129 THE BUCCANEER. BY RICHARD H. DANA. 'Boy with thy blac berd, And sone set the to shrive, It es gude reason and right The island lies nine leagues away. Of craggy rock and sandy bay, No sound but ocean's roar, [Lawrence Minot. Save, where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home, Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam. But when the light winds lie at rest, And on the glassy, heaving sea, How beautiful! no ripples break the reach, And inland rests the green, warm dell; The brook comes tinkling down its side; Rings cheerful, far and wide, Nor holy bell, nor pastoral bleat In former days within the vale; Curses were on the gale; Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men; But calm, low voices, words of grace, A quiet look is in each face, Subdued and holy fear: Each motion gentle; all is kindly done- II. Cruel of heart, and strong of arm, Loud in his sport, and keen for spoil, He little recked of good or harm, Fierce both in mirth and toil; Yet like a dog could fawn, if need there were: Speak mildly, when he would, or look in fear. III. Amid the uproar of the storm, And by the lightning's sharp, red glare, Were seen Lee's face and sturdy form; His axe glanced quick in air; Whose corpse at morn is floating in the sedge? There's blood and hair, Mat, on thy axe's edge. IV. "Nay, ask him yonder; let him tell; I make the brute, not man, my mark. Think ye the lashing waves will spare or feel? V. He wiped his axe; and turning round, Said with a cold and hardened smile, "The hemp is saved-the man is drowned. Wilt let him float awhile? Or give him Christian burial on the strand? He'll find his fellows peaceful 'neath the sand." XII. Within a Spanish port she rides. Angry and soured, Lee walks her deck. "Then peaceful trade a curse betides? And thou, good ship, a wreck! Ill luck in change! Ho! cheer ye up my men! Rigged, and at sea, we 'll to old work again!" XIII. A sound is in the Pyrenees! Whirling and dark, comes roaring down A tide, as of a thousand seas, Sweeping both cowl and crown On field and vineyard, thick and red it stood. Spain's streets and palaces are wet with blood. XVII. Lee feigned him grieved, and bowed him low. He meekly, smoothly said. With wealth and servants she is soon aboard, XVIII. The sun goes down upon the sea; The shadows gather round her home. "How like a pall are ye to me! My home, how like a tomb! O! blow, ye flowers of Spain, above his head. Ye will not blow o'er me when I am dead." XIX. And now the stars are burning bright; Yet still she 's looking toward the shore Beyond the waters black in night. "I ne'er shall see thee more! Ye 're many, waves, yet lonely seems your flow; And I'm alone-scarce know I where I go." XX. Sleep, sleep, thou sad one, on the sea! He is not near, to hush thee, or to save. XXI. The moon comes up; the night goes on. Why, in the shadow of the mast, Stands that dark, thoughtful man alone? Thy pledge, man; keep it fast! Bethink thee of her youth and sorrows, Lee; Helpless, alone-and, then, her trust in thee. XXII. When told the hardships thou hadst borne, He looks out on the sea that sleeps in light, He sleeps; but dreams of massy gold, And heaps of pearl. He stretched his hands. Her breath comes deathly cold upon his cheek; XXIV. He wakes; but no relentings wake Within his angry, restless soul. "What, shall a dream Mat's purpose shake? The gold will make all whole. Thy merchant trade had nigh unmanned thee, lad! What, baulk my chance because a woman's sad?" XXV. He cannot look on her mild eye; Her patient words his spirit quell. The hates and fears of hell. · His speech is short; he wears a surly brow. There's none will hear her shriek. What fear ye now? XXVI. The workings of the soul ye fear; Ye fear the power that goodness hath; Ye fear the Unseen One, ever near, Walking his ocean path. From out the silent void there comes a cry "Vengeance is mine! Thou, murderer, too shalt die!" XXVII. Nor dread of ever-during woe, Nor the sea's awful solitude, Can make thee, wretch, thy crime forego. The scud is driving wildly over head; The stars burn dim; the ocean moans its dead. It ceased. With speed o'th' lightning's flash, The waves have swept away the bubbling tide. She's sleeping in her silent cave. Nor hears the stern, loud roar above, Young thing! her home of love She soon has reached!-Fair unpolluted thing! XXXIX. "And when it passed there was no tread! It leapt the deck.-Who heard the sound? Went down these depths? How dark they look, and cold! They gazed upon his ghastly face. "What ails thee, Lee; and why that glare?" "Look! ha, 'tis gone, and not a trace! No, no, she was not there! Who of you said ye heard her when she fell? 'Tis strange!-I'll not be fooled!-Wil! no one tell?" LXI. It scares the sea-birds from their nests; They dart and wheel with deaf'ning screams; O, sin, what hast thou done on this fair earth? And what comes up above the wave, So ghastly white?-A spectral head!— Those looking on the dead The waking dead.) There, on the sea, he standsThe Spectre-Horse!-He moves; he gains the sands! LXIII. Onward he speeds. His ghostly sides His path is shining like a swift ship's wake; The revel now is high within; It breaks upon the midnight air. As if the sky became a voice, there spread The spirit-steed sent up the neigh. It seemed the living trump of hell, It rang along the vaulted sky: the shore It rang in ears that knew the sound; And hot, flushed cheeks are blanched with fear. And why does Lee look wildly round? Thinks he the drowned horse near? He drops the cup-his lips are stiff with fright. Nay, sit thee down! It is thy banquet night. LXVII. "I cannot sit. I needs must go: The spell is on my spirit now. I go to dread-I go to woe!" O, who so weak as thou, Strong man!-His hoof upon the door-stone, see, The shadow stands !-His eyes are on thee, Lee! LXII. Through that cold light the fearful man And yet he does not speak, or make a sound! "I look, where mortal man may not Into the chambers of the deep. I see the dead, long, long forgot; A dreadful power is mine, which none can know, LXXIV. Thou mild, sad mother-waning moon, Thy last, low, melancholy ray Shines toward him. Quit him not so soon! Despair and death are with him; and canst thou, LXXV. O, thou wast born for things of love; In that soft light of thine, Burn softer:-earth, in silvery veil, seems heaven. Thou 'rt going down!-hast left him unforgiven! LXXVI. The far, low west is bright no more. How still it is! No sound is heard Thou living thing-and dar'st thou come so near LXXVII. Now long that thick, red light has shone On stern, dark rocks, and deep, still bay, On man and horse that seem of stone, So motionless are they. But now its lurid fire less fiercely burns: That spectre-steed now slowly pales; LXXXIII. Go, get thee home, and end thy mirth! Go, call the revellers again! Are wanderers like Cain. As he his door-stone past, the air blew chill. "There's none to meet me, none to cheer: Would I could hear their shout!" He ne'er shall hear it more-more taste his wine! Silent he sits within the still moonshine. LXXXV. Day came again; and up he rose, Did that long night afford. No shadowy-coming night, to bring him rest- He walks within the day's full glare A darkened man. Where'er he comes, All shun him. Children peep and stare; Then, frightened, seek their homes. Through all the crowd a thrilling horror ran. They point and say-" There goes the wicked man!" LXXXVII. He turns and curses in his wrath Both man, and child; then hastes away Shoreward, or takes some gloomy path; But there he cannot stay: Terror and madness drive him back to men; His hate of man to solitude again. LXXXVIII. Time passes on, and he grows bold- But still at heart there lies a secret fear; For now the year's dread round is drawing near. LXXXIX. He swears but he is sick at heart; That will be told: it needs no words from thee, XC. Bond-slave of sin, see there-that light! And nights must shine and darken o'er thy head,' XCI. Again the ship lights all the land; This once he'll be released Gone horse and ship; but Lee's last hope is o'er; Nor laugh, nor scoff, nor rage, can help him more. XCII. His spirit heard that spirit say, Ay, cling to earth as sailor to the rock! ХСІІІ. He goes! So thou must loose thy hold, And go with Death; nor breathe the balm Of early air, nor light behold, Nor sit thee in the calm Of gentle thoughts, where good men wait their close. In life, or death, where look'st thou for repose? XCIV. Who's sitting on that long, black ledge, Poor, idle Matthew Lee! So weak and pale? A year and little more And on the shingles now he sits, And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands; And scores the smooth wet sands; Then tries each cliff, and cove, and jut that bounds The isle; then home from many weary rounds. |