And to the monarch and his men 90 The whole or portion offer'd then With far less of inquietude Than courtiers at a banquet would. And Charles of this his slender share With smiles partook a moment there, 95 To force of cheer a greater show, And seem above both wounds and woe; And then he said-"Of all our band, Though firm of heart and strong of hand, In skirmish, march, or forage, none 100 Can less have said or more have done Than thee, Mazeppa! on the earth So fit a pair had never birth, Since Alexander's days till now, As thy Bucephalus and thou: 105 All Scythia's fame to thine should yield For pricking on o'er flood and field.' Mazeppa answer'd-"Ill betide The school wherein I learn'd to ride!" So, 110 Since thou hast learn'd the art so well?" 120 125 Well, Sire, with such a hope, I'll track My seventy years of memory back: I think 't was in my twentieth spring,- A learned monarch, faith! was he, 1 John Casimir was King of Poland from 1649 All Warsaw gather'd round his gates A count of far and high descent, As if from heaven he had been sent: 160 He had such wealth in blood and ore As few could match beneath the throne; 165 Which almost look'd like want of head, 170 Grew daily tired of his dominion; And, after wishes, hopes, and fears, Awaited but the usual chances, 175 Those happy accidents which render The coldest dames so very tender, To deck her Count with titles given, 'Tis said, as passports into heaven; But, strange to say, they rarely boast 180 Of these, who have deserved them most. My strength, my courage, or my mind, Or at this hour I should not be 200 Telling old tales beneath a tree, With starless skies my canopy 205 210 But let me on: Theresa's form- The memory is so quick and warm; Such as our Turkish neighborhood But through it stole a tender light, Like the first moonrise of midnight; Large, dark, and swimming in the stream, 215 Which seem'd to melt to its own beam; All love, half languor, and half fire, Like saints that at the stake expire, And lift their raptured looks on high, As though it were a joy to die. 220 A brow like a midsummer lake, 225 Transparent with the sun therein, In fierce extremes-in good and ill. 230 With the vain shadow of the past, "We met-we gazed-I saw, and sigh'd; She did not speak, and yet replied; There are ten thousand tones and signs 235 We hear and see, but none definesInvoluntary sparks of thought, Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought, And form a strange intelligence, Alike mysterious and intense, 240 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. I saw, and sigh'd-in silence wept, 245 And still reluctant distance kept, Until I was made known to her, I long'd, and was resolved to speak; 250 But on my lips they died again, The accents tremulous and weak, 255 It is-I have forgot the name— 260 And we to this, it seems, were set, By some strange chance, which I forget: It was enough for me to be So near to hear, and oh! to see I watch'd her as a sentinel, (May ours this dark night watch as well!) 265 That she was pensive, nor perceived Then through my brain the thought did Even as a flash of lightning there, That there was something in her air Which would not doom me to despair; 275 And on the thought my words broke forth, All incoherent as they were; Their eloquence was little worth, But yet she listen 'd- 't is enoughWho listens once will listen twice; Her heart, be sure, is not of ice, And one refusal no rebuff. 280 "I loved, and was beloved again They tell me, Sire, you never knew Those gentle frailties; if 't is true, 285 I shorten all my joy or pain; To you 't would 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. 290 I am-or rather was-a prince, 295 A chief of thousands, and could lead But could not o'er myself evince But yet where happiest ends in pain. 305 The happy page, who was the lord 310 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 315 In the full view of earth and heaven; For I did oft and long repine That we could only meet by stealth. 320 "For lovers there are many eyes, And such there were on us; the devil But to his pious bile gave vent— 325 But one fair night, some lurking spies Surprised and seized us both. The Count was something more than I was unarm'd; but if in steel, 330 What 'gainst their numbers could I do? 335 340 345 My moments seem'd reduced to few; Theresa's doom I never knew, But he was most enraged lest such Nor less amazed, that such a blot His noble 'scutcheon should have got, 350 While he was highest of his line; Because unto himself he seem'd The first of men, nor less he deem'd In others' eyes, and most in mine. 'Sdeath!1 with a page-perchance a king 355 Had reconciled him to the thing; But with a stripling of a pageI felt, but cannot paint his rage. 375 Away!-away! My breath was gone, I saw not where he hurried on: 'T was scarcely yet the break of day, And on he foam'd-away!-away! The last of human sounds which rose, 380 As I was darted from my foes, 385 Was the wild shout of savage laughter, The thunder of my courser's speed, 395 Its drawbridge and porteullis' weight, The patient search and vigil long Of him who treasures up a wrong. "Away, away, my steed and I, LORD BYRON Upon the pinions of the wind, 425 All human dwellings left behind; We sped like meteors through the sky, When with its crackling sound the night Is chequer'd with the Northern light. Town-village-none were on our track,` But a wild plain of far extent, And bounded by a forest black; 430 435 No trace of man. The year 440 And, save the scarce seen battlement On distant heights of some strong hold, Against the Tartars built of old, before A Turkish army had march'd o'er; And where the Spahi's1 hoof hath trod, The verdure flies the bloody sod: The sky was dull, and dim, and gray, And a low breeze crept moaning byI could have answer'd with a sighBut fast we fled, away, awayAnd I could neither sigh nor pray; And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain 445 Upon the courser's bristling mane; But, snorting still with rage and fear, He flew upon his far career: At times I almost thought, indeed, He must have slacken'd in his speed; 450 But no-my bound and slender frame 455 Was nothing to his angry might, Increased his fury and affright: I tried my voice,-'t was faint and low- "We near'd the wild wood-'t was so wide, 465 I saw no bounds on either side; 'Twas studded with old sturdy trees, That bent not to the roughest breeze Which howls down from Siberia's waste, And strips the forest in its haste,— 470 But these were few and far between, Set thick with shrubs more young and green, Luxuriant with their annual leaves, Ere strown by those autumnal eves That nip the forest's foliage dead, 475 Discolor'd with a lifeless red, 1 A Turkish cavalryman. Which stands thereon like stiffen'd gore 485 The boughs gave way, and did not tear My limbs; and I found strength to bear My wounds, already scarr'd with cold; 490 My bonds forbade to loose my hold. We rustled through the leaves like wind, 500 At day-break winding through the wood, 505 And perish-if it must be so- Which whelms the peasant near the door Whose threshold he shall cross no more, 515 Bewilder'd with the dazzling blast, Than through the forest-paths he pass'd- "The wood was past; 't was more than noon, But chill the air, although in June; Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress, (Sprung from a race whose rising Blood, When stirr'd beyond its calmer mood, 535 And trodden hard upon, is like The rattle-snake's, in act to strike), The earth gave way, the skies roll'd round, 540 I seem'd to sink upon the ground; But err'd, for I was fastly bound. And strove to wake; but could not make When all the waves that dash o'er thee, The fancied lights that flitting pass 560 Fever begins upon the brain; But soon it pass 'd, with little pain, But a confusion worse than such: 570 Feel far more ere we turn to dust: "My thoughts came back; where was I? And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse Which for a moment would convulse, 575 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; 580 There was a gleam too of the sky, Studded with stars;-it is no dream; The waters broke my hollow trance, My stiffen 'd limbs were rebaptized. We reach the slippery shore at length, 595 For all behind was dark and drear, "With glossy skin, and dripping mane, 605 We gain the top: a boundless plain 615 In the dim waste would indicate 620 To make him merry with my woes: 625 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 630 To guide him forward in that hour; His new-born tameness nought avail'd- 635 With feeble effort still I tried 640 My limbs were only wrung the more, Which but prolong'd their pain. 645 Methought that mist of dawning gray |