Selected Poems (114 page)

An angry man, ye may opine,

Was he, the proud Count Palatine;

And he had reason good to be,

345

But he was most enraged lest such

An accident should chance to touch

Upon his future pedigree;

Nor less amazed, that such a blot

His noble ’scutcheon should have got,

350

While he was highest of his line;

Because unto himself he seem’d

The first of men, nor less he deem’d

In others’ eyes, and most in mine.

‘Sdeath! with a
page
– perchance a king

355

Had reconciled him to the thing;

But with a stripling of a page —

I felt – but cannot paint his rage.

IX

‘ “Bring forth the horse!” – the horse was brought;

In truth, he was a noble steed,

360

A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,

Who look’d as though the speed of thought

Were in his limbs; but he was wild,

Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,

With spur and bridle undefiled —

365

’Twas but a day he had been caught

And snorting, with erected mane,

And struggling fiercely, but in vain,

In the full foam of wrath and dread

To me the desert-born was led:

370

They bound me on, that menial throng,

Upon his back with many a thong;

Then loosed him with a sudden lash –

Away! – away! – and on we dash! –

Torrents less rapid and less rash.

X

375

‘Away! – away! – My breath was gone –

I saw not where he hurried on:

’Twas scarcely yet the break of day,

And on he foam’d – away! – away! –

The last of human sounds which rose,

380

As I was darted from my foes,

Was the wild shout of savage laughter,

Which on the wind came roaring after

A moment from that rabble rout:

With sudden wrath I wrench’d my head,

385

And snapp’d the cord, which to the mane

Had bound my neck in lieu of rein,

And, writhing half my form about,

Howl’d back my curse; but ’midst the tread,

The thunder of my courser’s speed,

390

Perchance they did not hear nor heed:

It vexes me — for I would fain

Have paid their insult back again.

I paid it well in after days:

There is not of that castle gate,

395

Its drawbridge and portcullis’ weight,

Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left;

Nor of its fields a blade of grass,

Save what grows on a ridge of wall,

Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall;

400

And many a time ye there might pass,

Nor dream that e’er that fortress was:

I saw its turrets in a blaze,

Their crackling battlements all cleft,

And the hot lead pour down like rain

405

From off the scorch’d and blackening roof,

Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof.

They little thought that day of pain,

When launch’d, as on the lightning’s flash,

They bade me to destruction dash,

410

That one day I should come again,

With twice five thousand horse, to thank

The Count for his uncourteous ride.

They play’d me then a bitter prank,

When, with the wild horse for my guide,

415

They bound me to his foaming flank:

At length I play’d them one as frank –

For time at last sets all things even —

And if we do but watch the hour,

There never yet was human power

420

Which could evade, if unforgiven,

The patient search and vigil long

Of him who treasures up a wrong.

XI

‘Away, away, my steed and I,

Upon the pinions of the wind,

425

All human dwellings left behind;

We sped like meteors through the sky,

When with its crackling sound the night

Is chequer’d with the northern light:

Town – village – none were on our track

430

But a wild plain of far extent,

And bounded by a forest black;

And, save the scarce seen battlement

On distant heights of some strong hold,

Against the Tartars built of old,

435

No trace of man. The year before

A Turkish army had march’d o’er;

And where the Spahi’s hoof hath trod,

The verdure flies the bloody sod: —

The sky was dull, and dim, and gray,

440

And a low breeze crept moaning by –

I could have answer’d with a sigh –

But fast we fled, away, away –

And I could neither sigh nor pray;

And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain

445

Upon the courser’s bristling mane;

But, snorting still with rage and fear,

He flew upon his far career:

At times I almost thought, indeed,

He must have slacken’d in his speed;

450

But no — my bound and slender frame

Was nothing to his angry might,

And merely like a spur became:

Each motion which I made to free

My swoln limbs from their agony

455

Increased his fury and affright:

I tried my voice, – ’twas faint and low,

But yet he swerved as from a blow;

And, starting to each accent, sprang

As from a sudden trumpet’s clang:

460

Meantime my cords were wet with gore,

Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o’er;

And in my tongue the thirst became

A something fierier far than flame.

XII

‘We near’d the wild wood – ’twas so wide,

465

I saw no bounds on either side;

’Twas studded with old sturdy trees,

That bent not to the roughest breeze

Which howls down from Siberia’s waste,

And strips the forest in its haste, –

470

But these were few, and far between

Set thick with shrubs more young and green,

Luxuriant with their annual leaves,

Ere strown by those autumnal eves

That nip the forest’s foliage dead,

475

Discolour’d with a lifeless red,

Which stands thereon like stiffen’d gore

Upon the slain when battle’s o’er,

And some long winter’s night hath shed

Its frost o’er every tombless head,

480

So cold and stark the raven’s beak

May peck unpierced each frozen cheek:

’Twas a wild waste of underwood,

And here and there a chestnut stood,

The strong oak, and the hardy pine;

485

But far apart – and well it were,

Or else a different lot were mine –

The boughs gave way, and did not tear

My limbs; and I found strength to bear

My wounds, already scarr’d with cold –

490

My bonds forbade to loose my hold.

We rustled through the leaves like wind,

Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;

By night I heard them on the track,

Their troop came hard upon our back,

495

With their long gallop, which can tire

The hound’s deep hate, and hunter’s fire:

Where’er we flew they follow’d on,

Nor left us with the morning sun;

Behind I saw them, scarce a rood,

500

At day-break winding through the wood,

And through the night had heard their feet

Their stealing, rustling step repeat.

Oh! how I wish’d for spear or sword,

At least to die amidst the horde,

505

And perish – if it must be so –

At bay, destroying many a foe.

When first my courser’s race begun,

I wish’d the goal already won;

But now I doubted strength and speed.

510

Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed