His bugle brightly glittered on his breast;
His lip the gilded bauble gently press'd
One breath, one sigh, and rock and hill and sea,
Will echo back the warlike minstrelsy.
The figure which had slowly pass'd between
Himself and yonder blaze, sank where 't was seen,
As tho' the earth had gaped with sudden yawn,
And drank both fire and form in silence down;
The beacon was extinguish'd, rock and tree
And beetling cliff, and wildly foaming sea
Were hid in darkness, for the deep red light
Which faintly sketched them on the brow of night
Was dim, as was the moon's pale tremulous glow,
For tempest-clouds were rallying round her brow;
'The sound of a footstep is on the shore,
It dies away in the surge's roar;
It is heard again as the angry spray
Rolls back and foams its shame away;
And shrill and clear was the call of alarm,
'T was like the breaking of spell or charm;
It scream'd o'er the dark wave, it rose to the hill,
And the answering echoes re-echoed it still.
A rushing sound as of coming waves,
A glittering band as if burst from their graves,
Are the answers which wake at the bidding clear
Of him, the Lord of the Isle of Fear.
But scarce had the summons in silence died,
When the foot which had waked the tumult wide,
Was pressing the sand where it yielding gave
To the lightest tread as 't was washed by the wave;
By the side of the Pirate, with outstretch'd hand,
The bold intruder look'd round on the band;
But none saw the face of that being save he;
In wonder he gazed-in his eye you might see
Surprise, and shame, and a fiend-like gleam,
Which whisper'd of more than fear might dream;
And is it for this - for a woman like thee?
He angrily mutter'd and turn'd to the sea
And is it for this I have sounded the call
Whose notes may never unanswer'd fall;
Whose lowest tone is the knell of more
Than can crowd at once upon Hell's broad shore?
And is it for this, I must idly stand
To trace the wave with my sword on the strand?
Speak!-tell me-or now by the blood on its blade,
I will give to that pale cheek a deadlier shade.
'The beacon! the beacon she turn'd to the spot,
And pointed the chief where the light was not;
The murmur ran thro' the waiting crowd,
It was loud at first but it grew more loud,
Till the Beacon, the Beacon-rang on to the sky,
But its light was extinguish'd, no blaze met the eye;
Thus much for the moment thy honour is clear,
If it suffers then look for thy recompense here;
And she threw back her mantle and gave to the light
Which glared from the torches all flamingly bright
A form which e'en Maritorne mark'd not unmoved,
But t' was one which he did not, nor ever had loved
There are spies who are waiting in ambush for thee;
I mark'd out the cavern-'t was near to the sea;
They are few, they are bold, they are guided by one
Who has sworn ere the dawn of another day's sun
To lead thee in triumph, unwounded, unharm'd,
To yonder proud city all chain'd and unarm'd;
This swears he, by all that is sacred to do,
I heard it, and hasten'd thus breathless to you.
For pardon I sue not, O punish my crime!
Here, here is my bosom, and now is the time! —
The last moment beheld me imploring for breath,
Now 't is not worth asking-I sue but for death
The ocean was roaring too loudly to hear
The words she was speaking, the Chief bent his ear;
His dark plume was resting half fearfully there,
Upon the white brow of the beautiful Clare;
As a being all guilty and trembling would rest
Self-accused, self-condemn'd in the land of the blest.
And he, its wild wearer, how heard he the tale?
His eye flash'd the darker, his lip grew more pale;
But when it was finish'd and Clara knelt down,
Where, where was his anger, and where was his
frown?
On her forehead he printed a passionate kiss-
Oh Clara forgive me-remember not this,
But forget not that thou, and thou only, shalt know
The cause of my madness, my guilt, and my woe.
If I fall, thou wilt read it in letters of blood
'Neath the stone, near the rock, where the beacon-
light glow'd;
If I live and he hastily bowed himself-then-
The Fiend and the pirate were masters again.
A light is on the waters, and the dip
Of distant oars is heard from steep to steep;
The hum of voices float upon the air,
Soft, yet distinct, tho' distant, full and clear.
Come they to Barritaria's Isle as midnight foes?
'Tis well-the world but roughly with them goes.
Come they to Barritaria's Isle to join
Their traitor arms, proud Maritorne, with thine?
Oh, better had they never left yon shore,
To which they may return again no more.
Fools!-think they he is bleeding in a strife
Where every drop writes guilt upon his life
For gold, for fame, for power, for aught on earth
Which vulgar minds might think were richly worth
A life of bloodshed and dishonour? No!
They read not right, who read yon pirate so;
The plash of troubled waters, and the sound
Of moving vessels grating o'er the ground,
The quick low hum of voices, the faint gush
Of light waves gurgling as with sudden rush
They feebly kiss'd the bark, then sunk away,
As half-repenting them such welcome gay,
Were caught perchance, by some lone fisher's ear,
Who plied his line, or net at midnight here;
Perhaps he started from his drowsy mood,
And toss'd his bait still further down the flood;
But be that as it may, 't was heard no more,
And list'ning silence hover'd o'er the shore.
And yonder fire the battle sign is beaming,
Far o'er the dusky waters redly streaming,
The shadow of the Pirate-ship lies there,
Its banners feebly dancing in the air;
Its broad sails veering idly to and fro,
Now glitt'ring 'neath the full moon's silver glow,
Now black'ning in the shade of night's dull frown,
'T was like its chief, in silence and alone,
Gazing upon the shadow which it cast
O'er ev'ry rippling wave which gently pass'd.
And such had been his joyless, gloomy lot,
Forgetting all mankind, by all forgot,
Save that accursed one whose blasting eye
Was glaring on him,—'t was in vain to fly
While vengeance whisper'd curses in his ear,
And thought, the demon thought receiv'd them there
But it had ever been his lot to throw
O'er those who pass'd him, shades of gloom and woe;
His love for Laura had been deeply curs'd,
Hatred's black phial o'er his brow had burst;
He felt himself detested, and he knew
That she whom he adored abhorr'd him too.
But oh the hapless, the ill-fated one,
She who could love him for himself alone,
Love him, with all his crimes upon his head,
Love, when the crowd with detestation fled ;-
A deep dark shade, a wild, a with'ring blast
Fell o'er her destiny; the die was cast-
She was a wretched one, a sweet flower faded, Whose wand'ring tendrils round the night-shade braided,
Clung to its baleful breast-hung drooping there,
Self-sacrificed, it drank the poisoned air
And this was once the realm of nature, where
Wild as the wind, tho' exquisitely fair,
She breath'd the mountain breeze, or bow'd to kiss
The dimpling waters with unbounded bliss.
Here in this Paradise of earth, where first
Wild mountain Liberty began to burst,
Once Nature's temple rose in simple grace,
The hill her throne, the world her dwelling-place.
And where are now her lakes so still and lone,
Her thousand streams with bending shrubs o'ergrown?
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