Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 5.djvu/677

CANTO IV.] The crag, as doth a falcon reft of young.

The sound revived him, or appeared to wake

Some passion which a weakly gesture spake:

He beckoned to the foremost, who drew nigh,

But, as they neared, he reared his weapon high—

His last ball had been aimed, but from his breast

He tore the topmost button from his vest,

Down the tube dashed it—levelled—fired, and smiled

As his foe fell; then, like a serpent, coiled

His wounded, weary form, to where the steep

Looked desperate as himself along the deep;

Cast one glance back, and clenched his hand, and shook

His last rage 'gainst the earth which he forsook;

Then plunged: the rock below received like glass

His body crushed into one gory mass,

With scarce a shred to tell of human form,

Or fragment for the sea-bird or the worm;

A fair-haired scalp, besmeared with blood and weeds,

Yet reeked, the remnant of himself and deeds;

Some splinters of his weapons (to the last,

As long as hand could hold, he held them fast)

Yet glittered, but at distance—hurled away

To rust beneath the dew and dashing spray.

The rest was nothing—save a life mis-spent,

And soul—but who shall answer where it went?

'Tis ours to bear, not judge the dead; and they

Who doom to Hell, themselves are on the way,

Unless these bullies of eternal pains

Are pardoned their bad hearts for their worse brains.