My very soul from out my brow;
And thus I should be disavow'd
By all my kind and kin, could they
Compare my day and yesterday;
This change was wrought, too, long ere age
Had ta'en my features for his page:
With years, ye know, have not declined
My strength, my courage, or my mind,
Or at this hour I should not be
Telling old tales beneath a tree,
With starless skies my canopy.
But let me on: Theresa's form-
Methinks it glides before me now,
Between me and yon chestnut's bough,
The memory is so quick and warm;
And yet I find no words to tell
The shape of her I loved so well:
She had the Asiatic eye,

Such as our Turkish neighbourhood
Hath mingled with our Polish blood,
Dark as above us is the sky;

Bat through it stole a tender light,
Like the first moonrise at midnight;
Large, dark, and swimming in the stream,
Which seem'd to melt to its own beam;
All love, half languor, and half fire,
le saints that at the stake expire,
And lift their raptured looks on high,
though it were a joy to die.
brow like a midsummer-lake,
Transparent with the sun therein,
When waves no murmur dare to make,
And heaven beholds her face within.
Atheek and lip-but why proceed?
I loved her then-I love her still;
And such as I am, love indeed

la fierce extremes-in good and ill.
But still we love even in our rage,
And haunted to our very age
Fh the vain shadow of the past,
Mazeppa to the last.

We met we gazed-I saw, and sigh'd, did not speak, and yet replied; There are ten thousand tones and signs We hear and see, but none defines— luntary sparks of thought, Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought,

And form a strange intelligence,
Alike mysterious and intense,
Which link the burning chain that binds,
Without their will, young hearts and minds;
Conveying,

as the electric wire,

We know not how, the absorbing fire.—
, and sigh'd-in silence wept,
And still reluctant distance kept,

I was made known to her,
And we might then and there confer
Without suspicion-then, even then,
long'd, and was resolved to speak;
Bat on my lips they died again,
The accents tremulous and weak,
Until one hour. There is a game,

A frivolous and foolish play,
Wherewith we while away the day;
It is I have forgot the name—
And we to this, it seems, were set,
By some strange chance, which I forget:
I reck'd not if I won or lost,

It was enough for me to be

So near to hear, and oh! to see
The being whom I loved the most.—
I watch'd her as a sentinel,

(May ours this dark night watch as well!)
Until I saw, and thus it was,
That she was pensive, nor perceived
Her occupation, nor was grieved
Nor glad to lose or gain; but still
Play'd on for hours, as if her will
Yet bound her to the place, though not
That hers might be the winning lot.
Then through my brain the thought
did pass

Even as a flash of lightning there,
That there was something in her air
Which would not doom me to despair;
And on the thought my words broke forth,
All incoherent as they were-
Their eloquence was little worth,
But yet she listen'd-'tis enough—
Who listens once will listen twice;
Her heart, be sure, is not of ice,
And one refusal no rebuff.

"I loved, and was beloved againThey tell me, Sire, you never knew Those gentle frailties; if 'tis true, I shorten all my joy or pain,

Το

you 'twould seem absurd as vain; But all men are not born to reign, Or o'er their passions, or as you Thus o'er themselves and nations too, I am or rather was-a prince, A chief of thousands, and could lead Them on where each would foremost bleed

But could not o'er myself evince

The like control-But to resume:
I loved, and was beloved again :
In sooth, it is a happy doom,
But yet where happiest ends in pain.—
We met in secret, and the hour
Which led me to that lady's bower
Was fiery Expectation's dower.
My days and nights were nothing - all
Except that hour, which doth recal
In the long lapse from youth to age
No other like itself—I'd give
The Ukraine back again to live
It o'er once more-and be a page,
The happy page, who was the lord
Of one soft heart, and his own sword,
And had no other gem nor wealth
Save nature's gift of youth and health.--
We met in secret-doubly sweet,
Some say, they find it so to meet;
I know not that I would have given
My life but to have call'd her mine

I own that I should deem it much,
Dying, to feel the same again;
And yet I do suppose we must
Feel far more ere we turn to dust:
No matter; I have bared my brow
Full in Death's face-before- and now.

I?

"My thoughts came back; where was
Cold,
And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse
Life reassumed its lingering hold,
And throb by throb; till grown a pang
Which for a moment would convulse,
My blood reflow'd, though thick and
chill;

My ear with uncouth noises rang,
My heart began once more to thrill;
My sight return'd, though dim; alas!
And thicken'd, as it were, with glass.
Methought the dash of waves was nigh;
There was a gleam too of the sky,
Studded with stars;-it is no dream;
The wild horse swims the wilder stream!
The bright broad river's gushing tide
Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide,
And we are half-way struggling o'er
To yon unknown and silent shore.
The waters broke my hollow trance,
And with a temporary strength
My stiffen'd limbs were rebaptized.
My courser's broad breast proudly braves,
And dashes off the ascending waves
And onward we advance!

We reach the slippery shore at length,
A haven I but little prized,
For all behind was dark and drear,
And all before was night and fear.
How many hours of night or day
In those suspended pangs I lay,
I could not tell; I scarcely knew
If this were human breath I drew.

"With glossy skin, and dripping mane,
And reeling limbs, and reeking flank,
The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain
Up the repelling bank.

We gain the top: a boundless plain
Spreads through the shadow of the night,
And onward, onward, onward, seems
Like precipices in our dreams,
To stretch beyond the sight;
And here and there a speck of white,
Or scatter'd spot of dusky green,
In masses broke into the light,
As rose the moon upon my right.
But nought distinctly seen
In the dim waste, would indicate
The omen of a cottage-gate;
No twinkling taper from afar
Stood like an hospitable star;
Not even an ignis-fatuus rose
To make him weary with my woes:
That very cheat had cheer'd me then!
Although detected, welcome still,

Reminding me, through every ill, Of the abodes of men.

"Onward we went-but slack and slow His savage force at length o'erspent, The drooping courser, faint and low, All feebly foaming went.

A sickly infant had had power
To guide him forward in that hour;
But useless all to me.

His new-born tameness nought avail'd,
My limbs were bound; my force had fail'
Perchance, had they been free.
With feeble effort still I tried
To rend the bounds so starkly tied-
But still it was in vain;

My limbs were only wrung the more,
And soon the idle strife gave o'er,
Which but prolong'd their pain:
The dizzy race seem'd almost done,
Although no goal was nearly won:
Some streaks announced the coming sun
How slow, alas! he came !
Methought that mist of dawning gray
Would never dapple into day:
How heavily it roll'd away-
Before the eastern flame
Rose crimson, and deposed the stars,
And call'd the radiance from their cars,
And fill'd the earth, from his deep thro
With lonely lustre, all his own.

"Up rose the sun; the mists were cur
Back from the solitary world
Which lay around-behind - before:
What booted it to traverse o'er
Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute,
Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot,
Lay in the wild luxuriant soil;
No sign of travel-none of toil;
The very air was mute;

And not an insect's shrill small horn,
Nor matin bird's new voice was borne
From herb nor thicket. Many a werst,
Panting as if his heart would burst,
The weary brute still stagger'd on;
And still we were- or seem'd-alone:
At length, while reeling on our way,
Methought I heard a courser neigh,
From out yon tuft of blackening firs.
Is it the wind those branches stirs?
No, no! from out the forest prance
A trampling troop; I see them come!
In one vast squadron they advance!
I strove to cry-my lips were dumb.
The steeds rush on in plunging pride:
But where are they the reins to guide?
A thousand horse--and none to ride!
With flowing tail, and flying mane,
Wide nostrils-never stretch'd by pain.
Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,
And feet that iron never shod,

And flanks unscarr'd by spur or rod.
A thousand horse, the wild, the free.

2

Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
Came thickly thundering on,

As if our faint approach to meet;
The sight re-nerved my courser's feet,
A moment staggering, feebly fleet,
A moment, with a faint low neigh,
He answer'd, and then fell;

With gasps and glazing eyes he lay,
And reeking limbs immoveable,
His first and last career is done!

On came the troop-they saw him stoop,
They saw me strangely bound along
His back with many a bloody thong:
They stop-they start-they snuff the air,
Gallop a moment here and there,
Approach, retire, wheel round and round,
The plunging back with sudden bound,
Headed by one black mighty steed,
Who seem'd the patriarch of his breed,
Without a single speck or hair
Of white upon his shaggy hide;
They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside,
And backward to the forest fly,
By instinct from a human eye. --
They left me there, to my despair,
Lad to the dead and stiffening wretch,
Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch,
Believed from that unwonted weight,
Im whence I could not extricate
Je him nor me--and there we lay,
The dying on the dead!

lile deem'd another day

Would see my houseless, helpless head.

more unkind for coming soon;

le shunn'd and dreaded with such care, if it only were a snare

That prudence might escape:

At times both wish'd for and implored,

At times sought with self-pointed sword, Yet still a dark and hideous close

To

even intolerable woes,

And welcome in no shape.

And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure, They who have revell'd beyond measure beanty, wassail, wine, and treasure, Balm, or calmer, oft than he

he heritage was misery: For he who hath in turn run through All that was beautiful and new, Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave; And, save the future (which is view'd Not quite as men are base or good, But as their nerves may be endued,) With nought perhaps to grieve:

The wretch still hopes his woes must end,
And Death, whom he should deem his friend,
Appears, to his distemper'd eyes,
Arrived to rob him of his prize,
The tree of his new Paradise.
To-morrow would have given him all,
Repaid his pangs, repair'd his fall;
To-morrow would have been the first
Of days no more deplored or curst,
But bright, and long, and beckoning years,
Seen dazzling through the mist of tears,
Guerdon of many a painful hour;
To-morrow would have given him power
To rule, to shine, to smite, to save-
And must it dawn upon his grave?

"The sun was sinking-still I lay Chain'd to the chill and stiffening steed, I thought to mingle there our clay; And my dim eyes of death had need, No hope arose of being freed: I cast my last looks up the sky, And there between me and the sun I saw the expecting raven fly Who scarce would wait till both should die, Ere his repast begun;

He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more,
And each time nearer than before;

I saw his wing through twilight flit,
And once so near me he alit

I could have smote, but lack'd the strength;
But the slight motion of my hand,
And feeble scratching of the sand,
The exerted throat's faint struggling noise,
Which scarcely could be call'd a voice,
Together scared him off at length.-
I know no more-my latest dream
Is something of a lovely star
Which fix'd my dull eyes from afar,
And went and came with wandering beam,
And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense
Sensation of recurring sense,

And then subsiding back to death,
And then again a little breath,
A little thrill, a short suspense,
An icy sickness curdling o'er

My heart, and sparks that cross'd my brain -
A gasp, a throb, a start of pain,
A sigh, and nothing more.

"I woke Where was I?-Do I sec A human face look down on me? And doth a roof above me close? Do these limbs on a couch repose? Is this a chamber where I lie? And is it mortal yon bright eye, That watches me with gentle glance? I closed my own again once more, As doubtful that the former trance

Could not as yet be o'er.

A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tall,
Sate watching by the cottage-wall;
The sparkle of her eye I caught,
Even with my first return of thought;