Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 5.djvu/663

CANTO III.] Silent, and sad, and savage,—with the trace

Of passion reeking from his clouded face;

Till lifting up again his sombre eye,

It glanced on Torquil, who leaned faintly by.

"And is it thus?" he cried, "unhappy boy!

And thee, too, thee—my madness must destroy!"

He said, and strode to where young Torquil stood,

Yet dabbled with his lately flowing blood;

Seized his hand wistfully, but did not press,

And shrunk as fearful of his own caress;

Enquired into his state: and when he heard

The wound was slighter than he deemed or feared,

A moment's brightness passed along his brow,

As much as such a moment would allow.

"Yes," he exclaimed, "we are taken in the toil,

But not a coward or a common spoil;

Dearly they have bought us—dearly still may buy,—

And I must fall; but have you strength to fly?

'Twould be some comfort still, could you survive;

Our dwindled band is now too few to strive.

Oh! for a sole canoe! though but a shell,

To bear you hence to where a hope may dwell!

For me, my lot is what I sought; to be,

In life or death, the fearless and the free."

VII.

Even as he spoke, around the promontory,

Which nodded o'er the billows high and hoary,

A dark speck dotted Ocean: on it flew

Like to the shadow of a roused sea-mew;

Onward it came—and, lo! a second followed—

Now seen—now hid—where Ocean's vale was hollowed;

And near, and nearer, till the dusky crew

Presented well-known aspects to the view,