"These letters, Chief, are from the Greek--the spy,
Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:
Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,
Much that"--"Peace, peace!
Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:
Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,
Much that"--"Peace, peace!
Byron
we ask not of success--
But shall we see them? will their accents bless?
From where the battle roars, the billows chafe,
They doubtless boldly did--but who are safe?
Here let them haste to gladden and surprise,
And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes! "
VI.
"Where is our Chief? for him we bear report--
And doubt that joy--which hails our coming--short;
Yet thus sincere--'tis cheering, though so brief;
But, Juan! instant guide us to our Chief: 120
Our greeting paid, we'll feast on our return,
And all shall hear what each may wish to learn. "
Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way,
To where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay,
By bushy brake, the wild flowers blossoming,
And freshness breathing from each silver spring,
Whose scattered streams from granite basins burst,
Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst;
From crag to cliff they mount--Near yonder cave,
What lonely straggler looks along the wave? 130
In pensive posture leaning on the brand,
Not oft a resting-staff to that red hand?
"'Tis he--'tis Conrad--here--as wont--alone;
On--Juan! --on--and make our purpose known.
The bark he views--and tell him we would greet
His ear with tidings he must quickly meet:
We dare not yet approach--thou know'st his mood,
When strange or uninvited steps intrude. "
VII.
Him Juan sought, and told of their intent;--
He spake not, but a sign expressed assent, 140
These Juan calls--they come--to their salute
He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute.
"These letters, Chief, are from the Greek--the spy,
Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:
Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,
Much that"--"Peace, peace! "--he cuts their prating short.
Wondering they turn, abashed, while each to each
Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech:
They watch his glance with many a stealing look,
To gather how that eye the tidings took; 150
But, this as if he guessed, with head aside,
Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,
He read the scroll--"My tablets, Juan, hark--
Where is Gonsalvo? "
"In the anchored bark. "
"There let him stay--to him this order bear--
Back to your duty--for my course prepare:
Myself this enterprise to-night will share. "
"To-night, Lord Conrad? "
"Aye! at set of sun:
The breeze will freshen when the day is done.
My corslet--cloak--one hour and we are gone. 160
Sling on thy bugle--see that free from rust
My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust;
Be the edge sharpened of my boarding-brand,
And give its guard more room to fit my hand.
This let the Armourer with speed dispose;
Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes;
Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired,
To tell us when the hour of stay's expired. "
VIII.
They make obeisance, and retire in haste,
Too soon to seek again the watery waste: 170
Yet they repine not--so that Conrad guides;
And who dare question aught that he decides?
That man of loneliness and mystery,
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;
Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew,
And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue;
Still sways their souls with that commanding art
That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
What is that spell, that thus his lawless train
Confess and envy--yet oppose in vain? 180
What should it be, that thus their faith can bind?
But shall we see them? will their accents bless?
From where the battle roars, the billows chafe,
They doubtless boldly did--but who are safe?
Here let them haste to gladden and surprise,
And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes! "
VI.
"Where is our Chief? for him we bear report--
And doubt that joy--which hails our coming--short;
Yet thus sincere--'tis cheering, though so brief;
But, Juan! instant guide us to our Chief: 120
Our greeting paid, we'll feast on our return,
And all shall hear what each may wish to learn. "
Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way,
To where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay,
By bushy brake, the wild flowers blossoming,
And freshness breathing from each silver spring,
Whose scattered streams from granite basins burst,
Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst;
From crag to cliff they mount--Near yonder cave,
What lonely straggler looks along the wave? 130
In pensive posture leaning on the brand,
Not oft a resting-staff to that red hand?
"'Tis he--'tis Conrad--here--as wont--alone;
On--Juan! --on--and make our purpose known.
The bark he views--and tell him we would greet
His ear with tidings he must quickly meet:
We dare not yet approach--thou know'st his mood,
When strange or uninvited steps intrude. "
VII.
Him Juan sought, and told of their intent;--
He spake not, but a sign expressed assent, 140
These Juan calls--they come--to their salute
He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute.
"These letters, Chief, are from the Greek--the spy,
Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:
Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,
Much that"--"Peace, peace! "--he cuts their prating short.
Wondering they turn, abashed, while each to each
Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech:
They watch his glance with many a stealing look,
To gather how that eye the tidings took; 150
But, this as if he guessed, with head aside,
Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,
He read the scroll--"My tablets, Juan, hark--
Where is Gonsalvo? "
"In the anchored bark. "
"There let him stay--to him this order bear--
Back to your duty--for my course prepare:
Myself this enterprise to-night will share. "
"To-night, Lord Conrad? "
"Aye! at set of sun:
The breeze will freshen when the day is done.
My corslet--cloak--one hour and we are gone. 160
Sling on thy bugle--see that free from rust
My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust;
Be the edge sharpened of my boarding-brand,
And give its guard more room to fit my hand.
This let the Armourer with speed dispose;
Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes;
Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired,
To tell us when the hour of stay's expired. "
VIII.
They make obeisance, and retire in haste,
Too soon to seek again the watery waste: 170
Yet they repine not--so that Conrad guides;
And who dare question aught that he decides?
That man of loneliness and mystery,
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;
Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew,
And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue;
Still sways their souls with that commanding art
That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
What is that spell, that thus his lawless train
Confess and envy--yet oppose in vain? 180
What should it be, that thus their faith can bind?
