Dripping with dusky gore, and
trampling
on
The carcasses of Inde--away!
The carcasses of Inde--away!
Byron
Oh, thou God of Quiet!
Whose reign is o'er sealed eyelids and soft dreams,
Or deep, deep sleep, so as to be unfathomed,
Look like thy brother, Death,[23]--so still, so stirless--
For then we are happiest, as it may be, we
Are happiest of all within the realm
Of thy stern, silent, and unwakening Twin.
Again he moves--again the play of pain 10
Shoots o'er his features, as the sudden gust
Crisps the reluctant lake that lay so calm[ac]
Beneath the mountain shadow; or the blast
Ruffles the autumn leaves, that drooping cling
Faintly and motionless to their loved boughs.
I must awake him--yet not yet; who knows
From what I rouse him? It seems pain; but if
I quicken him to heavier pain? The fever
Of this tumultuous night, the grief too of
His wound, though slight, may cause all this, and shake 20
Me more to see than him to suffer. No:
Let Nature use her own maternal means,
And I await to second, not disturb her.
_Sar. _ (_awakening_).
Not so--although he multiplied the stars,
And gave them to me as a realm to share
From you and with you! I would not so purchase
The empire of Eternity. Hence--hence--
Old Hunter of the earliest brutes! and ye,[ad]
Who hunted fellow-creatures as if brutes!
Once bloody mortals--and now bloodier idols, 30
If your priests lie not! And thou, ghastly Beldame!
Dripping with dusky gore, and trampling on
The carcasses of Inde--away! away!
Where am I? Where the spectres? Where--No--that
Is no false phantom: I should know it 'midst
All that the dead dare gloomily raise up
From their black gulf to daunt the living. Myrrha!
_Myr. _ Alas! thou art pale, and on thy brow the drops
Gather like night dew. My beloved, hush--
Calm thee. Thy speech seems of another world, 40
And thou art lord of this. Be of good cheer;
All will go well.
_Sar. _ Thy _hand_--so--'tis thy hand;
'Tis flesh; grasp--clasp--yet closer, till I feel
Myself that which I was.
_Myr. _ At least know me
For what I am, and ever must be--thine.
Whose reign is o'er sealed eyelids and soft dreams,
Or deep, deep sleep, so as to be unfathomed,
Look like thy brother, Death,[23]--so still, so stirless--
For then we are happiest, as it may be, we
Are happiest of all within the realm
Of thy stern, silent, and unwakening Twin.
Again he moves--again the play of pain 10
Shoots o'er his features, as the sudden gust
Crisps the reluctant lake that lay so calm[ac]
Beneath the mountain shadow; or the blast
Ruffles the autumn leaves, that drooping cling
Faintly and motionless to their loved boughs.
I must awake him--yet not yet; who knows
From what I rouse him? It seems pain; but if
I quicken him to heavier pain? The fever
Of this tumultuous night, the grief too of
His wound, though slight, may cause all this, and shake 20
Me more to see than him to suffer. No:
Let Nature use her own maternal means,
And I await to second, not disturb her.
_Sar. _ (_awakening_).
Not so--although he multiplied the stars,
And gave them to me as a realm to share
From you and with you! I would not so purchase
The empire of Eternity. Hence--hence--
Old Hunter of the earliest brutes! and ye,[ad]
Who hunted fellow-creatures as if brutes!
Once bloody mortals--and now bloodier idols, 30
If your priests lie not! And thou, ghastly Beldame!
Dripping with dusky gore, and trampling on
The carcasses of Inde--away! away!
Where am I? Where the spectres? Where--No--that
Is no false phantom: I should know it 'midst
All that the dead dare gloomily raise up
From their black gulf to daunt the living. Myrrha!
_Myr. _ Alas! thou art pale, and on thy brow the drops
Gather like night dew. My beloved, hush--
Calm thee. Thy speech seems of another world, 40
And thou art lord of this. Be of good cheer;
All will go well.
_Sar. _ Thy _hand_--so--'tis thy hand;
'Tis flesh; grasp--clasp--yet closer, till I feel
Myself that which I was.
_Myr. _ At least know me
For what I am, and ever must be--thine.
