Chapter 9

All is confusion--through the vale, The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, It rises on the murm'ring gale, Till night expands her dusky wings.

31.

It breaks the stillness of the night, But echoes through her shades in vain; It sounds through morning's misty light, But Oscar comes not o'er the plain.

32.

Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief For Oscar search'd each mountain cave; Then hope is lost; in boundless grief, His locks in grey-torn ringlets wave.

33.

"Oscar! my son!--thou God of Heav'n, Restore the prop of sinking age! Or, if that hope no more is given, Yield his assassin to my rage.

34.

"Yes, on some desert rocky shore My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie; Then grant, thou God! I ask no more, With him his frantic Sire may die!

35.

"Yet, he may live,--away, despair! Be calm, my soul! he yet may live; T' arraign my fate, my voice forbear! O God! my impious prayer forgive.

36.

"What, if he live for me no more, I sink forgotten in the dust, The hope of Alva's age is o'er: Alas! can pangs like these be just?"

37.

Thus did the hapless Parent mourn, Till Time, who soothes severest woe, Had bade serenity return, And made the tear-drop cease to flow.

38.

For, still, some latent hope surviv'd That Oscar might once more appear; His hope now droop'd and now revived, Till Time had told a tedious year.

39.

Days roll'd along, the orb of light Again had run his destined race; No Oscar bless'd his father's sight, And sorrow left a fainter trace.

40.

For youthful Allan still remain'd, And, now, his father's only joy: And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd, For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy.

41.

She thought that Oscar low was laid, And Allan's face was wondrous fair; If Oscar liv'd, some other maid Had claim'd his faithless bosom's care.

42.

And Angus said, if one year more In fruitless hope was pass'd away, His fondest scruples should be o'er, And he would name their nuptial day.

43.

Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last Arriv'd the dearly destin'd morn: The year of anxious trembling past, What smiles the lovers' cheeks adorn!

44.

Hark to the Pibroch's pleasing note! Hark to the swelling nuptial song! In joyous strains the voices float, And, still, the choral peal prolong.

45.

Again the clan, in festive crowd, Throng through the gate of Alva's hall; The sounds of mirth re-echo loud, And all their former joy recall.

46.

But who is he, whose darken'd brow Glooms in the midst of general mirth? Before his eyes' far fiercer glow The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth.

47.

Dark is the robe which wraps his form, And tall his plume of gory red; His voice is like the rising storm, But light and trackless is his tread.

48.

'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round, The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff'd; With shouts the vaulted roofs resound, And all combine to hail the draught.

49.

Sudden the stranger-chief arose, And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd; And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, And Mora's tender bosom blush'd.

50.

"Old man!" he cried, "this pledge is done, Thou saw'st 'twas truly drunk by me; It hail'd the nuptials of thy son: Now will I claim a pledge from thee.

51.

"While all around is mirth and joy, To bless thy Allan's happy lot, Say, hadst thou ne'er another boy? Say, why should Oscar be forgot?"

52.

"Alas!" the hapless Sire replied, The big tear starting as he spoke, "When Oscar left my hall, or died, This aged heart was almost broke.

53.

"Thrice has the earth revolv'd her course Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight; And Allan is my last resource, Since martial Oscar's death, or flight."

54.

"'Tis well," replied the stranger stern, And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye; "Thy Oscar's fate, I fain would learn; Perhaps the Hero did not die.

55.

"Perchance, if those, whom most he lov'd, Would call, thy Oscar might return; Perchance, the chief has only rov'd; For him thy Beltane, yet, may burn. [3]

56.

"Fill high the bowl the table round, We will not claim the pledge by stealth; With wine let every cup be crown'd; Pledge me departed Oscar's health."

57.

"With all my soul," old Angus said, And fill'd his goblet to the brim: "Here's to my boy! alive or dead, I ne'er shall find a son like him."

58.

"Bravely, old man, this health has sped; But why does Allan trembling stand? Come, drink remembrance of the dead, And raise thy cup with firmer hand."

59.

The crimson glow of Allan's face Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue; The drops of death each other chace, Adown in agonizing dew.

60.

Thrice did he raise the goblet high, And thrice his lips refused to taste; For thrice he caught the stranger's eye On his with deadly fury plac'd.

61.

"And is it thus a brother hails A brother's fond remembrance here? If thus affection's strength prevails, What might we not expect from fear?"

62.

Roused by the sneer, he rais'd the bowl, "Would Oscar now could share our mirth!" Internal fear appall'd his soul; [i] He said, and dash'd the cup to earth.

63.

"'Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice!" Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming Form. "A murderer's voice!" the roof replies, And deeply swells the bursting storm.

64.

The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink, The stranger's gone,--amidst the crew, A Form was seen, in tartan green, And tall the shade terrific grew.

65.

His waist was bound with a broad belt round, His plume of sable stream'd on high; But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there, And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye.

66.

And thrice he smil'd, with his eye so wild On Angus bending low the knee; And thrice he frown'd, on a Chief on the ground, Whom shivering crowds with horror see.

67.

The bolts loud roll from pole to pole, And thunders through the welkin ring, And the gleaming form, through the mist of the storm, Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing.

68.

Cold was the feast, the revel ceas'd. Who lies upon the stony floor? Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast, [iv] At length his life-pulse throbs once more.

69.

"Away, away! let the leech essay To pour the light on Allan's eyes:" His sand is done,--his race is run; Oh! never more shall Allan rise!

70.

But Oscar's breast is cold as clay, His locks are lifted by the gale; And Allan's barbèd arrow lay With him in dark Glentanar's vale.

71.

And whence the dreadful stranger came, Or who, no mortal wight can tell; But no one doubts the form of flame, For Alva's sons knew Oscar well.

72.

Ambition nerv'd young Allan's hand, Exulting demons wing'd his dart; While Envy wav'd her burning brand, And pour'd her venom round his heart.

73.

Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow; Whose streaming life-blood stains his side? Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, The dart has drunk his vital tide.

74.

And Mora's eye could Allan move, She bade his wounded pride rebel: Alas! that eyes, which beam'd with love, Should urge the soul to deeds of Hell.

75.

Lo! see'st thou not a lonely tomb, Which rises o'er a warrior dead? It glimmers through the twilight gloom; Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.

76.

Far, distant far, the noble grave Which held his clan's great ashes stood; And o'er his corse no banners wave, For they were stain'd with kindred blood.

77.

What minstrel grey, what hoary bard, Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise? The song is glory's chief reward, But who can strike a murd'rer's praise?

78.

Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand, No minstrel dare the theme awake; Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, His harp in shuddering chords would break.

79.

No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, Shall sound his glories high in air: A dying father's bitter curse, A brother's death-groan echoes there.

[Footnote 1: The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of "Jeronymo and Lorenzo," in the first volume of Schiller's 'Armenian, or the Ghost-Seer'. It also bears some resemblance to a scene in the third act of 'Macbeth'.--['Der Geisterseher', Schiller's 'Werke' (1819), x. 97, 'sq'.]

[Footnote 2: It is evident that Byron here confused the 'pibroch', the air, with the 'bagpipe', the instrument.]

[Footnote 3: Beltane Tree, a Highland festival on the first of May, held near fires lighted for the occasion.]

[Footnote i:

'She view'd the gasping'----.

['Hours of Idleness'.]]

[Footnote ii:

'When many an eye which ne'er again Could view'----.

['Hours of Idleness'.]]

[Footnote iii:

'Internal fears'----.

['Hours of Idleness'.]]

[Footnote iv:

'Old Angus prest, the earth with his breast'.

['Hours of Idleness'.]]

TRANSLATION FROM ANACREON.

[Greek: Thel_o legein Atpeidas, k.t.l.] [1]

ODE 1.

TO HIS LYRE.

I wish to tune my quivering lyre, [i] To deeds of fame, and notes of fire; To echo, from its rising swell, How heroes fought and nations fell, When Atreus' sons advanc'd to war, Or Tyrian Cadmus rov'd afar; But still, to martial strains unknown, My lyre recurs to Love alone. Fir'd with the hope of future fame, [ii] I seek some nobler Hero's name; The dying chords are strung anew, To war, to war, my harp is due: With glowing strings, the Epic strain To Jove's great son I raise again; Alcides and his glorious deeds, Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds; All, all in vain; my wayward lyre Wakes silver notes of soft Desire. Adieu, ye Chiefs renown'd in arms! Adieu the clang of War's alarms! [iii] To other deeds my soul is strung, And sweeter notes shall now be sung; My harp shall all its powers reveal, To tell the tale my heart must feel; Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim, In songs of bliss and sighs of flame.

[Footnote 1: The motto does not appear in 'Hours of Idleness' or 'Poems O. and T.']

[Footnote i: 'I sought to tune'----.--['MS. Newstead'.]]

[Footnote ii:

'The chords resumed a second strain, To Jove's great son I strike again. Alcides and his glorious deeds, Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds'.

['MS. Newstead'.]]

[Footnote iii:

'The Trumpet's blast with these accords To sound the clash of hostile swords-- Be mine the softer, sweeter care To soothe the young and virgin Fair'.

['MS. Newstead'.]]

FROM ANACREON.

[Greek: Mesonuktiois poth h_opais, k.t.l.] [1]

ODE 3.

'Twas now the hour when Night had driven Her car half round yon sable heaven; Boötes, only, seem'd to roll [i] His Arctic charge around the Pole; While mortals, lost in gentle sleep, Forgot to smile, or ceas'd to weep: At this lone hour the Paphian boy, Descending from the realms of joy, Quick to my gate directs his course, And knocks with all his little force; My visions fled, alarm'd I rose,-- "What stranger breaks my blest repose?" "Alas!" replies the wily child In faltering accents sweetly mild; "A hapless Infant here I roam, Far from my dear maternal home. Oh! shield me from the wintry blast! The nightly storm is pouring fast. No prowling robber lingers here; A wandering baby who can fear?" I heard his seeming artless tale, [ii] I heard his sighs upon the gale: My breast was never pity's foe, But felt for all the baby's woe. I drew the bar, and by the light Young Love, the infant, met my sight; His bow across his shoulders flung, And thence his fatal quiver hung (Ah! little did I think the dart Would rankle soon within my heart). With care I tend my weary guest, His little fingers chill my breast; His glossy curls, his azure wing, Which droop with nightly showers, I wring; His shivering limbs the embers warm; And now reviving from the storm, Scarce had he felt his wonted glow, Than swift he seized his slender bow:-- "I fain would know, my gentle host," He cried, "if this its strength has lost; I fear, relax'd with midnight dews, The strings their former aid refuse." With poison tipt, his arrow flies, Deep in my tortur'd heart it lies: Then loud the joyous Urchin laugh'd:-- "My bow can still impel the shaft: 'Tis firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it; Say, courteous host, canst thou not feel it?"

[Footnote 1: The motto does not appear in 'Hours of Idleness' or 'Poems O. and T.']

[Footnote i: The Newstead MS. inserts--

'No Moon in silver robe was seen Nor e'en a trembling star between'.]

[Footnote ii:

'Touched with the seeming artless tale Compassion's tears o'er doubt prevail; Methought I viewed him, cold and damp, I trimmed anew my dying lamp, Drew back the bar--and by the light A pinioned Infant met my sight; His bow across his shoulders slung, And hence a gilded quiver hung; With care I tend my weary guest, His shivering hands by mine are pressed: My hearth I load with embers warm To dry the dew drops of the storm: Drenched by the rain of yonder sky The strings are weak--but let us try.'

--['MS. Newstead'.]]

THE EPISODE OF NISUS AND EURYALUS. [1]

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE "ÆNEID," LIB. 9.

Nisus, the guardian of the portal, stood, Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood; Well skill'd, in fight, the quivering lance to wield, Or pour his arrows thro' th' embattled field: From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave, [i] And sought a foreign home, a distant grave. To watch the movements of the Daunian host, With him Euryalus sustains the post; No lovelier mien adorn'd the ranks of Troy, And beardless bloom yet grac'd the gallant boy; 10 Though few the seasons of his youthful life, As yet a novice in the martial strife, 'Twas his, with beauty, Valour's gifts to share-- A soul heroic, as his form was fair: These burn with one pure flame of generous love; In peace, in war, united still they move; Friendship and Glory form their joint reward; And, now, combin'd they hold their nightly guard. [ii]

"What God," exclaim'd the first, "instils this fire? Or, in itself a God, what great desire? 20 My lab'ring soul, with anxious thought oppress'd, Abhors this station of inglorious rest; The love of fame with this can ill accord, Be't mine to seek for glory with my sword. See'st thou yon camp, with torches twinkling dim, Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb? Where confidence and ease the watch disdain, And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign? Then hear my thought:--In deep and sullen grief Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief: 30 Now could the gifts and promised prize be thine, (The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine,) Were this decreed, beneath yon rising mound, Methinks, an easy path, perchance, were found; Which past, I speed my way to Pallas' walls, And lead Æneas from Evander's halls."

With equal ardour fir'd, and warlike joy, His glowing friend address'd the Dardan boy:-- "These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou dare alone? Must all the fame, the peril, be thine own? 40 Am I by thee despis'd, and left afar, As one unfit to share the toils of war? Not thus his son the great Opheltes taught: Not thus my sire in Argive combats fought; Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate, I track'd Æneas through the walks of fate: Thou know'st my deeds, my breast devoid of fear, And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear. Here is a soul with hope immortal burns, And _life_, ignoble _life_, for _Glory_ spurns. [iii] 50 Fame, fame is cheaply earn'd by fleeting breath: The price of honour, is the sleep of death."

Then Nisus:--"Calm thy bosom's fond alarms: [iv] Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of arms. More dear thy worth, and valour than my own, I swear by him, who fills Olympus' throne! So may I triumph, as I speak the truth, And clasp again the comrade of my youth! But should I fall,--and he, who dares advance Through hostile legions, must abide by chance,-- 60 If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow, Should lay the friend, who ever lov'd thee, low, Live thou--such beauties I would fain preserve-- Thy budding years a lengthen'd term deserve; When humbled in the dust, let some one be, Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for me; Whose manly arm may snatch me back by force, Or wealth redeem, from foes, my captive corse; Or, if my destiny these last deny, If, in the spoiler's power, my ashes lie; 70 Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb, To mark thy love, and signalise my doom. Why should thy doating wretched mother weep Her only boy, reclin'd in endless sleep? Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dar'd, Who, for thy sake, war's deadly peril shar'd; Who brav'd what woman never brav'd before, And left her native, for the Latian shore."

"In vain you damp the ardour of my soul," Replied Euryalus; "it scorns controul; 80 Hence, let us haste!"--their brother guards arose, Rous'd by their call, nor court again repose; The pair, buoy'd up on Hope's exulting wing, Their stations leave, and speed to seek the king.

Now, o'er the earth a solemn stillness ran, And lull'd alike the cares of brute and man; Save where the Dardan leaders, nightly, hold Alternate converse, and their plans unfold. On one great point the council are agreed, An instant message to their prince decreed; 90 Each lean'd upon the lance he well could wield, And pois'd with easy arm his ancient shield; When Nisus and his friend their leave request, To offer something to their high behest. With anxious tremors, yet unaw'd by fear, [v] The faithful pair before the throne appear; Iulus greets them; at his kind command, The elder, first, address'd the hoary band.

"With patience" (thus Hyrtacides began) "Attend, nor judge, from youth, our humble plan. 100 Where yonder beacons half-expiring beam, Our slumbering foes of future conquest dream, [vi] Nor heed that we a secret path have trac'd, Between the ocean and the portal plac'd; Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke, Whose shade, securely, our design will cloak! If you, ye Chiefs, and Fortune will allow, We'll bend our course to yonder mountain's brow, Where Pallas' walls, at distance, meet the sight, Seen o'er the glade, when not obscur'd by night: 110 Then shall Æneas in his pride return, While hostile matrons raise their offspring's urn; And Latian spoils, and purpled heaps of dead Shall mark the havoc of our Hero's tread; Such is our purpose, not unknown the way, Where yonder torrent's devious waters stray; Oft have we seen, when hunting by the stream, The distant spires above the valleys gleam."

Mature in years, for sober wisdom fam'd, Mov'd by the speech, Alethes here exclaim'd,-- 120 "Ye parent gods! who rule the fate of Troy, Still dwells the Dardan spirit in the boy; When minds, like these, in striplings thus ye raise, Yours is the godlike act, be yours the praise; In gallant youth, my fainting hopes revive, And Ilion's wonted glories still survive." Then in his warm embrace the boys he press'd, And, quivering, strain'd them to his agéd breast; With tears the burning cheek of each bedew'd, And, sobbing, thus his first discourse renew'd:-- 130 "What gift, my countrymen, what martial prize, Can we bestow, which you may not despise? Our Deities the first best boon have given-- Internal virtues are the gift of Heaven. What poor rewards can bless your deeds on earth, Doubtless await such young, exalted worth; Æneas and Ascanius shall combine To yield applause far, far surpassing mine."

Iulus then:--"By all the powers above! By those Penates, who my country love! 140 By hoary Vesta's sacred Fane, I swear, My hopes are all in you, ye generous pair! Restore my father, to my grateful sight, And all my sorrows, yield to one delight. Nisus! two silver goblets are thine own, Sav'd from Arisba's stately domes o'erthrown; My sire secured them on that fatal day, Nor left such bowls an Argive robber's prey. Two massy tripods, also, shall be thine, Two talents polish'd from the glittering mine; 150 An ancient cup, which Tyrian Dido gave, While yet our vessels press'd the Punic wave: But when the hostile chiefs at length bow down, When great Æneas wears Hesperia's crown, The casque, the buckler, and the fiery steed Which Turnus guides with more than mortal speed, Are thine; no envious lot shall then be cast, I pledge my word, irrevocably past: Nay more, twelve slaves, and twice six captive dames, To soothe thy softer hours with amorous flames, 160 And all the realms, which now the Latins sway, The labours of to-night shall well repay. But thou, my generous youth, whose tender years Are near my own, whose worth my heart reveres, Henceforth, affection, sweetly thus begun, Shall join our bosoms and our souls in one; Without thy aid, no glory shall be mine, Without thy dear advice, no great design; Alike, through life, esteem'd, thou godlike boy, In war my bulwark, and in peace my joy." 170