CANTO II.
I.
‘Another hour is fled;—a few, few more,
‘And life, and all its sweets, are ever o’er;
“’Tis hard in youth’s fair blossom to decay,
‘And, like the dreams of midnight, pass away:
‘To go—we scarce know where,—and, as the wind,
‘To leave, alas! no ling’ring trace behind!
‘This present sun upon my glory glow’d!—
‘The next shall light me to my last abode!
‘Farewell, ye scenes of youth, whose brightning hue
‘Gave hopes and joys, so empty to my view!10
‘Farewell, those hopes and joys!—thou bubble, Fame,
‘Farewell! what art thou?—nothing but a name.
‘Yet none, O none of these, once tinted high
‘From this cold breast, can wring a single sigh,
‘And never soul, save one, this heart of care
‘Would loath for ever from its bonds to tear;
‘But ah! that one, when thoughts of her arise,
‘They pour my melting spirit from mine eyes.
‘But this unmans me!—cease, thou ruthless thought,
‘With woman’s softness, woman’s feeling fraught!’20
Thus Ismael sigh’d, as, on his stony bed,
In dungeon mirk, he lean’d his aching head,
And mem’ry pond’ring o’er the former day,
Recall’d dear cherished scenes, far, far away!
II.
Hark, on the ear the roughly-sullen jar
Creaks harshly hoarse, of op’ning bolt and bar;
And Ismael started up, and turn’d his eye
To gaze on black expanse of vacancy;
And thought,—“’Tis morn, the tyrant’s abject train
‘Are come to drag me to a death of pain.30
’Tis well!—I am prepar’d—the fiend shall find
‘That Ismael’s bosom holds no vulgar mind.’
Back on its pond’rous hinge the huge door flew,
And the grim gaoler met the pris’ner’s view.
High Ismael gaz’d in sullen, scornful mood,
On him (so whisper’d thought) the man of blood?
But when he saw the gaoler soft replace
The dungeon door, and then with noiseless pace
Steal where he lay; and, by the lamp he brought,
A glimm’ring glance of steely dagger caught;40
And mark’d him draw his cloke around, and creep
Like some assassin murd’ring infant sleep,
A pang of bootless rage, of shiv’ring chill,
Cross’d his proud soul with agonising thrill:—
‘What, here shall Ismael yield a life so brave,
‘To death so craven, by so base a slave;
‘And not a limb to move?’ The bursting fire
Glar’d in his starting eye; in frantic ire,
With madd’ning rage, he shook, he gnaw’d the chain,
Dash’d, roll’d his form!—but each attempt was vain!
The last soul-piercing pang of rending life,51
Could never match that moment’s harrowing strife!
With finger rais’d to lip, with voice so drown’d,
That list’ning ear could scarcely catch the sound,
“Hush, hush,” the gaoler cried; “be still, and see,
Thy servant comes to set his Sultan free.”
Scarce had he said, when Ismael’s wond’ring eye
Saw at his feet the prostrate gaoler lie.
And heard, with wilder’d joy, the grateful sound
Of clinking fetters clashing on the ground;60
And raptur’d felt each limb of might again,
Free as the air that wantons o’er the main:
‘O say what means all this’—“Hush, hush, my lord,
“The life of both hangs on a single word.
“This is no time for talk!—these garments take,
“Wrap them around you close!—the salem make
“If aught accost you; but, mind, no reply,
“Your part a mute, be silent, or you die!
“But, more for safety, take this sword; ’twill be
“Of use in peril—now then, follow me.”70
All this strange scene had pass’d so swift, to seem
To Ismael like th’ adventures of a dream;
But, when his hand the pond’rous sabre prest,
He felt his soul high heaving in his breast;
And courage whisper’d, ‘If I fall, my fate
Shall, like my life, be gloriously great.’
Meanwhile the gaoler, cautious as before,
Roll’d on its massy hinge, and barr’d the dungeon door;
Then down a mirky passage pacing slow,
They left that scene of horror and of wo.80