On his failing ear re-echoing
Came the shouting round her throne; Little cared he that no future
With her name would link his own.
Spent with many a hard-fought battle,
Slowly ebbed his life away,
And the crowd that flocked to greet her
Trampled on him where he lay.
Gathering all his strength, he saw her
Crowned and reigning in her pride;
Looked his last upon her beauty,
Raised his eyes to God, and died.
FINGER, O gentle Time,
Linger, O radiant grace of bright To. day!
Let not the hours' chime
Call thee away,
But linger near me still with fond delay.
Linger, for thou art mine!
What dearer treasures can the future hold?
What sweeter flowers than thine
What secrets tell my heart thou hast not told?
For shadows gather round, and should we part,
A dreary, starless night
May fill my heart, ·
Then pause and linger yet ere thou depart.
Thou art enough forever - thou alone;
What future can restore,
When thou art flown,
All that I hold from thee and call my own?
HAVE seen a fiercer tempest,
Known a louder whirlwind blow;
I was wrecked off red Algiers,
Six-and-thirty years ago.
Young I was, and yet old seamen
Were not strong or calm as I;
While life held such treasures for me,
I felt sure I could not die.
Life alone and nothing more;
Bruised, half dead, alone and helpless
I was cast upon the shore.
I feared the pitiless rocks of Ocean;
So the great sea rose and then
Cast me from her friendly bosom,
On the pitiless hearts of men.
Gaunt and dreary ran the mountains,
With black gorges, up the land;
Up to where the lonely Desert
Spreads her burning, dreary sand:
In the gorges of the mountains,
On the plain beside the sea,
Dwelt my stern and cruel masters,
The black Moors of Barbary.
Ten long years I toiled among them,
as I used to say;
Hopeless
Now I know Hope burnt within me
Fiercer, stronger, day by day:
Those dim years of toil and sorrow
Like one long, dark dream appear;
One long day of weary waiting,
Then each day was like a year.
How I cursed the land, my prison;
How I cursed the serpent sea,
And the Demon Fate that showered
All her curses upon me;
I was mad, I think - God pardon
Words so terrible and wild-
This voyage would have been my last one,
For I left a wife and child.
Never did one tender vision
Fade away before my sight,
Never once through all my slavery,
Burning day or dreary night;
In my soul it lived, and kept me,
Now I feel, from black despair,
And my heart was not quite broken,
While they lived and blest me there.
When at night my task was over,
I would hasten to the shore;
(All was strange and foreign inland,
Nothing I had known before ;)
Strange looked the bleak mountain passes,
Strange the red glare and black shade,
And the Oleanders, waving
To the sound the fountains made.
Then I gazed at the great Ocean,
Till she grew a friend again;
And because she knew old England,
I forgave her all my pain:
So the blue still sky above me,
With its white clouds' fleecy fold,
And the glimmering stars (though brighter),
Looked like home and days of old.
And a calm would fall upon me,
Worn perhaps with work and pain,
The wild hungry longing left me,
And I was myself again:
Looking at the silver waters,
Looking up at the far sky,
Dreams of home and all I left there
Floated sorrowfully by.
A fair face, but pale with sorrow,
With blue eyes, brimful of tears,
And the little red mouth, quivering
With a smile, to hide its fears;
Holding out her baby towards me,
From the sky she looked on me;
So it was that last I saw her,
As the ship put out to sea.
Sometimes (and a pang would seize me
That the years were floating on)
I would strive to paint her, altered,
And the little baby gone:
She no longer young and girlish,
The child standing by her knee,
And her face more pale and saddened
With the weariness for me.
Then I saw, as night grew darker,
How she taught my child to pray,
Holding its small hands together,
For its father, far away;
And I felt her sorrow, weighing
Heavier on me than my own,
Pitying her blighted spring-time,
And her joy so early flown.
Till upon my hands (now hardened
With the rough, harsh toil of years)
Bitter drops of anguish falling,
Woke me from my dream, to tears; Woke me as a slave, an outcast,
Leagues from home, across the deep; So-though you may call it childishSo I sobbed myself to sleep.
Well, the years sped on-my Sorrow,
Calmer, and yet stronger grown,
Was my shield against all suffering
Poorer, meaner than her own.
Thus my cruel master's harshness
Fell upon me all in vain,
Yet the tale of what we suffered
Echoed back from main to main.
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