"And give it's guard more room to fit my hand. "This let the Armourer with speed dispose; "Last time, it more fatigued my arm than focs: "Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired, "To tell us when the hour of stay's expired." 170
They make obeisance, and retire in haste, Too soon to seek again the watery waste;
Yet they repine not so that Conrad guides, And who dare question aught that he decides? That man of loneliness and mystery,
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh; Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew, And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue; Still sways their souls with that commanding art That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart. 180 What is that spell, that thus his lawless train Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain? What should it be? that thus their faith can bind? The power of Thought-the magic of the Mind! Linked with success, assumed and kept with skill, That moulds another's weakness to it's will; Wields with their hands, but, still to these unknown, Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own. Such hath it been- shall be beneath the sun
The many still must labour for the one! "Tis Nature's doom-but let the wretch who toils, Accuse not, hate not him who wears the spoils. Oh! if he knew the weight of splendid chains, How light the balance of his humbler pains!
Unlike the heroes of each ancient race, Demons in act, but Gods at least in face, In Conrads form seems little to admire, Though his dark eye-brow shades a glance of fire: Robust but not Herculean to the sight
No giant frame sets forth his common height; 200 Yet, in the whole, who paused to look again, Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men; They gaze and marvel how and still confess That thus it is, but why they cannot guess. Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale The sable curls in wild profusion veil; And oft perforce his rising lip reveals
The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals, Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien, Still seems there something he would not have seen : His features' deepening lines and varying hue 211 At times attracted, yes perplexed the view, As if within that murkiness of mind
Worked feelings fearful, and yet undefined; Such might it be that none could truly tell Too close enquiry his stern glauce would quell. There breathe but few whose aspect might defy The full encounter of his searching eye; He had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek, 220 At once the observer's purpose to espy, And on himself roll back his scrutiny,
Lest he to Conrad rather should betray
Some secret thought, than drag that chief's to day. There was a laughing Devil in his sncer, That raised emotions both of rage and fear; And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, Hope withering fled and Mercy sighed farewell!
Slight are the outward signs of evil thought, 229 Within-within- 'twas there the spirit wrought! Love shows all changes - Hate, Ambition, Guile, Betray no further than the bitter smile;
The lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown Along the governed aspect, speak alone Of deeper passions; and to judge their mien, He, who would see must be himself unseen.
Then with the hurried tread, the upward eye,
The clenched hand, the pause of agony,
That listens, starting, lest the step too near Approach instrusive on that mood of fear: 2410 Then-with each feature working from the heart, With feelings loosed to strengthen - not depart : That rise convulse — contend — that freeze, or
Flush in the check, or damp upon the brow; Then-Stranger! if thou canst, and tremblest not, Behold his soul - the rest that soothes his lot! how that lone and blighted bosom sears The scathing thought of exeerated years!
Behold — but who hath seen, or c'er shall see,
Man as himself — the secret spirit free?
Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent To lead the guilty
guilt's worst instrument His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven Him forth to war with man and forfeit heaven. Warped by the world in Disappointment's school, In words too wise, in conduct there a fool; Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop, Doomed by his very virtues for a dupe, He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill, And not the traitors who betrayed him still; 260
Nor deemed that gifts bestowed on better meu Had left him joy, and means to give again.
He hated man too much to feel remorse,
And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call, To pay the injuries of some on all.
He knew himself a villain The rest no better than the thing he seemed; And scorned the best as hypocrites who hid Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did. He knew himself detested, but he knew The hearts that loathed him, crouched and dread-
Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt From all affection and from all contempt:
His name could sadden, and his acts surprise ; But they that feared him dared not to despise : Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake The slumbering venom of the folded snake: The first may turn but not avenge the blow; The last expires but leaves no living foe; 280 Fast to the doomed offender's form it clings,
« 이전계속 » |