III.

Confused and mad his heated mind, With raving feverish dreams combined, The culprit’s soul exhaustion press’d, His head sunk heavy on his breast. And in his dreams he life and death Confounds, remembers, and forgets; And fearful struggling every breath, And sigh he gives besets.

And in a world of darkness seems As now to stray; feels fear and cold, And in his horrid madness deems The cord his neck infold: And so much more, in desperate fight, In anguish to escape his lot, He strives, with so much more the might He binds the fatal knot: And voices hears, confused the whole, Of people round, and then that cry, “Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul Of him condemn’d to die!”

Or fancies now that he is free; And breathes the fresh pure air, and hears Her sigh of love, the maid whom he Had loved in happier years: Beauteous and kind as e’er of old, Sweet flower of spring-time’s gay resort, As could for love the meads behold, Or gallant April court.

And joyful he to see her flies, And seeks to reach her, but in vain; For as with anxious hands he tries His hoped-for bliss to gain, The illusion suddenly to break, He finds the dream deceitful fled! A cold stiff corpse the shape to take, And scaffold in its stead. And hears the mournful funeral knoll, And hollow voice resounding nigh, “Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul Of him condemn’d to die!”

THE SONG OF THE PIRATE.

The breeze fair aft, all sails on high, Ten guns on each side mounted seen, She does not cut the sea, but fly, A swiftly sailing brigantine; A pirate bark, the ‘Dreaded’ named, For her surpassing boldness famed, On every sea well known and shore, From side to side their boundaries o’er.

The moon in streaks the waves illumes; Hoarse groans the wind the rigging through; In gentle motion raised assumes The sea a silvery shade with blue; While singing gaily on the poop, The pirate Captain, in a group, Sees Europe here, there Asia lies, And Stamboul in the front arise.

Sail on, my swift one! nothing fear; Nor calm, nor storm, nor foeman’s force Shall make thee yield in thy career, Or turn thee from thy course. Despite the English cruisers fleet We have full twenty prizes made; And see their flags beneath my feet A hundred nations laid. My treasure is my gallant bark, My only god is liberty; My law is might, the wind my mark, My country is the sea.

There blindly kings fierce wars maintain, For palms of land, when here I hold As mine, whose power no laws restrain, Whate’er the seas infold. Nor is there shore around whate’er, Or banner proud, but of my might Is taught the valorous proofs to bear, And made to feel my right. My treasure is my gallant bark, My only god is liberty; My law is might, the wind my mark, My country is the sea.

Look when a ship our signals ring, Full sail to fly how quick she’s veer’d! For of the sea I am the king, My fury’s to be fear’d; But equally with all I share Whate’er the wealth we take supplies; I only seek the matchless fair My portion of the prize. My treasure is my gallant bark, My only god is liberty; My law is might, the wind my mark, My country is the sea.

I am condemn’d to die! I laugh; For, if my fates are kindly sped, My doomer from his own ship’s staff Perhaps I’ll hang instead. And if I fall, why what is life? For lost I gave it then as due, When from slavery’s yoke in strife A rover I withdrew. My treasure is my gallant bark, My only god is liberty; My law is might, the wind my mark, My country is the sea.

My music is the north wind’s roar, The noise when round the cable runs, The bellowings of the Black Sea’s shore, And rolling of my guns. And as the thunders loudly sound, And furious as the tempests rave, I calmly rest in sleep profound, So rock’d upon the wave. My treasure is my gallant bark, My only god is liberty; My law is might, the wind my mark, My country is the sea.

TO HARIFA, IN AN ORGY.

Thy hand, Harifa! bring it me; Come near, and place it on my brow; As on some lava’s boiling sea I feel my head is burning now. Come, bring with mine thy lips to meet, Though they but madden me astray, Where yet I find the kisses beat, There left thy loves of yesterday.

What is virtue, what is joy, Or love, or purity, or truth? The false illusions of a boy, The cherish’d flatteries of my youth. Then bring me wine; there let me try Remembrance drown’d to hold repress’d, Without a pang from life to fly; In frenzy death may give me rest.

O’erspreads my face a burning flood, And red and glaring wildly start My eyes forth out in heated blood, And forth leaps restlessly my heart. Woman! I hate thee; fly thee--go: I feel thy hands my hands infold, And feel them freezing, cold as snow, As snow thy kisses are as cold.

Ever the same, try, tempters weak! Other endearments to enthral; Another world, new pleasures seek, For such your joys I curse them all. Your kisses are a lie; a cheat Is all the tenderness you feign; Your beauty ugly in deceit, The enjoyment suffering and pain.

I wish for love, ethereal, high, For some diviner joy my lot; For such my heart will imaged sigh, For such as in the world is not. And ’tis that meteor light afar, The phantom that deceived my mind, The treacherous guide, the vapour star, That leads me wandering and blind.

* * * * *

Why is my soul for pleasure dead, And yet alive to grief and care? Why doom’d in listless stupor laid This arid loathing still to bear? Why this consuming wild desire, This restless passion vague and strange? That well I know I rave, ’tis fire, Yet plunge in its deceitful range.

Why do I dream of love and joy, That I am sure a lie will prove? Why where fantastic charms decoy, Will thus my heart delirious move, If soon it finds for meads and flowers, But arid wastes and tangled thorns, And soon a loathing rage o’erpowers The mad or mournful love it scorns?

Flung as a rapid comet wide, On ardent fancy’s wings I flew, Where’er my wayward mind espied Or joys or triumphs to pursue. I launch’d myself, in daring flight, Beyond the world through heavenward space, And found but doubt, and all so bright That seem’d, illusive proved the chase.

Then on the earth I anxious sought For virtue, glory, love sublime; And my worn spirit found there nought But fetid dust and loathsome slime. Mid clouds with heavenly hues o’ercast Women of virgin lustre shone; I saw, I touched them, and they pass’d, And smoke and ashes left alone.

I found the illusion fled; but rife, Unquench’d desires their longings crave; I felt the real, I hated life, And peace believed but in the grave. And yet I seek, and anxious seek, For pleasures still I ask and sigh, And hear dread accents answering speak, “Unhappy one! despair, and die.

“Die: Life is torment, joy a cheat, Hope not for good on earth for thee, But fruitless struggles look to meet In thy vain longings endlessly! For so God punishes the soul That in its madness dares espy The unfathom’d secrets of the scroll Of truth, denied to mortal eye!”

* * * * *

O! cease: no more I ask to know, No more to see: my soul oppress’d Is humbly bow’d, and prostrate low, Now only asks, and longs for rest. In me let feeling then lie dead, Since died my hopes of happiness, Nor joys nor griefs be o’er me spread My soul returning to depress.

Pass, as in magic optic glass, And other youthful hearts deceive, Bright images of glory! pass, That crowns of gold and laurel weave. Pass, ye voluptuous fair ones, on! With dance and mirthful songs attuned, Like vaporous visions, pass, begone! No more my heart to move or wound. And let the dance, and festal din, O’er my revolted fancy reign, And fled the night, see morn begin, Surprised in senseless stupor’s chain.

Harifa, come! Like me this woe Thou too hast borne! Thou ne’er dost weep! But, ah! how wretched ’tis to know Feelings so bitter and so deep! The same our sufferings and care; In vain thou hold’st thy tears apart; Like me thou also hast to bear A wounded and an aching heart!