Classic Poem

I. THE VOYAGE.

Scene — A Castle-hall .

C REDULAR and M ENDES , at Table .

C RED . Nine hundred fathoms, didst thou say? what, nine!
Prythee, again; that I may glut mine ears
With admiration. Hundred! Stars above!
A wave nine hundred fathom high!
M EN . Ay, from the base to the brow.
C RED . O lowly hills! what are ye all to this!
M EN . Tut! a mere water-bubble.
C RED . Bubble! bubble! what a throat has he
Who'd swallow such a bubble!
M EN . Lord, sir! — the sea was then
Scarce in its merry mood. This was a time
We well might call the silvery time o' the flood;
So clear, so bright, so sweet, so little dread,
The halcyon and the sail-blown nautilus
Might in the glass-green waves their image see
As gay as in a calm; this was a time
The wind slept in the cradle of our mast
And only dreamt of blowing. Hadst thou seen
The tempest rouse himself, and shake his mane,
That were a sight indeed! Then we had waves!
C RED . Ah! higher than these?
M EN .As far above their cope,
As heav'n's sev'nth roof above the floor of hell.
C RED . O! wondrous! O, what it is to be a voyager!
Prythee, good Mendes, pray good signior Mendes,
My compotator — and my excellent friend —
Let's have these miracles. Come, sir! a glass of wine;
Nay, by Saint Jago! but you shall —
Wine helps the tongue, the memory, and the wit;
I pledge you, sir. Now for your storms and waves!
M EN . A — you'll pardon me plain phrase?
We cavaliers o' the quarter-deck, we knights o' the mast,
We sailors, are a rough-mouth'd breed; we talk
Loud as the sea-horse laughs; our ocean-phrase
Smacks of the shell — Tritonian — somewhat rude —
But then for truth, hard truth —
C RED . No whit more true in fact than choice in phrase
I'll warrant thee, signior Traveller. Rude! — what, rude! —
Your breath is worth an atmosphere of that
Spent by us fireside men.
Come, sir! the Voyage, from the snout to the tail.
M EN . Sir, you shall hear.
We sailed from Genoa; summer-sweet the morn;
The winds that blew ere night were out of breath,
Spent with their over-blowing; as a scold
Seized with a spasm, so stood the storm — stock-still.
C RED . Good.
M EN . The amorous breeze sigh'd in our galley's sail,
And, like a lover, press'd her tow'rds his couch,
That lay right on the lee.
C RED . Aha! the winds can woo:
How liked your bark this soft persuasion?
M EN . On flew the sea-bird; fair, and fast, and free;
Sweeping her way to Spain; the kindling foam
Stream'd from the sharp division of her keel —
C RED . 'Sblood, sir! you talk like a water-poet.
Sailor-like indeed! Let's have some ribaldry.
M EN . It is not time for tempest yet, sir; here was a calm.
C RED . Ay, ay; Queen Amphitrite rode the waves.
M EN . Yes, sir,
And green-tail'd Tritons too; and water-nymphs,
Pillion'd on dolphins, comb'd their weedy locks,
Whilst the bluff sea-god blew his shrill shell horn.
C RED . 'Tis vouch'd by the ancients, mermaids have been seen;
And dolphins too; and men with horns —
M EN . O! commonly.
C RED .Well, signior Argonaut.
M EN . What shall be said o' the sun? Shall he shine in peace?
Shall's thrust him by? Shall's leave him out o' the bill?
C RED . Leave out the sun? in broad daylight? impossible!
Past twilight, signior, and the sun must shine
Whether we will or no.
M EN . True.
The heavens look'd like a dome of turquoise stone,
Athwart which crept (as it might be) a snail,
With golden shell, emburnish'd till it blazed;
This was the sun.
C RED . Good, good; go on.
M EN .Now, mark!
Scarce had this sun-like snail, or snail-like sun,
Paused at the viewless boundary of morn
Where moon begins and ends, when — mark me, signior —
Nay, you don't mark —
C RED .I do, sir; slit mine ears!
M EN . When the swol'n storm, recovering all its rage,
Nay, trebly fraught with elemental rack,
Burst in a rattling hurricane around!
C RED . O! excellent! Well —
M EN . The blustering, bellowing, brimstone-breathing blast,
(Whipt by some fiend broke loose from Erebus)
First struck the surly ocean; ocean roared.
C RED . O! well done, ocean! brave ocean!
M EN . Another blow.
C RED . O! excellent! Well, sir —
M EN .Well, sir, you must think,
The sea, provoked by this assault, grew angry.
C RED . Why, if 'twere made of milk 'twould rage at this.
M EN . Rage! O, for words! It raged, and swell'd as if
'Twould fill the concave, and with impious waves
Burst the empyreal doors!
C RED .O! excellent!
O, what a man might do in a tub! translate himself!
More o' the storm, signior, more o' the storm, if you love me.
M EN . The groaning sky hurl'd down wing'd thunderbolts,
Thick as it erst rain'd quails on Israel;
The clouds dropt fire, fast as you'd boulter gold
Ta'en from the Tagus' bed; while the hair-brain'd storm
Mixed up a second chaos; drown'd distinction;
Mingled the roaring billows with the clouds;
And daub'd the face of heaven with filthy sand
Torn from the sea-bed wild! —
C RED . O! excellent! A little more villainy, signior.
M EN . The hell-black heav'ns grew neighbour to the waves
And cloak'd us in the utter pall of night.
Lightning our only day; and every flash
Lit a grim scene: like Pelions lost in clouds
Stood the tall billows, and the rueful waste.
Look'd like a mountain-field of wintry snow,
So beaten into foam and yeasty, they.
C RED . O! excellent! O! excellent!
M EN . Here were a time indeed to cry, O hills!
Why, man, we rode so far above thy hills,
That — if truth's credible — I saw th' Antipodes.
C RED . Th' Antipodes! — breath! —
M EN . Under the great toe; just as it might be here;
As plain's this shoe, I saw th' Antipodes.
C RED . Good lack! what wondrous sights these travellers see!
M EN . There are other puffs i' the wind.
C RED . Ha! Have you any more miracles?
M EN . Good sir, you take the height of possible
By the span of a small experience; coop'd here
Between two neighbouring hills, which lave their feet
In the calm tide of this sequester'd strand,
You mete your earth, your ocean, and your air,
By an unequal measure.
C RED .I' faith, 'tis so.
M EN . But we, who are men o' the world, who've walk'd the waves
On two-inch boards, who've seen the fiends o' the storm
Unmanacled, we know something.
C RED . True as th' Apocrypha, true as th' Apocrypha.
Where did we leave? —
Ay — at th' Antipodes. Did the bark bide buffet?
M EN . Like a tennis-ball. —
Mark, sir; we'd clear'd the gulf; the dying storm
Throbb'd in heart-sick convulsions; and the sky
Dabbled its dark with dun. All was yet well;
When doubling round the shoulders of the Alp
That knits broad France to boot-shaped Italy,
Behold! — a sea of storm came rushing down,
That blew us in a whiff to Barbary.
C RED . What! in one whiff?
M EN . Mark, sir; I'd one hand on the gunwale thus;
With t'other I had hoodwink'd thus mine eyes,
Wrapt in mine own profundity; the wind
Sobb'd heavily; I woke, and saw our Christian hills
Before me; shut mine eyes in peace; the blast
Roar'd! I look'd up — and lo! as I stand here,
Afric seem'd wedded to our continent!
A Pagan bay shelter'd our Catholic bark.
C RED . Holy Virgin! Would you swear 'twas Pagan?
M EN . Ay, on the Koran. Hark ye —
I pull'd the Dey of Tunis by the beard,
Look! here are some o' the hairs!
C RED . As God's alive, it is a proof! 'Tis plain
You could not pluck a beard in Africa
And you in Italy; 'tis a proof, a proof.
Well — and what next? Saw you no monsters?
M EN . Frequent as figs. Sir, I've a monstrous tale
For every notch upon the dial; how
We fought with griffins, grappled with green dragons,
Wept with crocodiles, supp'd with cannibals,
Set traps for pigmies, dug pitfalls for giants —
C RED . I thought your fairy-tales were only lies!
M EN . If I lie now, may sixpence slit the tongue
Of Gasco Mendes! — then, I shall lie doubly.
C RED . The doom's too horrible [ Horn without .] —
Whew! the brass rings clear!
We'll hear these miracles another time. —
Good night, good signior. — Well — truth's truth — that's plain
As my own nose; — yet still — I can but cry, —
Good lack! what wondrous sights these travellers see!
[ Exeunt .

II. THE CHASE.

Persons. —

A MARYLLO , a young lord of Spain .
S YLVIAN , his friend; an Italian .
M ARINEL , a sea-captain .
N ERINA , a Catalan girl .

Scene lies near Rosas in Catalonia.

Scene — The Sea-shore. Shipwreck at a distance. Storm; with fits of Sunshine .

Enter S YLVIAN and M ARINEL .

M ARINEL . Welcome, sir! Welcome to our wild sea-coast:
What though it show bleak and inhospitable,
Kindness was ever coy; a maid's first kiss,
Colder than moonlight prints the cloud withal,
Ne'er yet might dash the wooer.
S YLVIAN . Ay, but this salutation was too rough:
The high-hung wave on which our bark sat balanced,
Seem'd in suspense whether 'twould yield or no
Its burthen to the shock of an embrace
With such hard-hearted and unfriendly stones;
But you think nought of this, good Marinel,
You who have talk'd with death so oft, that all
His threats have lost their terror.
M ARINEL . True, sir; true:
I've been so toss'd, by wind and saucy wave,
So harried, toil-worn, bruised and buffeted, —
(All in the way of my profession,) — that I hold
Dangers no longer in my memory
Than whilst they strike; and striking,
Count them but sports o' the time. But where the while
Stays your young friend? he that sung amorous songs
To the tune o' the storm, and swore the prancing waves
Look'd like young tilters at a tournament?
S YLVIAN . Lord Amaryllo?
M ARINEL . Ay; he that we brought o'er from Genoa.
S YLVIAN . He! O — he scarcely knew himself for alive,
Or shook the stunning waters from his ears,
When some young mountain-nymph shows him a glimpse
Of her slender leg, and — off! he's after her.
M ARINEL . Ha! ha! ha! A brave lad! a brave lad!
I laugh'd to see him shake his fist at the wave
That curl'd upon the strand to pounce upon him,
Then dart like a wild sea-mew up the rocks.
Where shall we look to find him?
S YLVIAN . Why if we knew what antre or what oak
That same fair Oread makes her tabernacle,
The bank whereon she sits, or rushes where she lies,
We had some hope of finding him.
M ARINEL . Not else?
Then Love must be his pilot. Keep the way;
He cannot miss the hamlet on the hill:
Come, sir.
S YLVIAN . I'll follow you. What, Amaryllo!
Call back this wanton falcon. Amaryllo!
M ARINEL . What ho! lord Amaryllo! [ Exeunt, crying
" Amaryllo! "
Scene changes to the Mountain Rocks.

Enter N ERINA , as pursued .

N ERINA . Which is — the storm or this young mad-cap — bolder?
Soft! soft my bosom! — Juno! here's a gallant!
Sooth! he'll ne'er want maids' gifts through modesty: —
Where shall I hide me? What! I must ramble forth,
Fond fool! no romancing through these rocky glens,
'Tide what 'tide may. Ha! here's a cave: kind fortune!
[ Enters the cave .
Heav'n keep that spring-foot greyhound from my lair!

Re-enter S YLVIAN and M ARINEL .

S YLVIAN . Where can this chase have led him?
M ARINEL . He's not here.
S YLVIAN . No. Is the hamlet this way?
M ARINEL . Peering over us:
Mark you yon dusky wreaths that climb the air
Feeding the smoky clouds? they speak of housewifery,
Comfort, and cheer; see! there's the village mill,
Its long sails furl'd.
S YLVIAN . You know these shores, good Marinel:
What towers are these, those yellow-pointed spires
Give back his golden radiance to the sun
Gleaming at times? these, here upon the right?
M ARINEL . The lord of Rosas.
S YLVIAN .Amaryllo's brother!
'Tis a foul wind blows no one home. Of Rosas, say you?
How speaks report of this same lord of Rosas?
M ARINEL . Something above the mark; a noble heart.
S YLVIAN . What, like this grasshopper?
M ARINEL . No, no, no, no; as different from this
As darkness is from daylight: Yet not so;
Yet 'tis so: Faith! I know not what it is:
I never saw the man nor those who did;
But those, who say they saw those who have seen him,
Tell tales of him I would not tell the skies,
Lest they should blast me for the utterance.
S YLVIAN . Why not as well as those who told these tales? —
M ARINEL . O! sir, there are men
Not worth the spending of a thunderbolt;
Heav'n neither heeds nor hears, say what they will:
Did you not mark a fellow in the ship,
As we came posting o'er the seas from Italy,
Who sat upon the bow, and rail'd at heav'n,
Ev'n to the very forks o' the lightning?
Mendes, I think they call him.
S YLVIAN . A peer of Rodomonte! a huge liar!
He bore the pacquet from the lord of Rosas
To us at Padua, bidding us to Spain;
Me and his brother Amaryllo.
M ARINEL .Let me tell you,
He's a grave man: he told me of this lord: —
How that, one night, beneath the sickening moon,
Whose cheek grew paler with unusual white,
This self-same undiscover'd lord of Rosas,
Whilst thunder roar'd, and the dark elements
Conversed in horrible confusion over him — [ Thunder .
Hush! hush! I've hurt the ears of heaven.
S YLVIAN .You have;
And thus it bellows out its pain. O folly!
M ARINEL . Why, do you not believe this fact?
S YLVIAN . No, not a point of it:
Tush, tush, good captain, leave such goblin tales
To freeze the huddling circle at the fire.
Come! let's away. What, Amaryllo! ho!
Plague take these dalliers![ Exit .
M ARINEL .I'm with you, sir.
That thunder did not growl for nothing: —
Ho! my Lord Amaryllo! — 'Twas a peal!
It seem'd the stern commandment of the sky
Saying, No more! No more! in mighty murmurs.
Stay, signior. — Ho! What ho! Lord Amaryllo! [ Exit .

Enter A MARYLLO .

A MARYLLO . What ho! Lord Amaryllo! Amaryllo! ho!

Re-enter S YLVIAN and M ARINEL .

M ARINEL . Here, my lord! here!
S YLVIAN . We thought you far before, my lord.
A MARYLLO . And so I was; before, behind, beside;
Running my thread of error like a spirit:
Why, sirs, there's not a hillock nor a dell,
A green close, nor a rocky cavern,
Within a day's walk hence, but I have trod
Since you twain and I last parted.
M ARINEL .Half an hour
S YLVIAN . Was the coy nymph so light of foot, my lord?
A MARYLLO . Whew! man; she'd walk th' immaculate unpaced snow
And leave it printless; walk the sea itself
Nor wet her upper slipper: light of foot?
By Cupid's bow! she's swifter than his arrow.
S YLVIAN . And wounds as sure?
A MARYLLO . Never came sorer wounds from sweeter eyes:
She is a very paramour for angels.
S YLVIAN . Where did you leave her? pulling of rushes,
To make a baby-bed some nine months' hence?
A MARYLLO . No.
S YLVIAN . Well, a soft couch for your limbs to-night?
A MARYLLO . No, signior; no. When I had gain'd upon her,
(Woman, you wot, makes Nimrods of us all),
Turning, she stopp'd; and standing like a flower
Ready to yield its beauty to the scythe
If gentle sweetness could not move the spoiler, —
Struck by the silent supplication, I
Stood mute and lost my purpose.
S YLVIAN . Iris and Clown; she stands, he gapes, — she's gone!
A MARYLLO . Iris indeed; and vanish'd all in tears.
S YLVIAN . Tears?
A MARYLLO . Ay, — of joy; what else? when Iris weeps,
Is't not a sign the heav'ns will soon be glad?
No maiden weeps other than joyous tears
Whom Amaryllo wooes.
S YLVIAN . No, but some do, in lovely Italy,
Whom Amaryll' has won.
A MARYLLO .Oh! ay; their tears
Would swell the Tyrrhen waters to o'ertop
The woody Apennine, and drown the Alp:
Ay, ay, oh! ay; I'll tell thee, signior Sylvian: —
The tears Italian girls weep for my sake,
Might lie i' the bowl of a new-budded flow'r,
A breakfast for one bee.
S YLVIAN .'Tis well, my lord,
This is not shriving-time; else you'd confess
You speak not as you think: but I'm no priest
Come to absolve you of your mortal sins,
Nor you a penitent —
A MARYLLO .Now love forbid!
Come, will you help me catch this runaway?
This feather-footed Daphne of the hill?
S YLVIAN . Prythee, give o'er:
Here is no time for capping butterflies;
We lost three weeks with you in Genoa
Doing such pranks, that th' ancient City fear'd
A new-faced progeny; and the grave citizens
Lock'd up their merchandise to watch their wives:
Fie, my lord! fie!
A MARYLLO . Ha! ha!
M ARINEL . Your brother's palace, sir.[ Pointing .
A MARYLLO . Was't not this way she sped?
S YLVIAN . Come away, you thistle-down!
The air itself is not so light as you are.
Where would you seek her, now?
A MARYLLO .I'll find her out:
Though she were hid i' the eagle's airie; housed
With Echo in her rock-defenced retreat;
Though she couch'd by the secret river-urn,
Lost in the sedgy cresses, there I'll find her:
And if I play the woman as before —
N ERINA ( from the cave ).Oh! heav'ns!
A MARYLLO . Hark!
Was't not a sigh? My cap to a capuchin,
Here lies some dying hermit: Soft, ye branches;
[ Going to the cave .
Some holy man; some mortified, careworn — Part,
Ye green impediments: — some desert friar,
Whose bones hereafter will be canonized,
And stolen for amulets; — By your leave, sweet willows; —
I'll in, and comfort him: — Alack, poor man! [ Entering .
Poor, feeble, — (I was ever piteous): — Where d'ye lie, sir?
Couch-rid, no doubt; and weak —
[ Nerina runs out, and escapes up the rocks .
A miracle! a miracle!
Our anchorite's turn'd angel! Mounts to heav'n! —
Spirit, Spirit, a word with you; nay, by'r lady!
I'll have a pluck at your wing: Hilloa, Vapour, Spirit!
Take me along — Hilloa![ Exit, pursuing Nerina .
S YLVIAN . Was ever such an antelope?
M ARINEL . He's a wild one!
There he goes! o'er the hill and down the hollow,
Like a ship i' the dancing green. Make we to harbour.
[ Exeunt .