain 
 
 Some scanty reliques of the festal train: 
 
 Rude revellers these, by wasting habit curst 
 
 With overwhelming, never-ending thirst; 460 
 
 To whom the frequent draught could yield no ease, 
 
 The frequent draught but heighten'd the disease. 
 
 For such Lord Alvez play'd the courteous host, 
 
 Past the full bowl, and gave the exciting toast; 
 
 Till now, subdued in the unequal fray, 
 
 Reel'd soul and sense, and soul and sense gave way. 
 
 These fall bewilder'd on the heaving floor; 
 
 These, feebly rolling, stagger to the door; 
 
 And of the bacchanalian host are none, 
 
 But the Lord Alvez and two guests alone. 470 
 
 XXII. 
 
 How different were the aspects of the two 
 Who stay'd the revel of the pirate crew ! 
 Battista one; and seated by his side, 
 A dark slim boy in equal goblets vied, 
 
THE BANQUET. Ill 
 
 Urged the repeated draughts with vauntings proud, 
 
 And barr'd all converse by his clamour loud. 
 
 Now watch'd Lord Alvez, versed in subtle art, 
 
 To gain the advantage of his practised part. 
 
 He mark'd a pause, and by his skilful play 
 
 Led the young reveller's eager thoughts away, 480 
 
 By question slight, and observation sly, 
 
 That scarcely needed notice or reply; 
 
 And saw with keen delight his victim frame 
 
 The ready answer ere the question came. 
 
 Then drew towards his goal; but all too late 
 
 His plan disclosed, to learn his kinsman's fate. 
 
 Scarce had he spoke of tempest-shatter'd sails, 
 
 Of midnight shipwrecks, and of northern gales, 
 
 When the wine did its part; the stripling's eye, 
 
 Dazzled and glazed, confest its mastery. 490 
 
 In thick dull sounds the unmeaning answer hung 
 
 Or died imperfect on the stammerer's tongue. 
 
 He rose: but, stumbling in his late retreat, 
 
 Sank without motion at Battista's feet. 
 
 There let us leave them, and awhile repair 
 
 To other scenes, that claim our earlier care. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 For fair are the scenes that our wonder demand! 
 
 Turn your gaze upward, and mark where we stand, 
 
 Rich the saloon in the depth of the towers, 
 
 Hung with fresh branches, and glowing with flowers; 500 
 
112 CANTO III. 
 
 Boughs from the greenwood, the freshest and lightest, 
 
 And flowers from the wildbanks, the gayest and brightest; 
 
 Coronets there of nature's own tying, 
 
 And garlands of beauty of nature's own dying. 
 
 See through the coronets lustres are beaming, 
 
 As young stars of evening, through forest-leaves streaming; 
 
 Mark the light cressets with garlands around them, 
 
 Blending their rays with the flowers that surround them. 
 
 Turn the gaze upward, how brilliant the show! 
 
 More brilliant the scene that is passing below. 510 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Fresh as the branches first waked by the day, 
 
 Sweet as the blossoms just breathed on by May, 
 
 Clear as a star when it wanders on high, 
 
 An emerald light in a violet sky; 
 
 Loveliest of visions from nature's fair loom 
 
 Are nature's fair daughters that sport through the room; 
 
 Where as silver bells tinkling, the cymbal is heard; 
 
 Where the lute warbles forth its sweet notes as a bird; 
 
 Where the airy guitar borrows grace from the sound 
 
 Of her own liquid voice, as the dancer glides round. 520 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Let us join the blithe picture, and say shall our gaze 
 Trace each girl's tiny feet in the saraband's maze? 
 As well might we seek, when the sky lances forth 
 Its midnight irradiance, the lights of the north, 
 
THE BANQUET. 113 
 
 To count the thick flashes now here and now there, 
 
 That stream o'er the concave or shoot through the air. 
 
 As well might we seek on the shadowy deep, 
 
 When the clouds are at rest, and the wind is asleep, 
 
 When a ripple glides over the waters beneath, 
 
 We know not from whence, for there is not a breath; 530 
 
 When the moon passes down, and the light that she bears 
 
 Is stay'd in its passage, and broke into stars: 
 
 As well might we count every star that is seen 
 
 Thus dancing and glittering the ripples between, 
 
 By thousands and thousands of fairy lights crost, 
 
 And now in an ocean of radiancy lost; 
 
 As hope with our vision to trace on their way 
 
 The quick-glancing steps of the light and the gay. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Amid the gay revellers, the first of the throng, 
 The rovers are mingling in dance and in song, 540 
 
 As lightsome as fire-flies, when evening awakes 
 Their living effulgence on mountains and brakes. 
 The brilliant attire, and the sparkling black eyes, 
 And the manly cheeks glowing with sun and with skies, 
 Leave their image in many a fair maiden's breast, 
 When she flies to her couch as a dove to her nest; 
 There to flit through her dreams, and revive in her there 
 With a something of joy and a something of care: 
 Of joy, as she thinks of the flattering train, 
 Of care, that she knows they shall meet not again. 550 
 
 8 
 
114 CANTO III. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 But they, the young rovers, unthinking and free, 
 
 From bright one to bright one glide on in their glee, 
 
 As the butterfly floats o'er the sparkling parterre, 
 
 And sips each sweet blossom that flourishes there. 
 
 So rest they, so pass they; a moment they stay 
 
 With a laugh and a whisper, then vanish away, 
 
 All happy, and reckless of cares of to-morrow; 
 
 To-night is their own, and to-night has no sorrow. 
 
 And, haply, if wandering once more on the main, 
 
 They may think of these visions of beauty again, 560 
 
 The laugh will be light, and the glass will be crown'd, 
 
 And gaily and freely the wine-cup pass round, 
 
 As they drink to the health of Estella's old hall, 
 
 To the sweet ones, and fair ones, to each and to all. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Thus joyous was the night; but of the list 
 
 Three recreant stragglers from the scene were mist; 
 
 Yon hoary reveller, and that dark, slim, boy, 
 
 And the young leader, to whom scenes of joy 
 
 Were irksome, and who glided from the train, 
 
 Follow'd by many a lovely eye in vain. 570 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Far in an angle of the festive room, 
 
 Where verdant branches spread a shadowy gloom, 
 
THE BANQUET. 115 
 
 A vaulted oriel open'd to the sea, 
 Surrounded by a narrow balcony. 
 Unclosed the window, that the evening air 
 
 Might through the room its freshness fling, 
 It could not dim one lustre there, 
 
 So gentle was its whispering. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 There leant the Pirate; and with careless eye 
 
 Follow'd each star that wander'd through the sky. 580 
 
 Westward he mark'd his childhood's earliest friend, 
 
 The bright Orion, to the deep descend; 
 
 There in the wave the flaming Dog star dip, 
 
 And there Canopus in the heavenly ship. 
 
 Northward the Twins their kindred lustre show'd; 
 
 The southern Cross in sacred symbol glow'd; 
 
 The rival Centaurs swept the eastern main, 
 
 Where great Antares led his glittering train. 
 
 A step his revery broke: he turn'd and eyed 
 
 The castle's mistress standing by his side: 590 
 
 The painful shock had faded from her mind, 
 
 And now she stood collected and resign'd. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 "A dreamer thou!" she said: "I fear, 
 The wild life of a privateer, 
 (Forgive me, if my fancy frame 
 A deeper blot upon the name!) 
 
 82 
 
116 CANTO III. 
 
 But little pleasure can afford 
 
 To one who shuns the bowl and board. 
 
 Oh, would that one, so poor as I, 
 
 A better station might supply! 600 
 
 Were I but now, as I have been, 
 
 A castle's and a country's queen, 
 
 Trust me, if fair expanse of land, 
 
 If honour'd place, and high command, 
 
 Might win you from such life away, 
 
 Or even bribe a longer stay; 
 
 Full gladly had such gifts been given: 
 
 But now my only hope is heaven. 
 
 Time passes on. This very night 
 
 Deprives my name of half its right." 610 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 "To night!" exclaim'd the youth. " Alas !" 
 
 She answer'd, "Ere an hour can pass, 
 
 The circuit of one little hour, 
 
 A guest within my native tower 
 
 Am I! By charter long disused, 
 
 And now revived to be abused, 
 
 My cruel kinsman then will claim 
 
 The ruling of my house and name. 
 
 'Tis a brief tale : and, but I fear 
 
 Intrusion on a stranger's ear, 620 
 
 I would my mournful fate unfold; 
 
 'Twould soothe me that the tale were told." 
 
THE BANQUET. 117 
 
 "Nay, speak," the Leader made reply: 
 "A sad but willing listener I." 
 His ready speech, his answering look, 
 The lady mark'd, and promptly spoke. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 "Far distant in the ancient time, 
 
 While in the councils of their clime 
 
 The founders of our noble race 
 
 Maintain'd a high and honour'd place; 630 
 
 After some well-contested fray, 
 
 Forgotten now in tale or lay, 
 
 When numbered were E Stella's host, 
 
 The chieftain of their name was lost. 
 
 The field was search'd: he was not dead; 
 
 And an Estella never fled. 
 
 If captive to the foe, his name 
 
 Had surely swell'd their roll of fame. 
 
 But still he came not. Months were gone, 
 
 And years on years roll'd slowly on; 640 
 
 No kinsman and no son had he 
 
 To claim his fathers sovereignty; 
 
 And, unwithstood, his princely lands 
 
 Were parted into other hands: 
 
 His ancient name was nigh forgot, 
 
 And his own castle knew it not. 
 
118 CANTO III. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 "When fifty years had past away, 
 
 An aged man, worn out and grey, 
 
 Rescued from long captivity, 
 
 Came to his natal land to die, 650 
 
 Attended by a manly heir, 
 
 His father's noble name to share. 
 
 Where was it now? His story told 
 
 Was recognized by young and old, 
 
 Yet hardly could the senior trace 
 
 The lost possessions of his race. 
 
 Short be my tale. The king restored 
 
 His titles to the ancient lord, 
 
 And ample gifts of land supplied 
 
 His old domain's diminish'd pride. 660 
 
 Yet mindful of the lost and found, 
 
 The cautious monarch held him bound 
 
 By this hard charter to the place; 
 
 That, should the chieftain of the race 
 
 Be absent from his own command 
 
 For three brief months on foreign land, 
 
 And send no tidings of his fate, 
 
 His next of kin might seize his state, 
 
 The allegiance of his subjects claim, 
 
 And rule them in his kinsman's name. 670 
 
 And, should a twelvemonth and a day, 
 
 Uncheer'd by tidings pass away, 
 
THE BANQUET. 119 
 
 His name and honours should be lost; 
 His kinsman rule his forfeit host, 
 Assume the title as his own, 
 And the old ruler sink unknown. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Three weary months have fill'd their round, 
 
 When tolls the bell its midnight sound, 
 
 Since died my lord. Nay, start not, youth! 
 
 Him can I name: I know the truth; 680 
 
 And bitter were the tears I shed, 
 
 To know my bosom's lord was dead. 
 
 But bitterer 'tis to ruminate 
 
 Upon that other's unknown fate; 
 
 To fancy thousand forms of ill, 
 
 Of which the least has power to kill; 
 
 Or worse, to dream of hopes in vain, 
 
 And only wake to added pain!" 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 The tears stole slowly from her eye, 
 While thus the listener made reply: 690 
 
 "Oh would," he cried, "my valiant band 
 Might guard for you your name and land! 
 Were he the lost, the loved one, here, 
 Slight cause were his or yours for fear, 
 But our good swords might guard his right 
 Against yon grasping noble's might." 
 
120 CANTO HI. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 "Nay, gallant youth!" the lady said, 
 
 "In vain were given your generous aid, 
 
 Did fate restore my child at last; 
 
 (Alas! his childhood is not past!) 700 
 
 For, trust me, such were his command, 
 
 In lifting but that little hand, 
 
 That every arm and every sword 
 
 Would rise in succour of their lord ! 
 
 How gladly then 'twere ours to say, 
 
 Here let your bark securely stay, 
 
 Protected by our friendly bay, 
 
 And shelter'd from your direst foes, 
 
 Though England's self your path oppose." 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The youth look'd down, and well he guess'd 710 
 
 The lady read his secret breast, 
 
 And in his lineaments could trace 
 
 The light lines of his northern race. 
 
 But deeper thoughts his voice restrain'd: 
 
 Was not his wish already gain'd? 
 
 The child, to name and rank restored, 
 
 A surer safeguard would afford, 
 
 By gratitude and honour both, 
 
 Than trusting to a villain's oath. 
 
THE BANQUET. 121 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 He almost spoke! when to his side 720 
 
 The lady sprang. "Jesu!" she cried, 
 
 "Is it a spirit meets my sight? 
 
 Or mortal scales the castle height?" 
 
 The chief turn'd to the balcony: 
 
 Before him lay the midnight sea, 
 
 But rocks disjointed, rude, and wild, 
 
 Were round the mighty fabric piled, 
 
 With slimy weeds and limpets strown, 
 
 By the retreating waters shown. 
 
 Nearer the castle's base around 730 
 
 Thick underwood and jungle wound, 
 
 Whence bowering shades of creepers tall 
 
 Rose straggling up the ancient wall. 
 
 XL. 
 
 By such slight ladder's feeble stay 
 
 A youth had forced adventurous way 
 
 Up the old castle's beetling side, 
 
 That threatening check'd the advancing tide: 
 
 And in mid height was resting now 
 
 Beneath the window's vaulted bow. 
 
 But scanty stay his feet command; 740 
 
 And, trusting to his sinewy hand, 
 
 Oft must he raise his balanced weight, 
 
 Oft pause for breath, and oft await, 
 
122 CANTO III. 
 
 Whilst clattering stones and branches rent 
 Bear token to the rash ascent: 
 Now looks he up with practis'd eye, 
 Where o'er his head the balcony 
 Seems within grasp: each nerve is strain'd 
 To its full power; the goal is gain'd; 
 Panting and breathless there he stood, 
 While through his swelling veins the blood 
 Rush'd in full currents, and his sight 
 Roam'd anxious round the dizzy height. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The leader watch'd him: well he knew 
 The boy, the youngest of the crew. 
 The same dark slender lad was he, 
 That stay'd the night's debauchery, 
 A reveller in the banquet hall, 
 When all but three had sought the ball; 
 And there had play'd his ready part 
 To foil the wily noble's art. 
 To him the Leader: "Pi pi, say 
 What brings you by so wild a way, 
 More fit for plunderer of the night, 
 Than honour'd guest in lady's sight?" 
 "Leader, the tale I bear demands 
 Instant attention at your hands, 
 And secrecy: forgive me, dame, 
 If I a moment's audience claim ; 
 
THE BANQUET. 123 
 
 But short will be my needful stay." 770 
 
 The lady bow'd and turn'd away, 
 
 Yet ever, as her steps withdrew, 
 
 A glance unquiet backward threw. 
 
 Then in a low and rapid tone 
 
 The daring youth w T ent boldly on. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 "Sent by Latharo in your name, 
 
 Among the assembled guests I came, 
 
 Prepared to hold with ear and eye 
 
 An ever watchful scrutiny: 
 
 Lest any of our pirate crew, 780 
 
 Deluded, or in heart untrue, 
 
 Should in a careless hour reveal 
 
 What cautious prudence bade conceal. 
 
 I mark'd Lord Alvez oft in vain 
 
 With questions ply the wary train: 
 
 Forewarn'd, forearm'd, against attack, 
 
 They sent the enquirer fruitless back. 
 
 So might I guess at each reply 
 
 From frowning brow and lowering eye. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 "Battista only yet remain'd 790 
 
 Unquestion'd : many a goblet drain'd 
 
 Frequent and full, devoid of taste, 
 
 Pour'd down his throat their precious waste. 
 
124 CANTO III. 
 
 I saw Lord Alvez' watchful eye 
 
 His victim in the drunkard spy, 
 
 And strove by deeper bowls of wine 
 
 To counteract the shrewd design. 
 
 In vain: though weak my mimic draught, 
 
 And potent were the cups he quaff'd, 
 
 The victory had soon been won, 800 
 
 The conqueror he, and I undone. 
 
 Thus foil'd, I changed my purposed art, 
 
 And play'd the drunkard's brutal part, 
 
 With heated brain, and reeling eye, 
 
 And loud laugh of insanity. 
 
 Then, watching an occasion meet, 
 
 I fell beneath the ruffian's feet, 
 
 Marking a spot where eye and ear 
 
 Might every motion see and hear. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 "Scarce had I thus my form arranged, 810 
 
 When Alvez all his manner changed. 
 
 And, as in old Battista's tone 
 
 He traced a spirit like his own, 
 
 All specious guile was thrown aside, 
 
 Which might his open meaning hide. 
 
 And first the ruffian's ear to gain, 
 
 He murmur'd discontented strain 
 
 Of boundless wealth, and spacious lands, 
 
 Detain'd from his, the rightful hands, 
 
THE BANQUET. 125 
 
 By a weak boy, whose dubious fate 820 
 
 No tidings told, for fear or hate. 
 
 1 Tis true/ he said, 'your comrade's tale 
 
 Reports him perish'd in the gale: 
 
 But what avails the tale, though true, 
 
 If nine long months must still ensue, 
 
 Whilst in my proper halls I stand 
 
 With borrow'd style and frail command?' 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " ' The name your missing vessel bore V 
 
 Battista ask'd. 'The Isidore/ 
 
 At mention of that well-known ship, 830 
 
 I saw the deep curl of the lip, 
 
 And glare of passion in the eye. 
 
 He mutter'd, but made no reply; 
 
 While, heedless of his surly mood, 
 
 The noble thus his speech pursued. 
 
 'Believe me, friend, your privateer 
 
 Might do me worthy service here, 
 
 And amply should your timely aid 
 
 With wealth and costly store be paid. 
 
 Yet fear I on such deep employ 840 
 
 To trust so young, so soft, a boy, 
 
 As seems your leader: had he been, 
 
 Like the brave captains I have seen, 
 
 Of stature huge, and features bold, 
 
 Experienced as yourself, and old, 
 
126 CANTO III. 
 
 How gladly would my soul rely 
 On such stout heart as firm ally!' 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 " ' Speak on/ Battista with a sneer 
 
 Replied, 'and think the leader here!' 
 
 'Mark/ said the tempter: 'grant that fate 850 
 
 Restores the missing bark, though late, 
 
 Yet still before the happy hour 
 
 That seats me in a lasting power; 
 
 If off our port your schooner lay, 
 
 And chanced to meet her on her way, 
 
 Doubt not but she is richly stored 
 
 With gold, and silks, and gems on board. 
 
 The choicest fruits of every clime 
 
 Would pay you for your loss of time ; 
 
 And one small carcass, be it told, 860 
 
 Is fairly worth its weight in gold. 
 
 Would that the Rubi's fair command 
 
 Was vested in your gallant hand!' 
 
 XLVII. 
 "His specious flattery reach'd the heart, 
 And triumph'd o'er Battista's art. 
 Scornful he laughed, then spoke at last: 
 'Perchance, ere two short days are past, 
 Your noble house may hail in me 
 The leader of our company.' 
 
THE BANQUET. 127 
 
 Then told with mutter'd tone and word 870 
 
 A tale I had already heard, 
 
 How, guided by a treacherous spy, 
 
 The Raven sloop was hovering nigh; 
 
 That you, Latharo, and a few 
 
 Of these, the faithful of your crew, 
 
 Should then be ofFer'd to the death, 
 
 As pledges of your comrades' faith. 
 
 'And then/ the traitor cried with glee, 
 
 1 The Rubi and myself are free. 
 
 I hold command: and here I swear, 880 
 
 If that same child then breathes the air, 
 
 The sea shall rid you of your fear, 
 
 Ere he shall claim his titles here/ 
 
 He swore a dreadful oath; then quafF'd 
 
 The ready bowl, and wildly laugh'd: 
 
 Spoke Alvez then, and paid the while 
 
 His laughter with a courtly smile. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 u ' Well said, my gallant friend and bold ! 
 
 And trust me, if our bargain hold, 
 
 An ample store of wealth and spoil 890 
 
 Shall quit you for your friendly toil. 
 
 But what if nearer be the day, 
 
 That gives the Rubi to your sway? 
 
 From yonder hill I cast my sight 
 
 Towards the sun's retiring light, 
 
128 CANTO III. 
 
 And saw below his setting beam 
 A vessel's lofty canvass gleam, 
 Half rising dazzling to the view, 
 Half hid beneath the distant blue. 
 Her snowwhite sails, as seen from far, 900 
 
 Bore token to a ship of war: 
 Full with the breeze their breasts appear'd, 
 And rapidly the shore she near'd. 
 Before the earliest break of day 
 That bark will anchor in the bay; 
 Or, if the breeze still hold its power, 
 Will round the point at midnight hour: 
 That hour, that gives to me the right 
 To help you with my friendly might. 
 But might we not our purpose aid, 910 
 
 If here your comrades were delay 'd? 
 For you a galley shall be mann'd; 
 Speed to the Rubi, take command, 
 t Weigh anchor, and forsake the bay, 
 Ere yet the dawn your flight betray.' 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " f 'Tis well advised,' with sidelong leer 
 
 Of pleasure, not unmix'd with fear, 
 
 Battista cried: 'and yet the task 
 
 Our prudence and our strength will ask. 
 
 For know, although in number few, 920 
 
 Hardy and resolute our crew: 
 
THE BANQUET. 129 
 
 Nor think that for a scanty train, 
 
 Or awed by threats, they will remain 
 
 Soft captives in your castle tower, 
 
 Like lover in a lady's bower/ 
 
 'Fear not/ Lord Alvez made reply: 
 
 'Our walls are strong, our ramparts 'high ; 
 
 Many and bold the warlike band, 
 
 That muster at E stella's hand, 
 
 O'er whom, ev'n in E stella's name, 930 
 
 At midnight I dominion claim.' 
 
 'Nay,' said Battista, 'then proceed: 
 
 A word may in the hour of need 
 
 Inspire your followers: but, beware! 
 
 You have the tiger in the snare/ 
 
 L. 
 
 "Thus said, they from the hall withdrew: 
 
 And, fearful of the guilty two, 
 
 I from the window gain'd the ground, 
 
 And cautious watch'd the castle round, 
 
 And mark'd you here; then strove to gain 940 
 
 Your secret converse, not in vain." 
 
 " And bravely done," the captain said, 
 
 "And well shall be your care repaid. 
 
 How goes the night?" "At twelve will set 
 
 Yon planet high above us yet. 
 
 An hour will pass, or ere its rim 
 
 Be lost beneath the ocean's brim." 
 
ISO CANTO III. 
 
 " Then have we time. But dare you, say, 
 
 Downward retrace the dangerous way?" 
 
 "Quick be it done!" the youth replied: 950 
 
 " For see ev'n now the advancing tide 
 
 The summit of these fragments hide : 
 
 And hard, I ween, o'er rocks to climb 
 
 Through flowing tides and treacherous slime." 
 
 "Down then, and to the steps repair: 
 
 A bark canoe is fasten'd there; 
 
 There for a while my coming wait. 
 
 I meet you at the castle gate." 
 
 The balcony the stripling crost, 
 
 And in the leafy path was lost. 960 
 
 LI. 
 
 The boy's retreat the lady eyed, 
 
 And drew towards the leader's side. 
 
 "Tremble not, lady!" low he said; 
 
 "A traitor has our crew betray 'd. 
 
 By duty call'd, awhile I go 
 
 Prompt to avert the coming blow. 
 
 Lady, but now your kindness said, 
 
 'Twould glad you much to yield us aid. 
 
 Believe me, in one little hour 
 
 Much might be order'd by your power, 970 
 
 If you may trust for such brief time 
 
 A stranger to your race and clime." 
 
THE BANQUET. 131 
 
 LII. 
 
 She look'd upon his sparkling eye 
 
 And open brow, then made reply: 
 
 "Freely my aid is your's; my faith 
 
 Rests on your honor to the death." 
 
 "Thanks, lady, thanks! Be mine the right 
 
 To name the password of the night ; 
 
 Thus may I make my entrance sure, 
 
 And our retreat at need secure." 980 
 
 She placed her signet in his hand: 
 
 "This symbol marks my poor command. 
 
 The ancient warders of the gate 
 
 Will freely thus your orders wait." 
 
 The signet to his heart he prest, 
 
 Then bent his knee, and made request: 
 
 "One thing remains: still let the dance 
 
 With ardour unrestrain'd advance, 
 
 Till I return our fate to tell. 
 
 Lady, your hand ! awhile farewell !" 090 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Her hand he kiss'd with homage due, 
 Then rising from the bower withdrew, 
 Turn'd to the proud saloon again, 
 Call'd two, the trustiest of his train, 
 And, while blithe look and laughing eye 
 Conceal'd his bosom's mystery, 
 
 92 
 
132 CANTO III. 
 
 "Norman and Randall, mark my word! 
 
 Let not a foot or hand be stirr'd 
 
 To leave these hospitable towers, 
 
 However fly the passing hours, 1000 
 
 Till my return! Tidings are here 
 
 Of English cruizer hovering near 
 
 In our pursuit. For me I go 
 
 To rouse the Rum for the foe. 
 
 Let my retreat remain unknown 
 
 To all and each, save you alone. 
 
 If task'd by curious tongue or eye, 
 
 You saw me in the balcony: 
 
 Such witness shall your sight afford. 
 
 And softly! each prepare his sword, 1010 
 
 Prompt, if perchance occasion call, 
 
 To man with me the castle wall." 
 
 LIV. 
 
 He turn'd him to the oriel back, 
 
 And follow'd Pipi's desperate track. 
 
 The fair resolve, and purpose high, 
 
 Gave firmness to his hand and eye. 
 
 And soon he reach'd the castle's side, 
 
 Now reeking with the rushing tide; 
 
 Struggling and drench'd, he made his way 
 
 Through splashing pools and beating spray; 1020 
 
 Now high he rose above the flood; 
 
 Now ancle deep in brine he stood; 
 
THE BANQUET. 133 
 
 And now so close the billows prest, 
 They almost wash'd his gallant breast. 
 At length he reach'd the outer gate, 
 Where now the ancient steersman sate, 
 Whose sires had held long time before 
 The office of those days of yore. 
 
 LV. 
 
 The pirate paused: then in his hand 
 
 Show'd the bright ensign of command, 1030 
 
 And whispering gave the pass and word. 
 
 The old man started as he heard; 
 
 With wonder shook his ancient frame, 
 
 And to his eyes the question came. 
 
 But ere the accents woke at last, 
 
 Silent and swift the youth had past, 
 
 Gained, with a bound, the light canoe, 
 
 And from the friendly shore withdrew. 1038 
 
CANTO IV. 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 
 
 I. 
 
 THERE'S a dim-seen spot to the Rubi advancing, 
 Where on the moonless deep is glancing 
 
 The stars' soft radiancy; 
 And in light and shadow the waves are dancing 
 
 With the children of the sky. 
 Now and again in the merry tide 
 The sportive billows its image hide, 
 Or scarcely its shape for a moment show, 
 Between their folds, as they come and go. 
 'Twere hard to say what that spot may be; 10 
 
 Seems it the trunk of some ancient tree, 
 Torn from the home it was rear'd upon, 
 And now on a dreary voyage gone, 
 To be tost about from time to time, 
 From billow to billow, from clime to clime, 
 A weary wanderer on ocean's breast, 
 No haven to look for, no place of rest, 
 
136 CANTO IV. 
 
 While the leaves of the jungle, the moss of the wood, 
 Creep over the seat where its infancy stood. 
 
 II. 
 
 Say what can it be? a tiny boat? 20 
 
 Tis scarcely so large as the petty float, 
 
 By an urchin launch' d in the last night's rain, 
 
 A mimic bark, in a mimic main. 
 
 Yet it is a boat from the distant shore; 
 
 Though we hear not the sound of the splashing oar, 
 
 Though we see not the sparkles of ocean's fires, 
 
 That drip from the blade as the oar retires. 
 
 Yet stay; for see she is nearer now, 
 
 There's a ripple of splendour around her bow, 
 
 There's an arrowy stream of liquid light 30 
 
 Behind the track of her soundless flight. 
 
 For she cuts not the wave with a hissing keel; 
 
 No oar-blade breaks on the water's rest: 
 In a circle of flame the paddles wheel, 
 
 And smooth as the sea is her rounded breast. 
 The light canoe has past the tide, 
 And floats in the shade of the Rubi's side, 
 And Ermingade has left the flood, 
 And alone on the deck of his vessel stood. 
 
 III. 
 
 An angry glance the leader bent, 40 
 
 Where, centre of that armament, 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 137 
 
 A ponderous gun with lengthen'd swing 
 
 Revolved upon an iron ring; 
 
 There scarcely could his vision catch 
 
 The figure of the drowsy watch, 
 
 As in the shade he lay supine, 
 
 Half-hidden, drench'd with sleep and wine. 
 
 One hurried look he fiercely cast, 
 
 Of future vengeance, as he past ; 
 
 When from the stern with noiseless stride 50 
 
 Latharo hasten'd to his side; 
 
 Upon his lips his finger laid, 
 
 The rising tones of wonder stay'd; 
 
 One hand extended show'd to sight 
 
 The guilty guardian of the night; 
 
 And from his bosom's depths was sent 
 
 A sound of scornful merriment. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A moment both in silence gaze: 
 
 No sign their secret thought betrays; 
 
 Something there seems in either's eyes 60 
 
 Between displeasure and surprise; 
 
 But neither speaks, until with care 
 
 They cross the dark companion-stair, 
 
 Reach the chief's chamber of repose, 
 
 And cautiously the entrance close, 
 
 Barring the sound with plank of oak: 
 
 Then hastily the leader spoke 
 
138 CANTO IV. 
 
 "A careless watch our seamen keep." 
 
 " True ; thank the sluggard's love of sleep, 
 
 And that I chose the fitting hour, 
 
 He lies entrammell'd in our power. 
 
 Long have I known the savage fool 
 
 Has been a deeper villain's tool; 
 
 Yet might his huge and brutal strength 
 
 Have done our cause despite at length. 
 
 Tis over: with returning day 
 
 I sweep the reptile from my way. 
 
 Our common laws demand his breath, 
 
 Neglect his crime, his sentence death." 
 
 "'Tis well;" the leader stern replies; 
 * But his brief hour of safety lies 
 In slumber; if he wakes he dies; 
 The plans on which my soul is bent 
 Allow no eyes to their intent. 
 For me, I thus have hasten'd back, 
 To warn you of a sure attack, 
 Ere the first breaking of the day. 
 The Raven now is in the bay; 
 The fort will give our foes its aid ; 
 Battista has our cause betray'd, 
 And by to-morrow night would be 
 Sole leader of our company." 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 139 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Now shall his insolence and pride/' 
 
 Latharo with impatience cried, 
 
 "Meet their reward! Not far from hence 
 
 I have prepared our hest defence. 
 
 Soon as the evening's waning light 
 
 Conceal'd our stratagem from sight, 
 
 A sturdy band of seamen bore 
 
 A length of chain from shore to shore. 100 
 
 There slacken'd now, and sunk it lies: 
 
 But, heedful of a chance surprise, 
 
 A chosen few attend the while 
 
 Its guardians on the wooded isle, 
 
 With ready purchases to strain 
 
 Across the pass the taughten'd chain. 
 
 Well may we brave the cruiser's wrath, 
 
 With such a barrier in her path; 
 
 Too happy should she chance to 'scape 
 
 A storm of cannister and grape, 110 
 
 To show her on some future day, 
 
 The hunted wolf will turn to bay." 
 
 VII. 
 
 As ring these accents in his ear, 
 The leader scarcely seems to hear; 
 Turns on the deck his thoughtful eye, 
 That seems but fix'd on vacancy; 
 
140 CANTO IV. 
 
 Then hurriedly he looks around, 
 
 Listens to catch the slightest sound, 
 
 And when he speaks his accents flow, 
 
 Faint, but expressive; firm, but low. 120 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "The captive goes with me," he said 
 
 "Must;" for Latharo shook his head 
 
 And glanced his dark eye on the youth, 
 
 As doubtful of his leader's truth; 
 
 "Mark; his existence is unknown 
 
 But to his bitterest foes alone: 
 
 Battista has the tale betray 'd, 
 
 And thus secured the usurper's aid 
 
 Against us in the expected strife, 
 
 By offer of our captive's life. 130 
 
 True to my word, I go to bear 
 
 The infant to his mother's care, 
 
 Prepared for safety to rely 
 
 Upon a mother's sympathy. 
 
 If false my expectations prove, 
 
 Farewell my dreams of earthly love, 
 
 Of gentler passions said to bind 
 
 The thoughts and actions of mankind ! 
 
 All, all are false, and worthless all, 
 
 And like an air-built fabric fall. 140 
 
 Scorn'd, I have scorn repaid; and spurn'd, 
 
 Have hatred for man's hate return'd; 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 141 
 
 Fain would I here, a better part, 
 
 Gain kindness from a mother's heart. 
 
 Foil'd in the hope, which thus I try, 
 
 Deluded by this specious tie, 
 
 And all the world's my enemy. 
 
 Meanwhile, unchanged as ever, now 
 
 Holds for revenge my plighted vow; 
 
 To brave my foeman, hand to hand, 150 
 
 E'en to the death ; if fate demand, 
 
 With his to join my dying groan, 
 
 And with his heart's-blood mix my own! 
 
 Time presses; ere an hour is o'er, 
 
 Again I come, to part no more. 
 
 Your watch our friendly boats will know 
 
 By the white sides and zebra bow. 
 
 But, if unseen that guiding sign, 
 
 Doubt not, but all for fight combine; 
 
 Point every gun; heave taught the chain; 160 
 
 So let yon bark our covert gain, 
 
 And find her foe, but find in vain!" 
 
 IX. 
 
 Calmly he spoke, and firmly held 
 His fix'd decision, and repell'd 
 The censure that a moment hung, 
 But fell not from Latharo's tongue, 
 Who, as the chief his will convey'd, 
 Each chance with ready judgment weigh'd. 
 
142 CANTO IV. 
 
 He knew how swift the moments speed, 
 
 How brief the time, how strong the need 170 
 
 For prompt resolve and daring deed; 
 
 And, though to safety's side 
 He lean'd, and deem'd it wiser there 
 To hold the boy, but little care 
 
 Had he, who lived or died; 
 Why then prolong a rash debate, 
 Now, on the veiy verge of fate ? 
 True; the release, when known to fame, 
 Would blazon more the Rubi's name; 
 And add a tale unknown before, 180 
 
 The fortunes of the Isidore : 
 What matter, when another day 
 Might sweep both foes and charge away? 
 Nay, grant, the skirmish lost or won, 
 Both vessels see the morrow's sun, 
 The Raven's chase and foil'd attack, 
 Return'd with daring vengeance back, 
 Would stamp the Rubi with a stain, 
 Of such a dark and damning grain, 
 That future strength or speed were vain. 190 
 
 And, midst a course of spoil and blood, 
 England defied, her power withstood, 
 'Twould add but little to her cost, 
 If one life more were saved or lost. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 143 
 
 X. 
 
 Thus ceased Latharo's revery: 
 
 He frowned and offered not reply; 
 
 But turn'd him, where an inner room 
 
 In long recess was hid in gloom, 
 
 And the faint lamp the leader held 
 
 The distant shadows scarce dispelled; 200 
 
 Till nearer as the youth advances, 
 
 With borrowed rays its lustre glances, 
 
 Where, from the musket's double line, 
 
 Barrel and lock reflected shine; 
 
 And sabres from the gleaming ring 
 
 Of their broad blades the radiance fling; 
 
 And pistols primed, and poniards bared, 
 
 For instant call of fight prepared, 
 
 Their deadly uses half conceal 
 
 i 
 In glittering stars of burnish'd steel. 210 
 
 XI. 
 
 In such rude armoury hold, 
 Girt with such stern array, 
 
 With many a banner's gorgeous fold 
 
 Around his slender body rolled, 
 The captive slumbering lay. 
 It was a wondrous sight I ween, 
 Such sleeper in so strange a scene; 
 That form of harmless innocence 
 Mid those dread weapons of offence; 
 
144 CANTO IV. 
 
 That simple, young, and tender child 220 
 
 In place so rich, and yet so wild! 
 
 XII. 
 
 His lamp the pirate slowly raised, 
 
 And briefly on the sleeper gazed. 
 
 He lay, but not as childhood lies, 
 
 With placid cheek and tearless eyes; 
 
 For, wet with grief, his lashes fine 
 
 In the lamp's gleams appear'd to shine; 
 
 And many a tear-drop pearly white, 
 
 Drawn forth by visions of the night, 
 
 Stole down his face in silvery streaks, 230 
 
 And bathed the rosebud on his cheeks. 
 
 Harder he breathed: a single word 
 
 Beneath his breath was faintly heard, 
 
 And with the effort he awoke; 
 
 Whether the light his slumber broke, 
 
 Or that his frame too feeble seem'd 
 
 To bear the sorrow he had dream'd. 
 
 Wildly he raised his swimming eyes, 
 
 And caught with terror and surprise 
 
 The dim light by the cresset lent, 240 
 
 And the dark form that o'er him bent. 
 
 But soon both doubt and terror past, 
 
 His arms around the chief he cast, 
 
 For he had learn'd the signs to trace 
 
 Of pity in that generous face, 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 145 
 
 And clung to him with all the glow 
 Which childhood's fervent feelings know. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Oh, childhood is a holy thing, 
 
 When the young feelings first take wing, 
 
 And trace, in all they hear or see, 250 
 
 An earnest of fidelity. 
 
 When all they love is warm and true; 
 
 And all they meet is bright of hue; 
 
 And all the world appears so fair, 
 
 'Tis only bliss to linger there. 
 
 When every thought is light with glee, 
 
 So fresh, so buoyant, and so free; 
 
 And hope's sweet blossoms, warm'd and nurst 
 
 By vernal airs, in beauty burst; 
 
 When all they hear of care and guile, 260 
 
 Of man's deceit and woman's wile, 
 
 Seem but the dreams of tempers crost, 
 
 Of canker'd minds, and fancy lost; 
 
 And nature's landscapes, as they pass 
 
 O'er the young mind's unsullied glass, 
 
 Reflected there in forms appear 
 
 Of loveliest shape, with lights most clear, 
 
 And pictured thus more soft and fine 
 
 Present each rougher, harder line. 
 
 10 
 
146 CANTO IV. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The leader gently raised the child, 270 
 
 And soothed his thoughts with accents mild; 
 
 Though never had he used before 
 
 The language of his native shore. 
 
 " Rouse you, my boy ! for see I come 
 
 To bear you to your mother's home. 
 
 Nay, shrink not! you may trust in me; 
 
 When did I bode you injury? 
 
 Speak not, and none shall work you harm." 
 
 The captive sunk upon his arm: 
 
 The unwonted speech, the tidings strange, 280 
 
 O'erpower'd his senses; at the change 
 
 Surprised and stunn'd, he swoon'd away, 
 
 And void of breath and motion lay. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Then wrapt the Chief his mantle round, 
 
 His sheltering arms about him wound, 
 
 And bore him to the vessel's side, 
 
 Where lay the shallop on the tide, 
 
 Too frail a bark for such a freight! 
 
 Cautious he lower'd the precious weight, 
 
 And would have followed: when with cry, 290 
 
 Brutish and wild, his lethargy 
 
 The negro broke; and at a bound 
 
 Sprang from the bull-ring's iron round, 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 147 
 
 Rush'd to the Chief's unconscious side, 
 
 And seized his throat. "Ha, ha!" he cried, 
 
 "And is it thus we are betray 'd? 
 
 Is thus our confidence repaid? 
 
 Gata!" he shouted. With the cry 
 
 Had past his life and infamy. 
 
 The desperate chance the leader knew, 300 
 
 The pistol from his belt he drew, 
 
 And the bright barrel closely prest 
 
 On the dark miscreant's brawny breast. 
 
 A moment scarce resolved he stood: 
 
 Then flash'd the flame, gush'd forth the blood. 
 
 No path minute the death-shot found; 
 
 But mangled all in one vast wound, 
 
 And o'er the avenger's body spread, 
 
 Cloak, hose, and doublet, ghastly red. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Scarcely had peal'd the fatal shot, 310 
 
 Ere sprang Latharo to the spot, 
 
 His leader at his need to aid: 
 
 His arm one powerful effort made, 
 
 And wrench'd apart the dead man's clasp, 
 
 That stiffen'd in the mortal grasp. 
 
 Heavy it fell. "Away," he cried: 
 
 The leader bounded down the side, 
 
 And urged his airy vessel's flight, 
 
 Till men and boat were lost from sight, 
 
 102 
 
148 CANTO IV. 
 
 Ere yet the cry and deadly blow 320 
 
 Had roused one slumberer from below. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Confused they came, half-arm'd, half-drest, 
 
 And on each other's footsteps prest; 
 
 Half-arm'd with pistol and with brand, 
 
 The readiest instrument at hand; 
 
 And vainly sought with drowsy eye 
 
 The traces of the enemy. 
 
 Such found they not: but weltering there, 
 
 And stiffening in the midnight air, 
 
 The negro's corpse distorted lay: 330 
 
 Whilst, striding o'er the senseless clay, 
 
 Latharo high uplifted bore 
 
 The deadly weapon, splash'd with gore, 
 
 Yet black and reeking with the smoke, 
 
 While haughtily the Pirate spoke. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 "There lies the foe, whose treacherous breath 
 
 Had doom'd us to defeat and death ! 
 
 There lies the guardian of our sleep, 
 
 Who, placed our nightly watch to keep, 
 
 Has given admittance to a spy, 340 
 
 And sold us to the enemy! 
 
 Mark me! I heard the villain's wile: 
 
 We are encompast in the toil. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 149 
 
 Our ancient foe, her strength renew'd, 
 
 Has with fresh hopes our track pursued, 
 
 Her guide the wretch who lately fled, 
 
 Whom most had numbered with the dead, 
 
 Though well the craftiest of our crew 
 
 His safety and his purpose knew. 
 
 Enough! One hour, the boats are here: 350 
 
 And shall we quail, like frighten'd deer, 
 
 And perish in unmanly strife, 
 
 Without an effort for our life? 
 
 No, by my faith! Here firmly wait: 
 
 Our foes but rush upon their fate. 
 
 With ready guns and harbour barr'd, 
 
 Come when they will, we wait prepared. 
 
 Soon will our comrades from the land 
 
 Return: let all united stand; 
 
 And we may thank the traitor's toil 360 
 
 For triumph, vengeance, power, and spoil." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 In tones commanding, prompt, and bold, 
 
 His artful tale Latharo told, 
 
 And there was silence. Then a word, 
 
 Whisper'd at first, was hardly heard, 
 
 The utterance of a single throat ; 
 
 And one by one took up the note, 
 
 Till fierce and loud the question grew, 
 
 "Where is the traitor? where? and who?" 
 
150 CANTO IV. 
 
 The senseless corpse the Pirate spurn'd: 370 
 
 "One lies before you," he return'd; 
 
 "The other fled, a hidden foe, 
 
 From whence he came; there let him go. 
 
 Thus warn'd against our threaten'd doom, 
 
 Stand we and let the Raven come!" 
 
 XX. 
 
 And all was busy within the bark, 
 
 But they worked without a sound; 
 They trained on the deck the cannons dark, 
 
 And they laid the cold shot round: 
 A moment had sent its fiery shower, 380 
 
 And swept the wave of a foeman's power. 
 By a secret spring was the vessel moor'd, 
 
 The yards were slung with chain, 
 The nettings bristled with pike and sword; 
 
 And the veteran's skill were vain, 
 And vain were the youthful warrior's pride, 
 To force the points of that armed side. 
 And the stays were snaked, and the stoppers slung, 
 The matches lighted, the fire-screens hung; 
 And they lay between their guns that night, 390 
 
 And waited the signs of a desperate fight. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And where was then La Gata, he 
 Chief plotter of that villany % 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 151 
 
 What! spoke he not when thus a prey 
 
 fiefore his eyes his comrade lay? 
 
 Was he, too, blinded by the wile? 
 
 No: he had seen Latharo's smile, 
 
 The scornful smile that lit his eyes, 
 
 And triumph'd o'er his artifice. 
 
 And was La Gata silent here? 400 
 
 The craven's voice was hushed with fear; 
 
 For his the heart that can defy 
 
 And conquer but in seerecy. 
 
 He thought: " Where is Battista now? 
 
 Where his bold tongue and haughty brow? 
 
 O where and wherefore does he stay? 
 
 The fatal time has slipt away, 
 
 And all our arts will tend at length 
 
 To give our foes redoubled strength." 
 
 Where is Battista? In Estella's tower, 410 
 
 Far different scenes employ the eventful hour. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Unnoticed and unsought by all, 
 Young Ermingade had left the hall: 
 Still blithely moved the dancers' feet, 
 
 And voice and lute kept measure, 
 For never time glides on so sweet, 
 
 As through the bowers of pleasure. 
 But lo! at length a gradual gloom 
 Appears to gather through the room. 
 
152 CANTO IV. 
 
 None seems to know the reason why, 420 
 
 But seeks it in his partner's eye, 
 
 Only to find the intruder's trace 
 
 Imprinted on another's face. 
 
 By turns the dancers leave the maze, 
 
 And form in groups to talk or gaze. 
 
 Some name Estella's ancient sway, 
 
 And mourn that princely line's decay: 
 
 Some speak upon their kinsman's right, 
 
 But as a claim long lost to sight, 
 
 All antiquated and forgot: 430 
 
 Some wonder that he urged it not: 
 
 While gravely some declare an hour 
 
 Might change the lordship of the tower. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But there was one who whisper'd round, 
 
 How he had heard below the sound 
 
 Of vassals marshalling in mail. 
 
 Few heard, and none believed the tale; 
 
 Such was the apathy supplied 
 
 By Spanish indolence and pride. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 A larger group was drawn apart, 440 
 
 To hear the story-teller's art, 
 Listening to tale of land and sea, 
 Of storm, defeat, and victory, 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 153 
 
 Of battles on their native strand, 
 And the Marooner's ruthless hand, 
 When first allured by hopes of gain 
 Pour'd on those isles the bands of Spain. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And here the rovers lent their aid, 
 
 And goodly was their store display 'd, 
 
 Till the limbs shook, and cheeks grew pale, 450 
 
 Of spirits that controll'd the gale, 
 
 Where under Afric's fever'd skies 
 
 The desert-born Tornadoes rise; 
 
 Where in the east the seas are strewn 
 
 With shipwrecks by the wild Typhoon; 
 
 Where the Levanter sweeps the isles, 
 
 And mars Ionia's summer smiles; 
 
 Where bursts the western tempest's sway; 
 
 Or where by Plata's sea-like way 
 
 The boisterous winds of Pampa's plain, 460 
 
 As tyrants, rule the southern main. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 From legendary tales of old 
 
 Their wondrous stories others told, 
 
 Of vessels reeling from the shock 
 
 Of the sea-maiden's haunted rock ; 
 
 Of ravenous shark with blood-stain'd sweep 
 
 Tracking the slave-ship o'er the deep; 
 
134 CANTO IV. 
 
 Of good fleets crush'd in fields of frost ; 
 
 Of the fiend bark of Afric's coast; 
 
 And that dread whirlpool of the north, 470 
 
 That spreads its mighty fibres forth, 
 
 Absorbing every floating thing 
 
 Within the circle of its swing, 
 
 Till vessel, crew, and freight are hurl'd 
 
 Down the vast navel of the world. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 And now with rude, unpolish'd strain 
 
 Arose a veteran of the main, 
 
 Whose days of youth had long gone by 
 
 In England's ranks of victory: 
 
 Who, though inured in after time 480 
 
 To a wild pirate's life of crime, 
 
 His nobler deeds remember'd yet, 
 
 And view'd their glory with regret. 
 
 Numerous his themes, such as engage 
 
 The fond garrulity of age: 
 
 Much did he speak of realms afar; 
 
 Of Holland and of Gallia's war, 
 
 Of Russell and of Rook's renown, 
 
 And the lost hopes of James's crown; 
 
 When France bewailed her vanquish'd host, 490 
 
 And cursed La Hogue's disastrous coast. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 155 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 But most the seaman's memory dwelt 
 On the deep scorn his soul had felt 
 
 In that disgraceful day, 
 When Kirby and deceitful Wade 
 Had noble Benbow's trust betray 'd 
 
 In Santa Martha's bay; 
 While on the squadron of Du Casse 
 The fiery veteran urged the chase 
 
 Unaided and alone, 500 
 
 Four days sustain'd the unequal fight, 
 E'en to the last pursued their flight, 
 
 And with his parting groan 
 Merged his own death- wound in the shame 
 That stain'd a British seaman's name. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 While thus the veteran of the wave 
 
 The stories of his manhood gave, 
 
 And larger groups had gather'd near 
 
 His country's battle tales to hear; 
 
 Norman and Randall, of the crew 510 
 
 Esteem'd most resolute and true, 
 
 Whom late had Ermingade addrest, 
 
 And trusted with his last behest, 
 
 Obedient to their chief's command 
 
 Now mingled with the Rubi's band: 
 
156 CANTO IV. 
 
 And, as along the room they rangea, 
 
 A word of courtesy exchanged, 
 
 And by a secret look or sign 
 
 Gave token of the youth's design. 
 
 All knew the warning: but their eyes, 520 
 
 Well-tutored, spoke not of surprise. 
 
 Yet, though their hardy features wore 
 
 The careless look that late they bore, 
 
 Well might the close observer see 
 
 Some passing signs of mystery, 
 
 As each, by act conceal'd and slight, 
 
 Prepared him for the expected fight. 
 
 One for his pistol's barrel felt; 
 
 One slipt the buckle of his belt; 
 
 One with his cutlass-handle play'd, 530 
 
 And in the scabbard loosed the blade; 
 
 One had his silken cloak untied, 
 
 And flung his jewell'd hat aside; 
 
 And by degrees the gallant crew 
 
 Into a closer circle drew. 
 
 Acts slight and trivial these, but tell 
 
 The pirates knew their danger well, 
 
 And little for the knowledge cared: 
 
 Let the worst come, they stood prepared. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 While each his several station took, 540 
 
 Apart the watchful comrades spoke. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 15? 
 
 " 'Twas well imagined," Randall said ; 
 
 ' Your hint, to yonder proser made, 
 
 Will answer bravely to detain 
 
 Within the room the giddy train. 
 
 Long as I hear his drowsy chime, 
 
 I reck not for the flight of time ; 
 
 Secure while memory can supply 
 
 Tale after tale of years gone by, 
 
 'Twill little need of wizard's skill 550 
 
 To keep the triflers listening still. 
 
 By heaven he ceases!" Truth he spoke; 
 
 Abrupt his tale the seaman broke, 
 
 And his quick glances fell, 
 Where, in the entrance of the hall, 
 Battista's stature, huge and tall, 
 
 Was faintly visible. 
 Behind him, as a swelling flood, 
 A darkling group of figures stood 
 
 In shadow dimly shown; 560 
 
 Till on the scene the pirate threw 
 The ponderous door, and hid the view, 
 
 And paced the hall alone. 
 Flush'd with the thoughts of dark design, 
 The giant strode along the line 
 
 With fierce and brutal stare; 
 But one long look of scorn he cast 
 On his old comrades while he past, 
 As though he held them victims fast, 
 
158 CANTO IV. 
 
 Like wild deer in the snare. 570 
 
 Not tamely was such insult borne; 
 Each answer'd to the ruffians scorn 
 
 With frown and glance of flame: 
 And then, perchance, had waked the fray, 
 But every eye was turned astray, 
 Where, following his associate's way, 
 
 Lord Alvez sternly came. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Again the door was open'd wide, 
 
 And echo to its peals replied: 
 
 He cross'd the hall with haughty stride, 580 
 
 His figure seem'd to swell with pride, 
 
 His eye was dark with gloom; 
 His pistols glitter'd by his side 
 
 Rude guests for festive room. 
 No sign of courtesy he made, 
 To none the wonted greetings paid, 
 Nor raised from his unbending head 
 
 His hat's o'ershadowing plume. 
 But stalk'd amid the wondering throng, 
 Like feudal chief his serfs among, 590 
 
 As though he deem'd it scorn and shame 
 For one, who claim'd Estella's name, 
 To stoop by outward sign of grace 
 To any of inferior race. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 159 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 He past, and all was silence round; 
 
 Save that, with one continued sound 
 
 Of soft and modulated tone, 
 
 A silver bell chimed slowly on, 
 
 Counting the moments as they fled, 
 
 From gilded niche, where overhead 600 
 
 A massive time-piece hung: 
 And ever, as its hands of power 
 Stole onward to the midnight hour, 
 
 Its liquid cadence rung. 
 He paused the monitor below, 
 
 And on its motions gazed: 
 Then slowly from his gloomy brow 
 
 His plumed hat he raised; 
 And humbler seems his bearing now, 
 And milder front his features show, 610 
 
 While, like a pilgrim touched with grace 
 Before the Virgin's shrined face, 
 
 He stands as one amazed 
 E'en at his own imagined sin. 
 Then wakes again the fiend within: 
 Pride swells and triumphs in his breast; 
 Again he lifts his haughty crest, 
 Again with bearing stern and high, 
 With curling lip and flashing eye, 
 He turns him to the astonished crowd, 620 
 
 And speaks in tones austere and loud: 
 
160 CANTO IV. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Spaniards and strangers, though you hither came 
 
 As guests invited in another's name, 
 
 Mark how with measured swing and even chime 
 
 Steal on their course the unerring hands of time, 
 
 And, almost pointing to the central height, 
 
 In ten gradations will have halved the night. 
 
 Spaniards, the hour is nigh; at morning's birth 
 
 E stella's race is vanish'd from the earth. 
 
 The charter is before you, which demands 630 
 
 For me of right Estella's power and lands. 
 
 What though the circle of another year 
 
 Must see me wear vice-gerent honours here, 
 
 Too plain the truth, our wishes are in vain, 
 
 And the young lord will ne'er return again. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 "Think not I hasten, as a greedy heir 
 
 Springs on the chest his patron's wealth to share, 
 
 Ere from the corpse has scarcely past the breath, 
 
 Or the white shroud conceal'd the face of death. 
 
 No ! 'tis the memory of my ancient name 640 
 
 Forbids delay, and urges on my claim. 
 
 My children ask their lawful rank: my son 
 
 Demands the birthright that his sire has won; 
 
 And his descendants through a countless race 
 
 Will look to Alvez for their rightful place. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. l6l 
 
 And if to other hands descend the sway, 
 
 Nor claim'd by me the title pass away, 
 
 What foul disgrace will on my weakness lie, 
 
 What bitter curses cloud my memory! 
 
 Fain would I spend the remnant of my days, 650 
 
 By power unburden'd, unallured by praise; 
 
 Fain would I spare that noble dame the woe, 
 
 Her gentle heart must learn to undergo, 
 
 To see another, though a kinsman, reign 
 
 Within her husband's and her son's domain. 
 
 It may not be: though pity's soothing tone 
 
 Were sweeter far, 'tis duty leads me on. 
 
 Spaniards, behold your ruler! One and all 
 
 Are welcome, doubly welcome, to my hall: 
 
 Not worthier names could choice or chance afford, 660 
 
 To grace the instalment of your future lord." 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 The peer was silent; and a sudden thrill 
 Trembled through every breast, but all was still. 
 Then with faint steps between the opening throng 
 The lady of the castle moved along. 
 With mien collected, and with mournful grace, 
 She seems the spirit of her ruin'd race. 
 Her cheek is deadly pale, and rivals now 
 The painful beauty of her marble brow : 
 The azure veins, that through her forehead stray, 670 
 Fuller and clearer take their liquid way; 
 11 
 
162 CANTO IV. 
 
 The hair in darker shade flows down her back, 
 
 And deeper shines her moist eye's lustrous black: 
 
 And her slight figure, scarce of this world's birth, 
 
 Shows all too delicate for child of earth, 
 
 In semblance more a wanderer from the skies, 
 
 Whose sadden'd thoughts might turn to heaven her eyes, 
 
 And, touch'd with grief at scenes of suffering here, 
 
 Reclaim with longing look her native sphere. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Still was she young: alas! too young to be 680 
 
 The sport and victim of such misery ! 
 
 Beneath the skies of her own brilliant clime, 
 
 Early she enter'd on her woman's prime; 
 
 And scarcely, in her parents' shelter nurst, 
 
 Her form had budded into beauty first. 
 
 Still on her lip the ruddy dew was spread; 
 
 Still on her soft cheek blush'd the early red; 
 
 And still, undimm'd by grief or care's alloy, 
 
 Her sparkling eye spoke but of light and joy ; 
 
 When she had yielded to a husband's claim, 690 
 
 And that young girl had borne a mother's name. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 She was a mother: she had learn'd to share 
 The changes of a mother's joy and care, 
 But most of joy: for she had seen arise 
 Her only darling's infant energies; 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. l6S 
 
 Had mark'd with half delighted tearful eye 
 
 His tottering feet their feeble prowess try; 
 
 Had heard his lip mysterious accents frame, 
 
 Where fondness traces the maternal name: 
 
 Till reason in the bosom seeni'd to wake, 700 
 
 And thought aspired a higher flight to take, 
 
 And, leaping lightly o'er his childhood's span, 
 
 The blooming boy appeared the mimic man. 
 
 Thus happy in her lord and in her son, 
 
 Her life's young summer calmly glided on, 
 
 When, raised without a storm-cloud in the sky, 
 
 Without a wave to show the danger nigh, 
 
 The tempest burst, and spread upon the scene 
 
 Distress e'en greater than her joy had been. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Widow'd and spoil'd, in grief but not in shame, 710 
 
 Through her proud hall the castle's mistress came; 
 
 Before her kinsman's form her footstep stay'd, 
 
 Bow'd her young head, and thus collected said: 
 
 "I come not to deny your right, 
 
 Although I thought a single night 
 
 Might well have gone unheeded by 
 
 Without a change of sovereignty. 
 
 It skills not: at the destin'd hour 
 
 I yield my halls, my lands, my power: 
 
 Yet mine is still that little time 720 
 
 Before the fated midnight chime; 
 
 112 
 
164 CANTO IV. 
 
 For till is heard that warning tone, 
 
 I govern here, and I alone. 
 
 And think not, as thy hopes foredoom, 
 
 Proud noble, that our end is come. 
 
 This hall, this castle shall decay, 
 
 Thy race, Lord Alvez, pass away, 
 
 Thy name shall vanish from the spot, 
 
 Thy very guilt shall be forgot: 
 
 But still shall ever-during fame 730 
 
 To other towers transmit our name; 
 
 And other tongues, to latest days, 
 
 From sire to son resound our praise. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 "O worse than woman in my grief! 
 
 O worse than fool to seek relief 
 
 From empty vaunts, and threatening words, 
 
 Where once I govern'd hearts and swords! 
 
 Enough of this : my moan is made : 
 
 A harder word must now be said. 
 
 Farewell, my friends! I rule no more 740 
 
 A sovereign on my native shore: 
 
 No more may I the glory boast 
 
 To be the strangers welcoming host. 
 
 Condemn'd henceforth, alas! to grieve 
 
 For ills I can no more relieve, 
 
 A widow, friendless and alone: 
 
 E Stella's race, indeed, is gone. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 105 
 
 XL. 
 
 "Thanks to whoe'er has deign'd to come 
 
 To cheer a melancholy home ! 
 
 Thanks to the bold, who long have stood 750 
 
 True to our race, by land or flood! 
 
 Thanks to the wise, our feeble age 
 
 Who aided with their counsel sage! 
 
 To all of high and low degree 
 
 We proffer thanks and courtesy: 
 
 But chief to those, who, when was pour'd 
 
 The death-song for my honour'd lord, 
 
 Most deeply felt the heart's regret, 
 
 And bear it in their memory yet!" 
 
 XLI. 
 
 She paused: a stillness reign'd profound, 760 
 
 Till ceased her voice's silver sound. 
 
 Then sudden from the excited crowd 
 
 Arose a clamour long and loud, 
 
 Shouting E stella's name on high. 
 
 "E Stella's heir and sovereignty," 
 
 "E stella's and the Countess' right," 
 
 Rang shrilly on the ear of night ; 
 
 While, join'd to loved Estella's name, 
 
 With curses clogg'd the usurper's came. 
 
 And, when away the tumult died, 770 
 
 And deeper groans the shouts supplied, 
 
 Some few, more hardy than the rest, 
 
 In deadlier threats their wrath exprest, 
 
1 66 CANTO IV. 
 
 The charter's vaunted power denied, 
 And Alvez to his face defied. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 The lord had mark'd the storm arise, 
 
 With scarce a feeling of surprise : 
 
 And little fear'd defeat or wrong 
 
 From an ill-arm'd and giddy throng, 
 
 By impulse of a moment led 780 
 
 To hurl down curses on his head. 
 
 But when the tumult seem'd to wear 
 
 A form more fix'd, a darker air, 
 
 Fiercely his eye he round him threw, 
 
 His falchion from the scabbard drew, 
 
 The glittering weapon waved on high,- 
 
 And shouted loud his signal cry: 
 
 "Curse on the minute's tedious chime: 
 
 Sebastian, Ho! Tis time, 'tis time!" 
 
 Wide at the summons flies the door, 790 
 
 And in his ready comrades pour, 
 
 Armed to the teeth, a reckless band, 
 
 The desperadoes of the land; 
 
 All, whom a life of evil draws 
 
 Associates in one common cause; 
 
 The robber of the land and flood ; 
 
 The guilty trafficker in blood; 
 
 The plunderer of the orphan'd child ; 
 
 The loose, the profligate, the wild; 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. l67 
 
 The gamester and the spendthrift heir, 800 
 
 Drunkard and reveller, all are there. 
 
 All, who an honest name have lost, 
 
 The muster join of Alvez' host; 
 
 In him their master spirit own, 
 
 And bow their wills to him alone. 
 
 Lord Alvez mark'd his band array'd, 
 
 And thus in scornful accents said. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " And doubt you then my charter's right ? 
 
 And dare you then your sovereign's might? 
 
 Senseless, to think I trust my cause 810 
 
 On the poor safeguard of the laws ! 
 
 No, by my soul ! each shining brand, 
 
 That flashes in one gallant hand, 
 
 Will here a firmer title plead, 
 
 Than pen and signet, will or deed. 
 
 Down with your arms ! till break of day, 
 
 As pledges in my hall you stay. 
 
 Till I have gain'd my rightful state, 
 
 Not one shall pass the castle gate." 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Awed by the unexpected sight, 820 
 
 And unprepared for desperate fight, 
 The craven Spaniards backward drew; 
 While in the midst the Rubi's crew, 
 
1()8 CANTO IV. 
 
 A stern and weather-beaten band, 
 
 Hemm'd in by treble numbers stand. 
 
 Steady they stand and motionless; 
 
 Nor aught by word or sign express; 
 
 Save that the lowering brow has laid 
 
 On the bronzed cheek a deeper shade, 
 
 And brighter gleams each fiery eye, 830 
 
 As if they wooed the conflict nigh. 
 
 Yet firm and watchful of command, 
 
 None stirs a foot, none lifts a hand; 
 
 While all with manly front oppose 
 
 The gathering circle of their foes. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Lord Alvez mark'd the hardy crew, 
 
 And fiercely there his glances threw; 
 
 But glanced in vain his eye of flame, 
 
 As bright the answering flashes came. 
 
 In vain his cheek with passion burn'd, 840 
 
 As deep a flush his wrath return'd. 
 
 While vainly swell'd his form of pride, 
 
 As haughty shapes his frowns defied. 
 
 " How ? Heard you not my warning words ? 
 
 Strangers, resign your useless swords! 
 
 Why mingle in a thankless broil 
 
 With us, the children of the soil ? 
 
 Think not I fail in deference due, 
 
 That such harsh measures I pursue. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. l6'0. 
 
 But scarcely of my lordship sure, 850 
 
 Tis prudence bids the hall secure; 
 
 'Tis prudence bids from every hand 
 
 Withdraw at once the dangerous brand, 
 
 Lest, forfeited in fruitless strife, 
 
 Be lost one brave, one valued life. 
 
 Resign your weapons; rest to-night 
 
 Within our halls, till morning light; 
 
 The early dawn shall set you free, 
 
 Your swords, your hands, at liberty." 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 He spoke, and all in silence heard; 860 
 
 But not a man in answer stirr'd, 
 
 Till Randall from his comrades burst; 
 
 Randall in ancient Cambria nurst, 
 
 As Snowdon's rocky summits rude, 
 
 And fierce as Conway's tumbling flood; 
 
 And fearless to the lord replied, 
 
 With stern retort of equal pride. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " Noble, if such a name belong 
 
 To one who meditates a wrong, 
 
 Think not I yield me to distrust, 870 
 
 Perchance your promises are just; 
 
 But not for boasts or empty words 
 
 The brave deliver up their swords. 
 
 Not one a weapon will resign, 
 
 Till awed by other frowns than thine. 
 
170 CANTO IV. 
 
 Alike your threats, your proffers vain, 
 
 To cause us in your hall remain, 
 
 Captives or guests, by hope or fear: 
 
 "Tis duty binds our presence here. 
 
 And not a man will leave the floor, 880 
 
 Not one will step the threshold o'er, 
 
 By force controll'd, cajoled by art, 
 
 Till he has said the word, depart. 
 
 Surround us with your lawless crew, 
 
 Pour forth your many on our few; 
 
 But not one weapon shall you gain, 
 
 Till deeply died with sanguine stain. 
 
 Then thunder forth your battle cry, 
 
 And raise your shout of carnage high; 
 
 Rush to the fight with all your band, 890 
 
 And overwhelm us as we stand; 
 
 But every seaman's parting breath 
 
 Shall have a comrade in his death; 
 
 And every spot that we contest 
 
 Shall stream with life-blood from your best; 
 
 And every stranger that shall fall, 
 
 Surprised in this your faithless hall, 
 
 Shall stamp eternity of shame 
 
 On your disgraced perfidious name." 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 " Where is your leader ?" Alvez cried ; 900 
 
 " Perchance your courage shall be tried. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 171 
 
 For think you thus a peer of Spain 
 Will crouch to insult and disdain, 
 Because old saws forbid the blow 
 That lays the hardy scorn er low? 
 Where is your chief? To him will I 
 Alone give notice or reply/' 
 Then Randall spoke in Norman's ear, 
 
 " Quick, to the balcony away, 
 Till Ermingade rejoin us here; 910 
 
 Thus gain we slight delay." 
 The seaman sought the balcony: 
 The moon had raised her orb on high; 
 Gleam'd on the dark rude rocks between; 
 Glanced on the water's silvery sheen; 
 Soften'd the distant mountain's breast, 
 And bathed the wild palm's drooping crest. 
 What shadowy form, so tall and white, 
 Shines in the brilliancy of night? 
 It is, it is the Raven's sails! 920 
 
 Lightly she moves before the gales; 
 Those gentle gales that softly blow, 
 And only night and moonlight know. 
 How swiftly by the shore she glides; 
 The bank her frowning battery hides, 
 But all too well may Norman know 
 The features of their deadly foe : 
 For when did seaman's practised eye 
 Mistake a cruiser's symmetry? 
 
172 CANTO IV. 
 
 Yet faithful to the part he bore, 930 
 
 No symptom of alarm he wore, 
 
 But sought again the crowded hall, 
 
 With cheek unmoved, though watch'd by all, 
 
 And to his comrades, calm and grave, 
 
 His whisper'd tale of terror gave. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Then first the demon stood confest; 
 
 Suspicion woke in Alvez' breast; 
 
 Rude as the tempest of the north 
 
 Burst the proud noble's anger forth. 
 
 " Where is your chief?" he fiercely cried; 940 
 
 " Where does the coward stripling hide ?" 
 
 None answer'd: but their looks too well 
 
 The knowledge that he dreaded tell. 
 
 Forward he rush'd with angry stride; 
 
 His ermined cloak he flung aside, 
 
 And shouted out in madden'd strain, 
 
 Till the whole castle rang again, 
 
 " He has escaped me : fools, beware ! 
 
 Dotards, we have you in the snare ! 
 
 Pirates, you rush upon your doom! 950 
 
 The moment of revenge is come. 
 
 Murderers, I charge you with your crime; 
 
 Behold my witness here! 'tis time." 
 
 L. 
 
 Battista at the word drew near; 
 Still on his curved lip hung the sneer; 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 173 
 
 Still lower'd the dark frown on his brow; 
 
 But sneer and frown were deeper now. 
 
 Scornful he turn'd him from the rest, 
 
 And thus his old compeers addrest: 
 
 " Dip not, my mates, your hands in gore J 960 
 
 Methought the hapless Isidore, 
 
 When last she met you on the flood, 
 
 Had given your thirst its fill of blood. 
 
 Why for E Stella's fortune's care, 
 
 When you have robb'd her of her heir ? 
 
 Think you the hands that could destroy 
 
 This castle's lord, that noble boy, 
 
 For the black murder to atone 
 
 Should keep his kinsman from his own? 
 
 Resign your arms! perchance a place 970 
 
 May yet await you in his grace, 
 
 Nor shall the guilt of one or two 
 
 Bring vengeance on the guiltless crew. 
 
 Give then your leaders to his power, 
 
 And pass uninjured from the tower!" 
 
 LI. 
 
 Scarce had he ceased, when through the throng 
 
 A groan indignant roll'd along. 
 
 One simultaneous motion made 
 
 Bared every pirate's ready blade, 
 
 And raised each arm, for at the word 980 
 
 Each Spaniard flew to knife and sword. 
 
174 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 Forgotton envy, hate, and pride, 
 
 They ranged them by Lord Alvez' side, 
 
 Prepared to wreak upon the train 
 
 Their vengeance for Estella slain. 
 
 The circle closed, and death had been, 
 
 When that sad widow rush'd between; 
 
 But, oh, how changed in cheek and brow 
 
 From her who seem'd so pale e'en now! 
 
 Trembled her slender form with ire; 
 
 Her burning forehead glow'd like fire; 
 
 Her tresses, torn by desperate hands, 
 
 In wild loose flakes had burst their bands; 
 
 Her thin lips open'd, without sound; 
 
 All utterance seem'd in anguish drown'd; 
 
 But still they moved, and gasped for breath, 
 
 As in the agony of death; 
 
 Her eye was dreadful: past away 
 
 Was that soft light that in it lay, 
 
 The gentleness that sought relief 
 
 In tears from her exceeding grief; 
 
 That sudden shock had planted there 
 
 A vacant gleam, an idiot stare; 
 
 And the orb wander'd round in brightness 
 
 Without a thought to check its lightness. 
 
 All paused before her fearful look, 
 
 And e'en the bravest gazed and shook. 
 
 990 
 
 1000 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 175 
 
 LII. 
 
 Tis midnight! Through Estella's tower 
 Toll'd loudly the expected hour; 
 
 And ere its echoes died, 1010 
 
 Arising from the court beneath, 
 Mix'd with a shout, whose hurried breath 
 Speed and impatient haste bespoke, 
 With quick and oft-repeated stroke 
 
 The warder's bell replied. 
 And Alvez started back to hear 
 The double summons strike his ear. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 "What means the loud and clamorous shout, 
 
 That sounds the castle court without? 
 
 What means the quick repeated peal 1020 
 
 Still ringing from the castle bell? 
 
 Who seek uncourteously and late 
 
 Admittance at our castle gate? 
 
 Sebastian, to the turret hie, 
 
 And entrance, in God's name, deny!" 
 
 Too late he spoke: with startling sound 
 
 That thrill'd through every ear around, 
 
 The castle gate, unchain'd, unbarr'd, 
 
 Upon its heavy hinges jarr'd, 
 
 And passage gave. Nor that alone; 1030 
 
 But door on door is open thrown; 
 
176 CANTO IV. 
 
 And door on door repeats again 
 
 The creaking bolt and clanging chain. 
 
 Nearer the gathering tumults rise: 
 
 Come they from terror or surprise? 
 
 Soon shalt thou know; the stone resounds, 
 
 As up the steps the intruder bounds. 
 
 "Secure the hall/' Lord Alvez cried: 
 
 In vain. The door flew open wide, 
 
 And dripping with the recent flood, 1040 
 
 Yet sprinkled with the negro's blood, 
 
 With open vest and forehead bare, 
 
 And sea damps in his clustering hair, 
 
 His cheek with ardent passion beaming, 
 
 His eye with exultation gleaming, 
 
 His mien disturb'd, his features wild, 
 
 While one hand bore aloft the child, 
 
 The other clench'd his naked blade, 
 
 Rush'd through the hall young Ermingade, 
 
 And gave the watch-word of the night, 1050 
 
 "The Heir, Estella, and the Right!" 
 
 LIV. 
 
 A moment in the presence there, 
 
 Breathless with haste and toil, 
 And dazzled by the sudden glare, 
 
 The leader paused awhile, 
 Unconscious of the approaching strife ; 
 That little moment cost a life. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 177 
 
 With dagger gleaming in his hand, 
 
 Battista started from his stand, 
 
 And with ferocious cry of joy 1060 
 
 Rush'd on the undefended boy. 
 
 Then with a scream intense and wild 
 
 The mother sprang to shield her child; 
 
 Yet, ah! too late had come to save 
 
 Her lost one from a bloody grave; 
 
 But, as the ruffian aimed his blow, 
 
 With hand and arm uplifted, lo! 
 
 Across his eyes a flashing light, 
 
 A moment seen, then lost to sight, 
 
 Glanced from before that infant's breast: 1070 
 
 The murderer felt his speed represt, 
 
 But, reeling, onward still he strove 
 
 To hold his course; still onward drove 
 
 His blade to reach the destined prey: 
 
 In vain: hand, feet, and sight gave way, 
 
 Down fell he weltering in his gore, 
 
 A dead man ere he reached the floor, 
 
 While o'er the corpse young Pipi stood, 
 
 With arm and poinard bathed in blood. 
 
 12 
 
CANTO V. 
 
 THE CRUISER. 
 
 I. 
 1. 
 'TIS beautiful o'er foughten plain 
 
 To watch the war-steed's pride, 
 When white foam covers bit and rein, 
 
 And streaks his glossy side; 
 Tis beautiful amid the pack 
 
 To urge the hunter's course, 
 While echo gives the clamour back, 
 
 And fires the madden'd horse; 
 'Tis beautiful to hold command 
 
 Amid the cannon's rattle, 10 
 
 And, marshall'd on the glittering land, 
 
 Survey the pomp of battle. 
 
 2. 
 But, O! it is than managed steed 
 
 More beautiful by far, 
 Swift o'er the waves the chase to speed 
 In England's barks of war; 
 
 122 
 
180 CANTO V. 
 
 More beautiful than huntsman's cry, 
 
 When winds and waves contend, 
 To mark the writhing mast on high, 
 
 And see the canvass bend; 20 
 
 More beautiful than marshall'd plain 
 
 To guide the war-ship's motion, 
 And see her o'er the tempest reign, 
 
 A sovereign of the ocean. 
 
 3. 
 'Tis sweet to hear the village bells 
 
 Ring out their merry round, 
 Or list, when evening curfew swells, 
 
 Far off the solemn sound; 
 'Tis sweet to hear the sky-lark weave 
 
 At morn his heavenward song, 30 
 
 Or catch the wood-lark's notes at eve 
 
 The woodland path along; 
 'Tis sweet to mark, in rural scene, 
 
 Bright eyes with rapture glancing, 
 And to the pipe, on village green, 
 
 See village maidens dancing. 
 
 4. 
 But, O! more sweet than warbling lark, 
 
 Or sound of village bell, 
 In summer round the moonlit bark 
 
 The billows' murmuring swell; 40 
 
THE CRUISER. 181 
 
 More sweet than village maiden's dance, 
 
 Or pipe at rural wake, 
 The rippling waves, that, as they glance, 
 
 Their strange, wild music make. 
 Though sweet o'er England's fields to roam, 
 
 And rich her landsmen's treasures, 
 More sweet to me the seaman's home, 
 
 More dear the seaman's pleasures. 
 
 II. 
 
 Such was young Seymour's joyous strain 
 
 As swept the Raven o'er the main, 50 
 
 Till rose upon the distant view, 
 
 Cuba, thy shores and mountains blue. 
 
 The sun had sunk behind the deep; 
 
 The breezes, that had seem'd to sleep, 
 
 Lock'd in the warm embrace of day, 
 
 In fitful airs began to play; 
 
 And gathering, with the setting sun, 
 
 They nimbly bore the vessel on. 
 
 Varying they came; and, as they past, 
 
 The light sails crowded round the mast, 60 
 
 Courting the gentle breath and soft 
 
 That flutter'd in the heavens aloft, 
 
 While the airy stun-sails faintly press 
 
 On either bow, in their wantonness, 
 
 Swelling their little breasts with glee, 
 
 As if they joy'd exceedingly; 
 
182 CANTO V. 
 
 E'en as two lovely children play 
 
 In the beautiful month of the blooming May, 
 
 Drawing their mother with shouts along 
 
 Towards the gardens of light and song ; 70 
 
 Where the linnet sings in the woodbine bowers, 
 
 And the butterfly floats o'er the bright-eyed flowers. 
 
 Onward they totter with all the glee 
 
 Of childhood'^ thoughtless ecstasy; 
 
 Now each a kindred hand caressing; 
 
 Now with the weight of a fairy pressing ; 
 
 Dragging their happy thrall away, 
 
 As merry, and almost as bright as they. 
 
 So plied the stun-sails their infant force; 
 
 So sprung the cruizer upon her course; 80 
 
 Till steadier grew the evening gales, 
 
 And rising mists obscured the sails. 
 
 III. 
 But, ere the light of day decay'd, 
 The snow-white decks in order laid; 
 The still repose above, below; 
 The ready cannon's frowning row; 
 The tracery of the rising shrouds; 
 The tall mast tapering to the clouds; 
 The well-trimm'd yards; the cordage slight; 
 The ample canvass, square and white; 90 
 
 But more than all, the firm control 
 Of system, which disposed the whole, 
 
THE CRUISER. 183 
 
 Displayed the signs, in realms afar 
 That mark my country's ships of war. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Shoreward she steer'd. Her hopes were high, 
 
 Her plans matured, her triumph nigh. 
 
 A traitor from the pirate's hold, 
 
 Enticed hy promises and gold, 
 
 Well-skill'd the dubious route to trace, 
 
 Directed now the Raven's chase. 100 
 
 V. 
 
 A man he seem'd, whose vacant look 
 
 But little of the craft bespoke, 
 
 Which ambush'd lay beneath the show 
 
 Of heavy eye and sullen brow ; 
 
 Yet had he proved his wonted art, 
 
 And, prosperous, play'd his double part. 
 
 His specious promises had caught 
 
 The British captain's ear, and brought 
 
 The cruizer off the destined bay, 
 
 Where, closely screen'd, the Rubi lay. 110 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now to and fro the vessel's waist 
 With subtle thought Bezzetti paced, 
 And eyes that dwelt upon the ground, 
 Nor saw nor noticed aught around. 
 
184 CANTO V. 
 
 But, as the shore the Raven near'd, 
 
 And o'er the hills the moon appear'd, 
 
 Then rapidly he wander'd o'er, 
 
 With well-poised glass, the darkening shore. 
 
 First rose the wild palms to his view; 
 
 Then he the opening headlands knew; 120 
 
 Then pointed, with extended hand, 
 
 To a bright light upon the land, 
 
 And bade the vessel's course be changed, 
 
 Till sidelong by the shore she ranged. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The captain on the deck appears, 
 
 Of high descent, but young in years ; 
 
 Who early left submission's school, 
 
 And learn'd the prouder art to rule. 
 
 And seem'd he then less fit to reign 
 
 One of the sovereigns of the main, 130 
 
 That to his station he had brought 
 
 A zeal unquench'd, a chainless thought, 
 
 A temper and a spirit free, 
 
 And an unbroken energy? 
 
 O, say not so! For who could trace 
 
 The dark proud features of his face, 
 
 The resolution in his eye, 
 
 His noble form, and bearing high; 
 
 And not have sworn his youthful mind 
 
 Was always for command design'd? 140 
 
THE CRUISER. 185 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The guard retired: the wily guide 
 
 Submissive bow'd: the captain eyed 
 
 With keen regard the dangerous man, 
 
 And thus, in tone severe, began: 
 
 "This is the harbour?" "Signior, yes, 
 
 If by sure signs a man may guess, 
 
 Who claims no knowledge of his own, 
 
 But trusts to others' signs alone." 
 
 "Would you, then, wish to make appear 
 
 You ne'er before have enter'd here?" 150 
 
 "No, signior, never: nor before 
 
 Have I approach'd the southern shore, 
 
 At least to anchor; and this port 
 
 Is one to which but few resort. 
 
 'Tis ill provided, you will see, 
 
 For shelter or security." 
 
 "Why should the Rubi seek it now?" 
 
 "Signior, in sooth I hardly know: 
 
 Bright looks perchance from shore are cast : 
 
 Her chief is younger than the last." 160 
 
 "Her former leader, then, is dead?" 
 
 "Signior, he perish'd, as I said. 
 
 Ere we escaped the frigate's might, 
 
 She threw a broadside on our flight; 
 
 One cannon did its duty well, ( 
 
 It struck our bark, our leader fell." 
 
186 CANTO V. 
 
 "How stand the foremost of the crew?" 
 
 "But ill united: one or two 
 
 Cling to their chief; the rest divide; 
 
 The seamen range on either side. 170 
 
 Were but the rabble's lives ensured, 
 
 The chiefs might be with ease secured." 
 
 " How, stranger, if your knowledge fail ?" 
 
 "Signior, my life is in the scale; 
 
 And, if the schooner is not there, 
 
 Deem I have led you to a snare, 
 
 And visit me with vengeance due; 
 
 But, if you prove my tidings true, 
 
 'Tis yours your plighted faith to show, 
 
 To give the gold, and bid me go." 180 
 
 "A larger guerdon may you gain, 
 
 If as our witness you remain." 
 
 "Signior, I only came to show 
 
 That which you sought. There lies your foe! 
 
 That task perform'd, I claim from you 
 
 Your pledge; my pay and freedom too: 
 
 For were I as the traitor known, 
 
 Who had the Rubi's shelter shown, 
 
 Scorn would my sentence be, and hate, 
 
 A life of pain, an early fate; 190 
 
 For all who own the Rovers' laws 
 
 Would hasten to avenge their cause." 
 
 " I grant your scruples. When I see 
 
 Your tidings with the event agree, 
 
THE CRUISER. 187 
 
 The Rubi to our sight betray 'd, 
 My promise shall be amply paid." 
 
 IX. 
 As ceased the captain's scrutiny, 
 The next in rank and power drew nigh 
 
 In haste; and, as he past 
 To where the pendant overhead 200 
 
 In waving folds its length outspread 
 
 High on the lofty mast, 
 Paid to the deck the wonted court, 
 And gave the long-desired report. 
 " From off the Royal's lofty stand, 
 That overhangs the shelving land, 
 The seaman in the distance sees 
 A vessel's mast above the trees 
 Of a small island in the bay : 
 A rude old tower is on the way, 210 
 
 Whose glancing lights we caught before, 
 When first the Raven made the shore." 
 
 X. 
 
 The leader's cheek with gladness burn'd, 
 
 As his blithe tongue reply return'd. 
 
 " 'Tis well : you know the achievement plann'd ; 
 
 Let every boat be arm'd and mann'd 
 
 The moment that the anchor's gone. 
 
 Murray, 'tis yours to lead them on: 
 
188 CANTO V. 
 
 Much do I grieve I may not share 
 
 The honour that awaits you there. 220 
 
 With you let Dacres go: the fray 
 
 May his long services repay, 
 
 And gain for him the white lapel, 
 
 Which he has long deserved so well. 
 
 Take Seymour, 'tis my cousin's right; 
 
 The youngster longs to see a fight, 
 
 And this may cool his youthful flame; 
 
 A pirate is no infant's game. 
 
 Thus far 'tis settled: for the rest 
 
 Choose you the readiest and the best; 230 
 
 Unworthy choice you scarce can make 
 
 For such a game with such a stake." 
 
 XI. 
 
 And all were warn'd, and light and free, 
 
 By cape, and rock, and stone, 
 By bank, and beach, and scatter'd tree, 
 
 The English bark moves on. 
 The gallant bark moves merrily, 
 
 The waves, that round her curl, 
 Upon her graceful bosom lie 
 
 As the tresses of a girl, 
 A gladsome girl with golden tress, 
 
 On which the moonlight gleams, 240 
 
 Bright in its own sweet loveliness, 
 
 Bright in those radiant beams. 
 
THE CRUISER. 189 
 
 Hark to the call! The summons rings, 
 
 The white sails leave their height, 
 Shake in the air their snowy wings, 
 
 Then vanish from the sight. 
 Less fleet the silent vessel glides 
 
 Over the moon-lit main; 
 And round her path the rippling tides 
 
 Pour forth a murmuring strain; 250 
 
 Responsive to the accents low, 
 Where, heedful of the slumbering foe, 
 The leadsman sounds the depths below, 
 
 And chants his warning song; 
 While, where the deepest channels flow, 
 
 The Raven glides along. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A form is leaning o'er her bow, 
 
 With sunken cheek and darken'd brow. 
 
 Tis Dacres, who a life of pain 
 
 For twenty years has past in vain, 260 
 
 Unguerdon'd by promotion's smile, 
 
 To pay the inferior's tedious toil. 
 
 But other ills, and deeper cares, 
 
 The veteran's secret bosom bears: 
 
 And weightier thoughts have cast their shade, 
 
 Than life of toil, or hope delay 'd. 
 
190 CANTO V. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 While thus he communed with his mind, 
 
 A quick light step was heard behind, 
 
 As, with a breast that swell'd with joy, 
 
 Rose from below a blooming boy, 270 
 
 With sparkling eyes, and features glad, 
 
 In simple vest of azure clad ; 
 
 The simple vest of azure hue, 
 
 That marks Britannia's ocean crew. 
 
 'Twas Seymour, who had lately proved 
 
 The wandering life his childhood loved; 
 
 Seymour, who left his parent's care, 
 
 His noble kinsman's fame to share; 
 
 Who gloried in the vest he wore, 
 
 Exulted in the name he bore; 280 
 
 His anchor'd button view'd with pride, 
 
 And proudly mark'd his armed side. 
 
 'Twas Seymour, in his youthful heart 
 
 Rejoicing o'er his destined part: 
 
 Who deem'd the deed already done, 
 
 The pirates slain, the victory won; 
 
 And ever, as in secret thought 
 
 The imaginary fight he fought, 
 
 As foemen fall, or friends prevail, 
 
 Stood hero of his fancy's tale. 290 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The youngster softly took his stand 
 Behind the veteran, and his hand 
 
THE CRUISER. 191 
 
 Upon his shoulder lightly laid, 
 
 And thus, in joyous accents, said, 
 
 "Nay, rouse you, Dacres! Tis the time, 
 
 The favourite theme of poet's rhime, 
 
 When man may down life's current press, 
 
 Secure of fortune and success. 
 
 What, though we gain nor wealth nor spoil, 
 
 To pay us for our risk and toil; 300 
 
 What, though a pirate's chase affords 
 
 Employment only for our swords, 
 
 Perchance our enterprise may bring 
 
 Fame and promotion on its wing? 
 
 Let each enjoy his separate line; 
 
 Be yours the last, the fame be mine: 
 
 And then, old comrade, who can tell, 
 
 But that the glittering white lapel, 
 
 So long deserved by toil and pain, 
 
 May almost make you young again?" 310 
 
 XV. 
 
 He paused awhile, but none replied: 
 He drew the veteran's hand aside, 
 And there is moisture in his eye, 
 
 And wrinkles on his cheek; 
 The muscles, writhed in agony, 
 
 A hidden woe bespeak; 
 Some hidden woe without a name, 
 And man's disgrace, if grief be shame. 
 
1.92 CANTO V. 
 
 "How, Dacres !" said the generous boy, 
 
 "Can speech like this a man annoy? 320 
 
 Though far behind in strength and years, 
 
 I long have thrown aside my tears. 
 
 Come, let us crush this nest of knaves, 
 
 And gain the freedom of the waves; 
 
 Secure that every blow we aim 
 
 Shall add one title to your claim." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The listener gravely shook his head, 
 
 And thus in broken accents said: 
 
 "Seymour, there are, or were, with those 330 
 
 Whom justly you esteem our foes, 
 
 With whom you glory to contend, 
 
 A former messmate and a friend. 
 
 Two years have past this very day, 
 
 Since this our gallant cruizer lay 
 
 In ambush off Omoa's bay. 
 
 Our boats, a daring armament, 
 
 Were to the inner harbour sent, 
 
 To seize a vessel in the port, 
 
 Which sought protection from the fort. 
 
 Third in our bark's command was one, 340 
 
 In courage and in skill by none 
 
 Surpass'd; to him the adventure fell, 
 
 And valiantly was borne and well. 
 
THE CRUISER. 193 
 
 We saw, within one little hour, 
 The Golondrina in our power, 
 The pirate's banner struck, the train 
 Of pirates captive, sunk, or slain. 
 The captain we have lately lost, 
 
 Of whom no more you know, 
 But that he less deserved the post 350 
 
 Than he who rules us now; 
 Whether he grudged the hard-earned fame 
 That pour'd on his inferior's name; 
 Whether, by prejudice deceived, 
 Or that, in justice, he believed 
 One, who his arrogance repell'd, 
 Unworthy of the rank he held ; 
 Strain'd his dominion to the height, 
 Laid on his neck the heaviest weight, 
 And every insult on him prest 360 
 
 That rage could prompt or spite suggest. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "Harass'd and wearied out at length, 
 Severely tried beyond his strength, 
 Of interest void, without a friend, 
 Feeling his very rank depend, 
 Rank unconfirm'd, upon the will 
 Of one who triumph'd in his ill, 
 The victim, in a hapless hour, 
 Renounced his tyrant's ruthless power, 
 13 
 
19^ CANTO V. 
 
 And from his ship and country fled, 370 
 
 Unmark'd, and number'd with the dead. 
 
 Would he had died! But rumour came 
 
 And clothed him with a gloomier fame. 
 
 O, madness must have held its sway 
 
 O'er his proud heart on that dark day, 
 
 When first he sought those lawless bands, 
 
 And join'd the crew he now commands! 
 
 For know, the bark which first he gain'd, 
 
 Where next disloyally he stain'd 
 
 With infamy his gallant name, 380 
 
 And this we follow, are the same. 
 
 Our prize, well known in realms afar, 
 
 A while in Britain's ranks of war 
 
 That bark maintain'd a transient place: 
 
 But, reft of all her former grace, 
 
 Or badly trimm'd, or feebly sail'd, 
 
 To keep her old renown she fail'd, 
 
 And, judged unfit for cruizer's part, 
 
 Was barter'd at the public mart. 
 
 Who paid her price, fame fails to show; 390 
 
 But he who took her rules her now. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Enough of him : his choice he made, 
 And knew what desperate game he play'd. 
 But when he fled, in evil time 
 He found a partner of his crime; 
 
THE CRUISER. 195 
 
 One to the ills of life unknown, 
 
 Of years less numerous than your own; 
 
 A joyous son of Erin's isle, 
 
 With heart untouch'd by fraud or guile, 
 
 Impetuous, daring, bold, and free, 400 
 
 And the sworn foe to tyranny; 
 
 With soul unskill'd his thoughts to hide, 
 
 With spirit full of manly pride, 
 
 Nursed in a land with passion rife, 
 
 Where freedom is the star of life. 
 
 His inexperienced soul abhorr'd 
 
 The insults on the sufferer pour'd; 
 
 Rashly he link'd him to his fate, 
 
 Partook with him his scorn and hate, 
 
 And, when he chose that desperate road, 410 
 
 Follow'd his footsteps as a god! 
 
 Alas! the heart, that would not bow 
 
 To legal power, is crushed ere now! 
 
 To fiercer despotism tied, 
 
 And with a band of fiends allied, 
 
 How must the anguish of remorse 
 
 For ever haunt his hopeless course, 
 
 When in that band, by law unchain'd, 
 
 By rapine link'd, by carnage stain'd, 
 
 The associates of his life he sees, 420 
 
 And whispers, Am I one of these V 
 
 132 
 
196 CANTO V. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 "What were the names your comrades bore?" 
 
 The youthful seaman cries: 
 " This tale of wrong I heard before 
 
 Beneath far distant skies: 
 And, since my late arrival here. 
 Have caught some rumour in my ear; 
 But little from inquiry won, 
 For all appear'd the theme to shun." 
 " Ask not of me, but let them lie," 430 
 
 The veteran calm retum'd, 
 "Sunk in their own indignity, 
 
 The meed their deeds have earn'd ! 
 They, whom their friends regard with shame, 
 Have forfeited their native claim, 
 And, lost to honour, have no name." 
 "There let them lie," the stripling said, 
 "Curst by the choice their heart has made; 
 Forgetting, when their toil was done, 
 How bright the honour to be won; 440 
 
 Forgetting, he who aims at sway 
 Must seek it by submission's way. 
 Blinded by prejudice or pride, 
 Rashly they threw their hopes aside. 
 For me, the very steps I prize 
 That lead me to my long'd-for rise, 
 Through gloom and toil allured afar 
 By honours bright and leading star." 
 
THE CRUISER. 197 
 
 XX. 
 
 They parted, for the bark at last 
 
 The outer harbour's point had past, 450 
 
 And ranged beneath Estella's tower, 
 
 As struck the bell the midnight hour. 
 
 Her leaders low their orders speak: 
 
 Clash the loose ropes, the dark blocks creak, 
 
 On high the bellying topsails rise, 
 
 Flutter a moment in the skies, 
 
 No tell-tale pipe its 'larum blends, 
 
 But every sail at once descends. 
 
 Festoon'd, along the yards they lie, 
 
 In quick and loose captivity; 460 
 
 And, as the anchor strikes the ground, 
 
 The sea in circles heaves around. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Scarce had the Raven rested there, 
 
 When all the bold attack prepare. 
 
 The lighter boats are lower'd in haste: 
 
 Ascending from the hollow waist, 
 
 The heavy yawl a moment sways, 
 
 Suspended on the straining stays; 
 
 Upon the yards a moment rests, 
 
 Then sinks upon the billows' breasts. 470 
 
 With hearts resolved, and motions still, 
 
 The hardy crew their places fill. 
 
198 CANTO V. 
 
 The light flotilla leaves the sides, 
 
 And slowly o'er the water glides, 
 
 And steals along the sheltering shore 
 
 In measured line, with muffled oar. 
 
 High hearts are in that little fleet, 
 
 That soon may cease to swell and beat! 
 
 Bold forms are on that moon-lit main, 
 
 That ne'er may reach their homes again! 480 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Return we to E Stella's hall, 
 Where, startled at Battista's fall, 
 Without a motion or a sound 
 The combatants stand sternly round, 
 And fiercely eye their adverse foes, 
 Ere yet in doubtful fight they close. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But softer passions soothe the breast, 
 
 As for a while their glances rest, 
 
 Where, heedless of the bloody scene, 
 
 E stella's lady knelt between, 490 
 
 And, with bewilder'd look of joy, 
 
 Clung wildly round her rescued boy; 
 
 Oft lock'd him in her fond embrace; 
 
 Oft parted from his pallid face 
 
 The jetty ringlets' tangled maze; 
 
 And so intently did she gaze 
 
 On his wan cheek, as if she deem'd 
 
 He was not really what he seem'd; 
 
THE CRUISER. 199 
 
 As if it was an empty sprite 
 
 Sent only to delude her sight. 500 
 
 O 'twas a joy, an ecstacy, 
 
 For mother's hopes too wild, 
 Her child indeed this could not be, 
 
 Her own, her only child! 
 Yet still she held him in her grasp, 
 With a convulsed and painful clasp; 
 And wildly still her eager eye 
 
 O'er his pale features roved, 
 As on a dream of years gone by, 
 
 The shade of one she loved. 510 
 
 But when the child had broke his trance, 
 And cast on her his pleading glance, 
 
 His arms around her flung, 
 And falter'd out that sacred name 
 His lips had long forgot to frame, 
 
 As on her neck he hung: 
 Then from her eyes the torrent burst, 
 And woke the dawn of reason first, 
 And the thick drops, like summer rain, 
 Lighten'd the sufferer's burning brain. 520 
 
 She saw, she recognised her boy! 
 But all too strong that shock of joy; 
 
 Her arms she cast on high: 
 And her faint lips, like one whose breast 
 Labours by fearful dreams opprest, 
 
 Murmur'd a feeble cry. 
 
200 CANTO V. 
 
 The mother with the cry was gone, 
 
 Sunk senseless by her rescued son! 
 
 Then at the sight the maiden train, 
 
 Who, helpless and alarm'd, in vain 530 
 
 Had sought to leave the dangerous spot, 
 
 Their momentary fear forgot; 
 
 And, crowding round with ready aid, 
 
 The lady from the hall convey 'd 
 
 To her sequester'd bower, 
 Till life should warm each flagging vein, 
 And the fond mother feel again 
 
 Affections healing power; 
 Again to light and bliss revive, 
 Her child to her dear arms receive, 540 
 
 And welcome home the fugitive, 
 The lost one found, the dead alive, 
 
 Lord of Estella's tower. 
 There leave we to their own deep joy 
 The mother and her princely boy; 
 The lay far other scenes employ. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Yet may I not the lingering song 
 
 With fierce detail of arms prolong, 
 
 When in the hall, from transient rest, 
 
 The flame broke forth in every breast; 550 
 
 How he, who felt his power controll'd 
 
 By those rude strangers' bearing bold, 
 
THE CRUISER. 201 
 
 In burst of disappointed pride, 
 
 The pirates to the fight defied, 
 
 And closed his ranks from side to side: 
 
 How, eager now for prompt retreat, 
 
 His generous purposes complete, 
 
 The leader and his hardy crew 
 
 Soon cut their bloody passage through: 
 
 And how, amidst the opposing bands, 560 
 
 Struck down beneath the seamen's brands, 
 
 First fell the guilty sire and son. 
 
 Such meed ill-starr'd ambition won; 
 
 And with the authors of the fray 
 
 The fight's last embers died away. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Then Ermingade, with stern command, 
 
 Ranged, at a word, his little band: 
 
 "Quick, comrades, to the boats," he said: 
 
 "Too long is our retreat delay'd. 
 
 If cross the Raven on our flight, 570 
 
 Much may we rue this fatal fight." 
 
 Quick at the word the Pirates form, 
 
 And their dark line array: 
 As when, in sullen clouds, the storm 
 
 Rolls its thick shades away; 
 Leaving the coast with shipwrecks strown, 
 The fields despoil'd, the woods o'erthrown. 
 
202 CANTO V. 
 
 Estella's vassals heard the splash, 
 
 As in the wave the oar-blades dash: 
 
 The pirate galleys cut the flood, 580 
 
 And leave behind the scene of blood. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But hark! for not alone do they, 
 
 Led on by Ermingade, 
 The stillness of that midnight bay 
 
 With dripping oars invade; 
 The cruizer's boats, not far away, 
 
 The moonlight surface shade. 
 Six boats the Raven's power sustain; 
 A double line their ranks maintain: 
 The heavier keels the vanward lead; 590 
 
 The lighter gigs control their speed, 
 And close the rear; lest in the chase 
 The shallops, swifter in the race, 
 By rule and station unconfined, 
 Should leave the weightier barks behind. 
 But D ac res, who with skilful sway 
 Ruled the long galley's rapid way, 
 Call'd by the choice his chief had made 
 For length of service unrepaid, 
 And long experience, to command 600 
 
 The swiftest vessel in the band; 
 Dacres had left his comrades' side, 
 The course of their advance to guide, 
 
THE CRUISER. 203 
 
 Lest, wam'd of the approaching fray, 
 
 The ambush'd foes should bar the way. 
 
 Lightly he pull'd: but when at last 
 
 The castle's rocky base he past, 
 
 And open'd on his larboard hand 
 
 The opposing point of shelving sand; 
 
 As slowly widening to his view 610 
 
 Of ampler space the distance grew, 
 
 O'er the broad bay's extended plain 
 
 A minute's space his glances strain. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 What sees he ? In the beams of night 
 
 Three bounding galleys, long and white, 
 
 With straining nerve, and bending oar, 
 
 Strike for the shelter of the shore. 
 
 Onward they press with graceful sweep, 
 
 As sea-snakes gliding o'er the deep: 
 
 Upon their sides the moon-beams stream, 620 
 
 A flood of radiance ; that they seem 
 
 Like dolphins, that their pastime take 
 
 In some swift vessel's bubbling wake, 
 
 And mingle with the liquid blue 
 
 Their ridgy backs of sparkling hue : 
 
 Not such the dolphins, that of yore 
 
 The fabled bard of Lesbos bore, 
 
 Strange forms, not cast in nature's mould, 
 
 Unless, as some more sage have told, 
 
204 CANTO V. 
 
 The unwieldy porpoises may claim 630 
 
 The honours of the dolphins name: 
 
 But graceful shapes of gold and green, 
 
 In depths of tropic waters seen, 
 
 Who, when the day breeze dies away, 
 
 On ocean's tranquil surface play, 
 
 Or vault aloft, or through the tide 
 
 With lightning's speed and splendour glide; 
 
 Like these, so rapid and so bright, 
 
 The pirate galleys urge their flight. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 At once his foes the veteran knew; 640 
 
 At once his course he stay'd: 
 Back on her way the galley flew, 
 
 Nor pause nor resting made. 
 But at full swing the seamen bent; 
 Till by the advancing armament 
 Their speed they check'd: a sign, a word; 
 And all the unlook'd for tidings heard. 
 Joy flash'd in Murray's anxious face: 
 "Give way," he cried: "a general chase; 
 Board at all points: but should we fail, 650 
 
 And they by luckier chance prevail 
 Their vessel's sheltering side to gain; 
 Steady, my men! your fire restrain! 
 United must our force attack, 
 Or they will send us baffled back." 
 
THE CRUISER. 205 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 On sprang the barks at Murray's sign: 
 
 A moment pull'd in equal line; 
 
 Then the light gigs assumed the lead, 
 
 Slender and swift: and first in speed, 
 
 Their galleys far before the rest, 660 
 
 Dacres and Seymour onward prest. 
 
 While, as they pass, the bright wave breaks 
 
 Beneath their oars in silvery flakes: 
 
 Phosphoric fires, the ocean gems, 
 
 Stream sparkling from their glittering stems; 
 
 The light above, the light below, 
 
 Bathes them in beauty as they go. 
 
 As when, in calm of Afric's skies, 
 
 The waveless ocean dreaming lies; 
 
 While in the west, with soften'd fires, 670 
 
 The burning orb of day retires, 
 
 And, ere his eye of glory closes, 
 
 Its brightness on the deep reposes, 
 
 Blending alike the sea and sky 
 
 In one rich glow of radiancy : 
 
 Then, darting from their watery tracks, 
 
 With yellow fins and purple backs, 
 
 With breasts encased in silver scales, 
 
 And bright with gold their forked tails, 
 
 High o'er the deep, distinct to view, 680 
 
 The Albicores their prey pursue, 
 
206 CANTO V. 
 
 Who own the two-fold power in vain 
 
 That bears them through the air and main, 
 
 And vainly trust or fins or wings, 
 
 Against their foes' majestic springs: 
 
 So sprang the barks, so seem'd to close 
 
 Each instant with their flying foes; 
 
 Stroke after stroke, still on they flew; 
 
 Stroke after stroke, still nearer grew; 
 
 For, weak with wounds, the pirate crew, 690 
 
 And worn by recent strife, 
 More faintly struggled, though they knew 
 
 Their struggle was for life. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Their chief, who mark'd with anxious eye 
 
 The leaders of the chase draw nigh, 
 
 Around him cast a hurried look, 
 
 Then brief and bold his purpose took. 
 
 "Norman," he said, for in the band 
 
 The pirate held the third command, 
 
 "Take you the galleys in your care, 700 
 
 And neither breath nor sinew spare, 
 
 While breath may last or sinew strain, 
 
 Till you the Rum's shelter gain. 
 
 For me, I linger on the way, 
 
 Our rash pursuer's course to stay. 
 
 Few moments may success ensure: 
 
 And, if my efforts can endure 
 
THE CRUISER. 207 
 
 Some fifty fathoms from the spot, 
 
 And cross the chain, I fear them not: 
 
 More danger have I often dared. 710 
 
 Say to Latharo, 'Be prepared, 
 
 The moment that the first boats strike, 
 
 To throw your fire on all alike.' 
 
 Reck not for me, nor heed my state, 
 
 The event will soon decide my fate. 
 
 If here I fail, upon my head 
 
 They will but triumph o'er the dead: 
 
 If I escape, I seek a while 
 
 The shelter of the wooded isle ; 
 
 Till shot and chain have done their part, 720 
 
 And, tired and spent, the foes depart." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Obedient to the word, the crew 
 
 Their efforts and their strength renew. 
 
 At every seaman's lengthen'd sweep, 
 
 Bound the light vessels from the deep, 
 
 Till by degrees their madden'd pace 
 
 Widens the distance of the chase. 
 
 Then Ermingade his art essay 'd, 
 
 His galley's headlong speed delay'd; 
 
 Less frequent in the splashing wave 730 
 
 The oars their furious impulse gave; 
 
 Less frequent, on the oar's descent, 
 
 At every stroke the body bent: 
 
208 CANTO V. 
 
 Yet drops of toil still thickly streak 
 
 The throbbing brow and wearied cheek; 
 
 Nor less, with strong exertion warm, 
 
 The full veins swell the straining arm; 
 
 For, though with temperd force propell'd, 
 
 Still fleetly on the galley held, 
 
 Though scarcely might the foeman heed 740 
 
 The change in her diminish'd speed. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 As that fond bird, with love endued, 
 
 Defensive of her helpless brood, 
 
 When foot of man has rudely prest 
 
 The precincts of her lowly nest, 
 
 Steals on his sight with feeble cry, 
 
 With drooping wing and stiffening thigh 
 
 Trail'd on the ground, as though in pain 
 
 She sought escape, and sought in vain, 
 
 Till she his steps aside has led, 750 
 
 And lured them from her nurslings' bed: 
 
 Thus, while the chief his flight restraint, 
 
 And on their foes the warsmen gain'd, 
 
 D ac res beheld with joy and pride 
 
 His own brave shallop skim the tide, 
 
 And, forward bearing like the wind, 
 
 Soon leave the heavier keels behind. 
 
 Seymour alone, with rival speed, 
 
 Maintain'd awhile an equal lead: 
 
THE CRUISER. 209 
 
 Till, by superior strength at last, 760 
 
 A-head the gallant veteran past, 
 Held onward, and with beating breast 
 Upon the pirate singly prest. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Close and more close they came; and now 
 
 The British galley's slender bow, 
 
 Following the flyer's every turn, 
 
 Had almost touch'd the pirate's stern. 
 
 That instant to his practised crew 
 
 The chief his ready signal threw : 
 
 Each oar-blade, back'd with sudden force, 770 
 
 Stopp'd at full speed the rapid course; 
 
 And every hand at once was laid 
 
 On pistol lock and boarding blade. 
 
 While, unprepared their speed to stay, 
 
 The British seamen hold their way 
 
 Abreast, and in an instant close 
 
 The ready and determined foes. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 They close with jar, with shock, and crash, 
 With yielding plank, and smother'd splash; 
 They close with smoke and bursts of flame, 780 
 And the dire pistol's murderous aim: 
 They close the o'erhanging shade beneath, 
 And in the very grasp of death. 
 14 
 
10 CANTO V. 
 
 The pirate's art has sped too well: 
 
 Two seamen at the instant fell, 
 
 Ere yet the promptest of the band 
 
 Had dropt one oar-loom from his hand. 
 
 All start a moment from the shock, 
 
 Then, steady as their island rock, 
 
 Still to their hardy nature true, 
 
 The English seaman's gallant crew 790 
 
 Return at once the fierce attack, 
 
 And hurl the bandit's battle back. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Now close the deadly conflict draws: 
 
 No time for shot, no rallying pause; 
 
 But hand to hand, and sword to sword, 
 
 They grasp, they struggle, and they board. 
 
 None lingers: in a moment's span 
 
 Chief seeks for chief, man copes with man ; 
 
 The steel-clasps clash, the blades strike fire; 800 
 
 All blind with smoke, with heat, with ire, 
 
 None knows, or marks, or cares to trace 
 
 The features of the opponent's face. 
 
 But when, the first fierce onset still'd, 
 
 An instant's breathing came, 
 Through hearts, which once kind feelings fill'd, 
 The pang of recognition thrill'd, 
 
 Keen as the lightning's flame. 
 
THE CRUISER. 211 
 
 Messmates and friends in early life, 
 
 Should these have met in such a strife? 810 
 
 Down sank the youthful leader's ward: 
 
 Dacres awhile forgot his guard, 
 
 Nor reck'd that on his fenceless breast 
 
 A rugged pirate forward prest; 
 
 Nor shunnd by motion or by word 
 
 The menace of the deadly sword. 
 
 Through breast and back the cutlass went; 
 
 Fainting he fell: one look he sent, 
 
 One last, one painful look; 
 And that wild look has met an eye, 820 
 
 Whose deep and silent agony 
 
 Attests the keen rebuke. 
 A sharper wound that look has made 
 Than pistol shot or trenchant blade. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 But season now is none to show 
 
 Remorse or ineffectual woe. 
 
 For see, impatient at the sight, 
 
 Eager to join his friends in fight, 
 
 His ready aid young Seymour brings: 
 
 Onward and on his galley springs, 830 
 
 And by the stragglers' quarter plies: 
 
 At once the chief his danger spies, 
 
 And gives the word in faltering tone, 
 
 "Our work is done: on, Rubi's, on!" 
 
 142 
 
212 CANTO V. 
 
 They force them from their feeble foes, 
 
 Who vainly now their flight oppose. 
 
 Dishearten'd by their leader's fall, 
 
 Two seamen slain, and wounded all, 
 
 The crew, disabled, dropp'd a-stern; 
 
 While, hot and eager in her turn, 840 
 
 Seymour's swift boat, with fiery pace, 
 
 And furious bounds, renews the chase. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 "Now for your lives! for long ere now 
 
 Has Norman reach'd the Rum's bow. 
 
 Already have we crost the chain: 
 
 Now, comrades, now, your efforts strain; 
 
 Pull for the shore; our post make good." 
 
 On rush pursuer and pursued. 
 
 Young Seymour saw the island near: 
 
 He saw the daring pirate steer 850 
 
 Full for the shore, where well he knew 
 
 A stranger might in vain pursue. 
 
 While yet with flight of goaded steed, 
 
 His galley held her headlong speed, 
 
 Sternly he mark'd the gaining foes; 
 
 Then from his seat collected rose; 
 
 His carbine rear'd with sudden aim, 
 
 And quick and loud the volley came. 
 
 And has he miss'd? see from the stern 
 
 The pirate rises! To return 860 
 
THE CRUISER. 213 
 
 The deadly summons? Seymour, no: 
 
 From him no vengeance shalt thou know. 
 
 Yet mark, he lifts his hands on high! 
 
 Is it in rage or agony? 
 
 That doubtful act has stilTd the strife, 
 
 And closed the pirate's hapless life. 
 
 The fickle heart, which still pursued, 
 
 As passion prompted, ill or good, 
 
 Has stopt at once its restless swell: 
 
 Back on the seat the body fell; 870 
 
 While he who mark'd that galley near 
 
 Had shrunk to see a dead man steer, 
 
 So upright sate the stiffening clay, 
 
 When life and sense had past away. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 While Seymour saw his death-shot tell, 
 
 And, following his advantage well, 
 
 Press'd on the foe in full career: 
 
 The Raven's boats, unused to fear, 
 
 Like birds of prey that scent afar 
 
 Their destined spoil, have reach'd the bar, 880 
 
 And, flush'd with hope and energy, 
 
 Heed not nor care for danger nigh. 
 
 The transient jar they scarcely feel: 
 
 They scarcely hear the grating keel: 
 
 When, in full speed, as on a rock, 
 
 Yawl, cutters, strike with startling shock; 
 
214 CANTO V. 
 
 Hang in midway; and strive in vain 
 
 To force them o'er the tightening chain. 
 
 Dreadful will be the assailants' fate, 
 
 If known their boats' defenceless state. 890 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 And it is known. Latharo's eye 
 
 Had kept its wonted scrutiny: 
 
 And scarcely have the first boats grounded, 
 
 Ere through the bark his call has sounded. 
 
 With bursts of flame the Rubi gleams, 
 
 With fatal force the broadside streams, 
 
 The shot along the waters dash, 
 
 With hiss, with bubble, and with splash, 
 
 And find in each entrammell'd bark 
 
 A plain, unscreen'd, unmoving mark. 900 
 
 See ! they have struck the galley's sides ! 
 
 The light plank crashes, and divides! 
 
 Sever'd in half, the shatter'd boat, 
 
 Men, oars, and planks disorder'd float. 
 
 All thoughts of vengeance past away, 
 
 For life they strive, for life they pray: 
 
 Nor vain for aid their loud appeal; 
 
 The smallest boat, whose narrower keel 
 
 With lighter draught has clear'd the chain, 
 
 Hastes back, her sinking friends to gain. 910 
 
 What recks she, that around her pour 
 
 The death-shot in resistless shower? 
 
THE CRUISER. 215 
 
 What recks she; that the bloody bark 
 
 May find in her another mark? 
 
 What recks she, that a crew she bears 
 
 Of feebler strength and young in years ? 
 
 For England's sons are early taught 
 
 To seek the fight their sires have sought; 
 
 The storm and battle-shock to brave, 
 
 And stretch the ready hand to save. 920 
 
 As in the rose's budding bloom 
 
 We taste the future flower's perfume; 
 
 As in the generous colt we trace 
 
 The victor of the future race: 
 
 So in the boy we mark the fires, 
 
 That glow'd with brightness in his sires, 
 
 And own the youth's aspiring claim 
 
 Confirm'd in manhood's riper fame. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The gallant boat and her living freight, 
 
 How may she cross with double weight 930 
 
 The fatal chain? As near they drew, 
 
 The dangerous chance her leader knew, 
 
 At once his generous orders gave, 
 
 And foremost plunges in the wave. 
 
 Follow at once the obedient band, 
 
 On bow and gunwale plant the hand, 
 
 Cleave the blue deep with effort strong, 
 
 And bear the rescued boat along. 
 
216 CANTO V. 
 
 Nor vain their daring: they have past 
 
 The cannon's deadly range at last; 940 
 
 The shot, still following on their flight, 
 
 Fall short, and harmless sink from sight. 
 
 The exhausted crew their seats regain, 
 
 And resting on their oars remain. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 By this, with full exerted strength, 
 
 Cutters and yawl had forced at length 
 
 Their passage backward in retreat. 
 
 But, oh, how changed from that gay fleet, 
 
 Which late, in all the pride of war, 
 
 Ardent and daring reach'd the bar! 950 
 
 With shiver'd oars upon the brim, 
 
 Scarce may the wounded vessel swim: 
 
 For from stove plank, and gunwale crush'd, 
 
 In long dark streams the waters rush'd; 
 
 And mingled with the ghastly flood, 
 
 That rose within, of clotted blood: 
 
 While still remorseless on her foes 
 
 The pirate bark her vengeance throws, 
 
 And every broadside's awful tone 
 
 Is echoed by a scream or groan. 960 
 
 Murray is dead, nor feels the shame 
 
 That clouds the conquer'd champion's name: 
 
 One leader by his side is dying; 
 
 And D ac res still is hopeless lying. 
 
THE CRUISER. 217 
 
 Thus, with swampt boats and leaders lost, 
 
 Confusion tracks the batter'd host: 
 
 With gloomy looks and gestures stern, 
 
 Slowly they take their sad return; 
 
 And from the Rubi's ceaseless fires, 
 
 Boat after boat, the fleet retires. 970 
 
 XLII. 
 
 The noise of the skirmish has past away, 
 
 And the beautiful vessel, in bright array, 
 
 With silent tranquillity floats on the bay. 
 
 Peace is around her: you may not trace 
 
 The signs of wrath in her outward grace. 
 
 But ever as cling the stings behind 
 
 Of conscience' dart in the guilty mind; 
 
 As the weeds are left by the falling tides, 
 
 As the swell remains when the storm subsides, 
 
 So many a mark within her she bore, 980 
 
 That told of the fight, when the fight was o'er. 
 
 No more may her decks attract the eye 
 
 With their delicate, spotless purity. 
 
 For the cold shot have dyed the planks with rust, 
 
 And the tackles have strewn the seams with dust; 
 
 And the careless foot has left its stain, 
 
 As it trampled the powder's scattered grain. 
 
 The cannon their roar of battle forget, 
 
 But their muzzles and touch-holes are reeking yet: 
 
218 CANTO V. 
 
 And they stand scarce freed from their deadly toil, 990 
 
 As left by the shock of their last recoil, 
 
 While the gear hangs loose o'er the cumber d deck, 
 
 As the bridle-rein on the war-steed's neck. 
 
 Look at the seamen: their duty done, 
 
 They carelessly lean on the silent gun. 
 
 Far as the waist each stands undrest, 
 
 With massive arms and brawny breast, 
 
 While the sweat from their limbs runs in currents down, 
 
 Clotted with powder, with smoke-wreaths brown. 
 
 The crimson scarfs of their loins are bound 1000 
 
 Their weather-worn brows and temples round; 
 
 And a fiery light, o'er their dark cheeks spread, 
 
 Makes their dark cheeks glow with borrow'd red. 
 
 Deadly their looks of battle and toil : 
 
 But deadlier yet is each pirate's smile, 
 
 As with ruffian jest and blasphemous breath 
 
 He revels in slaughter, and mocks at death. 
 
 The struggle to frenzy their passions has wrought. 
 
 And now, had the spirit of evil sought 
 
 Engines to work his will below, 1010 
 
 Reckless of human misery and woe, 
 
 Sear'd against conscience, as strangers to fear, 
 
 The demon had found his instruments here. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Latharo apart walk'd stern and alone, 
 
 His sword and his pistols beside him thrown, 
 
THE CRUISER. 219 
 
 Darting his dark eye ever around, 
 
 With his quick ear watching for every sound. 
 
 And he heard the splash of the distant oar 
 
 On the midnight deep from the island shore; 
 
 And the murmur of voices was still'd in his hand, 1020 
 
 At the glance of his eye and the wave of his hand. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 "A boat, a friendly boat! she draws in sight: 
 
 We see her zebra bow and gunwale white. 
 
 Then have they prospered. Yet, what sight is this? 
 
 No oar, no seaman from the seats we miss: 
 
 But still, with solemn pace, they move a-head, 
 
 As though they bore the relics of the dead. 
 
 Enough: she nears us now; let all prepare 
 
 To pay our duties, for the chief is there." 
 
 She reach'd the gangway, and yet no one stirr'd: 1030 
 
 There was a painful pause, and then was heard 
 
 A whisper, startling as the thunder-stroke, 
 
 And all shrank backward as the tidings broke. 
 
 Then into parted groups the pirate crew 
 
 With sudden look of awe and deference drew, 
 
 While some their leader through the ranks convey'd, 
 
 And on the deck with rude obeisance laid. 
 
 The blood-red banner, o'er his body spread, 
 
 Conceal'd the form and features of the dead. 
 
 While Pi pi, to whose warm but savage mind 1040 
 
 Kindness, but seldom shown, seem'd doubly kind, 
 
220 CANTO V. 
 
 In grief for one whom many a tie endear'd, 
 For one more form'd to be beloved than fear'd 
 Hid his dark visage in the banners shroud, 
 And sobbed his heart's lament, and wept aloud. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 The tale was told, Latharo frown'd, 
 
 And thought awhile his accents drown'd. 
 
 Then, the brief fit of musing o'er, 
 
 Though yet its gloom his features wore, 
 
 Slowly and moodily replied, 1050 
 
 In answer half, and half aside. 
 
 "It was a bold and desperate game, 
 
 But worthy of a leader's name ! 
 
 Yet would that thou hadst lived one hour, 
 
 To pride thee on thy gathering power; 
 
 And, thy life's wish, the last, the first, 
 
 Slaked to the full thy vengeful thirst, 
 
 Rather than thus with one wild sip 
 
 Died with its sweetness on thy lip! 
 
 Another boat? aye, watch her well: 1060 
 
 Bid her her name and purpose tell: 
 
 The Rubi now must learn to know, 
 
 That every stranger is her foe." 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 A light canoe came swiftly on: 
 One sitter in the boat alone. 
 
THE CRUISER. 221 
 
 Arrived, the Raven's traitor guide 
 
 Ascended slow the Rum's side. 
 
 A murmur past the angry crew: 
 
 Gloomy and stern their glances grew. 
 
 Slowly he cross'd, and still look'd down, 1070 
 
 Nor heeded angry glance or frown, 
 
 Till by Latharo's side he stay'd. 
 
 A hasty sign Latharo made, 
 
 Survey 'd him with a meaning look, 
 
 Then suddenly and briefly spoke: 
 
 "You're welcome, sir! you've deign'd to come 
 
 At length to join your ancient home. 
 
 You can, of course, advance some cause 
 
 For your slight breach of Rovers' laws : 
 
 Or would, perchance, some honour claim 1080 
 
 For taking a deserter's name. 
 
 Ho! seize your prisoner: fitting time 
 
 Will come to recompense his crime." 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 They seized him: bound with heavy bands 
 
 The culprit's unresisting hands, 
 
 While nought within his sluggish eye 
 
 Spoke terror or anxiety. 
 
 Latharo's rage assumed he knew, 
 
 To hide some deeper end in view; 
 
 And calmly answer'd, "Ere we sail'd lOtK) 
 
 Upon this chance, which just has fail'd, 
 
222 CANTO V. 
 
 Within Port Royal harbour lying 
 We saw a blue broad pendant flying. 
 She follows with a brief delay, 
 
 Waiting but water and supplies: 
 Ev'n now, perchance, is off the bay, 
 
 For rumour says the Eagle flies. 
 You best may judge, if your light bark 
 Is fit to stand a frigate's mark: 
 For me my trial I demand 1100 
 
 By the old customs of the band ; 
 And fain for my defence would dwell 
 Upon the word of Arundel." 
 "What Arundel?" Latharo said: 
 His calmness for a moment fled; 
 Flush'd in his cheek the crimson stain, 
 Then sunk, and all was calm again. 
 "The captain, who, I thought you knew, 
 Commands the Raven's gallant crew. 
 He followed one, who, sooth to tell, 1110 
 
 Was lightly prized. But Arundel 
 The ship, it seems, has lately join'd, 
 Young, and of generous, noble mind, 
 By all respected and beloved, 
 Yet somewhat rash when overmoved. 
 For this, indeed, I fear'd to stay; 
 Lest, chafing at this evening's fray, 
 He might unjustly find pretence 
 To doubt his pilot's innocence." 
 
THE CRUISER. 223 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 Dark grew Latharo's rugged cheek: 1120 
 
 As though he ventured not to speak, 
 
 He waved the prisoner aside, 
 
 And paced the deck with frenzied stride. 
 
 His hurried gait and looks express 
 
 His spirit's inward bitterness. 
 
 "Thus are we foil'd: thus ever still 
 
 Does Fate control man's feeble will. 
 
 This youth, who sought revenge the scope 
 
 Of all his aim, of all his hope, 
 
 Pursued it still in life, in death, 1130 
 
 Nor left but with his latest breath; 
 
 Has gain'd a shadow at the cost 
 
 Of conscience, peace, and glory lost. 
 
 Well, he is gone! Perchance 'tis best 
 
 That wearied spirit is at rest, 
 
 Nor knows the fiend, whose malice cast 
 
 On his fair spring a blighting blast, 
 
 Has found at length a bloodless fate, 
 
 And triumphs o'er his victim's hate. 
 
 For this he tried in youthful prime 1140 
 
 The dark abyss of guilt and crime: 
 
 For this he trampled honour's laws: 
 
 For this he spurned his country's cause: 
 
 For this his home, his parents fled; 
 
 And there he lies full early dead, 
 
 With one poor boy to watch his head, 
 
224 CANTO V. 
 
 Whose wild regret but ill supplies 
 
 The loss of kindred sympathies. 
 
 For me, I care not. What to me 
 
 Is change of chief or company? 1150 
 
 The hatred of my soul belongs 
 
 To the one bark that work'd my wrongs; 
 
 A hate that shall remain the same, 
 
 While ocean bears the accursed name. 
 
 The frigate, too, in chase! To wait 
 
 Were to yield tamely to our fate. 
 
 But see, the clouds, as dawn draws nigh, 
 
 Are darkening in the eastern sky: 
 
 Experience shows the tempest's sway 
 
 Will in Tornadoes wake the day. 1160 
 
 There lie our hopes." He spoke aloud: 
 
 " Comrades, while night the deed shall shroud, 
 
 One last sad duty must be done. 
 
 No time is now for funeral gun, 
 
 For yards reversed, and blacken'd sides, 
 
 As the cold body downward glides. 
 
 Bring forth the corpse!" Then loudly rang 
 
 A shrill wild cry, as Pi pi sprang 
 
 From his low, melancholy seat, 
 
 And knelt before Latharo's feet. 1170 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 "Latharo! Leader! O recall 
 Your fatal order! Not to all 
 
THE CRUISER. 225 
 
 Appears alike the ocean wave 
 
 A glorious home, a lordly grave. 
 
 He never loved the cold blue sea: 
 
 And now it seems a mockery, 
 
 To lay him there, and bid him rest, 
 
 As child on a step-mother's breast, 
 
 Buried without a tear or prayer; 
 
 And ah! not even in quiet there. 1180 
 
 There is no resting in the deep! 
 
 The sea may not his body keep 
 
 In still and unmolested sleep!" 
 
 Shuddering he spoke. One look he gave, 
 
 Then pointed to the tranquil wave, 
 
 Where at the scent of death and blood 
 
 Rose from its depth the blue shark's brood; 
 
 And, with poised fin upraised on high, 
 
 Sail'd round the schooner gloomily. 
 
 L. 
 
 As his first burst of passion broke, 1190 
 
 Lath arc- with a hasty stroke 
 
 Cast the young suppliant from his knee, 
 
 A moment stood in reverie, 
 
 Then pitying on the victim gazed, 
 
 With his strong arm the stripling raised, 
 
 And, for his outrage to atone, 
 
 Spoke in a firm but milder tone. 
 
 15 
 
226 CANTO V. 
 
 LI. 
 
 "Boy," he replied, "the boon you ask 
 
 Enjoins no slight or easy task. 
 
 But that your deeds of later days 1200 
 
 Demand, perhaps, some trifling praise, 
 
 Not without danger had you tried, 
 
 To turn Latharo's will aside. 
 
 Your prayer is granted. Answer not, 
 
 Lest my brief mercy be forgot ! 
 
 But mark ! The part, your choice has pray'd, 
 
 Must by yourself alone be play'd. 
 
 In the canoe the body bear, 
 
 And to E Stella's dame repair. 
 
 Tell her the Rum's Chief is come 1210 
 
 To claim from her a peaceful home. 
 
 Tell her that he, who died to save 
 
 Her first-born, only asks a grave. 
 
 Bid her not shrink to yield him place 
 
 Amidst the noblest of her race. 
 
 Yet what is rank, when life is o'er? 
 
 For he mid Britain's offspring bore 
 
 A title proud, a name as high, 
 
 As Spaniard's haughtiest ancestry. 
 
 Nay, speak not, boy, for well I know 1220 
 
 Your prompt reply; you gladly go. 
 
 'Tis well: yet heed what toils unseen, 
 
 Delays, and dangers lurk between. 
 
THE CRUISER. 227 
 
 .ml 
 
 "No longer here we safely stay, 
 I leave the port at break of day, 
 When from our foes yon gathering storm 
 Shall hide the Rtjbi's passing form. 
 Seek not to join me: 'twere in vain: 
 But in these shores secure remain 
 Beneath the flag and power of Spain. 1230 
 
 There should their soft and peaceful life 
 Unman you for our hours of strife; 
 Should you prefer a landsman's toil 
 To our free course of blood and spoil; 
 Or should Estella's grateful heir 
 Bid you a place of honour share 
 Among his vassals; he content, 
 And follow as your mind is bent. 
 It is sufficient once to sever, 
 
 I free you from your oath for ever. 1240 
 
 But if your fancy still be moved 
 With memory of our life beloved, 
 If the young war-wolf's ravenous brood 
 Cling to his first wild lust of blood; 
 Let some safe bark convey you o'er 
 To Saba or Eustatia's shore, 
 And there in secrecy await 
 The tidings of the Rubi's fate. 
 Our meeting time alone can tell: 
 Away; reply not; fare-you-well!" 1250 
 
 152 
 
228 CANTO V. THE CRUISER. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Then on his feet the stripling sprung, 
 
 As sudden impulse wought; 
 Latharo's rugged hand he wrung, 
 
 Then stood like one distraught, 
 With quivering lip and roving eye, 
 As though he strove to frame reply 
 From the conflicting thoughts that prest 
 Tumultuous through his heaving breast. 
 The leader's hand, in warning raised, 
 Forbade the speech: awhile he gazed, 1260 
 
 Then turned with hasty steps aside, 
 Where lay the shallop on the tide; 
 Strange hearse to grace a chieftain's pride ! 
 With mingled sense of awe and grief, 
 The pirates lower'd their lifeless chief: 
 Young Pi pi folio w'd without sound; 
 Then whirl'd his glittering paddle round, 
 And left the bark: but, as he past, 
 One parting look he upward cast, 
 More quickly urged his vessel's flight, 1270 
 
 And cross'd the moonbeam's dancing light; 
 While, to their ravenous instinct true, 
 The sharks the death-boat's track pursue. 
 
CANTO VI. 
 
 THE CHASE. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE morn in awful grandeur broke; 
 
 And with the earliest daylight woke, 
 
 Clad in the dark Tornado's form, 
 
 The terrors of the western storm. 
 
 The thick mist, on the mountain's height, 
 
 Mantles the landscape's opening light; 
 
 And, rolling in unwonted shades, 
 
 The heaven's fair cheek with night invades. 
 
 But, where the gathering tempest shrouds 
 
 The threatening East, a wreath of clouds 10 
 
 Toweling and huge is seen to come, 
 
 From its intensity of gloom 
 
 Dictinct amid the gloomy rack, 
 
 And with supassing blackness black. 
 
 Slowly it mounts: and, slowly spread 
 
 In arch stupendous overhead, 
 
 The limbs with ample girth expand, 
 
 And in gigantic stature stand, 
 
 Vaulted in heaven, and based on land. 
 
230 CANTO VI. 
 
 As when the clouds of summer pour 20 
 
 On Britain's fields the balmy shower, 
 
 The rainbow spans the skies; 
 Like that the belt of storm extends, 
 But not like that in beauty blends 
 
 Its sevenfold tissued dies: 
 That the eternal pledge design'd, 
 Of faith and mercy to mankind, 
 
 This dark with fury grows: 
 For, roaring round the deep black arch, 
 The thunders track its wondrous march; 30 
 
 And the engirdled space between, 
 Sheeted with lightning's glancing sheen, 
 
 In livid lustre glows. 
 
 II. 
 
 The cruizers, with experienced eyes, 
 
 Had mark'd the early symptoms rise. 
 
 Prepared the dreaded shock to foil, 
 
 With active and divided toil, 
 
 While these aloft their duties ply, 
 
 And strike the top weights from the sky: 
 
 While these below, with strength combined, 40 
 
 Point the dark yards to meet the wind : 
 
 The rest with seamen's caution gave 
 
 A second anchor to the wave. 
 
 III. 
 
 A moment's pause, and all was hushed! 
 Then, as from some vast funnel rush'd 
 
THE CHASE. 231 
 
 At once the volumed blast: 
 The thunder ceased, the lightning's glare 
 Left for a time the darken'd air, 
 
 While the black whirlwind past: 
 As through the realms of space his throne 50 
 
 The Spirit of the blast alone 
 Usurp'd, and all his powers combined 
 In that one burst of roaring wind. 
 Whirl'd in huge columns from the strand, 
 Floats through the air the gathering sand; 
 Caught from the water's whitening breast, 
 High lifted o'er the billow's crest, 
 Thick flakes of foam, at random tost, 
 In the tumultuous air are lost. 
 The expected shock the Raven feels: 60 
 
 Trembling in every plank, she heels 
 A moment from the tempest's sway, 
 Then drops before its headlong way. 
 The cables surge; with equal strain 
 The tightening ropes the weight sustain; 
 And, till the wearied storm subsides, 
 The gallant ship in safety rides. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It rose it fell the mighty blast 
 
 In one wild burst of fury past. 
 
 The arch of storm dissolves asunder; 70 
 
 Again roar'd forth the deepening thunder, 
 
232 CANTO VI. 
 
 And brighter flash'd the lightning's flame, 
 
 And down the gather'd waters came. 
 
 No sprinkling this; no scatter'd shower: 
 
 In streams the incessant torrents pour: 
 
 They see not, hear not, aught around; 
 
 All sense and sight, all thought is drown'd. 
 
 The keenest eye may seek in vain 
 
 Through the thick atmosphere to strain, 
 
 Heavy with clouds and dark with rain; 80 
 
 As though heaven's opening flood-gates hurl'd 
 
 A second deluge on the world. 
 
 V. 
 
 It ceased at length, and from the day, 
 Slow roll'd the exhausted clouds away, 
 Leaving behind, in mercy there, 
 A balmy freshness in the air: 
 A freshness only those may prize 
 Who toil in India's sultry skies. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Scarce had the rage of tempest past, 
 
 The seamen on the Raven's mast 90 
 
 Spring upward eagerly: 
 They cast around their wondering eyes, 
 With rage, with anguish, and surprise; 
 
 But nothing may they see 
 In that still solitary bay, 
 Where the victorious pirate lay, 
 
 But hill and wood alone: 
 
THE CHASE. 233 
 
 Deserted is the Rum's place, 
 And with the schooner every trace 
 
 Of her retreat is gone. 100 
 
 Their daring chief had steered his bark 
 Through that fierce storm and vapour dark; 
 Where scarcely, in the broad of light, 
 The experienced pilot's watchful sight 
 Could guide the adventurous keel aright; 
 And, on the wildest wings of wind, 
 Had left the baffled foe behind. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "A chase!" the fiery leader cries; 
 Through the long decks the summons flies, 
 
 And every nerve they strain; 110 
 
 The sails are set, the bark's a- weigh; 
 And they have left the unfriendly bay, 
 
 And open roadstead gain, 
 In briefer time than ever yet 
 Was anchor weigh'd, or canvass set, 
 In bark impell'd at utmost need, 
 By wrath or fear, to instant speed. 
 The quickest eyes aloft are sent, 
 The strongest glasses firmly bent, 
 
 Where still the volumed clouds, 120 
 
 Dark relics of the morning storm, 
 Upon the low horizon form 
 
 Impenetrable shrouds. 
 
234 CANTO VI. 
 
 Thither their earnest glances strain 
 With eager hope, yet all in vain; 
 
 But see, along the shore 
 A lofty ship came free and full, 
 And high upon her sable hull 
 
 A frigate's canvass bore. 
 From each mast head the numbers float, 130 
 
 The flags of different hues denote 
 
 Each vessel's friendly name: 
 This flush'd with hope of costly prize; 
 Defeated that in enterprize, 
 
 O'erwhelmed with rage and shame. 
 And the last breath of wind had died, 
 As the two barks ranged side by side. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 As Arundel his foil'd adventure told, 
 
 The Eagle's captain scarce his spleen controll'd, 
 
 Strode o'er the deck awhile, with hurried tread, 140 
 
 Then paused, grew calm again, and gravely said: 
 
 " 'Tis a disastrous chance : had fortune served, 
 
 A fate more prosperous had your plan deserved. 
 
 True, it was rash; and yet for this, in sooth, 
 
 We almost look, we scarcely blame, in youth. 
 
 Though, if the tale yon traitor told be true, 
 
 If old Guyatanos is amongst the crew, 
 
 The bandit's daring skill and deep design 
 
 Might well have foil'd an older head than thine. 
 
THE CHASE. 235 
 
 My mind misgave me, when they call'd him dead: 150 
 
 It seems another perish'd in his stead. 
 
 Well! he has scaped me once upon the main; 
 
 Less fair his fortune if we meet again. 
 
 Now for your orders: stand from off the shore, 
 
 Till the last mountains show their tops no more; 
 
 Then eastward through the night pursue your way, 
 
 And make the land at every dawning day. 
 
 Thus may you fall upon the schooners track: 
 
 But bear in mind, a fortnight brings you back. 
 
 Then to Jamaica with all speed repair, 160 
 
 And give the sick and wounded all your care. 
 
 For me, I westward sweep the line of coast; 
 
 There, if all traces of her path be lost, 
 
 Shall for a time my homeward course delay 
 
 Amid the isles, that skirt Honduras' bay. 
 
 If there she lurk not, I perforce suppose, 
 
 That dread of her exasperated foes 
 
 Has driven the Rum from the insulted West, 
 
 And for a while forego the useless quest. 
 
 Adieu ! 'twere needless further to detain 170 
 
 Our chase. Good fortune till we meet again!" 
 
 IX. 
 
 They parted, and with adverse flight 
 Soon sunk the friendly barks from sight. 
 But with the frigate on her way 
 Continues now the wavering lay; 
 
236 CANTO VI. 
 
 Who eastward held a doubtful chase; 
 
 Without a sign, a mark, a trace, 
 
 Upon the oceans trackless tide, 
 
 The course of her pursuit to guide. 
 
 But when the third dull morn appear'd, 180 
 
 And closer to the shore she steer'd, 
 
 Where, from the deep, the Isle of Pines 
 
 With triple hill the view confines, 
 
 And shows its landscape to the track 
 
 Of those dark vessels, bearing back 
 
 From Afric's coast their bloody gain, 
 
 Disgrace to Spaniards and to Spain; 
 
 She spoke a vessel with her store, 
 
 From dark Belize to Britain's shore. 
 
 Brief was her tale : but she had seen, 190 
 
 The island and the bay between, 
 
 As the last closing day had past, 
 
 A schooner, with a towering mast 
 
 And low black hull, that held her way 
 
 To southward, for Honduras' bay. 
 
 Rakish and low, she seem'd as one 
 
 Whom merchant barks would gladly shun. 
 
 Perchance 'twas well, the shades of night 
 
 Shut in, and hid them from her sight. 
 
 Slight was the trace: but on the tale 200 
 
 The exulting frigate spread her sail, 
 
 Bore southward with the evening wind, 
 
 And left the island shores behind. 
 
THE CHASE. 237 
 
 X. 
 
 Through all the hours of ripening day 
 
 Had roll'd the tropic sun, 
 And high on his meridian way 
 
 In burning glory shone; 
 All glared beneath intensely bright, 
 
 Save where day's fiery eye 
 Spread o'er the sea a vapoury white, 210 
 
 And dimm'd the azure sky: 
 Like the translucent gauze that lends 
 
 A veil to beauty's face, 
 And with its native lustre blends 
 
 A mitigated grace. 
 There is not in the heaven's wide halls 
 
 One shadowy cloud in motion; 
 And not one billow heaves and falls, 
 
 In all the mirror'd ocean. 
 Lifeless and in repose it lies, 220 
 
 As if that soothing hour 
 Had held o'er all its mysteries 
 
 A transitory power. 
 Lifeless ? Oh no ! for o'er its breast 
 
 A long low swell is stealing, 
 As though a soul were there possest 
 
 Within of life and feeling : 
 A lasting sense of inward might, 
 
 That may not pass away, 
 
238 CANTO VI. 
 
 Till earth and sky shall melt from sight, 230 
 
 And ocean's self decay. 
 
 XI. 
 
 There was a low and wooded key, 
 
 A little bay confining, 
 Where, in its noontide radiancy 
 
 The cloudless sun was shining. 
 And there, within that little bay, 
 
 On the bright tranquil deep, 
 A single vessel floating lay, 
 
 And slept, or seemed to sleep. 
 No shade, her image to express, 240 
 
 Was on the water thrown; 
 In unreflected loveliness 
 
 She rested there alone. 
 Her cordage in the clear blue sky, 
 
 Almost invisible, 
 Waved their thin fibres gracefully 
 
 Above the ocean's swelL 
 The light sails, on the yards aloft, 
 
 Loosened for danger's hour, 
 Hung in festoons, as fair and soft 250 
 
 As deck a lady's bower. 
 And, as they slightly wavered, 
 By ocean's broad and heaving bed 
 Moved to and fro, while over head 
 
 Scarce breathed the languid air; 
 
THE CHASE. c 23[) 
 
 They had not stirr'd one silken thread 
 Of beauty's golden hair. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Thus lay the Rubi there; awhile 
 Seeking the shelter of the isle, 
 
 Through whose thick foliage shade, 260 
 
 With course half seen, a little rill, 
 Such as might suit the Rovers' will, 
 
 Of crystal waters play'd: 
 There to recruit her needful store, 
 Ere she should fly the unfriendly shore; 
 There, with her unrelenting crew, 
 To watch the moment to pursue 
 One act of vengeance, ere they crost 
 Atlantic waves for Afric's coast: 
 Already had the first been gained, 270 
 
 And only vengeance now remain'd. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Call'd by Latharo, whose command 
 Now ruled entire the pirate band, 
 Upon the deck you may discern 
 Dark rugged forms, and features stern; 
 As, weapon'd for the battle hour, 
 The Rum's whole collected power, 
 Who never bow'd to mercy yet, 
 Were in the gloomy conclave met. 
 
240 CANTO VI. 
 
 All stood in silence deep, profound, 280 
 
 And form'd in scatter'd circle round. 
 
 These on their chief their glances bent; 
 
 Those listless o'er the gunwale leant; 
 
 Some stretch'd upon the deck were laid, 
 
 Or rested on the naked blade; 
 
 And seem'd to grudge the scanty time 
 
 Between the judgment and the crime: 
 
 But none or dared or sought to break 
 
 The laws, themselves had join'd to make. 
 
 Strange, that the wildest of mankind, 290 
 
 Whom every law had failed to bind, 
 
 Of structure human or divine, 
 
 Should of their own dark hearts resign 
 
 Their will to regulations rude, 
 
 Written in characters of blood ! 
 
 One clause alone confined their range, 
 
 And that by an old custom, strange 
 
 E'en as themselves : " If of the band 
 
 The least and lowest in command 
 
 Should pledge his honour and his word, 300 
 
 And swear upon his naked sword 
 
 The prisoner guiltless, he should be 
 
 Cleared of the charge and penalty." 
 
 'Twas an old law, and seldom met 
 
 A claimant, but it bound them yet. 
 
THE CHASE. 241 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Latharo knew the custom's power, 
 
 And, waiting for a fitting hour, 
 
 Still bade the mimic court proceed, 
 
 Prepared to save in time of need. 
 
 But more he hoped La Gata's fear 310 
 
 Might triumph o'er his cunning here, 
 
 And plead the unwonted law to free 
 
 The associate of his treachery. 
 
 XV. 
 
 He gave the word: the spy was bound 
 
 Before the assembled host; 
 The chains, that past his wrists around, 
 
 His naked bosom crost; 
 Weak and defenceless to await 
 The issue of his doubtful fate ; 
 While in his ear dark words of hate 320 
 
 Rose from the excited throng; 
 And execrations, fierce and high, 
 And the indignant vengeance-cry, 
 Calling for justice on a spy, 
 
 In murmurs deep and long. 
 Bezzetti paused, till all was hushed, 
 
 Then calmly looked around: 
 Many a stern cheek was passion-flush'd, 
 
 And many a dark eye frown'd. 
 16 
 
242 CANTO VI. 
 
 On all he gazed with cold disdain, 330 
 
 Then downward turn'd his looks again, 
 For well he knew the threats were vain 
 
 To work their malice here: 
 While their own laws their power confined, 
 While that one high and haughty mind 
 Sufficed their fiercest mood to bind, 
 
 Bezzetti might not fear. 
 Not unprepared he took the place 
 Of fancied danger and disgrace ; 
 La Gata's fear, Latharo's oath, 340 
 
 He knew them, and he trusted both. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The leader stept before the rest, 
 
 And artfully the band addrest: 
 
 "A moment's pause is come at last, 
 
 ' Twere needless to recall the past. 
 
 Behold your prisoner! Not alone 
 
 To me his treacherous flight was known; 
 
 All knew the moment that he fled, 
 
 And most believed the traitor dead. 
 
 All, too, have heard how long he stay'd 350 
 
 Amidst our foemen, and betray'd 
 
 His comrades' secret lurking place, 
 
 And led the Raven on our trace. 
 
 Such are his crimes: it is for you 
 
 To point the guilt and vengeance due. 
 
THE CHASE. 243 
 
 His right now claims he to be tried 
 
 By the same laws he has defied. 
 
 What ! does he think that one is nigh 
 
 To plead for mercy on a spy? 
 
 Or, as in Glasby's case, to stand 360 
 
 His champion with the injured band? 
 
 For me, his only hope remains 
 
 To barter death for endless chains, 
 
 If he, while yet endures the time, 
 
 Give up the associate of his crime." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 He paused, and keenly look'd around, 
 
 Then cast his dark eyes on the ground, 
 
 Within their orbs to hide apart 
 
 The triumph of victorious art ; 
 
 As in La Gata's conscious face 370 
 
 The experienced leader saw the trace 
 
 Of fraud and fear, of guilt and shame, 
 
 Whose fitful flashes o'er it came. 
 
 Fear conquer'd all. Did he delay, 
 
 His comrade might his cause betray. 
 
 Better, if such must be his fate, 
 
 To live suspected, than to wait 
 
 The vengeance, which he saw with dread 
 
 Lath arc- threatened on his head, 
 
 Expecting but a fitting time 380 
 
 To tax him with his treachery's crime. 
 
 162 
 
244 CANTO VI. 
 
 Slowly he rose, with cheek that bore 
 Subdued the signs which late it wore. 
 And calm, stern look, that might engage 
 The deference due to rank and age. 
 Then bowing to the wondering crew, 
 His cutlass from his belt he drew, 
 And kiss'd the weapon's naked blade, 
 Then briefly thus his sentence said: 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " He shall not die ! Amongst our host 390 
 
 Enough already have we lost; 
 
 Nor can we from our band afford 
 
 So firm a heart, so true a sword. 
 
 The service, he has borne before, 
 
 Nay, e'en his last, should balance more 
 
 Than this his but imagined guilt. 
 
 What streams of blood would have been spilt, 
 
 Had he not nobly hasten'd back, 
 
 To show the frigate on our track; 
 
 Had he not boldly risk'd his life, 400 
 
 To save us from a desperate strife, 
 
 Which, had it met us on our path, 
 
 Had ever screen'd him from our wrath? 
 
 If spy he is, he is a spy 
 
 Faithful and true! He shall not die." 
 
 His hand he on the prisoner laid, 
 
 And kiss'd again the naked blade. 
 
THE CHASE. 245 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Latharo, who in silence stood, 
 
 While thus his foe his craft pursued, 
 
 With mingled scorn and pleasure saw 410 
 
 The wily traitor claim the law, 
 
 Unconscious that the act would tend 
 
 To gain his leader's secret end. 
 
 He paused awhile: but many an eye 
 
 Look'd to their leader for reply. 
 
 "The claim upon the naked blade 
 
 Is lawfully and justly made. 
 
 The ancient Rovers' laws decree 
 
 Bezzetti innocent and free. 
 
 La Gata tenders us his oath, 420 
 
 Upon his life and honor both, 
 
 That he is guiltless. To allow 
 
 That judgment false, were to avow 
 
 The champion of the prisoner's cause 
 
 Alike obnoxious to our laws. 
 
 Comrades, your sentence? on the sword!" 
 
 Each heard the word; with one accord 
 
 To the blue steel their lips they bent, 
 
 And judged Bezzetti innocent. 
 
 XX* 
 
 When thus the judgment seem'd to close, 430 
 
 And all the crew tumultuous rose, 
 
246 CANTO VI. 
 
 Latharo marked, amid the press, 
 
 With quick and trembling earnestness, 
 
 His wily foe's officious hands 
 
 Unloose at once Bezzetti's bands. 
 
 He gave the word, when of the crew 
 
 Three seamen near the witness drew, 
 
 And flung their arms La Gata round, 
 
 And with strong bands the traitor bound: 
 
 While with stern tones, distinct and loud, 440 
 
 Latharo's voice recalTd the crowd, 
 
 "Judgment, ho! judgment! fitting meed 
 
 For traitorous plot, and murderous deed!" 
 
 XXI. 
 
 All in a moment turn'd aside 
 
 In awe of their acknowledged guide, 
 
 Whilst open wonder and surprise 
 
 Was seen in many a pirate's eyes: 
 
 But yet, without a word or sound, 
 
 They ranged themselves their leader round. 
 
 La Gata to the midst was brought: 450 
 
 Latharo paused awhile in thought, 
 
 With arms upon his bosom crost, 
 
 And every mild expression lost 
 
 In cool contempt and bitter scorn; 
 
 Then bade before the crew be borne 
 
 The spy, whom lately at his need 
 
 La Gata's conscious heart had freed; 
 
THE CHASE. 247 
 
 And, with stern tone and gesture proud, 
 Proposed his questions high and loud. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 "You are released; dismiss your fear, 460 
 
 Nor dread a second trial here. 
 
 The Rovers' laws, our records tell, 
 
 Are final and immutable. 
 
 A comrade for your cause has spoke, 
 
 And taken on his neck the yoke, 
 
 Though he, perchance, may hardly bear 
 
 The weight of his own burden there. 
 
 Now answer! were you not a spy, 
 
 Sent from our bark? by whom? and why?" 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 A murmur rose, confused and long, 470 
 
 From many a voice amid the throng: 
 
 "He is acquitted; wherefore now 
 
 Bid him an useless guilt avow?" 
 
 Latharo laughed with scornful pride: 
 
 "Behold my witness," he replied, 
 
 "A faultless witness and a free! 
 
 La Gata, there we both agree. 
 
 Had you not risen, I had forsooth 
 
 Proclaim'd myself the prisoner's truth. 
 
 How could I hope I should prevail, 480 
 
 If I had brought a traitor's tale, 
 
l J48 CANTO VI. 
 
 As my sole witness? In your hate, 
 
 Fool, you have signed your own dark fate." 
 
 XXIV. x 
 
 Ere yet Latharo ceased to speak, 
 
 Pale grew La Gata's craven cheek, 
 
 While his closed teeth with bitter grip 
 
 Forced the red blood-drop from his lip, 
 
 And wildly in his comrades' hands 
 
 His thin form struggled with the bands. 
 
 The chief askance his victim eyed, 490 
 
 Then fiercely to Bezzetti cried, 
 
 "You were a spy?" He bow'd his head, 
 
 But not a word in answer said. 
 
 Again Latharo waved his hand 
 
 Around the crew: "At whose command?" 
 
 He ask'd, and darted from his eye 
 
 A scowl of taunting mockery. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 "One perished, as you doubtless know, 
 
 By our late leader's hasty blow. 
 
 One died within Estella's hall; 500 
 
 And now there but remains of all, 
 
 Who for their treacherous purpose thought 
 
 My service might by gold be bought, 
 
 Your prisoner, who before you stands 
 
 In well-deserved, well-suited bands." 
 
THE CHASE. 249 
 
 Again through all low murmurs broke, 
 Again the chief in question spoke. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 "Too late you show your tardy zeal. 
 
 Did you not know, that to conceal 
 
 Or hidden plot, or counsel dark, 510 
 
 Against your leader or your bark; 
 
 Did you not know, that to have heard 
 
 Of dangerous deed or rebel word, 
 
 And not reveal it at the time, 
 
 Involves you in the traitor's crime?" 
 
 "I did reveal it." With a cry 
 
 La Gata started painfully; 
 
 And writhed him round, as though in vain 
 
 He strove to force him from his chain. 
 
 "To Ermingade and you I told 520 
 
 The intended plot, and gave the gold 
 
 By you returned: and taught by you 
 
 Their secret purpose to pursue, 
 
 To you I kept my plighted troth. 
 
 So help me justice and my oath!" 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 While all the Rubi's crew amazed 
 Sate silent round, Latharo raised 
 His lofty figure to its height; 
 His dark eye flash'd with keener light; 
 
250 CANTO VI. 
 
 He stood amid the presence there, 530 
 
 As being of another sphere ; 
 
 And, while his comrades he addrest, 
 
 They all his master mind confest. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 "Comrades, it is the truth! attend 
 
 To one, your leader and your friend; 
 
 To one, whose ever watchful eye 
 
 First pierced this web of treachery, 
 
 And made the unconscious tool fulfil 
 
 At once his purpose and our will. 
 
 It is the truth! Needs not by name 540 
 
 The base associates to proclaim, 
 
 Whose counsels have so vainly sped; 
 
 For most are number'd with the dead. 
 
 But foremost of the guilty crew, 
 
 Gat a, Battista, were the two 
 
 By power, by station, and by art, 
 
 Best suited for the dangerous part. 
 
 I knew them well: I and the youth, 
 
 Your leader, early knew the truth. 
 
 Nor does it seem an empty pride 550 
 
 To call myself that Leader's guide, 
 
 By whose advice, in hour of need, 
 
 He bade the treacherous plot proceed, 
 
 And patiently in ambush lay 
 
 Within that strong and secret bay, 
 
THE CHASE. 251 
 
 Secure from England's daring sons, 
 
 Screen'd from the broadside of her guns ; 
 
 Nay more, resolved to strike a blow 
 
 Of vengeance on the haughty foe, 
 
 That would have added to the fame 560 
 
 And terror of the Rubi's name. 
 
 And well the past events have shewn 
 
 How just the judgment; foil'd alone 
 
 By him, who, in Estella's hall, 
 
 As most have seen, as known by all, 
 
 Callous to crime, athirst for power, 
 
 Had bound him in an evil hour 
 
 To one, who knew the ready tool; 
 
 And taught the overweening fool 
 
 Our vessel's leaders to betray, 570 
 
 And for himself assume the sway. 
 
 Of honor, decency, or faith, 
 
 Who died, or who escaped the death, 
 
 And who were lost, or who were spared, 
 
 In truth he neither thought nor cared. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 "From him arose the desperate strife 
 
 That cost us many a gallant life. 
 
 Randall, than whom amongst our band 
 
 There was not known a bolder hand, 
 
 His death-wound in that skirmish bore, 580 
 
 And battles by our side no more: 
 
252 CANTO VI. 
 
 Thanks to the coward's base essay! 
 So help me fate, as I repay 
 For those, of whom we are bereft, 
 My vengeance on the traitor left! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 "Not only this: but by their sin 
 
 Entrapp'd, as wild cat in a gin, 
 
 Our generous leader, young and brave, 
 
 Found in that bay an early grave. 
 
 He saw himself at once betray'd, 590 
 
 And in the unfriendly hall delay'd 
 
 By needless enemies opposed, 
 
 Till on his wake the cruizers closed. 
 
 Outnumbered thus in boats and men, 
 
 How did the stripling bear him then? 
 
 Say, have you not yourselves confest, 
 
 Himself he gave to screen the rest? 
 
 Singly he dared the unequal fight, 
 
 While others saved their lives by flight; 
 
 And ere he found the fate he braved, 600 
 
 He knew his bark and crew were saved, 
 
 Stood the firm bulwark of us all, 
 
 And fell, as pirate chief should fall. 
 
 Such was he; and, as such, demands 
 
 Justice and vengeance at your hands; 
 
 He died by treachery and wile: 
 
 And this the wretch, who spread the toil! 
 
THE CHASE. 253 
 
 One moment more" for in the crew 
 
 Deep and more deep the murmur grew, 
 
 While all with stern and mutter'd hreath 610 
 
 Pronounced for judgment and for death. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 "When thus the Raven's charge proved vain, 
 
 Why not within that bay remain, 
 
 And strike at once a mortal blow 
 
 On the disgraced, disheartened foe? 
 
 The intelligence Bezzetti brought, 
 
 Reversed our plans, forbade the thought. 
 
 From England's tried and practised powers 
 
 No easy triumph had been ours; 
 
 Nor, crippled by a dangerous fight, 620 
 
 Might we have shunn'd by hasty flight 
 
 The Eagle's broadside, which the morn 
 
 Had on our bark in vengeance borne. 
 
 And well for our security 
 
 The caution came. Did we not see, 
 
 When the tornado clear'd away, 
 
 In whose dense screen we left the bay, 
 
 A ship slow coasting by the shore, 
 
 Whose hull a frigate's canvass bore? 
 
 'Twas well perchance, while to our sight 630 
 
 The broad sails gleamed in opening light, 
 
 The gloom, that yet o'erhung the sea, 
 
 Still held us in obscurity. 
 
254 CANTO VI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 "Ev'n now the bold attempt, I fear, 
 
 Will scarcely leave us safety here. 
 
 Both cruizers long have left the place, 
 
 And both will keenly urge the chase. 
 
 Nor these alone; but of the fleet 
 
 Whome'er in their pursuit they meet, 
 
 Will join them in the bloody rout, 640 
 
 As hunters seek the war- wolf out, 
 
 To crush the vessel that has dared 
 
 To brave Britannia's flag of pride, 
 To foil her vengeance, and been spared 
 
 To triumph o'er her subject tide. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 "Now stands your faith upon the test. 
 
 Comrades, we leave the unfriendly West, 
 
 And seek in Afric's lonely coast 
 
 The safety that our deeds have lost; 
 
 The coast, where range the free and bold, 650 
 
 Birth-place of man's first idol, gold; 
 
 In whose fierce clime our bark may find 
 
 A foe less bitter than mankind. 
 
 But first your judgment ! Let your will 
 
 Be free, be just, but speedy still ! 
 
 An hour may fix our future fate; 
 
 Nor may we venture here to wait, 
 
THE CHASE. 255 
 
 Longer than may the wonted breeze 
 Curl the first ripple on the seas/' 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Latharo ceased: from man to man 660 
 
 At once the fatal whisper ran, 
 
 When Norman rose, and fiercely prest 
 
 His rugged hand upon his breast, 
 
 And in a low determined breath, 
 
 Pronounced the sentence, "Guilty, Death;" 
 
 And "Guilty, Death," from every tongue 
 
 Throughout the gloomy circle rung. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Tis well : " Latharo proudly said ; 
 
 "A leader's part must now be played: 
 
 The doom is death." With one accord 670 
 
 Each pirate bared his ready sword, 
 
 An hundred sheathless weapons blazed, 
 
 At once an hundred points were raised, 
 
 Above the caitiff's head; 
 And waited all in silent gloom, 
 To hear their leader's final doom 
 
 Consign him to the dead. 
 For ever with the pirate band 
 Walked death and judgment hand in hand. 
 
256 CANTO VI. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 "Hold!" said Latharo. "It would be 680 
 
 To such a wretch of infamy 
 
 Too good, too merciful award, 
 
 To perish by the hasty sword, 
 
 Or that his sufferings be forgot 
 
 In the quick vengeance of a shot. 
 
 Not by a sudden act of ill 
 
 Has he opposed him to our will; 
 
 Not by a brief and transient wrong, 
 
 But by a treachery deep and long: 
 
 Then let him for his meed sustain 690 
 
 A tedious death of lingering pain. 
 
 Behold yon island ! Thither bear 
 
 The guilty wretch, and bind him there, 
 
 To famine or to beasts a prey, 
 
 Till he shall pine his life away." 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Then loudly hailed the pirate band, 
 With savage shout of wild applause, 
 
 The dreadful doom, the dire command, 
 The deadliest of their bloody laws; 
 
 That gave to hate its widest range, 700 
 
 And glutted all with slow revenge. 
 
 But not that burst of malice drown'd 
 
 The shrill and miserable sound, 
 
THE CHASE. 257 
 
 Raised by La Gata's frenzied cry- 
 In his intensest agony. 
 Why rose that frenzied cry in air 1 
 For death alone he pour'd his prayer; 
 Death by the dagger or the sword, 
 Death by the water or the cord, 
 By poison or the pistol's breath; 710 
 
 Death any way, but instant death ! 
 And only fiends could emulate 
 The jeer, the laugh, of scornful hate, 
 With which the pirates heard his cries, 
 And revelTd in his agonies. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The boat was mannd, the victim thrown 
 Upon the floor, and one deep groan 
 Confest his anguish, while the chief 
 To Norman gave his orders brief: 
 "Norman, I trust you; to the land 720 
 
 Convey La Gata. Let your band 
 With firmness and security 
 Bind him to some marsh-rooted tree, 
 Which herbage rank and swamps surround; 
 But not by violence or wound 
 Abridge the sufferings of his pain 
 For one short moment! There in vain 
 Let him expend his latest strength, 
 And pray for death to come at length. 
 17 
 
258 CANTO VI. 
 
 Away ! no time have we to spare ; 730 
 
 Soon as the evening's earliest air 
 Fills our light canvass, will the shore 
 Of India see our bark no more." 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 "Doubt not for me," the seaman cried, 
 And bounded down the Rum's side, 
 And the light shallop strongly plied. 
 
 But who may think or tell, 
 Save with indignant frown severe, 
 With terror's thrill, and pity's tear, 
 That stain most foul on the career 740 
 
 Of pirate fierce or buccaneer; 
 
 What scene of woe befell, 
 When the light shallop backward sped, 
 That outcast being worse than dead, 
 
 From man's communion thrown; 
 Without or friend, or hope, to stay 
 On that lone isle, in that small bay, 
 And pine by slow degrees away, 
 To famine, heat, and beasts a prey, 
 
 Unsheltered and alone! 750 
 
 XL. 
 
 1. 
 Upon a wild and lonely key, a tropic day had closed, 
 The light wind stirr'd not in the heavens, the waveless deep 
 reposed ; 
 
THE CHASE. 259 
 
 A streamlet wander'd murmuring on along the shelving 
 
 ground, 
 And fragrancy and freshness shed on the green herbage 
 
 round ; 
 And, as it widen'd in its course, and mingled with the sea, 
 Bright shone the pebbly bed beneath the water's purity. 
 
 2. 
 The Mangroves by that streamlet's banks had raised the 
 
 high arcade, 
 And softly thro' their twining stems the cooling waters 
 
 played ; 
 The Pawpa's slender shafts aloft their fruitful chaplets bear, 
 The graceful Palm-trees lift their crests, their feathery crests 
 
 in air; 760 
 
 The sour Pistachins verdant fruit blends with its foliage 
 
 green, 
 The Plantain spreads its fanlike leaves, a broad and glossy 
 
 screen, 
 With golden balls and clustering boughs hangs the luxuriant 
 
 Lime, 
 And the wild Lotus' crimson bells are purpling in their 
 
 prime : 
 It was a scene for childhood's dreams, that sky so still and 
 
 clear, 
 The freshness of the clustering trees, and the wild brook 
 
 murmuring near. 
 
 172 
 
260 CANTO VI. 
 
 3. 
 
 But there was one sad living man, alone in that fair place, 
 Who felt not amid nature's fruits luxuriant nature's grace; 
 On whom the freshness of the woods, the waters, breathed 
 
 in vain, 
 And gave in every added charm a deeper thrill of pain. 770 
 It was refinement of revenge most devilish to invent, 
 In such a scene so passing fair, so dire a punishment. 
 
 4. 
 
 Beside the streamlet's sloping banks, amid the marshy- 
 ground, 
 
 The pirates had their victim's limbs in fearful vengeance 
 bound. 
 
 Beneath the Mangrove's dripping stems they formed his 
 loathsome bed, 
 
 And wide on the fantastic roots his naked body spread. 
 
 He might not move or turn aside, but weak and helpless 
 lay, 
 
 Till thirst and famine should prevail, and nature's strength 
 decay. 
 
 5. 
 
 His grizzled locks are shorn away, his wrinkled forehead 
 
 bare, 
 Through the long day the burning sun had shed its fury 
 
 there: 780 
 
THE CHASE. 26 1 
 
 The cold damps of the marsh fell round, yet, mid his linger- 
 ing pain, 
 
 The water had not chill'd his joints, the sun-beams spared 
 his brain; 
 
 A vague fond hope of late release still served his breast to 
 steel, 
 
 Till hope at length itself gave way, and left his heart to 
 feel ; 
 
 And bursting, like a thunder-clap, on his exhausted frame, 
 
 The dreadful certainty of fate upon the sufferer came. 
 
 6. 
 
 His lips were parch'd and crack'd with drought, his very 
 
 tongue was dry; 
 No more the moisture in his throat the wonted calls supply. 
 And oh! for that half-fainting wretch 'twas agony to hear 
 The gentle stream so pure, so cool, for ever murmuring 
 
 near ; 790 
 
 He heard the- wild deer slake their thirst, and he lay dying 
 
 there, 
 With the sound of waters in his ear, its freshness in the air. 
 
 7. 
 Then hunger came with gnawing pains to rack the inward 
 
 part, 
 With aching of the dizzy head, and sickening of the heart. 
 He raised his languid eyes on high, and there above his head 
 The rich Bananas golden fruit in clustering bunches spread : 
 
262 CANTO VI. 
 
 Weigh'd by their own luxuriance down, they trembled in the 
 
 height, 
 While he lay famishing below with plenty in his sight. 
 
 8. 
 There was a motion in the woods, and from the streamlet's 
 
 brink, 
 The monkey, mimic of mankind, had snatched his evening 
 
 drink: 800 
 
 He saw La Gata's naked limbs, at once, as one amazed, 
 With straitening tail and form erect upon the wonder gazed ; 
 Then gallop'd to the Pawpa's shaft, and clambering there on 
 
 high, 
 Look'd down and chatter'd at the wretch, as if in mockery. 
 
 There was a motion in the stream; La Gata's eye-balls 
 
 strain'd, 
 And, writhing in their sockets round, the water's surface gain'd : 
 Where still as burn'd and gnarled logs, upon the streamlet's 
 
 brim, 
 With shapeless heads and ridgy backs, the alligators swim. 
 They saw the strange form on the bank; at once without a 
 
 sound 809 
 
 They dived into their native depths, and all was silent round. 
 La Gata struggled in his bonds ; his bonds his power defied ; 
 Oh! misery may not loose the wretch, whom fell revenge 
 
 has tied. 
 
THE CHASE. 263 
 
 10. 
 
 'Twas sunset, and the land-wind rose, a weak and languid 
 
 breeze ; 
 And swarming from the swampy marsh,, and from the fos- 
 tering trees, 
 With filmy pinions whirling round, and shrill and worrying 
 
 hum, 
 The new-born offspring of the stream, the grey musquitoes 
 
 come. 
 Borne by dark instinct to the spot, their destined prey they 
 
 trace, 
 Float round his unprotected limbs, and riot in his face, 
 Fix in his skin their points minute, and gorge themselves 
 
 with gore : 
 In vain ! as one reluctant leaves, a hungry myriad pour: 820 
 Till tortured by their poisonous stings, and weakened by 
 
 decay, 
 The sense of pain was wearied out, and nature swooned 
 
 away; 
 With form disfigured, features swelled, and bleeding feet and 
 
 hands, 
 The victim of a pirate's wrath lay fainting in his bands. 
 
 11. 
 
 Time past : what knew the senseless wretch of the career of 
 
 time? 
 What roused him with a clammy touch, and cold moist 
 
 track of slime 1 
 
c 264t CANTO VI. 
 
 A something crawl'd about his limbs : is it the viper s brood ? 
 Or nauseous reptile of the earth, or reveller of the flood % 
 He knew not: but the bursting sweat fell from his brow 
 
 like rain; 
 His shuddering body strove to scare that unseen thing in 
 
 vain : 830 
 
 He tried to shriek ; his parching lips the sound of fear deny ; 
 The wild deer had not left his lair for that low feeble cry. 
 
 12. 
 
 There was a long growl in the woods: the tangled jungle 
 crushes, 
 
 As some fierce savage of the clime thro' the deep forest rushes ; 
 
 Far in the distance fell the sound; but to the victim's ear, 
 
 That fearful howl, that heavy foot, drew nearer and more 
 near. 
 
 Forgotten was that unseen pest, unfelt the insects' wound, 
 
 All terror in that one new thought of ruder danger drown'd. 
 
 His senses reel'd, his reason sank ; and, if he did not die, 
 
 The death-scene scarce could add a pang to that deep agony. 
 
 Pause we ! nor from the victim's close be the dark curtain 
 rent ! 841 
 
 Grievous had been the pirate's crime, dire was his punish- 
 ment. 
 
 13. 
 
 A fisher, who that awful night past by that fatal shore, 
 Had heard upon the ocean's brink a leopard's hungry roar, 
 
THE CHASE. 
 
 265 
 
 Mix'd with the agonizing cry of horror and of pain, 
 
 Such sound as only madness draws from the bewilder'd brain. 
 
 He might not land, but quicker urged his shallop's rapid 
 
 flight, 
 And far the island lay behind before the close of night. 
 But long and wide his tidings spread ; and yet, as seamen say, 
 The cruiser, who at still of night sails in Honduras' bay, 
 And makes the Leopard's lonely key, where oriee La Gat a 
 
 died, 851 
 
 Will hear strange sounds and horrid shrieks float on the 
 
 midnight tide; 
 And mindful of the fisher's tale, though night grows dark 
 
 around, 
 And scarcely may the struggling bark avoid the shoaling 
 
 ground, 
 Though loudly roars the wild North- West, and w r aves in 
 
 mountains form, 
 Will shun the pirate's angry ghost and brave the gathering 
 
 storm. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 But they who wrought that scene of woe, 
 
 On them what fortunes fall? 
 With pleasure does their cup o'erflow, 
 
 Or is it steep'd in gall? 860 
 
 Mark'd you their chief, as o'er the bay 
 
 He watch'd the shallop's track, 
 Now speeding forth her islet way, 
 
 Now ship ward gliding back? 
 
266 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 'Twas over: with exulting heart 
 
 Latharo paced the deck apart; 
 
 His soul's desire was satisfied; 
 
 The vessel, that had crush'd his pride, 
 
 Had been defeated and defied; 
 
 Those who had dared his power to brave, 870 
 
 Were swept into a bloody grave; 
 
 And more than all, the bark he loved, 
 
 Whose matchless points his skill had proved, 
 
 At once, with all her hardy band, 
 
 Return'd beneath his sole command. 
 
 The sternness from his cheek was flown, 
 
 With brighter fire his dark eye shone; 
 
 With more imperious step he stalk'd, 
 
 And laugh'd and mutter'd as he walk'd, 
 
 Or dash'd his strong right arm on high, 880 
 
 As death and danger to defy. 
 
 Sudden he paused: before him lay 
 
 An open chart; he traced his way 
 
 Eastward, where flow'd the streams afar 
 
 Of swift Benin and Caleb ar, 
 
 As though within their sultry clime 
 
 He sought a wider field for crime. 
 
 Light o'er the coast his finger ranged: 
 
 A thrill, and every feature changed: 
 
 No more upon his lips there play'd 890 
 
 The exulting smile; a gloomy shade 
 
THE CHASE. 26? 
 
 Clouded his brow: less keen, less bright, 
 His eye-balls shot their piercing light. 
 Had he a wish remaining still? 
 Or did he dream of future ill ? 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Worn by the excitement of the day, 
 
 The Rum's crew in slumber lay, 
 
 Stretch'd in a noontide lethargy 
 
 Beneath the bright and burning sky. 
 
 Upward the chief his glances cast : 900 
 
 The seaman on the lofty mast, 
 
 Outwearied by the late retreat, 
 
 And overpowered by tropic heat, 
 
 A dull and drowsy watch had kept, 
 
 And sighed and nodded as he slept. 
 
 A sudden burst of hasty ire 
 
 Glow'd in Latharo's check like fire; 
 
 But ere he spoke, his voice was drown'd 
 
 In indistinct and mutter'd sound, 
 
 As fear of something undefined 910 
 
 Flash'd for an instant o'er his mind. 
 
 The glass he round the horizon drew; 
 
 His gaze a moment steadfast grew. 
 
 Is it a passing speck, 
 That rises o'er the distant main? 
 Again he looks, and yet again; 
 
 Then dashes on the deck 
 
268 CANTO VI. 
 
 The shatter'd glass, and thunders out 
 His fury in one lengthen'd shout. 
 The ciy the laggart's slumber broke; 
 With a convulsive start he woke, 
 And to the chiefs impetuous hail 
 Return'd too late, "A sail! a sail!" 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Latharo's carbine, quick as thought, 
 Was to his ready shoulder brought: 
 The piece with instantaneous aim 
 Pour'd forth a stream of glancing flame, 
 And did its work of vengeance well. 
 The victim shudder'd, shriek'd, and fell; 
 With frenzied effort, as he past, 
 Catching at rope, and yard, and mast. 
 In vain ! he fell, fell headlong down, 
 Struck on the anchor's iron crown, 
 And left upon the spatter'd chains 
 A mingled mass of blood and brains: 
 Then bounded off, and in the wave 
 Found both his death-pall and his grave. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Scarce had Latharo's carbine rung, 
 Ere on their feet the slumberers sprung 
 With rage and wonder's mingled cry. 
 The leader deigned not to reply, 
 
THE CHASE. 26'9 
 
 As if he deemed the bloody deed 
 
 Nor notice nor defence might need; 
 
 But turn'd his piercing eyes again 
 
 Intently on the distant main. 
 
 " It is the frigate ! Sails like her's 
 
 No meaner bark of England bears. 
 
 Yet may she miss us. Idle thought! 
 
 Not thus are English seamen taught, 
 
 As our dull fools, to close their eyes 950 
 
 Upon a rich and heedless prize. 
 
 Her course is alter'd: Aye, she sees, 
 
 And brings with her the evening breeze, 
 
 Whilst we have scarce a breath to bear 
 
 Cur flimsy pendant through the air. 
 
 Stun-sail on stun-sail crowds the mast; 
 
 Her lower yards are rising fast: 
 
 A prince's ransom would I vow, 
 
 If night or storm were round us now. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 "Where is the boat?" he fiercely cried. 960 
 
 " Already has she reach'd the side." 
 
 " Norman, at once your tidings tell : 
 
 Is the deed done?" " It is." "Tiswell: 
 
 Cast off the boat : in hour like this 
 
 Such consort would we gladly miss; 
 
 Nay, heave a cold shot through her floor, 
 
 We need her services no more, 
 
270 CANTO VI. 
 
 Nor should she live to tell the tale. 
 
 Now for your lives! Make sail! make sail!" 
 
 Aloft the tightening canvass springs, 970 
 
 And clothes the bark with spreading wings; 
 
 A flickering air the schooner feels, 
 
 Gently her graceful figure heels 
 
 Beneath its breath, and even now 
 
 From the low key recedes the bow. 
 
 Another air! She seems to creep, 
 
 A living creature, o'er the deep. 
 
 "Now blow the breeze upon our race, 
 
 And we are free! Speed, speed the chase!" 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Speed, speed the chase! The ah- is soft, 980 
 
 Along the horizon creeping; 
 In fitful flaws it floats aloft, 
 
 Nor mars old Ocean's sleeping. 
 Now here, now there, the ripples show, 
 
 As meadows bright and sheen, 
 Where river-like the waters flow 
 
 In glassy veins between. 
 The bark springs forth from her resting-place, 
 
 With the breath she loves so well, 
 With the desert Antelope's step of grace, 990 
 
 And the speed of the young Gazelle. 
 But the stately ship with heavier keel 
 
 Still holds her way behind; 
 
THE CHASE. 271 
 
 For the air, that the schooner may scarcely feel, 
 With her is the rising wind. 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 Speed, speed the chase ! 'Tis a gentle breeze, 
 
 Blows steadily o'er her now; 
 In shadowy waves the awakening seas 
 
 Break smilingly round her how. 
 And over the deep her long dark hull 1000 
 
 Glides evermore fleet and strong; 
 And her rounded sails are swelling and full, 
 
 And carry her swift along. 
 And the trees of the key are seen no more, 
 
 And the key sinks fast from view, 
 And scarce may they trace the distant shore 
 
 In the clouds of misty blue. 
 But many a look on the seas and skies 
 
 From the Rum's deck is cast; 
 For the frigate's sails on the waters rise, 1010 
 
 And the breeze is freshening fast. 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 The breeze is fresh. Speed, speed the chase! 
 
 See, every cloud's in motion: 
 More desperate grows the narrowing race, 
 
 More heavily heaves the ocean. 
 The white sails strain in the rising gale, 
 
 As if they would burst asunder: 
 
272 CANTO VI. 
 
 They may not loose a struggling sail, 
 
 Though the hull is plunging under. 
 But the boats are stove and useless now, 1020 
 
 And they cut them from their quarter: 
 The anchors, loosed from the streaming bow, 
 
 Sink sullenly through the water. 
 And forward the lighten'd schooner springs 
 
 On the breath of the steady wind; 
 While borne on the gathering tempest's wings, 
 
 The frigate is close behind. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Speed, speed the chase! The wind is strong, 
 
 And all is dark around: 
 And gallantly flies the bark along 1030 
 
 With many a furious bound. 
 The long dark hull is seen no more, 
 
 Or shows as a shadowy speck, 
 As at every heel the green seas pour 
 
 In floods o'er her writhing deck. 
 Her light sails, shiver'd in the blast, 
 
 Float off in wreaths of snow; 
 While still aloft the burden'd mast 
 
 Bends as a straining bow. 
 Hark! hark! it falls with a crashing sound! 1040 
 
 Is it rent with the storm asunder? 
 The roar of the long chase guns is drown'd 
 
 In the tempest's wilder thunder. 
 
THE CHASE. 27.1 
 
 L. 
 
 " On, comrades, on !" Latharo cries, 
 With still unbroken energies: 
 "Better to play a desperate game, 
 Than yield us to disgrace and shame, 
 And hear the crowd's exulting breath 
 Hurl curses on a felon's death. 
 Nay, rather let the weltering sea 1050 
 
 Shield us for aye from infamy." 
 Prompt at the word, an obedient band, 
 With sturdy heart and ready hand, 
 Light springing up the encumbered mast, 
 Though o'er their heads the shot fell fast 
 In quick career of headlong war, 
 Cut from aloft the shatter'd spar: 
 While, still unscathed by fire or gale, 
 The topmast bears its spread of sail, 
 Though many a gaping rent confest 1060 
 
 The shots' track through its swelling breast. 
 The shades of night around them spread ; 
 Thick murky vapours hung a-head: 
 While thither with the speed of light 
 The Rubi held her hopeless flight, 
 And her last madden'd efforts made 
 To gain the shelter of the shade. 
 Too late the chance: for close behind 
 The Eagle drove before the wind; 
 18 
 
274 CANTO VI. 
 
 Her tall sails, rising on the mast, 1070 
 
 Full on the chase their shadows cast; 
 And both at once into the gloom 
 The pirate and the avenger come. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Nearer they come; and now so near, 
 
 The Hum's struggling crew may hear, 
 
 Borne on the fury of the gale, 
 
 The British captain's threatening hail; 
 
 " Strike for your lives !" No voice return'd ; 
 
 The reckless crew the mercy spurned; 
 
 Still held the schooner on her track; 1080 
 
 And through the distance floated back 
 
 Latharo's stern commanding tone, 
 
 " Hold on of all ! on, Rum's, on !" 
 
 LII. 
 
 And shall she scathless hold her flight, 
 
 To vanish in the closing night? 
 
 Shall the untamed and daring prize 
 
 Escape before their eager eyes, 
 
 To vaunt of England's humbled pride, 
 
 Her flag disgraced, her arms defied, 
 
 Her boats repulsed, their leaders slain, 1090 
 
 A pirate ruler on the main ? 
 
 The insulting thought may not be borne: 
 
 The mercy, they have dared to scorn, 
 
THE' CHASE. 275 
 
 Were now injustice to the laws, 
 
 And insult to their country's cause. 
 
 The stern but strong necessity 
 
 Clouded the veteran's piercing eye, 
 
 And floated with a moment's trace 
 
 Of sorrow o'er his manly face. 
 
 Again his voice in mercy cried; 1100 
 
 No answer to his hail replied. 
 
 With mutter'd threat his head he shook, 
 
 And his last course of duty took. 
 
 Four seamen at the chief's command, 
 
 For keenest eye and firmest hand 
 
 Selected from a chosen crew, 
 
 Aft to their destined station drew; 
 
 And at the frigate's helm prepare 
 
 The startling violence to bear 
 
 Of that dire meeting! All was stilled. 1110 
 
 A moment; every heart was chilled; 
 
 Through the long decks no sound was heard, 
 
 No breath was drawn, no foot was stirred; 
 
 But with a new and harrowing dread 
 
 All turned their straining eyes a-head, 
 
 While full on the unyielding foe 
 
 Rush'd the tall ship's majestic bow. 
 
 LIU. 
 
 It rose upon the heaving swell, 
 Tossing and towering. Down it fell. 
 
276 CANTO VI. 
 
 With heavy and o'erpowering dash, 1120 
 
 With awful and tremendous crash, 
 
 Join'd with an universal cry, 
 
 Borne wildly through f the air on high 
 
 In frenzy, from that ghastly wreck, 
 
 As the sea broke upon her deck. 
 
 Beneath the ponderous keel o'erthrown, 
 
 The Rubi staggers, heels, goes down, 
 
 Suck'd in the abyss: while as a rock, 
 
 The Eagle, heedless of the shock, 
 
 Of shatter'd foe, or dying groan, 1130 
 
 Holds her proud way resistless on. 
 
 They look around: what do they mark? 
 
 Naught but the sky and ocean dark. 
 
 There is not on the waves afloat 
 
 A mast, a spar, a plank, a boat: 
 
 All, all within the vortex drunk, 
 
 In the deep sea for ever sunk. 
 
 So overwhelming o'er the scene 
 
 Had that dark frigate's vengeance been. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 And of the Rubi's crew alone 1140 
 
 Saved from the wreck, was seen but one, 
 
 One wretch, who in his drowning hour, 
 
 With his last moment's frenzied power, 
 
 In senseless desperation clung 
 
 To the loose ropes; and there he hung, 
 
THE CHASE. 277 
 
 Bleeding and bruised, scarce snatched from death, 
 As that fierce schooner sunk beneath. 
 Twas Albert, who in numbers free 
 
 Could trill, his sea-notes wild, 
 Link'd with the breeze's symphony, 1150 
 
 Poetic fancy's child. 
 How changed, alas! from that blithe boy, 
 
 Who, in the festive hour, 
 Had waken'd echo's voice to joy 
 
 In old Estella's tower! 
 Oh! had he still in virtue's ear 
 
 Addrest his generous song, 
 Nor sought mid deeds of shame to cheer 
 
 The Rovers' lawless throng, 
 Bright might have been his young career, 1160 
 
 His life of honor long ! 
 But now discover'd, when too late 
 To shun the universal fate, 
 Scarcely the seamen's ready aid 
 The sufferer on the deck had laid, 
 Ere mixed with wrath, with fear, and shame-, 
 A moment's recollection came, 
 Upon Latharo's name he cried, 
 Half prayer, half curse, and writhing died. 
 
 LV. 
 
 And she is gone. As fierce a brood 1170 
 
 Still hold the pirates' course of blood; 
 
278 CANTO VI. 
 
 But never on the western main 
 
 So fair a bark was seen again. 
 
 It was not her's to pass away 
 
 In useless age, and dull decay! 
 
 One moment, beautiful and free 
 
 She bounded on the joyous sea; 
 
 Another, she had sunk to rest 
 
 For ever on that mighty breast. 
 
 One moment, o'er the daring way 1180 
 
 Hot fiery spirits held their sway; 
 
 Another, still and cold they sleep, 
 
 As children on their parent deep. 
 
 But still where'er in tropic skies 
 
 The pirate's blood-red banner flies, 
 
 The hardy seamen love to tell 
 
 How firm, how true, the Rubi fell; 
 
 Speak of a bark unmatch'd in speed ; 
 
 A crew of bold and daring deed; 
 
 Of stern hearts faithful to the last: 1190 
 
 And, as they muse on times long past, 
 
 Amid their sires' remembered praise 
 
 They mourn their sons' degenerate days. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 So let them mourn, in whose untutor'd breasts 
 The inheritance of kindred passions rests ! 
 But much the bard would at his parting grieve, 
 Such baneful moral for his tale to leave; 
 
THE CHASE. 279 
 
 To deem that he has wove insidious rhyme, 
 
 To blazon a career of wrath and crime ; 
 
 Or clothed a pirate in a hero's guise, 1200 
 
 And claim 'd for him a hero's obsequies. 
 
 Not such his end: from tales, his boyhood knew, 
 
 Fearful and harrowing, but alas! too true, 
 
 As oft confirm'd, in manhood's ripening years, 
 
 By sad experience of far distant spheres, 
 
 Where the descendants of those lawless hosts 
 
 Still sweep the seas, and awe the lonely coasts, 
 
 His story sprang: which seeks in simple strains 
 
 To paint the pirate as he still remains, 
 
 Nor strives to clothe in forms of specious art 1210 
 
 The murderer's bloody hand, and ruthless heart. 
 
 If rightly has the song pursued its aim, 
 
 No ill-judged pity will the Rovers claim: 
 
 Hatred to vice, and justice to mankind, 
 
 Will blunt the softer feelings of the mind; 
 
 And truth will praise the line that dares to tell 
 
 How justly mid her crimes The Rubi fell. 1217 
 
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 With Collects for the Feasts and Fasts. 
 
 By the Rev. A. HORSFALL, M.A. 
 
 In Three Volumes, price 6s. 6rf. each, 
 
 THE FAMILY HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 
 
 By the Rev. GEORGE R. GLEIG, M.A. ; 
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 5 
 
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 PRETTY LESSONS FOR GOOD CHILDREN; 
 
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 In the present age, when so much is done for the benefit of the rising gene- 
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 My own often and deeply-felt want of such a work, has induced me to 
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 Mrs. GODWIN' S TALES FOR YOUNG PERSONS. 
 
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 LOUISA SEYMOUR; 
 
 COUSIN KATE; 
 
 Or, the Punishment of Pride. 
 
 BASIL HARLOW; 
 
 Or, Prodigality is not Generosity, 
 
 ESTHER MORE; 
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 ALICIA GREY; 
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 JOSEPHINE; 
 
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 SCHEMING; a Tale. 
 
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 FAITH AND PRACTICE; 
 
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 THE RITE OF CONFIRMATION EXPLAINED. 
 
 liy the Rev. D. I. EYRE, M.A. 
 
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 PETER PARLEYS UNIVERSAL HISTORY 
 
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 TALES AND STORIES FROM HISTORY. 
 
 By AGNES STRICKLAND. 
 
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 SANDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 Adapted to the Use of Young Persons of the present day. 
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 THE HOUSE I LIVE IN ; 
 
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 " I am fearfully and wonderfully made !" 
 
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 THE DEAF AND DUMB BOY ; 
 
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 ABBOTTS READER; 
 
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 SISTER MARY's TALES in NATURAL HISTORY. 
 
 7 
 
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 TRAVELLING SKETCHES in EGYPT and SINAI; 
 
 Including a Visit to Mount H.oreb, and other localities of the Exodus ; 
 
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 DUMAS. By a BIBLICAL STUDENT. 
 
 Seventh Edition, Price 3s., with Engravings, 
 
 THREE WEEKS in PALESTINE and LEBANON. 
 
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 With Engravings, price 2*. 6d., 
 
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 CAPTAIN COOK; 
 
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 BOUNTY, i 
 
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 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS 
 
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 substance of later Discoveries relative to his Fate, and the 
 
 Termination of the Niger. 
 
 Second Edition, with Engravings, Price 5a., 
 
 TWO YEARS AT SEA : 
 
 Being the Narrative of a Voyage to the Swan River and Van Diemen's Land 
 
 thence, through the Torres' Straits, to the Burman Empire ; and 
 
 return by way of India, St. Helena, &c. 
 
 By JANE ROBERTS. 
 
 * m * Those to which an asterisk is prefixed are among the works published 
 
 by the General Literature and Education Committee of the 
 
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 London: JOHN W. PARKER, Publisher, West Strand.