Selected Poems (24 page)

145

He that has sail’d upon the dark blue sea

Has view’d at times, I ween, a full fair sight;

When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be,

The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight;

Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right,

150

The glorious main expanding o’er the bow,

The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight,

The dullest sailer wearing bravely now,

So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow.

XVIII

And oh, the little warlike world within!

155

The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,1

The hoarse command, the busy humming din,

When, at a word, the tops are mann’d on high:

Hark, to the Boatswain’s call, the cheering cry!

While through the seaman’s hand the tackle glides;

160

Or schoolboy Midshipman that, standing by,

Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides,

And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides.

XIX

White is the glassy deck, without a stain,

Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant walks:

165

Look on that part which sacred doth remain

For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks,

Silent and fear’d by all – not oft he talks

With aught beneath him, if he would preserve

That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks

170

Conquest and Fame: but Britons rarely swerve

From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve.

XX

Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale!

Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray;

Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail,

175

That lagging barks may make their lazy way.

Ah! grievance sore, and listless dull delay,

To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze!

What leagues are lost, before the dawn of day,

Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas,

180

The flapping sail haul’d down to halt for logs like these!

XXI

The moon is up; by Heaven, a lovely eve!

Long streams of light o’er dancing waves expand;

Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids believe:

Such be our fate when we return to land!

185

Meantime some rude Arion’s restless hand

Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love;

A circle there of merry listeners stand,

Or to some well-known measure featly move,

Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove.

XXII

190

Through Calpe’s straits survey the steepy shore;

Europe and Afric on each other gaze!

Lands of the dark-eyed Maid and dusky Moor

Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate’s blaze:

How softly on the Spanish shore she plays,

195

Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown,

Distinct, though darkening with her waning phase;

But Mauritania’s giant-shadows frown,

From mountain-cliff to coast descending sombre down.

XXIII

‘Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel

200

We once have loved, though love is at an end:

The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal,

Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend.

Who with the weight of years would wish to bend,

When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy?

205

Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend,

Death hath but little left him to destroy?

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy?

XXIV

Thus bending o’er the vessel’s laving side,

To gaze on Dian’s wave-reflected sphere,

210

The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride,

And flies unconscious o’er each backward year.

None are so desolate but something dear,

Dearer than self, possesses or possess’d

A thought, and claims the homage of a tear;

215

A flashing pang! of which the weary breast

Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest.

XXV

To sit on rocks, to muse o’er flood and fell,

To slowly trace the forest’s shady scene,

Where things that own not man’s dominion dwell,

220

And mortal foot hath ne’er or rarely been;

To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,

With the wild flock that never needs a fold;

Alone o’er steeps and foaming falls to lean;

This is not solitude; ’tis but to hold

225

Converse with Nature’s charms, and view her stores unroll’d.

XXVI

But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,

To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,

And roam along, the world’s tired denizen,

With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;

230

Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!

None that, with kindred consciousness endued,

If we were not, would seem to smile the less

Of all that flatter’d, follow’d, sought, and sued;

This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

XXVII

235

More blest the life of godly eremite,

Such as on lonely Athos may be seen,

Watching at eve upon the giant height,

Which looks o’er waves so blue, skies so serene,

That he who there at such an hour hath been

240

Will wistful linger on that hallow’d spot;

Then slowly tear him from the witching scene,

Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot,

Then turn to hate a world he had almost forgot.

XXVIII

Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track

245

Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind;

Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack,

And each well known caprice of wave and wind;

Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find,

Coop’d in their winged sea-girt citadel;

250

The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind,

As breezes rise and fall and billows swell,

Till on some jocund morn – lo, land! and all is well.

XXIX

But not in silence pass Calypso’s isles,1

The sister tenants of the middle deep;

255

There for the weary still a haven smiles,

Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep,

And o’er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep

For him who dared prefer a mortal bride:

Here, too, his boy essay’d the dreadful leap

260

Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide;

While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly sighed.

XXX

Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone:

But trust not this; too easy youth, beware!

A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne,

265

And thou may’st find a new Calypso there.

Sweet Florence! could another ever share

This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine:

But check’d by every tie, I may not dare

To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine,

270

Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang for mine.

XXXI

Thus Harold deem’d, as on that lady’s eye

He look’d, and met its beam without a thought,

Save Admiration glancing harmless by:

Love kept aloof, albeit not far remote,

275

Who knew his votary often lost and caught,

But knew him as his worshipper no more,

And ne’er again the boy his bosom sought:

Since now he vainly urged him to adore,

Well deem’d the little God his ancient sway was o’er.

XXXII

280

Fair Florence found, in sooth with some amaze,

One who, ’twas said, still sigh’d to all he saw,

Withstand, unmoved, the lustre of her gaze,

Which others hail’d with real or mimic awe,

Their hope, their doom, their punishment, their law;

285

All that gay Beauty from her bondsmen claims:

And much she marvell’d that a youth so raw

Nor felt, nor feign’d at least, the oft-told flames,

Which, though sometimes they frown, yet rarely anger dames.

XXXIII

Little knew she that seeming marble heart,

290

Now mask’d in silence or withheld by pride,