صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

MAZEPPA'S RIDE.

LORD BYRON.

"Bring forth the horse!'-the horse was brought,

In truth, he was a noble steed,

A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,

Who looked as though the speed of thought

Were in his limbs; but he was wild,

Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
With spur and bridle undefiled,—

'T was but a day he had been caught;
And snorting, with erected mane,
And struggling fiercely, but in vain,
In the full foam of wrath and dread
To me the desert-born was led;

They bound me on, that menial throng,
Upon his back with many a thong;
Then loosed him with a sudden lash,-
Away!-away!-and on we dash!
Torrents less rapid and less rash.

"Away!-away!-My breath was gone,I saw not where he hurried on; 'Twas scarcely yet the break of day, And on he foamed,-away!-away!The last of human sounds which rose, As I was darted from my foes,

Was the wild shout of savage laughter,
Which on the wind came roaring after
A moment from that rabble rout;
With sudden wrath I wrenched my head,

And snapped the cord which to the mane
Had bound my neck in lieu of rein,
And, writhing half my form about,
Howled back my curse; but midst the tread,
The thunder of my courser's speed,
Perchance they did not hear nor heed:

"Away, away, my steed and I,
Upon the pinions of the wind,
All human dwellings left behind;
We sped like meteors through the sky,
When with its crackling sound the night
Is checkered with the northern light:
Town,-village,-none were on our track,
But a wild plain of far extent,
And bounded by a forest black;

And, save the scarce seen battlement
On distant heights of some strong hold,
Against the Tartars built of old,

"But fast we fled, away, away, And I could neither sigh nor pray;

[ocr errors]

And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain
Upon the courser's bristling mane;
But, snorting still with rage and fear,
He flew upon his far career;

At times I almost thought, indeed,
He must have slackened in his speed;
But no,-my bound and slender frame
Was nothing to his angry might,
And merely like a spur became:
Each motion which I made to free
My swoln limbs from their agony
Increased his fury and affright:

I tried my voice,—'t was faint and low,
But yet he swerved as from a blow;
And, starting to each accent, sprang
As from a sudden trumpet's clang;
Meantime my cords were wet with gore,
Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er;
And in my tongue the thirst became
A something fierier far than flame.

"We neared the wild wood,-'twas so wide, I saw no bounds on either side; 'Twas studded with old sturdy trees, That bent not to the roughest breeze Which howls down from Siberia's waste, And strips the forest in its haste,—

But these were few and far between,

Set thick with shrubs more young and green,
Luxuriant with their annual leaves,

Ere strown by those autumnal eves
That nip the forest's foliage dead,
Discolored with a lifeless red,

Which stands thereon like stiffened gore
Upon the slain when battle's o'er,
And some long winter's night hath shed
Its frost o'er every tombless head,
So cold and stark the raven's beak
May peck unpierced each frozen cheek:
'T was a wild haste of underwood,
And here and there a chestnut stood,
The strong oak, and the hardy pine;
But far apart,—and well it were,
Or else a different lot were mine,-

The boughs gave way, and did not tear
My limbs; and I found strength to bear
My wounds, already scarred with cold,-
My bonds forbade to loose my hold.

We rustled through the leaves like wind,
Left shrubs and trees and wolves behind;
By night I heard them on the track,
Their troop came hard upon our back
With their long gallop, which can tire
The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire;

[graphic][merged small]
« السابقةمتابعة »