III.
But twice in every week from shore
Fuel and food the boatmen bore;
And then so dreary was the scene,
So wild and grim the warder's mien,
So many a darksome legend gave
Awe to that Tadmor of the wave,
That scarce the boat the rock could gain,
Scarce heaved the pannier on the stone,
Than from the rock and from the main,
Th' unwilling life was gone.
IV.
A man he was whom man had driven
To loathe the earth and doubt the heaven;
A tyrant foe (beloved in youth)
Had call'd the law to crush the truth;
Stripp'd hearth and home, and left to shame
The broken heart—the blacken'd name.
Dark exile from his kindred, then,
He hail'd the rock, the lonely wild:
Upon the man at war with men
The frown of Nature smiled.
V.
But suns on suns had roll'd away;
The frame was bow'd, the locks were grey:
And the eternal sea and sky
Seem'd one still death to that dead eye;
And Terror, like a spectre, rose
From the dull tomb of that repose.
No sight, no sound, of human-kind;
The hours, like drops upon the stone!
What countless phantoms man may find
In that dark word—"Alone!"
VI.
Dreams of blue Heaven and Hope can dwell
With Thraldom in its narrowest cell;
The airy mind may pierce the bars,
Elude the chain, and hail the stars:
Canst thou no drearier dungeon guess
In space, when space is loneliness?
The body's freedom profits none,
The heart desires an equal scope;
All nature is a gaol to one
Who knows nor love nor hope!
VII.
One day, all summer in the sky,
A happy crew came gliding by,
With songs of mirth, and looks of glee—
A human sunbeam o'er the sea!
"O Warder of the Beacon," cried
A noble youth, the helm beside,
"This summer-day how canst thou bear
To guard thy smileless rock alone,
And through the hum of Nature hear
No heart-beat, save thine own?"