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 PRINTED FOR SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES, 
 P AT ERNOSTER-RO W. 
 
 1819. 
 
 [Entered at Stationers' Hall, March 27, 1819.] 
 
Gillet, Printer, Crown Court, Fleet Street, London. 
 
EXTKACT 
 
 OF A 
 
 MIL 
 4-28 
 
 no. 1 c. 2 
 
 v\o.2 c.l 
 -3 
 
 LETTER TO THE EDITOR. 
 
 2736 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 http://archive.org/details/vampyretale02poli 
 
EXTRACT OF A LETTER 
 FROM GENEVA. 
 
 " I breathe freely in the neighbourhood of 
 this lake ; the ground upon which I tread has 
 been subdued from the earliest ages ; the 
 principal objects which immediately strike 
 my e y e > bring to my recollection scenes, in 
 which man acted the hero and was the chief 
 object of interest. Not to look back to earlier 
 times of battles and sieges, here is the bust of 
 Rousseau — here is a house with an inscription 
 denoting that the Genevan philosopher first 
 drew breath under its roof. A little out of 
 the town is Ferney, the residence of Voltaire ; 
 where that wonderful, though certainly in 
 many respects contemptible, character, re- 
 ceived, like the hermits of old, the visits of 
 
 27360 
 
viii Extract of a Letter from Geneva. 
 
 pilgrims, not only from his own nation, but 
 from the farthest boundaries of Europe. 
 Here too is Bonnet's abode, and, a few steps 
 beyond, the house of that astonishing woman 
 Madame de Stael : perhaps the first of her 
 sex, who has really proved its often claimed 
 equality with the nobler man. We have before 
 had women who have written interesting 
 novels and poems, in which their tact at ob- 
 serving drawing-room characters has availed 
 them ; but never since the days of Heloise have 
 those faculties which are peculiar to man, been 
 developed as the possible inheritance of 
 woman. Though even here, as in the case 
 of Heloise, our sex have not been backward 
 in alledging the existence of an Abeilard in 
 the person of M. Schlegel as the inspirer of her 
 works. But to proceed : upon the same side 
 of the lake, Gibbon, Bonnivard, Bradshaw, 
 and others mark, as it were, the stages for our 
 progress ; whilst upon the other side there 
 is one house, built by Diodati, the friend of 
 1 / Milton, which has contained within its walls, 
 
Extract of a Letter from Geneva. ix 
 
 for several months, that poet whom we have 
 so often read together, and who — if human 
 passions remain the same, and human feelings, 
 like chords, on being swept by nature's im- 
 pulses shall vibrate as before— will be placed 
 by posterity in the first rank of our English 
 Poets. You must have heard, or the Third 
 Canto of Childe Harold will have informed 
 you, that Lord Byron resided many months 
 in this neighbourhood. I went with some 
 friends a few days ago, after having seen 
 Ferney, to view this mansion. I trod the 
 floors with the same feelings of awe and 
 respect as we did, together, those of Shak- 
 speare's dwelling at Stratford. I sat down 
 in a chair of the saloon, and satisfied myself 
 that I was resting on what he had made his 
 constant seat. I found a servant there who 
 had lived with him ; she, however, gave me 
 but little information. She pointed out his 
 bed-chamber upon the same level as the 
 saloon and dining-room, and informed me 
 that he retired to rest at three, got up at two, 
 
x Extract of a Letter from Geneva. 
 
 and employed himself a long time over his 
 toilette ; that he never went to sleep without 
 a pair of pistols and a dagger by his side, and 
 that he never eat animal food. He apparently 
 spent some part of every day upon the lake 
 in an English boat. There is a balcony from 
 the saloon which looks upon the lake and the 
 mountain Jura ; and I imagine, that it must 
 have been hence he contemplated the storm 
 so magnificently described in the Third 
 Canto ; for you have from here a most 
 extensive view of all the points he has therein 
 depicted. lean fancy him like the scathed 
 pine, whilst all around was sunk to repose, 
 still waking to observe, what gave but a weak 
 image of the storms which had desolated his 
 own breast. 
 
 n 
 
 The sky is changed ! — and such a change ; Oh, night ! 
 And storm and darkness, ye. are wond'rous strong, 
 Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
 \ t Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along 
 From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
 Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, 
 
Extract of a Letter from Geneva. xi 
 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
 And Jura answers thro' her misty shroud, 
 Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud ! 
 
 And this is in the night :— Most glorious night ! 
 Thou wer't not sent for slumher! let me be 
 A sharer in thy far and fierce delight, — 
 A portion of the tempest and of me ! 
 How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea, 
 And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
 And now again 'tis black,— and now the glee 
 Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, 
 As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth, 
 
 Now where the swift Rhine cleaves his way between 
 Heights which appear, as lovers who have parted 
 In haste, whose mining depths so intervene, 
 That they can meet no more, tho' broken hearted ; 
 Tho' in their souls which thus each other thwarted, 
 I/ove was the very root of the fond rage 
 Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed — 
 Itself expired, but leaving them an age 
 1 1 Of years all winter — war within themselves to wage. 
 
 I went down to the little port, if I may use 
 the expression, wherein his vessel used to lay, 
 and conversed with the cottager, who had the 
 care of it. You may smile, but I have my 
 pleasure in thus helping my personification of 
 
xii Extract of a Letter from Geneva. 
 
 the individual I admire, by attaining to the 
 knowledge of those circumstances which 
 were daily around him. I have made nu- 
 merous enquiries in the town concerning him, 
 but can learn nothing. He only went into 
 society there once, when M. Pictet took him 
 to the house of a lady to spend the evening. 
 They say he is a very singular man, and 
 seem to think him very uncivil. Amongst 
 Other things they relate, that having invited 
 M. Pictet and Bonstetten to dinner, he 
 went on the lake to Chillon, leaving a gen- 
 tleman who travelled with him to receive 
 them and make his apologies. Another even- 
 ing, being invited to the house of Lady 
 
 D — H , he promised to attend, 
 
 but upon approaching the windows of 
 her ladyship's villa, and perceiving the 
 room to be full of company, he set down his 
 friend, desiring him to plead his excuse, and 
 immediately returned home. This will serve 
 as a contradiction to the report which you 
 tell me is current in England, of his having 
 
Extract of a Letter from Geneva, xiii 
 
 been avoided by his countrymen on the con- 
 tinent. The case happens to be directly the 
 reverse, as he has been generally sought 
 by them, though on most occasions, appa- 
 rently without success. It is said, indeed, 
 that upon paying his first visit at Coppet, fol- 
 lowing the servant who had announced his 
 name, he was surprised to meet a lady carried 
 out fainting ; but before he had been seated 
 many minutes, the same lady, who had been 
 so affected at the sound of his name, returned 
 and conversed with him a considerable time — 
 such is female curiosity and affectation ! He 
 visited Coppet frequently, and of course as- 
 sociated there with several of his countrymen, 
 who evinced no reluctance to meet him whom 
 his enemies alone would represent as an out- 
 cast. 
 
 Though I have been so unsuccessful in this 
 town, I have been more fortunate in my en- 
 quiries elsewhere. There is a society three 
 or four miles from Geneva, the centre of which 
 is the Countess of Breuss, a Russian lady, 
 
xiv Extract of a Letter from Geneva. 
 
 well acquainted with the agremens de la So-* 
 ciete, and who has collected them round her- 
 self at her mansion. It was chiefly here, I 
 find, that the gentleman who travelled with 
 Lord Byron, as physician, sought for society. 
 He used almost every day to cross the lake by 
 himself, in one of their flat-bottomed boats, 
 and return after passing the evening with 
 his friends, about eleven or twelve at night, 
 often whilst the storms were raging in the 
 circling summits of the mountains around. 
 As he became intimate, from long acquaint- 
 ance, with several of the families in this 
 neighbourhood, I have gathered from #ieir 
 accounts some excellent traits of his lordship's 
 character, which I will relate to you at some 
 future opportunity. 
 
 Among other particulars mentioned, was 
 the outline of a ghost story by Lord Byron. 
 It appears that one evening Lord B., Mr. P. 
 B. Shelly, two ladies and the gentleman before 
 alluded to, after having perused a German 
 work, entitled Phantasmagonana, began 
 
Extract of a Letter from Geneva. xv 
 
 relating ghost stories ; when his lordship hav- 
 ing recited the beginning of Christabel, then 
 unpublished, the whole took so strong a hold of 
 Mr. Shelly's mind, that he suddenly started up 
 and ran out of the room. The physician and 
 Lord Byron followed, and discovered him lean- 
 ing against a mantle-piece, with cold drops of 
 perspiration trickling down his face. After 
 having given him something to refresh 
 him, upon enquiring into the cause of his 
 alarm, they found that his wild imagination 
 having pictured to him the bosom of one of 
 the ladies with eyes (which was reported of 
 a lady in the neighbourhood where he lived) 
 he was obliged to leave the room in order to 
 destroy the impression. It was afterwards 
 proposed, in the course of conversation, that 
 each of the company present should write a 
 tale depending upon some supernatural agency, 
 which was undertaken by Lord B., the phy- 
 sician, and one of the ladies before mentioned. 
 I obtained the outline of each of these stories 
 as a great favour, and herewith forward them 
 
xvi Extract of a Letter from Geneva. 
 
 to you, as I was assured you would feel as 
 much curiosity as myself, to peruse the ebau- s£*-#hL<^ 
 ches of so great a genius, and those imme- 
 diately under his influence." 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE superstition upon which this tale is 
 founded is very general in the East. Among 
 the Arabians it appears to be common : it did 
 not, however, extend itself to the Greeks until 
 after the establishment of Christianity ; and 
 it has only assumed its present form since 
 the division of the Latin and Greek churches ; 
 at which time, the idea becoming prevalent, 
 that a Latin body could not corrupt if buried 
 in their territory, it gradually increased, and 
 formed the subject of many wonderful stories, 
 still extant, of the dead rising from their 
 graves, and feeding upon the blood of the 
 young and beautiful. In the West it spread, 
 with some slight variation, all over Hungary, 
 Poland, Austria, and Lorraine, where the 
 b 2 
 
XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 belief existed, that vampyres nightly imbibed 
 a certain portion of the blood of their victims, 
 who became emaciated, lost their strength, 
 and speedily died of consumptions ; whilst 
 these human blood-suckers fattened — and 
 their veins became distended to such a state 
 of repletion, as to cause the blood to flow from 
 all the passages of their bodies, and even from 
 the very pores of their skins. 
 
 In the London Journal, of March, 1732, is 
 a curious, and, of course, credible account of 
 a particular case of vampyrism, which is stated 
 to have occurred at Madreyga, in Hungary. 
 It appears, that upon an examination of the 
 commander-in-chief and magistrates of the 
 place, they positively and unanimously af- 
 firmed, that, about five years before, a certain 
 Heyduke, named Arnold Paul, had been heard 
 to say, that, at Cassovia, on the frontiers of 
 the Turkish Servia, he had been tormented 
 by a vampyre, but had found a way to rid 
 himself of the evil, by eating some of the 
 earth out of the vampyre's grave, and rubbing 
 himself with his blood. This precaution, 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXI 
 
 however, did not prevent him from becoming 
 a vampyre* himself; for, about twenty or 
 thirty days after his death and burial, many 
 persons complained of having been tormented 
 by him, and a deposition was made, that four 
 persons had been deprived of life by his at- 
 tacks. To prevent further mischief, the inha- 
 bitants having consulted their Hadagni,^ took 
 up the body, and found it (as is supposed to 
 be usual in cases of vampyrism) fresh, and en- 
 tirely free from corruption, and emitting at the 
 mouth, nose, and ears, pure and florid blood. 
 Proof having been thus obtained, they resorted 
 to the accustomed remedy. A stake was 
 driven entirely through the heart and body of 
 Arnold Paul, at which he is reported to have 
 cried out as dreadfully as if he had been alive. 
 This done, they cut off his head, burned his 
 body, and threw the ashes into his grave. 
 The same measures were adopted with the 
 
 * The universal belief is, that a person sucked by a vampyre 
 becomes a vampyre himself, and sucks in his turn, 
 f Chief bailiff. 
 
XXll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 corses of those persons who had previously 
 died from vampyrism, lest they should, in 
 their turn, become agents upon others who 
 survived them. 
 
 This monstrous rodomontade is here re- 
 lated, because it seems better adapted to 
 illustrate the subject of the present observa- 
 tions than any other instance which could be 
 adduced. In many parts of Greece it is 
 considered as a sort of punishment after death, 
 for some heinous crime committed whilst in 
 existence, that the deceased is not only doomed 
 to vampyrise, but compelled to confine his 
 infernal visitations solely to those beings he 
 loved most while upon earth — those to<whom 
 he was bound by ties of kindred and affection. 
 —A supposition alluded to in the " Giaour." 
 
 But first on earth, as Vampyre sent, 
 Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent ; 
 Then ghastly haunt the native place, 
 And suck the blood of all thy race ; 
 There from thy daughter, sister, wife, 
 At midnight drain the stream of life ; 
 Yet loathe the banquet which perforce 
 Must feed thy livid living corse, 
 
INTRODUCTION. XX111 
 
 Thy victims, ere they yet expire, 
 
 Shall know the demon for their sire ; 
 
 As cursing thee, thou cursing them, 
 
 Thy flowers are withered on the stem. 
 
 But one that for thy crime must fall, 
 
 The youngest, best beloved of all, 
 
 Shall bless thee with a father's name — 
 
 That word shall wrap thy heart in flame ! 
 
 T Yet thou must end thy task and mark 
 
 i Her cheek's last tinge—her eye's last spark, 
 
 ^ j And the last glassy glance must view 
 
 t Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue ; x 
 
 f 
 
 1 Then with unhallowed hand shall tear 
 
 1 The tresses of her yellow hair, 
 
 I Of which, in life a lock when shorn 
 
 Affection's fondest pledge was worn — 
 
 But now is borne away by thee 
 
 Memorial of thine agony ! 
 
 Yet with thine own best blood shall drip ; 
 
 Thy gnashing tooth, and haggard lip ; 
 
 Then stalking to thy sullen grave, 
 
 Go — and with Gouls and Afrits rave, 
 
 Till these in horror shrink away 
 
 From spectre more accursed than they. 
 
 Mr. Southey has also introduced in his wild 
 but beautiful poem of " Thalaba," the vam- 
 pyre corse of the Arabian maid Oneiza, who 
 
XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 is represented as having returned from the 
 grave for the purpose of tormenting him she 
 best loved whilst in existence. But this 
 cannot be supposed to have resulted from the 
 sinfulness of her life, she being pourtrayed 
 throughout the whole of the tale as a complete 
 type of purity and innocence. The veracious 
 Tournefort gives a long account in his travels 
 of several astonishing cases of vampyrism, to 
 which he pretends to have been an eye- 
 witness ; and Calmet, in his great work upon 
 this subject, besides a variety of anecdotes, 
 and traditionary narratives illustrative of its 
 effects, has put forth some learned dissertations, 
 tending to prove it to be a classical, as well as 
 barbarian error. 
 
 Many curious and interesting notices on 
 this singularly horrible superstition might be 
 added; though the present may suffice for 
 the limits of a note, necessarily devoted to ex- 
 planation, and which may now be concluded by 
 merely remarking, that though the term Vam- 
 pyre is the one in most general acceptation , 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXV 
 
 there are several others synonimous with it, 
 made use of in various parts of the world : 
 as Vroucolocha, Vardoulacha, Goul, Brouco- 
 loka, &c. 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 IT happened that in the midst of the dissipa- 
 tions attendant upon a London winter, there 
 appeared at the various parties of the leaders 
 of the ton a nobleman, more remarkable for 
 his singularities, than his rank. He gazed 
 upon the mirth around him, as if he could not 
 participate therein. Apparently, the light 
 laughter of the fair only attracted his attention, 
 that he might by a look quell it, and throw 
 fear into those breasts where thoughtlessness 
 reigned. Those who felt this sensation of 
 awe, could not explain whence it arose : some 
 attributed it to the dead grey eye, which, fix- 
 
i I 
 
 28 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 ing upon the object's face, did not seem to 
 penetrate, and at one glance to pierce through 
 to the inward workings of the heart ; but fell 
 ' upon the cheek with a leaden ray that weighed 
 upon the skin it could not pass. His peculi- 
 arities caused him to be invited to every house ; 
 all wished to see him, and those who had been 
 accustomed to violent excitement, and now felt 
 the weight of ennui, were pleased at having 
 something in their presence capable of engag- 
 ing their attention. In spite of the deadly hue 
 of his face, which never gained a warmer tint, 
 either from the blush of modesty, or from the 
 strong emotion of passion, though its form 
 and outline were beautiful, many of the female 
 hunters after notoriety attempted to win his 
 attentions, and gain, at least, some marks of 
 what they might term affection : Lady Mercer, 
 who had been the mockery of every monster 
 shewn in drawing-rooms since her marriage, 
 threw herself in his way, and did all but 
 put on the dress of a mountebank, to attract 
 his notice : — though in vain : — when she 
 stood before him, though his eyes were ap- 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 29 
 
 parently fixed upon her's, still it seemed as if 
 they were unperceived ; — even her unappalled 
 impudence was baffled, and she left the field. 
 But though the common adultress could not 
 influence even the guidance of his eyes, it was 
 not that the female sex was indifferent to him : 
 yet such was the apparent caution with which 
 he spoke to the virtuous wife and innocent 
 daughter, that few knew he ever addressed 
 himself to females. He had, however, the 
 reputation of a winning tongue ; and whether 
 it was that it even overcame the dread of his 
 singular character, or that they were moved 
 by his apparent hatred of vice, he was as often 
 among those females who form the boast of 
 their sex from their domestic virtues, as among 
 those who sully it by their vices. 
 
 About the same time, there came to London 
 a young gentleman of the name of Aubrey : % /f^f- l/Jp<l * rz ^ 
 he was an orphan left with an only sister in 
 the possession of great wealth, by parents who 
 died while he was yet in childhood, Left 
 also to himself by guardians, who thought it 
 their duty merely to take care of his fortune, 
 
30 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 while they relinquished the more important 
 charge of his mind to the care of mercenary 
 subalterns, he cultivated more his imagination 
 than his judgment. He had, hence, that high 
 romantic feeling of honour and candour, which 
 daily ruins so many milliners' apprentices. 
 He believed all to sympathise with virtue, and 
 thought that vice was thrown in by Providence 
 merely for the picturesque effect of the scene, as 
 we see in romances : he thought that the misery 
 of a cottage merely consisted in the vesting of 
 clothes, which were as warm, but which were 
 better adapted to the painter's eye by their ir- 
 regular folds and various coloured patches. He 
 thought, in fine, that the dreams of poets were 
 the realities of life. He was handsome, frank, 
 and rich : for these reasons, upon his entering 
 into the gay circles, many mothers surrounded 
 him, striving which should describe with least 
 truth their languishing or romping favourites : 
 the daughters at the same time, by their 
 brightening countenances when he approached, 
 and by their sparkling eyes, when he opened 
 his lips, soon led him into false notions of his 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 31 
 
 talents and his merit. Attached as he was to 
 the romance of his solitary hours, he was 
 startled at finding, that, except in the tallow 
 and wax candles that flickered, not from the 
 presence of a ghost, but from want of snuffing, 
 there was no foundation in real life for any of 
 that congeries of pleasing pictures and de- 
 scriptions contained in those volumes, from 
 which he had formed his study. Finding, 
 however, some compensation in his gratified 
 vanity, he was about to relinquish his dreams, 
 when the extraordinary being we have above 
 described, crossed him in his career. 
 
 He watched him ; and the very impossibility 
 of forming an idea of the character of a man 
 entirely absorbed in himself, who gave few 
 other signs of his observation of external ob- 
 jects, than the tacit assent to their existence, 
 implied by the avoidance of their contact ; 
 allowing his imagination to picture every thing 
 that flattered its propensity to extravagant 
 ideas, he soon formed this object into the hero 
 of a romance, and determined to observe the 
 offspring of his fancy, rather than the person 
 
32 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 before him. He became acquainted with him, 
 paid him attentions, and so far advanced upon 
 his notice, that his presence was always re- 
 cognised. He gradually learnt that Lord 
 Ruthven's affairs were embarrassed, and soon 
 
 found, from the notes of preparation in — 
 
 Street, that he was about to travel. Desirous 
 of gaining some information respecting this 
 singular character, who, till now, had only 
 whetted his curiosity, he hinted to his guard- 
 ians, that it was time for him to perform the 
 tour, which for many generations has been 
 thought necessary to enable the young to take 
 some rapid steps in the career of vice towards 
 putting themselves upon an equality with the 
 aged, and not allowing them to appear as if 
 fallen from the skies, whenever scandalous 
 intrigues are mentioned as the subjects of 
 pleasantry or of praise, according to the de- 
 gree of skill shewn in carrying them on. 
 They consented : and Aubrey immediately 
 mentioning his intentions to Lord Ruthven, 
 was surprised to receive from him a proposal 
 to join him. Flattered by such a mark of 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 33 
 
 esteem from him, who, apparently, had nothing 
 in common with other men, he gladly accepted 
 it, and in a few days they had passed the 
 circling waters. 
 
 Hitherto, Aubrey had had no opportunity of 
 studying Lord Ruthven's character, and now 
 he found, that, though many more of his actions 
 were exposed to his view, the results offered 
 different conclusions from the apparent mo- 
 tives to his conduct. His companion was 
 profuse in his liberality ; — the idle, the vaga- 
 bond, and the beggar, received from his hand 
 more than enough to relieve their immediate 
 wants. But Aubrey could not avoid remark- 
 ing, that it was not upon the virtuous, reduced 
 to indigence by the misfortunes attendant even 
 upon virtue, that he bestowed his alms; — 
 these were sent from the door with hardly sup- 
 pressed sneers ; but when the profligate came 
 to ask something, not to relieve his wants, but 
 to allow him to wallow in his lust, or to sink 
 him still deeper in his iniquity, he was sent 
 away with rich charity. This was, however, 
 attributed by him to the greater importunity of 
 
34 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 the vicious, which generally prevails over the 
 retiring bashfulness of the virtuous indigent. 
 There was one circumstance about the charity 
 of his Lordship, which was still more im- 
 pressed upon his mind : all those upon whom 
 it was bestowed, inevitably found that there 
 was a curse upon it, for they were all either 
 led to the scaffold, or sunk to the lowest and 
 the most abject misery. At Brussels and other 
 towns through which they passed, Aubrey was 
 surprized at the apparent eagerness with 
 which his companion sought for the centres of 
 all fashionable vice ; there he entered into all 
 the spirit of the faro table : he betted, and 
 always gambled with success, except where 
 the known sharper was his antagonist, and 
 then he lost even more than he gained ; but it 
 was always with the same unchanging face, 
 with which he generally watched the society 
 around : it was not, however, so when he 
 encountered the rash youthful novice, or the 
 luckless father of a numerous family ; then his 
 very wish seemed fortune's law— this apparent 
 abstractedness of mind was laid aside, and his 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 35 
 
 eyes sparkled with more fire than that of the 
 cat whilst dallying with the half-dead mouse. 
 In every town, he left the formerly affluent 
 youth, torn from the circle he adorned, cursing, 
 in the solitude of a dungeon, the fate that had 
 drawn him within the reach of this fiend ; 
 whilst many a father sat frantic, amidst the 
 speaking looks of mute hungry children, with- 
 out a single farthing of his late immense 
 wealth, wherewith to buy even sufficient to 
 satisfy their present craving. Yet he took no 
 money from the gambling table ; but im- 
 mediately lost, to the miner of many, the last 
 gilder he had just snatched from the convulsive 
 grasp of the innocent : this might but be the 
 result of a certain degree of knowledge, which 
 was not, however, capable of combating the 
 cunning of the more experienced. Aubrey 
 often wished to represent this to his friend, 
 and beg him to resign that charity and pleasure 
 which proved the ruin of all, and did not tend to 
 his own profit ; — but he delayed it— for each 
 day he hoped his friend would give him some 
 opportunity of speaking frankly and openly 
 c 2 
 
36 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 to him ; however, this never occurred. Lord 
 Ruthven in his carriage, and amidst the 
 various wild and rich scenes of nature, was 
 always the same : his eye spoke less than his 
 lip ; and though Aubrey was near the object 
 of his curiosity, he obtained no greater gra- 
 tification from it than the constant excitement 
 of vainly wishing to break that mystery, which 
 to his exalted imagination began to assume 
 the appearance of something supernatural. 
 
 They soon arrived at Rome, and Aubrey for 
 a time lost sight of his companion ; he left him 
 in daily attendance upon the morning circle of 
 an Italian countess, whilst he went in search of 
 the memorials of another almost deserted city. 
 Whilst he was thus engaged, letters arrived 
 from England, which he opened with eager 
 impatience ; the first was from his sister, 
 breathing nothing but affection ; the others 
 were from his guardians, the latter astonished 
 him ; if it had before entered into his imagina- 
 tion that there was an evil power resident in 
 his companion, these seemed to give him 
 lmost sufficient reason for the belief. His 
 
THR VAMPYRE. 37 
 
 guardians insisted upon his immediately leav- 
 ing his friend, and urged, that his character 
 was dreadfully vicious, for that the possession 
 of irresistible powers of seduction, rendered his 
 licentious habits more dangerous to society. 
 It had been discovered, that his contempt for 
 the adultress had not originated in hatred of 
 her character ; but that he had required, to 
 enhance his gratification, that his victim, the 
 partner of his guilt, should be hurled from the 
 pinnacle of unsullied virtue, down to the 
 lowest abyss of infamy and degradation : in 
 fine, that all those females whom he had 
 sought, apparently on account of their virtue, 
 had, since his departure, thrown even the 
 mask aside, and had not scrupled to expose 
 the whole deformity of their vices to the public 
 gaze. 
 
 Aubrey determined upon leaving one, whose 
 character had not yet shown a single bright 
 point on which to rest the eye. He resolved 
 to invent some plausible pretext for abandon- 
 ing him altogether, purposing, in the mean 
 while, to watch him more closely, and to 
 
38 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 let no slight circumstances pass by un- 
 noticed. He entered into the same circle, 
 and soon perceived, that his Lordship was 
 endeavouring to work upon the inexperience 
 of the daughter of the lady whose house he 
 chiefly frequented. In Italy, it is seldom 
 that an unmarried female is met with in 
 society ; he was therefore obliged to carry on 
 his plans in secret ; but Aubrey' s eye followed 
 him in all his windings, and soon discovered 
 that an assignation had been appointed, which 
 would most likely end in the ruin of an in- 
 nocent, though thoughtless girl. Losing no 
 time, he entered the apartment of Lord 
 Ruthven, and abruptly asked him his inten- 
 tions with respect to the lady, informing him 
 at the same time that he was aware of his 
 being about to meet her that very night. 
 Lord Ruthven answered, that his intentions 
 were such as he supposed all would have upon 
 such an occasion ; and upon being pressed 
 whether he intended to marry her, merely 
 laughed. Aubrey retired ; and, immediately 
 writing a note, to say, that from that moment 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 39 
 
 he must decline accompanying his Lordship 
 in the remainder of their proposed tour, he 
 ordered his servant to seek other apartments, 
 and calling upon the mother of the lady, 
 informed her of all he knew, not only with 
 regard to her daughter, but also concerning 
 the character of his Lordship. The assigna- 
 tion was prevented. Lord Ruthven next day 
 merely sent his servant to notify his complete 
 assent to a separation ; but did not hint any 
 suspicion of his plans having been foiled by 
 Aubrey's interposition. 
 
 Having left Rome, Aubrey directed his 
 steps towards Greece, and crossing the Pe- 
 ninsula, soon found himself at Athens. He 
 then fixed his residence in the house of a 
 Greek ; and soon occupied himself in tracing 
 the faded records of ancient glory upon monu- 
 ments that apparently, ashamed of chronicling 
 the deeds of freemen only before slaves, had 
 hidden themselves beneath the sheltering soil 
 or many coloured lichen. Under the same 
 roof as himself, existed a being, so beautiful 
 and delicate, that she might have formed the 
 
40 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 model for a painter, wishing to pourtray on 
 canvass the promised hope of the faithful in 
 Mahomet's paradise, save that her eyes spoke 
 too much mind for any one to think she could 
 belong to those who had no souls. As she 
 danced upon the plain, or tripped along the 
 mountain's side, one would have thought the 
 gazelle a poor type of her beauties ; for who 
 would have exchanged her eye, apparently 
 the eye of animated nature, for that sleepy 
 Luxurious look of the animal suited but to 
 the taste of an epicure. The light step of 
 Ianthe often accompanied Aubrey in his 
 search after antiquities, and often would the 
 unconscious girl, engaged in the pursuit of 
 a Kashraere butterfly, show the whole beauty 
 of her form, floating as it were upon the wind, 
 to the eager gaze of him, who forgot the letters 
 he had just decyphered upon an almost effaced 
 tablet, in the contemplation of her sylph-like 
 figure. Often would her tresses falling, as she 
 flitted around, exhibit in the sun's ray such 
 delicately brilliant and swiftly fading hues, 
 as might well excuse the forgetfulness of the 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 41 
 
 ; antiquary, who let escape from his mind the 
 very object he had before thought of vital im- 
 portance to the proper interpretation of a 
 passage in Pausanias. But why attempt to 
 describe charms which all feel, but none can 
 appreciate ?— It was innocence, youth, and 
 beauty, unaffected by crowded drawing-rooms 
 and stifling balls. Whilst he drew those re- 
 mains of which he wished to preserve a me- 
 morial for his future hours, she would stand 
 by, and watch the magic effects of his 
 pencil, in tracing the scenes of her native 
 place ; she would then describe to him the 
 circling dance upon the open plain, would 
 paint to him in all the glowing colours of 
 youthful memory, the marriage pomp she 
 remembered viewing in her infancy ; and 
 then, turning to subjects that had evidently 
 made a greater impression upon her mind, 
 would tell him all the supernatural tales of 
 her nurse. Her earnestness and apparent 
 belief of what she narrated, excited the 
 interest even of Aubrey ; and often as she 
 told him the tale of the living vampyre, who 
 
42 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 had passed years amidst his friends, and 
 dearest ties, forced every year, by feeding 
 upon the life of a lovely female to prolong 
 his existence for the ensuing months, his 
 blood would run cold, whilst he attempted to 
 laugh her out of such idle and horrible 
 fantasies ; but Ian the cited to him the 
 names of old men, who had at last detected 
 one living among themselves, after several 
 of their near relatives and children had been 
 found marked with the stamp of the fiend's 
 appetite; and when she found him so in- 
 credulous, she begged of him to believe her, 
 for it had been remarked, that those who 
 had dared to question their existence, always 
 had some proof given, which obliged them, 
 with grief and heartbreaking, to confess it 
 was true. She detailed to him the traditional 
 appearance of these monsters, and his horror 
 was increased, by hearing a pretty accurate 
 description of Lord Ruthven ; he, however, 
 still persisted in persuading her, that there 
 could be no truth in her fears, though at the 
 same time he wondered at the many coinci- 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 43 
 
 dences which had all tended to excite a 
 belief in the supernatural power of Lord 
 Ruthven. 
 
 Aubrey began to attach himself more and 
 more to Ianthe ; her innocence, so contrasted 
 with all the affected virtues of the women 
 among whom he had sought for his vision of 
 romance, won his heart ; and while he ridi- 
 culed the idea of a young man of English 
 habits, marrying an uneducated Greek girl, 
 still he found himself more and more attached 
 to the almost fairy form before him. He 
 would tear himself at times from her, and, 
 forming a plan for some antiquarian research, 
 he would depart, determined not to return 
 until his object was attained ; but he always 
 found it impossible to fix his attention upon 
 the ruins around him, whilst in his mind he 
 retained an image that seemed alone the 
 rightful possessor of his thoughts. Ianthe 
 was unconscious of his love, and was ever 
 the same frank infantile beino; he had first 
 known. She always seemed to part from 
 him with reluctance; but it was because 
 
44 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 she had no longer any one with whom she 
 could visit her favourite haunts, whilst her 
 guardian was occupied in sketching or un- 
 covering some fragment which had yet 
 escaped the destructive hand of time. She 
 had appealed to her parents on the subject of 
 Vampyres, and they both, with several present, 
 affirmed their existence, pale with horror at 
 the very name. Soon after, Aubrey deter- 
 mined to proceed upon one of his excursions, 
 which was to detain him for a few hours ; 
 when they heard the name of the place, they 
 all at once begged of him not to return at 
 night, as he must necessarily pass through a 
 wood, where no Greek would ever remain, 
 after the day had closed, upon any considera- 
 tion. They described it as the resort of the 
 vampyres in their nocturnal orgies, and de- 
 nounced the most heavy evils as impending 
 upon him who dared to cross their path. 
 Aubrey made light of their representations, 
 and tried to laugh them out of the idea ; but 
 when he saw them shudder at his daring 
 thus to mock a superior, infernal power, the 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 45 
 
 very name of which apparently made their 
 blood freeze, he was silent. 
 
 Next morning Aubrey set off upon his 
 excursion unattended; he was surprised to 
 observe the melancholy face of his host, and 
 was concerned to find that his words, mocking 
 the belief of those horrible fiends, had inspired 
 them with such terror. When he was about 
 to depart, Ianthe came to the side of his horse, 
 and earnestly begged of him to return, ere 
 night allowed the power of these beings to 
 be put in action ;-— he promised. He was, 
 however, so occupied in his research, that he 
 did not perceive that day-light would soon 
 end, and that in the horizon there was one of 
 those specks which, in the warmer climates, 
 so rapidly gather into a tremendous mass, and 
 pour all their rage upon the devoted country. 
 — He at last, however, mounted his horse, 
 determined to make up by speed for his delay : 
 but it was too late. Twilight, in these southern 
 climates, is almost unknown ; immediately the 
 sun sets, night begins : and ere he had ad- 
 vanced far, the power of the storm was above 
 
46 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 —its echoing thunders had scarcely an interval 
 of rest — its thick heavy rain forced its way- 
 through the canopying foliage, whilst the blue 
 forked lightning seemed to fall and radiate at 
 his very feet. Suddenly his horse took fright, 
 and he was carried with dreadful rapidity 
 through the entangled forest. The animal at 
 last, through fatigue, stopped, and he found, 
 by the glare of lightning, that he was in the 
 neighbourhood of a hovel that hardly lifted 
 itself up from the masses of dead leaves and 
 brushwood which surrounded it. Dismount- 
 ing, he approached, hoping to find some one 
 to guide him to the town, or at least trusting 
 to obtain shelter from the pelting of the storm. 
 As he approached, the thunders, for a moment 
 silent, allowed him to hear the dreadful shrieks 
 of a woman mingling with the stifled, exultant 
 mockery of a laugh, continued in one almost 
 unbroken sound ; — he was startled : but, 
 roused by the thunder which again rolled 
 over his head, he, with a sudden effort, forced 
 open the door of the hut. He found himself 
 in utter darkness : the sound, however, guided 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 47 
 
 him. He was apparently unperceivecl ; for, 
 though he called, still the sounds continued, 
 and no notice was taken of him. He found 
 himself in contact with some one, whom he im- 
 mediately seized ; when a voice cried, " Again 
 baffled !" to which a loud laugh succeeded ; and 
 he felt himself grappled by one whose strength 
 seemed superhuman : determined to sell his 
 life as dearly as he could, he struggled ; but it 
 was in vain : he was lifted from his feet and 
 hurled with enormous force against the ground : 
 — his enemy threw himself upon him, and 
 kneeling upon his breast, had placed his hands 
 upon his throat — when the glare of many 
 torches penetrating through the hole that gave 
 light in the day, disturbed him ; — he instantly 
 rose, and, leaving his prey, rushed through the 
 door, and in a moment the crashing of the 
 branches, as he broke through the wood, was 
 no longer heard. The storm was now still ; 
 and Aubrey, incapable of moving, was soon 
 heard by those without. They entered ; the 
 light of their torches fell upon the mud walls, 
 and the thatch loaded on every individual straw 
 
48 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 with heavy flakes of soot. At the desire of 
 Aubrey they searched for her who had at- 
 tracted him by her cries * he was again left in 
 darkness ; but what was his horror, when the 
 light of the torches once more burst upon him, 
 to perceive the airy form of his fair conductress 
 brought in a lifeless corse. He shut his eyes, 
 hoping that it was but a vision arising from his 
 disturbed imagination ; but he again saw the 
 same form, when he unclosed them, stretched 
 by his side. There was no colour upon her 
 cheek, not even upon her lip ; yet there was a 
 
 stillness about her face that seemed almost as 
 
 I 
 
 \ attaching as the life that once dwelt there : — 
 upon her neck and breast was blood, and upon 
 her throat were the marks of teeth havingopened 
 the vein :— to this the men pointed, crying, 
 simultaneously struck with horror, " A Vam- 
 pyre! aVampyre!" A litter was quickly formed, 
 and Aubrey was laid by the side of her who 
 had lately been to him the object of so many 
 bright and fairy visions, now fallen with the 
 
 1 flower of life that had died within her. He 
 knew not what his thoughts were— his mind 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 49 
 
 was benumbed and seemed to shun reflection, 
 and take refuge in vacancy — lie held almost 
 unconsciously in his hand a naked dagger of 
 a particular construction, which had been 
 found in the hut. They were soon met by 
 different parties who had been engaged in 
 the search of her whom a mother had missed. 
 Their lamentable cries, as they approached the 
 city, forewarned the parents of some dreadful 
 catastrophe. — To describe their grief would 
 be impossible ; but when they ascertained the 
 cause of their child's death, they looked at 
 Aubrey, and pointed to the corse. They were 
 inconsolable ; both died broken-hearted. 
 
 Aubrey being put to bed was seized with 
 a most violent fever, and was often delirious ; 
 in these intervals he would call upon Lord 
 Ruthven and upon lanthe— by some unac- 
 countable combination he seemed to beg of his 
 former companion to spare the being he loved. 
 At other times he would imprecate maledictions 
 upon his head, and curse him as her destroyer. 
 Lord Ruthven chanced at this time to arrive 
 at Athens, and, from whatever motive, upon 
 
 D 
 
50 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 hearing of the state of Aubrey, immediately 
 placed himself in the same house, and became 
 his constant attendant. When the latter 
 recovered from his delirium, he was horrified 
 and startled at the sight of him whose image 
 he had now combined with that of a Vampyre ; 
 but Lord Ruthven, by his kind words, implying 
 almost repentance for the fault that had caused 
 their separation, and still more by the attention, 
 anxiety, and care which he showed, soon 
 reconciled him to his presence. His lordship 
 seemed quite changed ; he no longer appeared 
 that apathetic being who had so astonished 
 Aubrey ; but as soon as his convalescence 
 began to be rapid, he again gradually retired 
 into the same state of mind, and Aubrey 
 perceived no difference from the former man, 
 except that at times he was surprised to meet 
 his gaze fixed intently upon him, with a smile 
 of malicious exultation playing upon his lips : 
 he knew not why, but this smile haunted him. 
 During the last stage of the invalid's recovery, 
 Lord Ruthven was apparently engaged in 
 watching the tideless waves raised by the 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 51 
 
 cooling breeze, or in marking the progress 
 of those orbs, circling, like our world, the 
 moveless sun ; — indeed, he appeared to wish 
 to avoid the eyes of all. 
 
 Aubrey's mind, by this shock, was much 
 weakened, and that elasticity of spirit which 
 had once so distinguished him now seemed to 
 have fled for ever. He was now as much a 
 lover of solitude and silence as Lord Ruthven ; 
 but much as he wished for solitude, his mind 
 could not find it in the neighbourhood of 
 Athens ; if he sought it amidst the ruins he 
 had formerly frequented, Ianthe's form stood 
 by his side — if he sought it in the woods, her 
 light step would appear wandering amidst the 
 underwood, in quest of the modest violet ; then 
 suddenly turning round, would show, to his 
 wild imagination, her pale face and wounded 
 throat, with a meek smile upon her lips. He 
 determined to fly scenes, every feature of which 
 created such bitter associations in his mind. 
 He proposed to Lord Ruthven, to whom he 
 held himself bound by the tender care he had 
 taken of him during his illness, that they should 
 d 2 
 
52 THE V AM PYRE. 
 
 visit those parts of Greece neither had yet 
 seen. They travelled in every direction, and 
 sought every spot to which a recollection could 
 be attached : but though they thus hastened 
 from place to place, yet they seemed not to 
 heed what they gazed upon. They heard much 
 of robbers, but they gradually began to slight 
 these reports, which they imagined were only 
 the invention of individuals, whose interest it 
 was to excite the generosity of those whom 
 they defended from pretended dangers. In 
 consequence of thus neglecting the advice of 
 the inhabitants, on one occasion they travelled 
 with only a few guards, more to serve as 
 guides than as a defence. Upon entering, 
 however, a narrow defile, at the bottom of 
 which was the bed of a torrent, with large 
 masses of rock brought down from the neigh- 
 bouring precipices, they had reason to repent 
 their negligence ; for scarcely were the whole 
 of the party engaged in the narrow pass, when 
 they were startled by the whistling of bullets 
 close to their heads, and by the echoed report 
 of several guns. In an instant their guards 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 53 
 
 had left them, and, placing themselves behind 
 rocks, had begun to fire in the direction whence 
 the report came. Lord Ruthven and Aubrey, 
 imitating their example, retired for a moment 
 behind the sheltering turn of the defile : but 
 ashamed of being thus detained by a foe, who 
 with insulting shouts bade them advance, and 
 being exposed to unresisting slaughter, if any 
 of the robbers should climb above and take 
 them in the rear, they determined at once to 
 rush forward in search of the enemy. Hardly 
 had they lost the shelter of the rock, when Lord 
 Ruthven received a shot in the shoulder, which 
 brought him to the ground. Aubrey hastened 
 to his assistance ; and, no longer heeding the 
 contest or his own peril, was soon surprised by 
 seeing; the robbers' faces around him — his 
 guards having, upon Lord Ruthven's being 
 wounded, immediately thrown up their arms 
 and surrendered. 
 
 By promises of great reward, Aubrey soon 
 induced them to convey his wounded friend 
 to a neighbouring cabin ; and having agreed 
 oipon a ransom, he was no more disturbed by 
 
54 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 their presence— they being content merely to 
 guard the entrance till their comrade should 
 return with the promised sum, for which he 
 had an order. Lord Ruthven's strength rapidly 
 decreased ; in two days mortification ensued, 
 and death seemed advancing with hasty steps. 
 His conduct and appearance had not changed ; 
 he seemed as unconscious of pain as he had 
 been of the objects about him : but towards 
 the close of the last evening, his mind became 
 apparently uneasy, and his eye often fixed upon 
 Aubrey, who was induced to offer his assistance 
 
 with more than usual earnestness " Assist 
 
 me ! you may save me— you may do more 
 than that— I mean not my life, I heed the 
 death of my existence as little as that of the' 
 passing day ; but you may save my honour, 
 your friend's honour."—" How 1 tell me how % 
 I would do any thing," replied Aubrey. — " I 
 need but little — my life ebbs apace — I cannot 
 explain the whole— but if you would conceal 
 all you know of me, my honour were free from 
 stain in the world's mouth — and if my death 
 were unknown for some time in England— I 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 55 
 
 I — but life." — " It shall not be known." — 
 
 " Swear !" cried the dying man, raising himself 
 with exultant violence, " Swear by all your 
 soul reveres, by all your nature fears, swear 
 that for a year and a day you will not impart 
 your knowledge of my crimes or death to any 
 living being in any way, whatever may happen, 
 or whatever you may see." — His eyes seemed 
 bursting from their sockets : " I swear !" 
 said Aubrey ; he sunk laughing upon his 
 pillow, and breathed no more. 
 q> Aubrey retired to rest, but did not sleep ; the 
 many circumstances attending his acquaint- 
 ance with this man rose upon his mind, and he 
 knew not why ; when he remembered his 
 oath a cold shivering came over him, as if 
 from the presentiment of something horrible 
 awaiting him. Rising early in the morning, 
 he was about to enter the hovel in which he 
 had left the corpse, when a robber met him, 
 and informed him that it was no longer there, 
 having been conveyed by himself and com- 
 rades, upon his retiring, to the pinnacle of a 
 neighbouring mount, according to a promise 
 
56 
 
 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 they had given his lordship, that it should be 
 exposed to the first cold ray of the moon that 
 rose after his death. Aubrey astonished, and 
 taking several of the men, determined to go 
 and bury it upon the spot where it lay. But, 
 when he had mounted to the summit he found 
 no trace of either the corpse or the clothes, 
 though the robbers swore they pointed out the 
 identical rock on which they had laid the 
 body. For a time his mind was bewildered in 
 conjectures, but he at last returned, convinced 
 that they had buried the corpse for the sake of 
 the clothes. 
 
 Weary of a country in which he had met 
 with such terrible misfortunes, and in which 
 all apparently conspired to heighten that 
 superstitious melancholy that had seized upon 
 his mind, he resolved to leave it, and soon 
 arrived at Smyrna. While waiting for a 
 vessel to convey him to Otranto, or to Naples, 
 he occupied himself in arranging those effects 
 he had with him belonging to Lord Ruthven. 
 Amongst other things there was a case con- 
 taining several weapons of offence, more ov 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 57 
 
 3ess adapted to ensure the death of the victim. 
 There were several daggers and ataghans. 
 Whilst turning them over, and examining 
 their curious forms, what was his surprise at 
 finding a sheath apparently ornamented in the 
 same style as the dagger discovered in the 
 fatal hut— he shuddered — hastening to gain 
 further proof, he found the weapon, and his 
 horror may be imagined when he discovered 
 that it fitted, though peculiarly shaped, the 
 sheath he held in his hand. His eyes seemed 
 to need no further certainty — they seemed 
 gazing to be bound to the dagger ; yet still 
 he wished to disbelieve ; but the particular 
 form, the same varying tints upon the haft and 
 sheath were alike in splendour on both, and left 
 no room for doubt ; there were also drops of 
 blood on each. 
 
 He left Smyrna, and on his way home, at 
 Rome, his first inquiries were concerning the 
 lady he had attempted to snatch from Lord 
 Ruthven's seductive arts. Her parents were 
 in distress, their fortune ruined, and she had 
 not been heard of since the departure of his 
 
58 THE VAMPYRE, 
 
 lordship. Aubrey's mind became almost 
 broken under so many repeated horrors ; he 
 was afraid that this lady had fallen a victim to 
 the destroyer of Ianthe. He became morose 
 and silent ; and his only occupation consisted 
 in urging the speed of the postilions, as if he 
 were going to save the life of some one he held 
 dear. He arrived at Calais ; a breeze, which 
 seemed obedient to his will, soon wafted him to 
 the English shores ; and he hastened to the 
 mansion of his fathers, and there, for a 
 moment, appeared to lose, in the embraces and 
 caresses of his sister, all memory of the past. 
 If she before, by her infantine caresses, had 
 gained his affection, now that the woman 
 began to appear, she was still more attaching 
 as a companion. 
 
 Miss Aubrey had not that winning grace 
 which gains the gaze and applause of the 
 drawing-room assemblies. There was none 
 of that light brilliancy which only exists in the 
 heated atmosphere of a crowded apartment. 
 
 fHer blue eye was never lit up by the levity of 
 the mind beneath. There was a melancholy 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 59 
 
 / charm about it which did not seem to arise from 
 4 misfortune, but from some feeling within, that / 
 - . } appeared to indicate a soul conscious of a ' 
 t brighter realm. Her step was not that light ■ 
 footing, which strays where'er a butterfly or a 
 colour may attract — it was sedate and pensive. 
 When alone, her face was never brightened 
 by the smile of joy ; but when her brother 
 breathed to her his affection, and would in her 
 presence forget those griefs she knew destroyed 
 his rest, who would have exchanged her smile 
 for that of the voluptuary % It seemed as if 
 those eyes, — that face were then playing in the 
 light of their own native sphere. She was yet 
 only eighteen, and had not been presented to 
 the world, it having been thought by her 
 guardians more fit that her presentation should 
 be delayed until her brother's return from the 
 continent, when he might be her protector. 
 It was now, therefore, resolved that the next 
 drawing-room, which was fast approaching^ 
 should be the epoch of her entry into the 
 "busy scene." Aubrey would rather have 
 remained in the mansion of his fathers, and 
 
60 THE VAMPYRE, 
 
 fed upon the melancholy which overpowered 
 him. He could not feel interest about the 
 frivolities of fashionable strangers, when his 
 mind had been so torn by the events he had 
 witnessed ; but he determined to sacrifice his 
 own comfort to the protection of his sister. 
 They soon arrived in town, and prepared for 
 the next day, which had been announced as a 
 drawing-room. -^$*g^^^ZJ&~s& 
 The crowd was excessive — a drawing-room 
 had not been held for a long time, and all who 
 were anxious to bask in the smile of royalty, 
 hastened thither. Aubrey was there with his 
 sister. While he was standing in a corner by 
 himself, heedless of all around him, engaged in 
 the remembrance that the first time he had 
 seen Lord Ruthven was in that very place — he 
 felt himself suddenly seized by the arm, and a 
 voice he recognized too well, sounded in his 
 ear — " Remember your oath.'/ He had hardly 
 courage^oTurnl^arfut^rr seeing a spectre 
 that would blast him, when he perceived, 
 at a little distance, the same figure which 
 had attracted his notice on this spot upon 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 61 
 
 his first entry into society. He gazed till 
 his limbs almost refusing to bear their weight, 
 he was obliged to take the arm of a friend, 
 and forcing a passage through the crowd, 
 he threw himself into his carriage, and was 
 driven home. He paced the room with 
 hurried steps, and fixed his hands upon his 
 head, as if he were afraid his thoughts were 
 bursting from his brain. Lord Ruthven 
 again before him — circumstances started up 
 in dreadful array— -the dagger — his oath. — 
 He roused himself, he could not believe it 
 possible— the dead rise again ! — He thought 
 his imagination had conjured up the image 
 his mind was resting upon. It was impos- 
 sible that it could be real— he determined, 
 therefore, to go again into society ; for though 
 he attempted to ask concerning Lord Ruthven, 
 the name hung upon his lips, and he could 
 not succeed in gaining information. He 
 went a few nights after with his sister to the 
 assembly of a near relation. Leaving her 
 under the protection of a matron, he retired 
 into a recess, and there gave himself up to his 
 
I n 
 
 62 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 own devouring thoughts. Perceiving, at last, 
 that many were leaving, he roused himself, and 
 entering another room, found his sister sur- 
 rounded by several, apparently in earnest 
 conversation ; he attempted to pass and get 
 near her, when one, whom he requested to 
 move, turned round, and revealed to him 
 those features he most abhorred. He sprang 
 forward, seized his sister's arm, and, with 
 hurried step, forced her towards the street : at 
 the door he found himself impeded by the crowd 
 of servants who were waiting; for their lords ; 
 and while he was engaged in passing them, he 
 again heard that voice whisper close to him — 
 " Remember ^our_oath !" — He did not dare 
 to turn, but, hurrying his sister, soon reached 
 home. 
 
 Aubrey became almost distracted. If be- 
 fore his mind had been absorbed by one sub- 
 ject, how much more completely was it en- 
 grossed, now that the certainty of the mon- 
 ster's living again pressed upon his thoughts. 
 His sister's attentions were now unheeded, 
 and it was in vain that she intreated him to 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 63 
 
 f 
 
 explain to her what had caused his abrupt 
 conduct. He only uttered a few words, and 
 those terrified her. The more he thought, the 
 more he was bewildered. His oath startled 
 him ; — was he then to allow this monster to 
 roam, bearing ruin upon his breath, amidst all 
 he held dear, and not avert its progress 1 His 
 very sister might have been touched by him. 
 But even if he were to break his oath, and 
 disclose his suspicions, who would believe 
 him % He thought of employing his own 
 hand to free the world from such a wretch ; 
 but death, he remembered, had been already 
 mocked. For days he remained in this state ; 
 shut up in his room,he saw no one, and eat only 
 when his sister came, who, with eyes streaming 
 with tears, besought him, for her sake, to sup- 
 port nature. At last, no longer capable of 
 bearing stillness and solitude, he left his house, 
 roamed from street to street, anxious to fly 
 that image which haunted him. His dress 
 became jieglected, and he wandered, as often 
 exposed to the noon-day sun as to the mid- 
 night damps. He was no longer to be 
 
64 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 recognized; at first he returned with the 
 evening to the house ; but at last he laid him 
 down to rest wherever fatigue overtook him. 
 His sister, anxious for his safety, employed 
 people to follow him ; but they were soon dis- 
 tanced by him who fled from a pursuer 
 swifter than any— from thought. His con- 
 duct, however, suddenly changed. Struck 
 with the idea that he left by his absence the 
 whole of his friends, with a fiend amongst 
 them, of whose presence they were uncon- 
 scious, he determined to enter again into 
 society, and watch him closely, anxious to 
 forewarn, in spite of his oath, all whom Lord 
 Ruthven approached with intimacy. But 
 when he entered into a room, his haggard 
 and suspicious looks were so striking, his 
 inward shudderings so visible, that his sister 
 was at last obliged to beg of him to abstain 
 from seeking, for her sake, a society which 
 affected him so strongly. When, however, 
 remonstrance proved unavailing, the guar- 
 dians thought proper to interpose, and, fearing 
 that his mind was becoming alienated, they 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 65 
 
 thought it high time to resume again that 
 trust which had been before imposed upon 
 them by Aubrey's parents. 
 
 Desirous of saving him from the injuries 
 and sufferings he had daily encountered in 
 his wanderings, and of preventing him from 
 exposing to the general eye those marks of 
 what they considered folly, they engaged a 
 physician to reside in the house, and take 
 constant care of him. He hardly appeared 
 to notice it, so completely was his mind ab- 
 sorbed by one terrible subject. His inco- 
 herence became at last so great, that he was 
 confined to his chamber. There he would 
 often lie for days, incapable of being roused. 
 He had become emaciated, his eyes had 
 attained a glassy lustre ; — the only sign of 
 affection and recollection remaining displayed 
 itself upon the entry of his sister ; then he 
 would sometimes start, and, seizing her hands, 
 with looks that severely afflicted her, he would 
 desire her not to touch him. " Oh, do not 
 touch him— if your love for me is aught, do 
 not go near him !" When, however, she 
 
 E 
 
 —4 ^r* 
 
66 
 
 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 inquired to whom he referred, his only answer 
 was, " True ! true ! and again he sank into 
 a state, whence not even she could rouse 
 him. This lasted many months : gradually, 
 however, as the year was passing, his inco- 
 herences became less frequent, and his mind 
 threw off a portion of its gloom, whilst his 
 guardians observed, that several times in the 
 day he would count upon his fingers a definite 
 number, and then smile. 
 
 The time had nearly elapsed, when, upon 
 the last day of the year, one of his guardians 
 entering his room, began to converse with his 
 physician upon the melancholy circumstance 
 *. of Aubrey's being in so awful a situation, 
 * when his sister was going next day to be 
 married. Instantly Aubrey's attention was 
 attracted ; he asked anxiously to whom. Glad 
 of this mark of returning intellect, of which 
 they feared he had been deprived, they 
 mentioned the name of the Earl of Marsden. 
 Thinking this was a young Earl whom he 
 had met with in society, Aubrey seemed 
 pleased, and astonished them still more by 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 67 
 
 his expressing his intention to be present at 
 
 the nuptials, and desiring to see his sister. 
 
 They answered not, but in a few minutes his 
 sister was with him. He was apparently 
 
 again capable of being affected by the influence 
 of her lovely smile ; for he pressed her to 
 his breast, and kissed her cheek, wet with 
 tears, flowing at the thought of her brother's 
 being once more alive to the feelings of 
 affection. He began to speak with all his 
 wonted warmth, and to congratulate her 
 upon her marriage with a person so distin- 
 guished for rank and every accomplishment ; 
 when he suddenly perceived a locket upon 
 her breast ; opening it, what was his surprise 
 at beholding the features of the monster who 
 had so long influenced his life. He seized 
 the portrait in a paroxysm of rage, and 
 trampled it under foot. Upon her asking 
 him why he thus destroyed the resemblance 
 of her future husband, he looked as if he did 
 not understand her— then seizing her hands, 
 and gazing on her with a frantic expression of 
 countenance, he bade her swear that she would 
 e2 
 
 I i J 
 
58 THE V AM PYRE. 
 
 never wed this monster, for he But he could 
 
 not advance — it seemed as if that voice again 
 bade him remember his oath — he turned sud- 
 denly round, thinking Lord Ruthven was 
 near him but saw no one. In the meantime 
 the guardians and physician, who had heard 
 the whole, and thought this was but a return of 
 his disorder, entered, and forcing him from 
 Miss Aubrey, desired her to leave him. He 
 fell upon his knees to them, he implored, he 
 begged of them to delay but for one day. 
 They, attributing this to the insanity they 
 imagined had taken possession of his mind, 
 endeavoured to pacify him, and retired. 
 
 Lord Ruthven had called the morning; after 
 the drawing-room, and had been refused with 
 every one else. When he heard of Aubrey's 
 ill health, he readily understood himself to J)e 
 the cause of it ; but when he learned that he 
 was deemed insane, his exultation and plea- 
 sure could hardly be concealed from those 
 among whom he had gained this information. 
 He hastened to the bouse of his former com- 
 panion, and, by constant attendance, and the 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 69 
 
 pretence of great affection for the brother and 
 interest in his fate, he gradually won the ear 
 of Miss Aubrey. Who could resist his 
 power 1 His tongue had dangers and toils 
 to recount — could speak of himself as of an 
 individual having no sympathy with any 
 being on the crowded earth, save with her to 
 whom he addressed himself ; — could tell how, 
 since he knew her, his existence had begun 
 to seem worthy of preservation, if it were 
 merely that he might listen to her soothing 
 accents ; — in fine, he knew so well how to 
 use the serpent's art, or such was the will of 
 fate, that he gained her affections. The title 
 of the elder branch falling at length to him, he 
 obtained an important embassy, which served 
 as an excuse for hastening the marriage, (in 
 spite of her brother's deranged state,) which 
 was to take place the very day before his de- 
 parture for the continent. 
 
 Aubrey, when he was left by the physician 
 and his guardians, attempted to bribe the ser- 
 vants, but in vain. He asked for pen and 
 paper ; it was given him ; he wrote a letter 
 
70 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 to his sister, conjuring her, as she valued her 
 own happiness, her own honour, and the 
 honour of those now in the grave, who once 
 held her in their arms as their hope and the 
 hope of their house, to delay but for a few 
 hours that marriage, on which he denounced 
 the most heavy curses. The servants pro- 
 mised they would deliver it ; but giving it to 
 the physician, he thought it better not to 
 harass any more the mind of Miss Aubrey 
 by, what he considered, the ravings of a 
 maniac. Night passed on without rest to the 
 busy inmates of the house ; and Aubrey heard, 
 with a horror that may more easily be con- 
 ceived than described, the notes of busy 
 preparation. Morning came, and the sound 
 of carriages broke upon his ear. Aubrey 
 grew almost frantic. The curiosity of the 
 servants at last overcame their vigilance, they 
 gradually stole away, leaving him in the cus- 
 tody of an helpless old woman. He seized 
 the opportunity, with one bound was out of 
 the room, and in a moment found himself in 
 the apartment where all were nearly assembled. 
 
THE VAMPYRE. 71 
 
 Lord Ruthven was the first to perceive him : 
 he immediately approached, and, taking his 
 arm by force, hurried him from the room, 
 speechless with rage. When on the staircase, 
 Lord Ruthven whispered in his ear — " Re- 
 member your oath, and know, if not my bride 
 to day, your sister is dishonoured. Women ~*f a 
 are frail !'$* So saying, he pushed him towards —JT 
 his attendants, who, roused by the old woman, -— «•• ' 
 
 had come in search of him. Aubrey could 
 no longer support himself; his rage not 
 finding vent, had broken a blood-vessel, and 
 he was conveyed to bed. This was not 
 mentioned to his sister, who was not present 
 when he entered, as the physician was afraid 
 of agitating her. The marriage was solemn- 
 ized, and the bride and bridegroom left 
 London. 
 
 Aubrey's weakness increased ; the effusion 
 of blood produced symptoms of the near ap- 
 proach of death. He desired his sister's 
 guardians might be called, and when the 
 midnight hour had struck, he related com- 
 
72 THE VAMPYRE. 
 
 posedly what the reader has perused — he 
 died immediately after. 
 
 The guardians hastened to protect Miss 
 Aubrey ; but when they arrived, it was too 
 late. Lord Ruthven had disappeared, and 
 Aubrey's sister had glutted the thirst of a 
 Vampyre ! 
 
EXTRACT OF A LETTER, 
 
 CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT 
 
 OP 
 
 LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE 
 
 IN THE 
 
 ISLAND OF MITYLENE. 
 
\ 
 
 ACCOUNT 
 
 OF 
 
 LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE, 
 
 Sfc. 
 
 " The world was all before him, where to choose his place of 
 rest, and Providence his guide." 
 
 IN sailing through the Grecian Archipelago, 
 on board one of his Majesty's vessels, in the 
 year 1812, we put into the harbour of Mitylene, 
 in the island of that name. The beauty of 
 this place, and the certain supply of cattle and 
 vegetables always to be had there, induce 
 many British vessels to visit it — both men of 
 war and merchantmen ; and though it lies 
 rather out of the track for ships bound to 
 Smyrna, its bounties amply repay for the 
 deviation of a voyage. We landed, as usual, 
 at the bottom of the bay, and whilst the men 
 were employed in watering, and the purser 
 bargaining for cattle with the natives, the 
 clergyman and myself took a ramble to the 
 
76 lord byron's residence in 
 
 cave called Homer's School, and other places ; 
 where we had been before. On the brow of 
 Mount Ma (a small monticule so named) we 
 met with and engaged a young Greek as our 
 guide, who told us he had come from Scio 
 with an English lord, who left the island four 
 days previous to our arrival in his felucca. 
 " He engaged me as a pilot," said the Greek,. 
 " and would have taken me with him ; but I 
 did not choose to quit Mitylene, where I am 
 likely to get married. He was an odd, but a 
 very good man. The cottage over the hill, 
 facing the river, belongs to him, and he has 
 left an old man in charge of it : he gave 
 Dominick, the wine-trader, six hundred ze- 
 chines for it, (about 250/. English currency,) 
 and has resided there about fourteen months, 
 though not constantly ; for he sails in his 
 felucca very often to the different islands." 
 
 This account excited our curiosity very 
 much, and we lost no time in hastening to 
 the house where our countryman had resided. 
 We were kindly received by an old man, 
 who conducted us over the mansion. It 
 
THE ISLAND OF MITYLENE. 77 
 
 consisted of four apartments on the ground- 
 floor — an entrance hall, a drawing-room, a 
 sitting parlour, and a bed-room, with a 
 spacious closet annexed. They were all 
 simply decorated : plain green-stained walls, 
 marble tables on either side, a large myrtle in 
 the centre, and a small fountain beneath, 
 which could be made to play through the 
 branches by moving a spring fixed in the side 
 of a small bronze Venus in a leaning posture ; 
 a large couch or sofa completed the furniture. 
 In the hall stood half a dozen English cane 
 chairs, and an empty book-case : there were 
 no mirrors, nor a single painting. The bed- 
 chamber had merely a large mattress spread 
 on the floor, with two stuffed cotton quilts 
 and a pillow — the common bed throughout 
 Greece. In the sitting-room we observed a 
 marble recess, formerly, the old man told us, 
 filled with books and papers, which were 
 then in a large seaman's chest in the closet : 
 it was open, but we did not think ourselves 
 justified in examining the contents. On the 
 tablet of the recess lay Voltaire's, Shakspeare's, 
 
78 lord byron's residence in 
 
 Boileau's, and Rousseau's works complete ; 
 Volney's Ruins of Empires ; Zimmerman, in 
 the German language ; Klopstock's Messiah ; 
 Kotzebue's novels ; Schiller's play of the Rob- 
 bers; Milton's Paradise Lost, an Italian 
 edition, printed at Parma in 1810 ; several 
 small pamphlets from the Greek press at 
 Constantinople, much torn, but no English 
 book of any description. Most of these books 
 were filled with marginal notes, written with 
 a pencil, in Italian and Latin. The Messiah 
 was literally scribbled all over, and marked 
 with slips of paper, on which also were 
 remarks. 
 
 The old man said : " The lord had been 
 reading these books the evening before he 
 sailed, and forgot to place them with the 
 others; but," said he, "there they must lie 
 until his return ; for he is so particular, that 
 were I to move one thing without orders, he 
 would frown upon me for a week together; 
 he is otherways very good. I once did him 
 a service ; and I have the produce of this farm 
 for the trouble of taking care of it, except 
 
THE ISLAND OP MITYLENE. 79 
 
 twenty zechines which I pay to an aged Ar- 
 menian who resides in a small cottage in the 
 wood, and whom the lord brought here from 
 Adrianople ; I don't know for what reason." 
 
 The appearance of the house externally was 
 pleasing. The portico in front was fifty 
 paces long and fourteen broad, and the fluted 
 marble pillars with black plinths and fret- work 
 cornices, (as it is now customary in Grecian 
 architecture,) were considerably higher than 
 the roof. The roof, surrounded by a light 
 stone balustrade, was covered by a fine 
 Turkey carpet, beneath an awning of strong 
 coarse linen. Most of the house-tops are thus 
 furnished, as upon them the Greeks pass 
 their evenings in smoking, drinking light 
 wines, such as fj lachryma christi," eating 
 fruit, and enjoying the evening breeze. 
 
 On the left hand as we entered the house, 
 a small streamlet glided away, grapes, oranges 
 and limes were clustering together on its 
 borders, and under the shade of two large 
 myrtle bushes, a marble seat with an orna- 
 mental wooden back was placed, on which 
 
80 lord byron's residence in 
 
 we were told, the lord passed many of his 
 evenings and nights till twelve o'clock, read- 
 ing, writing, and talking to himself. " I 
 suppose," said the old man, "praying" for he 
 was very devout, and always attended our 
 church twice a week, besides Sundays." 
 
 The view from this seat was what may be 
 termed " a bird's-eye view." A line of rich 
 vineyards led the eye to Mount Calcla, covered 
 with olive and myrtle trees in bloom, and on 
 the summit of which an ancient Greek temple 
 appeared in majestic decay. A small stream 
 issuing from the ruins descended in broken 
 cascades, until it was lost in the woods near 
 the mountain's base. The sea smooth as 
 glass, and an horizon unshadowed by a 
 single cloud, terminates the view in front ; 
 and a little on the left, through a vista of 
 lofty chesnut and palm-trees, several small 
 islands were distinctly observed, studding the 
 light blue wave with spots of emerald green. 
 I seldom enjoyed a view more than I did 
 this ; but our enquiries were fruitless as to 
 the name of the person who had resided in 
 
# 
 
 THE ISLAND OF MITYLENE. 81 
 
 this romantic solitude : none knew his name 
 but Dominick, his banker, who had gone to 
 Candia. " The Armenian/' said our con- 
 ductor, " could tell, but I am sure he will 
 not." — " And cannot you tell, old friend?" 
 said I — " If I can," said he, " I dare not." 
 We had not time to visit the Armenian, but 
 on our return to the town we learnt several 
 particulars of the isolated lord. He had 
 portioned eight young girls when he was last 
 upon the island, and even danced with them 
 at the nuptial feast. He gave a cow to one 
 man, horses to others, and cotton and silk to 
 the girls who live by weaving these articles. 
 He also bought a new boat for a fisherman 
 who had lost his own in a gale, and he often 
 gave Greek Testaments to the poor children. 
 In short, he appeared to us, from all we 
 collected, to have been a very eccentric and 
 benevolent character. One circumstance we 
 learnt, which our old friend at the cottage 
 thought proper not to disclose. He had a most 
 beautiful daughter, with whom the lord was 
 often seen walking on the sea-shore, and he 
 
 F 
 
82 lord byron's residence in 
 
 had bought her a piano-forte, and taught her 
 himself the use of it. 
 
 Such was the information with whieh we 
 departed from the peaceful isle of Mitylene ; 
 our imaginations all on the rack, guessing who 
 this rambler in Greece could be. He had 
 money it was evident : he had philanthropy of 
 disposition, and all those eccentricities which 
 mark peculiar genius. Arrived at Palermo, 
 all our doubts were dispelled. Falling in 
 company with Mr. Foster, the architect, a 
 pupil of Wyatt's, who had been travelling in 
 Egypt and Greece, " The individual," said he, 
 " about whom you are so anxious, is Lord 
 Byron ; I met him in my travels on the island 
 of Tenedos, and I also visited him at Mitylene." 
 We had never then heard of his lordship's 
 fame, as we had been some years from home ; 
 but "Childe Harolde" being put into our hands 
 we recognized the recluse of Calclain every 
 page. Deeply did we regret not having been 
 more curious in our researches at the cottage, 
 but we consoled ourselves with the idea of 
 returning to Mitylene on some future day; 
 
THE ISLAND OF MITYLENE. 83 
 
 but to me that day will never return. I make 
 this statement, believing it not quite unin- 
 teresting, and in justice to his lordship's good 
 name, which has been grossly slandered. He 
 has been described as of an unfeeling dis- 
 position, averse to associating with human 
 nature, or contributing in any way to sooth its 
 sorrows, or add to its pleasures. The fact is 
 directly the reverse, as may be plainly gathered 
 from these little anecdotes. All the finery 
 | feelings of the heart, sojjlegantly depicted in 
 his lordship's poems, seem to have their seat^r 7 *-??^^^ 
 in his bosom. Tenderness, sympathy, and " 
 charity appear to guide all his actions : and 
 his courting the repose of solitude is an 
 additional reason for marking him as a being 
 
 Ion whose heart Religion hath set her seal, and 
 over whose head Benevolence hath thrown her 
 mantle. No man can read the preceding 
 pleasing " traits" without feeling proud of him 
 as a countryman. With respect to his loves 
 or pleasures, I do not assume a right to give 
 an opinion. Reports are ever to be received — 
 with caution, particularly when directed 
 
84 
 
 LORD BYRON 8 RESIDENCE. 
 
 r>\> 5 against man's moral integrity ; and be who 
 
 it ¥ ?*'*%) dares justify himself before that awful tribunal 
 
 if 
 
 surest testimony of a virtuous heart and self- 
 
 where all must appear, alone may censure the 
 errors of a fellow-mortaL Lord Byron's 
 character is worthy of his genius. To do good 
 in secret, and shun the world's applause, is the 
 
 approving conscience. 
 
 //£~*-^ 2~„ 
 
 Jl^tX . 
 
 
 '—The end. s y^ 
 
 
 Giltet, Printer, Growu-court, Fleet street. 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY C. H. REYNELL, BROAD-STREET, GOLDEN-SQUARE. 
 
-0~^£* 
 
 J~~+ — ^- 
 
 -*-C^„ 
 
 sxes. 
 
 'THE ISLAND 
 
 OR 
 
 CHRISTIAN AND HIS COMRADES. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 RIGHT HON. LORD BYRON. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON, 1823: 
 PRINTED FOR JOHN HUNT, 
 
 22, OLD BOND STREET. 
 
V:V 
 
 
The foundation of the following Story will be found partly 
 in the account of the Mutiny of the Bounty in the South 
 Seas (in 1789) and partly in " Mariner's Account of the Tonga 
 Islands." 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 I. 
 
 The morning watch was come ; the vessel lay 
 
 Her course, and gently made her liquid way ; 
 
 The cloven billow flashed from off her prow 
 
 In furrows formed by that majestic plough ; 
 
 The waters with their world were all before ; 
 
 Behind, the South Sea's many an islet shore. 
 
 The quiet night, now dappling, 'gan to wane, 
 
 Dividing darkness from the dawning main ; 
 
 The dolphins, not unconscious of the day, 
 
 Swam high, as eager of the coming ray j 10 
 
 The stars from broader beams began to creep, 
 
 And lift their shining eyelids from the deep ; 
 
 The sail resumed its lately shadowed white, 
 
 And the wind fluttered with a freshening flight ; 
 
8 THE ISLAND. 
 
 The purpling ocean owns the coming sun, 
 But ere be break — a deed is to be done. 
 
 II. 
 
 The gallant Chief within his cabin slept, 
 
 Secure in those by whom the watch was kept : 
 
 His dreams were of Old England's welcome shore, 
 
 Of toils rewarded, and of dangers o'er ; 20 
 
 His name was added to the glorious roll 
 
 Of those who search the storm-surrounded Pole. 
 
 The worst was over, and the rest seemed sure, 
 
 And why should not his slumber be secure ? 
 
 Alas ! his deck was trod by unwilling feet, 
 
 And wilder hands would hold the vessel's sheet j 
 
 Young hearts, which languished for some sunny isle, 
 
 Where summer years and summer women smile ; 
 
 Men without country, who, too long estranged, 
 
 Had found no native home, or found it changed, 30 
 
 And, half uncivilized, preferred the cave 
 
 Of some soft savage to the uncertain wave — 
 
 The gushing fruits that Nature gave untilled ; 
 
 The wood without a path but where they willed ; 
 
 The field o'er which promiscuous plenty poured 
 
 Her horn ; the equal land without a lord ; 
 
THE ISLAND. 9 
 
 The wish, — which ages have not yet subdued 
 
 In man — to have no master save his mood ; 
 
 The Earth, whose mine was on its face, unsold 
 
 The glowing sun and produce all its gold ; 40 
 
 The freedom which can call each grot a home ; 
 
 The general garden, where all steps may roam, 
 
 Where Nature owns a nation as her child, 
 
 Exulting in the enjoyment of the wild ; 
 
 Their shells, their fruits, the only wealth they know ; 
 
 Their unexploring navy, the canoe ; 
 / Their sport, the dashing breakers and the chase ; 
 I Their strangest sight, an European face: — 
 
 Such was the country which these strangers yearned 
 
 To see again, a sight they dearly earned. 50 
 
 III. 
 
 Awake, bold Bligh ! the foe is at the gate ! 
 
 Awake ! awake ! Alas ! it is too late ! 
 
 Fiercely beside thy cot the mutineer 
 Stands, and proclaims the reign of rage and fear. 
 Thy limbs are bound, the bayonet at thy breast, 
 The hands, which trembled at thy voice, arrest ; 
 Dragged o'er the deck, no more at thy command 
 The obedient helm shall veer, the sail expand ; 
 
10 THE ISLAND. 
 
 That savage spirit, which would lull by wrath 
 
 Its desperate escape from duty's path, 60 
 
 Glares round thee, in the scarce believing eyes 
 
 Of those who fear the Chief they sacrifice ; 
 
 For ne'er can man his conscience all assuage, 
 
 Unless he drain the wine of passion, rage. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In vain, not silenced by the eye of death, 
 
 Thou call' st the loyal with thy menaced breath : — 
 
 They come not j they are few, and, overawed, 
 
 Must acquiesce while sterner hearts applaud. 
 
 In vain thou dost demand the cause ; a curse 
 
 Is all the answer, with the threat of worse. 70 
 
 Full in thine eyes is waved the glittering blade, 
 
 Close to thy throat the pointed bayonet laid, 
 
 The levelled muskets circle round thy breast 
 
 In hands as steeled to do the deadly rest. 
 
 Thou dar'st them to their worst, exclaiming, " Fire !" 
 
 But they who pitied not could yet admire ; 
 
 Some lurking remnant of their former awe 
 
 Restrained them longer than their broken law ; 
 
 They would not dip their souls at once in blood, 
 
 But left thee to the mercies of the flood. 80 
 
THE ISLAND. 11 
 
 V. 
 
 " Hoist out the boat !" was now the leader's cry ; 
 And who dare answer " No" to Mutiny, 
 In the first dawning of the drunken hour, 
 The Saturnalia of unhoped-for power ? 
 The boat is lower'd with all the haste of hate, 
 | With its slight plank between thee and thy fate ; 
 Her only cargo such a scant supply 
 As promises the death their hands deny ; 
 And just enough of water and of bread 
 To keep, some days, the dying from the dead : / 90 
 
 Some cordage, canvas, sails, and lines, and twine, 
 But treasures all to Hermits of the brine, 
 Were added after, to the earnest prayer 
 Of those who saw no hope save sea and air ; 
 And last, that trembling vassal of the Pole, \ 
 The feeling compass, Navigation's Soul. f 
 
 VI. 
 
 And now the self-elected Chief finds time 
 
 To stun the first sensation of his crime, 
 
 And raise it in his followers — " Ho ! the bowl !" 
 
 Lest passion should return to reason's shoal. 100 
 
12 THE ISLAND. 
 
 " Brandy for heroes !" Burke could once exclaim — 
 
 No doubt a liquid path to epic fame ; 
 
 And such the new-born heroes found it here, 
 
 And drained the draught with an applauding cheer. 
 
 " Huzza ! for Otaheite !" was the cry ; 
 
 How strange such shouts from sons of Mutiny ! 
 
 The gentle island, and the genial soil, 
 
 The friendly hearts, the feasts without a toil, 
 
 The courteous manners but from nature caught, 
 
 The wealth unhoarded, and the love unbought ; 110 
 
 Could these have charms for rudest sea-boys, driven 
 
 Before the mast by every wind of Heaven ? 
 
 And now, even now prepared with other's woes 
 
 To earn mild Virtue's vain desire, repose ? 
 
 Alas ! such is our nature ! all but aim 
 
 At the same end by pathways not the same ; 
 
 Our means, our birth, our nation, and our name, 
 
 Our fortune, temper, even our outward frame, 
 
 Are far more potent o'er our yielding clay 
 
 Than aught we know beyond our little day. 120 
 
 4 Yet still there whispers the small voice within, 
 
 Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din : 
 
 Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, 
 V Man's conscience is the oracle of God ! 
 
THE ISLAND. 13 
 
 VII. 
 
 The launch is crowded with the faithful few 
 
 Who wait their Chief, a melancholy crew : 
 
 But some remained reluctant on the deck 
 
 Of that proud vessel — now a moral wreck — 
 
 And viewed their Captain's fate with piteous eyes ; 
 
 While others scoffed his augured miseries, 130 
 
 Sneered at the prospect of his pigmy sail, 
 
 And the slight bark so laden and so frail. 
 
 The tender Nautilus who steers his prow, 
 
 The sea-born sailor of his shell canoe, 
 
 The ocean Mab, the fairy of the sea, 
 
 Seems far less fragile, and alas ! more free ! 
 
 He, when the lightning-winged Tornados sweep 
 
 The surge, is safe — his port is in the deep — 
 
 And triumphs o'er the Armadas of mankind^ 
 
 Which shake the world, yet crumble in the wind. 140 
 
 VIII. 
 
 When all was now prepared, the vessel clear 
 Which hailed her master in the mutineer — 
 A seaman, less obdurate than his mates, 
 Shewed the vain pity which but irritates ; 
 
14 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Watched his late Chieftain with exploring eye, 
 
 * And told, in signs, repentant sympathy ; 
 Held the moist shaddock to his parched mouth, 
 Which felt exhaustion's deep and bitter drouth. 
 But soon observed,. this guardian was withdrawn, 
 Nor further Mercy clouds rebellion's dawn. 150 
 
 Then forward stepped the bold and fro ward boy 
 His Chief had cherished only to destroy, 
 And pointing to the helpless prow beneath, 
 Exclaimed, " Depart at once ! delay is death !" 
 Yet then, even then, his feelings ceased not all : 
 In that last moment could a word recall 
 Remorse for the black deed as yet half done, 
 And what he hid from many shewed to one : 
 When Bligh in stern reproach demanded where 
 Was now his grateful sense of former care ? ] 60 
 
 Where all his hopes to see his name aspire 
 And blazon Britain's thousand glories higher ? 
 His feverish lips thus broke their gloomy spell, 
 " 'Tis that ! 'tis that ! I am in Hell ! in Hell !" 
 No more he said; but urging to the bark 
 His Chief, commits him to his fragile ark : 
 These the sole accents from his tongue that fell, 
 
 ~ But volumes lurked below his fierce farewell. 
 
THE ISLAND. 15 
 
 IX. 
 
 The arctic sun rose broad above the wave ; 
 
 The breeze now sunk, now whispered from his cave ; ] 70 
 
 As on the iEolian harp, his fitful wings 
 
 Now swelled, now fluttered o'er his ocean strings. 
 
 With slow, despairing oar the abandoned skiff 
 
 Ploughs its drear progress to the scarce-seen cliff, 
 
 Which lifts its peak a cloud above the main : 
 
 That boat and ship shall never meet again ! 
 
 But 'tis not mine to tell their tale of grief, 
 
 Their constant peril and their scant relief; 
 
 Their days of danger, and their nights of pain ; 
 
 Their manly courage even when deemed in vain ; 180 
 
 The sapping famine, rendering scarce a son 
 
 Known to his mother in the skeleton ; 
 
 The ills that lessened still their little store, 
 
 And starved even Hunger till he wrung no more ; 
 
 The varying frowns and favours of the deep, 
 
 That now almost engulphs, then leaves to creep 
 
 With crazy oar and shattered strength along 
 
 The tide that yields reluctant to the strong ; 
 
 The incessant fever of that arid thirst 
 
 Which welcomes, as a well, the clouds that burst 190 
 
m THE ISLAND. 
 
 Above their naked bones, and feels delight 
 
 In the cold drenching of the stormy night, 
 
 And from the outspread canvas gladly wrings 
 
 A drop to moisten Life's all gasping springs ; 
 
 The savage foe escaped, to seek again 
 
 More hospitable shelter from the main ; 
 
 The ghastly spectres which were doomed at last 
 
 To tell as true a tale of dangers past, 
 
 As ever the dark annals of the deep 
 
 Disclosed for man to dread or woman weep. 200 
 
 X. 
 
 We leave them to their fate, but not unknown 
 
 Nor unredrest ! Revenge may have her own : 
 
 Roused discipline aloud proclaims their cause, 
 
 And injured navies urge their broken laws. 
 
 Pursue we on his track the mutineer, 
 
 Whom distant vengeance had not taught to fear. 
 
 Wide o'er the wave — away ! away ! away ! 
 
 Once more his eyes shall hail the welcome bay ; 
 
 Once more the happy shores without a law 
 
 Receive the outlaws whom they lately saw; 210 
 
 Nature, and Nature's Goddess — Woman — woos 
 
 To lands where, save their conscience, none accuse; 
 
THE ISLAND. 17 
 
 Where all partake the earth without dispute, 
 
 And bread itself is gathered as a fruit ; * 
 
 Where none contest the fields, the woods, the streams : — 
 
 The Goldless Age, where Gold disturbs no dreams, 
 
 Inhabits or inhabited the shore, 
 
 Till Europe taught them better than before, 
 
 Bestowed her customs, and amended theirs, 
 
 But left her vices also to their heirs. 220 
 
 Away with this ! behold them as they were, 
 
 Do good with Nature, or with Nature err. 
 
 " Huzza! for Otaheite!" was the cry, 
 
 As stately swept the gallant vessel by. 
 
 The breeze springs up ; the lately flapping sail 
 
 Extends its arch before the growing gale ; 
 
 In swifter ripples stream aside the seas, 
 
 Which her bold bow flings off with dashing ease. 
 
 Thus Argo ploughed the Euxine's virgin foam ; 
 
 But those she wafted still looked back to home — I 230 
 
 These spurn their country with their rebel bark, 
 
 And fly her as the raven fled the ark ; 
 
 And yet they seek to nestle with the dove, 
 
 And tame their fiery spirits down to lpve. 234 
 
 * The now celebrated bread fruit, to transplant which Captain Bligh's 
 expedition was undertaken. 
 
 END OF CANTO FIEST. 
 
THE ISLAND. 19 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 I. 
 
 How pleasant were the songs of Toobonai,* 
 
 When summer's sun went down the coral bay ! 
 
 Come, let us to the islet's softest shade, 
 
 And hear the warbling birds ! the damsels said : 
 
 The wood-dove from the forest depth shall coo, 
 
 Like voices of the gods from Bolotoo j 
 
 We'll cull the flowers that grow above the dead, 
 
 For these most bloom where rests the warrior's head $ 
 
 And we will sit in twilight's face, and see 
 
 The sweet moon glancing through the tooa tree, 10 
 
 The lofty accents of whose sighing bough 
 
 Shall sadly please us as we lean below ; 
 
 Or climb the steep, and view the surf in vain 
 
 Wrestle with rocky giants o'er the main, 
 
 * The first three sections are taken from an actual song of the Tonga 
 Islanders, of which a prose translation is given in Mariner's Account of the 
 Tonga Islands. Toobonai is not however one of them ; but was one of those 
 where Christian and the mutineers took refuge. I have altered and added, 
 but have retained as much as possible of the original. 
 
20 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Which spurn in columns back the baffled spray. 
 
 How beautiful are these ! how happy they, 
 
 Who, from the toil and tumult of their lives, 
 
 Steal to look down where nought but Ocean strives ! 
 
 Even he too loves at times the blue lagoon, 
 
 And smooths his ruffled mane beneath the moon. 20 
 
 II. 
 
 Yes — from the sepulchre we'll gather flowers, 
 
 Then feast like spirits in their promised bowers, 
 
 Then plunge and revel in the rolling surf, 
 
 Then lay our limbs along the tender turf, 
 
 And, wet and shining from the sportive toil, 
 
 Anoint our bodies with the fragrant oil, 
 
 And plait our garlands gathered from the grave, 
 
 And wear the wreaths that sprung from out the brave. 
 
 But lo ! night comes, the Mooa wooes us back, 
 
 The sound of mats are heard along our track; 30 
 
 Anon the torchlight dance shall fling its sheen 
 
 In flashing mazes o'er the Marly's green ; 
 
 And we too will be there ; we too recal 
 
 The memory bright with many a festival, 
 
 Ere Fiji blew the shell of war, when foes 
 
 For the first time were wafted in canoes. 
 
THE ISLAND. 21 
 
 Alas ! for them the flower of mankind bleeds ; 
 
 Alas ! for them our fields are rank with weeds : 
 
 Forgotten is the rapture, or unknown, 
 
 Of wandering with the moon and love alone. 40 
 
 But be it so : — they taught us how to wield 
 
 The club, and rain our arrows o'er the field ; 
 
 Now let them reap the harvest of their art ! 
 
 But feast to-night ! to-morrow we depart. 
 
 Strike up the dance, the cava bowl fill high, 
 
 Drain every drop ! — to-morrow we may die. 
 
 In summer garments be our limbs arrayed ; 
 
 Around our waists the Tappa's white display'd ; 
 
 Thick wreaths shall form our Coronal, like Spring's, 
 
 And round our necks shall glance the Hooni strings ; 50 
 
 So shall their brighter hues contrast the glow 
 
 Of the dusk bosoms that beat high below. 
 
 III. 
 
 But now the dance is o'er — yet stay awhile ; 
 Ah, pause ! nor yet put out the social smile. 
 To-morrow for the Mooa we depart, 
 But not to-night — to-night is for the heart. 
 Again bestow the wreaths we gently woo, 
 Ye young enchantresses of gay Licoo! 
 
22 THE ISLAND. 
 
 How lovely are your forms ! how every sense 
 
 Bows to your beauties, softened, but intense, 60 
 
 Like to the flowers on Mataloco's steep, 
 
 Which fling their fragrance far athwart the deep : 
 
 We too will see Licoo ; but — oh ! my heart — 
 
 What do I say? to-morrow we depart. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thus rose a song — the harmony of times 
 
 Before the winds blew Europe o'er these climes. 
 
 True, they had vices — such are Nature's growth — 
 
 But only the Barbarian's — we have both : 
 
 The sordor of civilization, mixed 
 
 With all the savage which man's fall hath fixed. 70 
 
 Who hath not seen Dissimulation's reign, 
 
 The prayers of Abel linked to deeds of Cain ? 
 
 Who such would see, may from his lattice view 
 
 The Old World more degraded than the New, — 
 
 Now new no more, save where Columbia rears 
 
 Twin giants, born by Freedom to her spheres, 
 
 Where Chimborazo, over air, earth, wave, 
 
 Glares with his Titan eye, and sees no slave. 
 
THE ISLAND. 23 
 
 V. 
 
 Such was this ditty of Tradition's days, 
 Which to the dead a lingering fame conveys 80 
 
 In song, where Fame as yet hath left no sign 
 Beyond the sound, whose charm is half divine; 
 Which leaves no record to the sceptic eye, 
 But yields young History all to harmony ; 
 A boy Achilles, with the Centaur's lyre 
 In hand, to teach him to surpass his sire. 
 , y For one long-cherished ballad's simple stave, 
 *• Rung from the rock, or mingled with the wave, 
 . Or from the bubbling streamlet's grassy side, 
 • Or gathering mountain echoes as they glide, 90 
 
 i Hath greater power o'er each true heart and ear, 
 Than all the columns Conquest's minions rearj 
 Invites, when Hieroglyphics are a theme 
 For sages' labours or the student's dream ; 
 Attracts, when History's volumes are a toil,— 
 The first, the freshest bud of Feeling's soil, f 
 Such was this rude rhyme— rhyme is of the rude — 
 But such inspired the Norseman's solitude, 
 Who came and conquer'd ; such, wherever rise 
 Lands which no foes destroy or civilize, 100 
 
24 THE ISLAND, 
 
 Exist : and what can our accomplished art 
 
 Of verse do more than reach the awakened heart ? 
 
 vr 
 
 , And sweetly now those untaught melodies 
 Broke the luxurious silenee of the skies, 
 The sweet siesta of a summer day, 
 The tropic afternoon of Toobonai, 
 When every flower was bloom, and air was balm, 
 And the first breath began to stir the palm, 
 The first yet voiceless wind to urge the wave 
 All gently to refresh the thirsty cave, 110 
 
 Where sat the songstress with the stranger boy, 
 Who taught her passion's desolating joy, 
 Too powerful over every heart, but most 
 O'er those who know not how it may be lost ; 
 O'er those who, burning in the new-born fire, 
 Like martyrs revel in their funeral pyre, 
 With such devotion to their extacy, 
 That life knows no such rapture as to die : 
 And die they do ; for earthly life has nought 
 Matched with that burst of nature, even in thought; 120 
 And all our dreams of better life above 
 But close in one eternal gush of love* 
 
THE ISLAND. 25 
 
 VII. 
 
 There sate the gentle savage of the wild, 
 
 In growth a woman, though in years a child, 
 
 As childhood dates within our colder clime, 
 
 Where nought is ripened rapidly save crime ; 
 
 The infant of an infant world, as pure 
 
 From Nature — lovely, warm, and premature ; 
 
 Dusky like Night, but Night with all her stars, 
 
 Or cavern sparkling with its native spars \ 130 
 
 With eyes that were a language and a spell, 
 
 A form like Aphrodite's in her shell ; 
 
 With all her loves around her on the deep, 
 
 Voluptuous as the first approach of sleep ; 
 
 Yet full of life — for through her tropic cheek 
 
 The blush would make its way, and all but speak ; 
 
 The sun-born blood suffus'd her neck, and threw 
 
 O'er her clear nut-brown skin a lucid hue, 
 
 Like coral reddening through the darkened wave, 
 
 Which draws the diver to the crimson cave. 140 
 
 Such was this daughter of the Southern Seas, 
 
 Herself a billow in her energies, 
 
 To bear the bark of others' happiness, 
 
 Nor feel a sorrow till their joy grew less i 
 
26 THE ISLAND. 
 
 - Her wild and warm yet faithful bosom knew 
 
 No joy like what it gave ; her hopes ne'er drew 
 » Aught from experience, that chill touchstone, whose 
 / Sad proof reduces all things from their hues : 
 She feared no ill, because she knew it not, 
 Or what she knew was soon — too soon — forgot : 150 
 
 ? I Her smiles and tears had passed, as light winds pass 
 / O'er lakes, to ruffle, not destroy, their glass, 
 
 Whose depths unsearch'd, and fountains from the hill, 
 Restore their surface, in itself so still, 
 ' Until the earthquake tear the Naiad's cave, 
 « Root up the spring, and trample on the wave, 
 And crush the living waters to a mass, 
 The amphibious desart of the dank morass ! 
 • And must their fate be hers ? The eternal change 
 But grasps humanity with quicker range ; 160 
 
 And they who fall, but fall as worlds will fall, 
 To rise, if just, a spirit o'er them all. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And who is he ? the blue-eyed northern child 
 Of isles more known to man, but scarce less wild ; 
 The fair-haired offspring of the Hebrides, 
 Where roars the Pentland with its whirling seas ; 
 
THE ISLAND. 27 
 
 - Rocked in his cradle by the roaring wind, 
 The tempest-born in body and in mind, 
 
 - His young eyes opening on the ocean-foam, 
 
 Had from that moment deemed the deep his home, 170 
 
 1 1 The giant comrade of his pensive moods, 
 \ The sharer of his craggy solitudes, 
 ' The only Mentor of his youth, where'er 
 ' His bark was borne; the sport of wave and air; 
 
 A careless thing, who placed his choice in chance, 
 
 Nurst by the legends of his land's romance ; 
 < Eager to hope, but not less firm to bear, 
 • Acquainted with all feelings save despair. 
 
 Placed in the Arab's clime, he would have been 
 
 As bold a rover as the sands have seen, 180 
 
 And braved their thirst with as enduring lip 
 
 As Ishmael, wafted on his desart-ship * ; 
 
 Fixed upon Chili's shore, a proud Gacique ; 
 
 On Hellas' mountains, a rebellious Greek ; 
 
 Born in a tent, perhaps a Tamerlane ; 
 
 Bred to a throne, perhaps unfit to reign. 
 
 * The " ship of the desart" is the Oriental figure for the camel or drome- 
 dary ; and they deserve the metaphor well, the former for his endurance, the 
 latter for his swiftness. 
 
2S THE ISLAND. 
 
 For the same soul that rends its path to sway, 
 
 If reared to such, can find no further prey 
 
 Beyond itself, and must retrace its way, + 
 
 Plunging for pleasure into pain ; the same 190 
 
 Spirit which made a Nero, Rome's worst shame, 
 
 A. humbler state and discipline of heart 
 
 Had formed his glorious namesake's counterpart : % 
 
 But grant his vices, grant them all his own, 
 
 How small their theatre without a throne ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Thou smilest, — these comparisons seem high 
 To those who scan all things with dazzled eye j 
 Linked with the unknown name of one whose doom 
 Has nought to do with glory or with Rome, 
 
 f " Lucullus, when frugality could charm, 
 Had wasted turnips in his Sabine farm." — Pope. 
 "fc J The Consul Nero, who made the unequalled march which deceived Han- 
 nibal, and defeated Asdrubal; thereby accomplishing an achievement almost 
 unrivalled in military annals. The first intelligence of his return, to Hanni- 
 nibal, was the sight of Asdrubal's head thrown into his camp. When 
 Hannibal saw this, he exclaimed with a sigh, that " Rome would now be the 
 mistress of the world." And yet to this victory of Nero's it might be owing 
 that his imperial namesake reigned at all! But the infamy of the one has 
 eclipsed the glory of the other. When the name of "Nero" is heard, who 
 thinks of the Consul ? But such are human things. 
 
THE ISLAND. 29 
 
 With Chili, Hellas, or with Araby, 200 
 
 Thou smilest ? — Smile ; 'tis better thus than sigh : 
 
 Yet such he might have been ; he was a man, 
 
 A soaring spirit ever in the van, 
 
 A patriot hero or despotic chief, 
 
 To form a nation's glory or its grief, 
 
 Born under auspices which makes us more 
 
 Or less than we delight to ponder o'er. 
 
 But these are visions ; say, what was he here ? 
 
 A blooming boy, a truant mutineer, 
 
 The fair-haired Torquil, free as Ocean's spray, f 210 
 
 The husband of the bride of Toobonai. 
 
 X. 
 
 By Neuha's side he sate, and watched the waters, — 
 
 Neuha, the sun-flower of the Island daughters, 
 
 Highborn (a birth at which the herald smiles, 
 
 Without a scutcheon for these secret isles) 
 
 Of a long race, the valiant and the free, 
 
 The naked knights of savage chivalry, 
 
 Whose grassy cairns ascend along the shore, 
 
 And thine, — I've seen, — Achilles ! do no more. 
 
 She, when the thunder-bearing strangers came 220 
 
 In vast canoes begirt with bolts of flame, 
 
30 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Topped with tall trees, which, loftier than the palm, 
 
 Seemed rooted in the deep amidst its calm ; 
 
 But when the winds awaken'd, shot forth wings 
 | Broad as the cloud along the horizon flings. 
 
 And swayed the waves, like cities of the sea, 
 
 Making the very billows look less free ; — 
 / She, with her paddling oar and dancing prow, 
 | Shot through the surf, like rein-deer through the snow, 
 I Swift-gliding o'er the breaker's whitening edge, 230 
 
 Light as a Nereid in her ocean sledge, 
 / And gazed and wondered at the giant hulk, 
 v \ Which heaved from wave to wave its trampling bulk : 
 ! The anchor dropped, it lay along the deep, 
 
 • Like a huge lion in the sun asleep, 
 
 • While round it swarm'd the proas' flitting chain, 
 »*j * Like summer bees that hum around his mane. 
 
 XL 
 
 The white man landed ; need the rest be told? 
 
 The New World stretched its dusk hand to the Old ; 
 
 Each was to each a marvel, and the tie 240 
 
 Of wonder warmed to better sympathy. 
 
 Kind was the welcome of the sun-bom sires, 
 
 And kinder still their daughters' gentler fires. 
 
THE ISLAND. 31 
 
 Their union grew : the children of the storm 
 Found beauty linked with many a dusky form ; 
 While these in turn admired the paler glow, 
 Which seemed so white in climes that knew no snow. 
 The chace, the race, the liberty to roam, 
 The soil where every cottage shewed a home ; 
 The sea-spread net, the lightly-launched canoe, \ 250 
 
 Which stemmed the studded Archipelago, 
 O'er whose blue bosom rose the starry isles ; 
 The healthy slumber, earned by sportive toils ; 
 The palm, the loftiest Dryad of the woods, 
 Within whose bosom infant Bacchus broods, 
 While eagles scarce build higher than the crest 
 Which shadows o'er the vineyard in her breast ; 
 The cava feast, the yam, the cocoa's root, 
 ' Which bears at once the cup, and milk, and fruit; 
 The bread- tree, which, without the ploughshare, yields 260 
 The unreaped harvest of unfurrowed fields, 
 And bakes its unadulterated loaves 
 Without a furnace in unpurchased groves, 
 And flings off famine from its fertile breast, 
 A priceless market for the gathering guest ; — 
 These, with the luxuries of seas and woods, 
 The airy joys of social solitudes, 
 

 32 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Tamed each rude wanderer to the sympathies 
 
 Of those who were more happy if less wise, 
 
 Did more than Europe's discipline had done, 270 
 
 And civilized civilization's son ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 Of these, and there was many a willing pair, 
 Neuha and Torquil were not the least fair : 
 Both children of the isles, though distant far; 
 Both born beneath a sea-presiding star ; 
 Both nourish'd amidst Nature's native scenes, 
 
 Lov'd to the last whatever intervenes 
 
 Between us and our childhood's sympathy, 
 
 Which still reverts to what first caught the eye. 
 I He who first met the Highlands' swelling blue, 280 
 
 | Will love each peak that shews a kindred Jiue, 
 l Hail in each crag a friend's familiar face, 
 
 And clasp the mountain in his mind's embrace. 
 
 • Long have I roam'd through lands which are not mine, 
 
 • Adored the Alp, and loved the Appenine, 
 ! Revered Parnassus, and beheld the steep 
 
 ( Jove's Ida and Olympus crown the deep : 
 But 'twas not all long ages' lore, nor all 
 Their nature held me in their thrilling thrall ; 
 
THE ISLAND. 33 
 
 | The infant rapture still survived the boy, 290 
 
 t And Loch-na-gar with Ida looked o'er Troy,* 
 — Mixed Celtic memories with the Phrygian mount, 
 
 - And Highland linns with Castalie's clear fount. 
 
 ' Forgive me, Homer's universal shade ! 
 
 * Forgive me, Phoebus ! that my fancy strayed ; 
 
 \ The North and Nature taught me to adore 
 p Your scenes sublime, from those beloved before. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The love which maketh all things fond and fair, 
 
 The youth which makes one rainbow of the air, 
 
 The dangers past, that make even man enjoy 300 
 
 The pause in which he ceases to destroy, 
 
 The mutual beauty, which the sternest feel 
 
 Strike to their hearts like lightning to the steel, 
 
 * When very young, about eight years of age, after an attack of the scarlet '"f~ 
 fever at Aberdeen, I was removed by medical advice into the Highlands. 
 Here I passed occasionally some summers, and from this period I date my 
 love of mountainous countries. I can never forget the effect a few years ~, 
 afterwards in England, of the only thing I had long seen, even in miniature, 
 of a mountain, in the Malvern Hills. After I returned to Cheltenham, I 
 used to watch them every afternoon at sunset, with a sensation which I can- 
 not describe. This was boyish enough ; but I was then only thirteen years 
 of age, and it was in the holidays. 
 
 c 
 
34 THE ISLAND. 
 
 United the half savage and the whole, 
 The maid and boy, in one absorbing soul. 
 No more the thundering memory of the fight 
 Wrapped his weaned bosom in its dark delight ; — 
 No more the irksome restlessness of Rest, 
 Disturbed him like the eagle in her nest, 
 Whose whetted beak and far-pervading eye ) 310 
 
 Darts for a victim over all the sky ; 
 His heart was tamed to that voluptuous state, 
 At once Elysian and effeminate, 
 Which leaves no laurels o'er the hero's urn ; — 
 These wither when for aught save blood they burn ; 
 Yet when their ashes in their nook are laid, 
 Doth not the myrtle leave as sweet a shade ? - 
 Had Caesar known but Cleopatra's kiss, 
 Rome had been free, the world had not been his. 
 And what have Caesar's deeds and Caesar's fame 320 
 
 Done for the earth ? We feel them in our shame : 
 The gory sanction of his glory stains 
 The rust which tyrants cherish on our chains. 
 Though Glory, Nature, Reason, Freedom, bid 
 Roused millions do what single Brutus did, — 
 ^ Sweep these mere mock-birds of the despot's song 
 From the tall bough where they have perched so long, 
 
THE ISLAND. 35 
 
 Still are we hawked at by such mousing owls, 
 
 And take for falcons those ignoble fowls, 
 
 When but a word of freedom would dispel 330 
 
 These bugbears, as their terrors show too well. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Rapt in the fond forgetfulness of life, . . 
 
 Neuha, the South Sea girl, was all a wife, 
 
 With no distracting world to call her off 
 
 From love ; with no society to scoff 
 
 At the new transient flame; no babbling crowd 
 
 Of coxcombry in admiration loud, 
 
 Or with adulterous whisper to alloy 
 
 Her duty, and her glory, and her joy ; 
 
 With faith and feelings naked as her form, 340 
 
 She stood as stands a rainbow in a storm, 
 
 Changing its hues with bright variety, 
 
 But still expanding lovelier o'er the sky, 
 
 Howe'er its arch may swell, its colours move, 
 
 The cloud-compelling harbinger of Love. 
 
35 THE ISLAND. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Here, in this grotto of the wave- worn shore, 
 
 They passed the Tropic's red meridian o'er ; 
 
 Nor long the hours — they never paused o'er time, 
 
 Unbroken by the clock's funereal chime, 
 * Which deals the daily pittance of our span, 350 
 
 And points and mocks with iron laugh at man. 
 
 What deemed they of the future or the past ? 
 * The present, like a tyrant, held them fast : 
 { Their hour-glass was the sea-sand, and the tide, 
 f Like her smooth billow, saw their moments glide ; 
 
 Their clock the sun, in his unbounded tower; 
 
 They reckoned not, whose day was but an hour ; 
 
 The nightingale, their only vesper bell, 
 ( Sung sweetly to the rose the day's farewell;* 
 
 The broad sun set, but not with lingering sweep, 360 
 
 As in the North he mellows o'er the deep, 
 
 But fiery, full and fierce, as if he left 
 
 The world for ever,, earth of light bereft, 
 
 * The now well-known story of the loves of the nightingale and rose need 
 not be more than alluded to, being sufficiently familiar to the Western as to 
 the Eastern reader. 
 
THE ISLAND. 37 
 
 Plunged with red forehead down along the wave, 
 As dives a hero headlong to his grave. 
 Then rose they, looking first along the skies, 
 And then for light into each other's eyes, 
 Wondering that summer showed so brief a sun, 
 And asking if indeed the day were done ? 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And let not this seem strange ; the devotee 370 
 
 Lives not in earth, but in his extasy ; 
 
 Around him days and worlds are heedless driven, 
 
 His soul is gone before his dust to heaven. 
 
 Is love less potent ? No — his path is trod, 
 
 Alike uplifted gloriously to God ; 
 
 Or linked to all we know of heaven below, 
 
 The other better self, whose joy or woe 
 
 Is more than ours; the all-absorbing flame 
 
 Which, kindled by another, grows the same, 
 
 Wrapt in one blaze ; the pure, yet funeral pile, 380 
 
 Where gentle hearts, like Bramins, sit and smile. 
 
 How often we forget all time, when lone, 
 
 Admiring Nature's universal throne, 
 
 Her woods, her wilds, her waters, the intense 
 
 f f 
 
 Reply of hers to our intelligence ! 
 
38 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Live not the stars and mountains ? Are the waves 
 
 Without a spirit ? Are the dropping caves 
 
 Without a feeling in their silent tears ? 
 
 No, no ; — they woo and clasp us to their spheres, 
 
 Dissolve this clog and clod of clay before 390 
 
 Its hour, and merge our soul in the great shore. 
 
 Strip off this fond and false identity ! — 
 
 ' Who thinks of self, when gazing on the sky ? 
 And who, though gazing lower, ever thought, 
 In the young moments ere the heart is taught 
 Time's lesson, of man's baseness or his own? 
 
 • All Nature is his realm, and Love his throne. 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 Neuha arose, and Torquil : twilight's hour 
 Came sad and softly to their rocky bower, 
 Which, kindling by degrees its dewy spars, 400 
 
 Echoed their dim light to the mustering stars. 
 ' Slowly the pair, partaking Nature's calm, 
 
 Sought out their cottage, built beneath the palm ; 
 Now smiling and now silent, as the scene ; 
 Lovely as Love — the spirit ! when serene. 
 
THE ISLAND. 39 
 
 The Ocean scarce spoke louder with his swell, 
 Than breathes his mimic murmurer in the shell, * 
 As, far divided from his parent deep, 
 The sea-born infant cries, and will not sleep, 
 Raising his little plaint in vain, to rave 4 10 
 
 For the broad bosom of his nursing wave : 
 The woods drooped darkly, as inclined to rest, 
 The Tropic bird wheeled rock- ward to his nest, 
 >And the blue sky spread round them like a lake 
 Of peace, where piety her thirst might slake. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 But through the palm and plantain, hark, a voice ! 
 Not such as would have been a lover's choice, 
 In such an hour, to break the air so still ; 
 No dying night-breeze, harping o'er the hill, 
 
 * If the reader will apply to his ear the sea-shell on his chimney-piece, he 
 will be aware of what is alluded to. If the text should appear obscure, 
 he will find in "Gebir" the same idea better expressed in two lines. — 
 The poem I never read, but have heard the lines quoted by a more 
 recondite reader — who seems to be of a different opinion from the Editor 
 of the Quarterly Review, who qualified it, in his answer to the Critical 
 Reviewer of his Juvenal, as trash of the worst and most insane description. 
 It is to Mr. Landor, the author of Gebir, so qualified, and of some Latin 
 poems, which vie with Martial or Catullus in obscenity, that the immaculate 
 Mr. Southey addresses his declamation against impurity ! 
 
40 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Striking the strings of Nature, rock and tree, 420 
 
 Those best and earliest lyres of harmony, 
 
 With echo for their chorus; nor the alarm 
 
 Of the loud war-whoop to dispel the charm ; 
 
 Nor the soliloquy of the hermit owl, 
 
 Exhaling all his solitary soul, 
 
 The dim though large-eyed winged anchorite, 
 
 Who peals his dreary paean o'er the night ; — 
 
 But a loud, long, and naval whistle, shrill 
 
 As ever startled through a sea-bird's bill ; 
 
 And then a pause, and then a hoarse " Hillo ! 430 
 
 Torquil ! my boy ! what cheer ? Ho, brother, ho !" 
 
 " Who hails ?" cried Torquil, following with his eye * 
 
 The sound. "Here's one," was all the brief reply. 
 
 XX. 
 
 But here the herald of the self-same mouth 
 
 Came breathing o'er the aromatic south, 
 
 Not like a " bed of violets " on the gale, 
 
 But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale, 
 
 Borne from a short frail pipe, which yet had blown 
 
 Its gentle odours over either zone, 
 
 And puffed where'er winds rise or waters roll, 440 
 
 Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole, 
 
THE ISLAND. 41 
 
 Opposed its vapour as the lightning flashed, 
 
 And reeked, midst mountain-billows unabash'd, 
 
 To zEolus a constant sacrifice, 
 
 Through every change of all the varying skies. 
 
 And what was he who bore it ? — I may err, 
 
 But deem him sailor or philosopher.* 
 
 Sublime tobacco ! which from east to west 
 
 Cheers the Tar's labour or the Turkman's rest ; 
 
 Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides 450 
 
 His hours, and rivals opium and his brides j 
 
 Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, 
 
 Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand ; 
 
 Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe, 
 
 When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; 
 
 Like other charmers, wooing the caress 
 
 More dazzlingly when daring in full dress ; 
 
 Yet thy true lovers more admire by far 
 
 Thy naked beauties — Give me a cigar ! 
 
 * Hobbes, the father of Locke's and other philosophy, was an inveterate 
 smoker, — even to pipes beyond computation. 
 
42 THE ISLAND. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Through the approaching darkness of the wood 460 
 
 A human figure broke the solitude, 
 
 Fantastically, it may be, arrayed, . 
 
 A seaman in a savage masquerade ; 
 
 Such as appears to rise out from the deep, 
 
 When o'er the line the merry vessels sweep, 
 
 And the rough Saturnalia of the Tar 
 
 Flock o'er the deck, in Neptune's borrowed car ; * 
 
 And pleased the God of Ocean sees his name 
 
 Revive once more, though, but in mimic game 470 
 
 Of his true sons, who riot in a breeze 
 
 Undreamt of in his native Cyclades. 
 
 Still the old god delights, from out the main, 
 
 To snatch some glimpses of his ancient reign. 
 i Our sailor's jacket, though in ragged trim, 
 4 His constant pipe, which never yet burned dim, 
 I His foremast air, and somewhat rolling gait, 
 f Like his dear vessel, spoke his former state ; 
 
 1 VJJfg 
 
 * This rough but jovial ceremony, used in crossing the Line, has been so 
 often and so well described, that it need not be more than alluded to. 
 
THE ISLAND. 43 
 
 But then a sort of kerchief round his head, 
 
 Not over tightly bound, nor nicely spread ; 
 
 And stead of trowsers (ah! too early torn! 480 
 
 For even the mildest woods will have their thorn) 
 
 A curious sort of somewhat scanty mat 
 
 Now served for inexpressibles and hat ; 
 
 His naked feet and neck, and sunburnt face, 
 
 Perchance might suit alike with either race. 
 
 His arms were all his own, our Europe's growth, 
 
 Which two worlds bless for civilizing both ; 
 
 The musket swung behind his shoulders broad, 
 
 And somewhat stooped by his marine abode, 
 
 But brawny as the boar's ; and hung beneath, 490 
 
 His cutlass drooped, unconscious of a sheath, 
 
 Or lost or worn away ; his pistols were 
 
 Linked to his belt, a matrimonial pair — 
 
 (Let not this metaphor appear a scoff, 
 
 Though one missed fire, the other would go off) j 
 
 These, with a bayonet, not so free from rust 
 
 As when the arm-chest held its brighter trust, 
 
 Completed his accoutrements, as Night 
 
 Surveyed him in his garb heteroclite. 
 
44 THE ISLAND. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 (c 
 
 What cheer, Ben Bunting ?" cried (when in full view 500 
 Our new acquaintance) Torquil, {' Aught of new ?" 
 "Ey, ey," quoth Ben, " not new, but news enow; 
 A strange sail in the offing." — c ' Sail ! and how ? 
 What ! could you make her out ? It cannot be ; 
 I've seen no rag of canvass on the sea/' 
 " Belike/' said Ben, f you might not from the bay, 
 But from the bluff-head, where I watched to-day, 
 I saw her in the doldrums; for the wind 
 Was light and baffling." — " When the sun declin'd 
 Where lay she ? had she anchored ?" — " No, but still 510 
 She bore down on us, till the wind grew still." 
 " Her flag?" — " I had no glass; but fore and aft, 
 Egad, she seemed a wicked-looking craft." 
 " Armed ?" — " I expect so ; — sent on the look-out ; — 
 'Tis time, belike, to put our helm about." 
 " About ? — Whate'er may have us now in chace, 
 We'll make no running fight, for that were base ; 
 We will die at our quarters, like true men." 
 " Ey, ey ; for that, 'tis all the same to Ben." 
 " Does Christian know this ?" — " Aye ; he has piped all hands 
 To quarters. They are furbishing the stands 521 
 
THE ISLAND. 45 
 
 Of arms ; and we have got some guns to bear, 
 And scaled them. You are wanted." — te That's but fair ; 
 And if it were not, mine is not the soul 
 To leave my comrades helpless on the shoal. 
 My Neuha ! ah ! and must my fate pursue 
 i, < Not me alone, but one so sweet and true ? 
 But whatsoe'er betide, ah, Neuha ! now 
 .*• Unman me not 5 the hour will not allow 
 A tear ; I am thine whatever intervenes !" 
 " Right," quoth Ben, " that will do for the marines." * 531 
 
 * " That will do for the marines, but the sailors won't believe it," is an 
 old saying; and one of the few fragments of former jealousies which still 
 survive (in jest only) between these gallant services. 
 
 END OF CANTO SECOND. 
 
 
•>siT 
 
 . - • •- 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 I. 
 
 The fight was o'er 5 the flashing through the gloom, 
 
 Which robes the cannon as he wings a tomb, 
 
 Had ceased j and sulphury vapours upward driven 
 
 Had left the earth, and but polluted heaven : 
 
 The rattling roar which rung in every volley 
 
 Had left the echos to their melancholy ; 
 
 No more they shrieked their horror, boom for boom ; 
 
 The strife was done, the vanquished had their doom j 
 
 The mutineers were crushed, dispersed, or ta'en, 
 
 Or lived to deem the happiest were the slain. 10 
 
 Few, few escaped, and these were hunted o'er 
 
 The isle they loved beyond their native shore. 
 
 No further home was their' s, it seemed, on earth, 
 
 Once renegades to that which gave them birth ; 
 
 Tracked like wild beasts, like them they sought the wild, 
 
 As to a mother's bosom flies the child ; 
 
48 THE ISLAND. 
 
 But vainly wolves and lions seek their den, 
 And still more vainly, men escape from men. 
 
 II. 
 
 - Beneath a rock whose jutting- base protrudes 
 
 Far over ocean in his fiercest moods, 20 
 
 When scaling his enormous crag, the wave 
 
 Is hurled down headlong like the foremost brave, 
 
 f And falls back on the foaming crowd behind, 
 Which fight beneath the banners of the wind, 
 But now at rest, a little remnant drew 
 Together, bleeding, thirsty, faint and few ; 
 But still their weapons in their hands, and still 
 With something of the pride of former will, 
 
 1 As men not all unused to meditate, 
 
 * And strive much more than wonder at their fate. 30 
 
 Their present lot was what they had foreseen, 
 And dared as what was likely to have been; 
 Yet still the lingering hope, which deemed their lot 
 Not pardoned, but unsought for or forgot, 
 Or trusted that, if sought, their distant caves 
 Might still be missed amidst the world of waves, 
 Had weaned their thoughts in part from what they saw 
 And felt, the vengeance o£ their country's. law. 
 
THE ISLAND. 49 
 
 Their sea-green isle, their guilt-won paradise, 
 No more could shield their virtue or their vice : 40 
 
 Their better feelings, if such were, were thrown . 
 * Back on themselves, — their sins remained alone. 
 Proscribed even in their second countiy, they 
 Were lost ; in vain the world before them lay ; 
 All outlets seemed secured. Their new allies 
 Had fought and bled in mutual sacrifice ; 
 But what availed the club and spear and arm 
 Of Hercules, against the sulphury charm, 
 The magic of the thunder, which destroyed 
 The warrior ere his strength could be employed ? 50 
 
 Dug, like a spreading pestilence, the grave 
 No less of human bravery than the brave !* 
 Their own scant numbers acted all the few 
 Against the many oft will dare and do; 
 But though the choice seems native to die free, 
 Even Greece can boast but one Thermopylae, 
 Till now, when she has forged her broken chain 
 Back to a sword, and dies and lives again ! 
 
 * Archidamus, King of Sparta, and son of Agesilaus, when he saw a ma- 
 chine invented for the casting of stones and darts, exclaimed that it was the 
 _'." Grave of Valour." The same story has been told of some knights on the 
 first application of Gunpowder; but the original anecdote is in Plutarch. 
 
 D 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Beside the jutting rock the few appeared, 
 
 Like the last remnant of the red-deer's herd ; 60 
 
 Their eyes were feverish, and their aspect worn, 
 
 But still the hunter's blood was on their horn. 
 
 A little stream came tumbling from the height, 
 
 And straggling into ocean as it might, 
 
 Its bounding chrystal frolicked in the ray, 
 
 And gushed from cleft to crag with saltless spray ; 
 
 Close on the wild, wide ocean, yet as pure 
 I And fresh as innocence and more secure, 
 
 Its silver torrent glittered o'er the deep, 
 
 As the shy chamois' eye o'crlooks the steep, 70 
 
 j While far below the vast and sullen swell 
 
 Of ocean's Alpine azure rose and fell. 
 
 To this young spring they rushed, — all feelings first 
 
 Absorbed in Passion's and in Nature's thirst, — 
 * Drank as they do who drink their last, and threw 
 
 Their arms aside to revel in its dew ; 
 
 Cooled their scorched throats, and washed the gory stains 
 
 From wounds whose only bandage might be chains ; 
 i Then, when their drought was quenched > looked sadly round, 
 k As wondering how so many still were found 80 
 
THE ISLAND. 61 
 
 Alive and fetterless : — but silent all, 
 Each sought his fellow's eyes as if to call 
 On him for language, which his lips denied, 
 i As though their voices with their cause had died. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Stern, and aloof a little from the rest, 
 
 Stood Christian, with his arms across his chest. 
 
 The ruddy, reckless, dauntless hue once spread 
 
 Along his cheek was livid now as lead ; 
 
 His light brown locks so graceful in their flow 
 
 Now rose like startled vipers o'er his brow. 90 
 
 Still as a statue, with his lips comprest 
 
 To stifle even the breath within his breast, 
 
 Fast by the rock, all menacing but mute, to? 
 
 He stood ; and save a slight beat of his foot, 
 
 Which deepened now and then the sandy dint 
 
 Beneath his heel, his form seemed turned to flint. 
 
 Some paces further Torquil leaned his head 
 
 Against a bank, and spoke not, but he bled, — 
 
 Not mortally — his worst wound was within : 
 
 His brow was pale, his blue eyes sunken in, 100 
 
 And blood ^drops sprinkled o'er his yellow hair 
 
 Shewed that his faihtness came not from despair, 
 
52 THE ISLAND. 
 
 But nature's ebb. Beside him was another, 
 
 Rough as a bear, but willing as a brother, — 
 
 Ben Bunting, who essayed to wash, and wipe, 
 
 And bind his wound — then calmly lit his pipe, 
 
 A trophy which survived an hundred fights, 
 
 A beacon which had cheered ten thousand nights. 
 
 The fourth and last of this deserted group 
 
 Walked up and down — at times would stand, then stoop 110 
 
 To pick a pebble up — then let it drop — 
 
 Then hurry as in haste— then quickly stop — 
 
 Then cast his eyes on his companions — then 
 
 Half whistle half a tune, and pause again — 
 
 And then his former movements would redouble, 
 
 With something between carelessness and trouble. 
 
 This is a long description, but applies 
 
 To scarce five minutes past before the eyes ; 
 
 But yet ivhat minutes ! Moments like to these 
 
 Rend men's lives into immortalities. 120 
 
 V. 
 
 At length Jack Skyscrape, a mercurial man, 
 Who fluttered over all things like a fan, 
 More brave than firm, and more disposed to dare 
 And die at once than wrestle with despair, 
 
THE ISLAND. 53 
 
 Exclaimed " G— d damn !" Those syllables intense,— 
 
 Nucleus of England's native eloquence, 
 
 As the Turk's " Allah !" or the Roman's more 
 
 Pagan " Proh Jupiter!" was Avont of yore 
 
 j 
 
 To give their first impressions such a vent, 
 
 By way of echo to embarrassment. 130 
 
 Jack was embarrassed, — never hero more, 
 
 And as he knew not what to say, he swore : 
 
 Nor swore in vain ; the long congenial sound 
 
 Revived Ben Bunting from his pipe profound ; 
 
 He drew it from his mouth, and looked full wise, 
 
 But merely added to the oath, his eyes ; 
 
 Thus rendering the imperfect phrase complete, 
 
 A peroration I need not repeat. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But Christian, of an higher order, stood 
 
 Like an extinct volcano in his mood ; 140 
 
 Silent, and sad, and savage,—- with the trace 
 
 Of passion reeking from his clouded face; 
 
 Till lifting up again xAS 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." 
 
54 THE ISLAND. 
 
 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 ; 150 
 
 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. 160 
 
 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 ; 
 
THE ISLAND, 55 
 
 Onward it came — and, lo ! a second followed — 
 Now seen — now hid — where ocean's vale was hollowed j 170 
 And near, and nearer, till their dusky crew 
 Presented well-known aspects to the view, 
 Till on the surf their skimming paddles play, 
 Buoyant as wings, and flitting through the spray j— 
 Now perching on the wave's high curl, and now 
 Dashed downward in the thundering foam below, 
 Which flings it broad and boiling, sheet on sheet, 
 And slings it's high flakes, shivered into sleet : 
 But floating still through surf and swell, drew nigh 
 The barks, like small birds through a lowering sky. 180 
 .- Their art seemed nature — such the skill to sweep 
 The wave, of these born playmates of the deep. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And who the first that, springing on the strand, 
 Leaped like a Nereid from her shell to land, 
 With dark but brilliant skin, and dewy eye 
 Shining with love, and hope, and constancy ? 
 Neuha, — the fond, the faithful, the adored, 
 Her heart on Torquil's like a torrent poured j 
 I And smiled, and wept, and near, and nearer clasped, 
 I As if to be assured 'twas him she grasped j . . 190 
 
56 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Shuddered to see his yet warm wound, and then, 
 To find it trivial, smiled and wept again. 
 She was a warrior's daughter, and could bear 
 Such sights, and feel, and mourn, but not despair. | 
 Her lover lived, — nor foes nor fears could blight 
 That full-blown moment in its all delight : • 
 
 i Joy trickled in her tears, joy filled the sob 
 
 i That rocked her heart till almost heard to throb ; 
 
 | And paradise was breathing in the sigh 
 
 j Of nature's child in nature's extacy. 200 
 
 IX. 
 
 The sterner spirits who beheld that meeting 
 
 Were not unmoved ; who are, when hearts are greeting ? 
 
 Even Christian gazed upon the maid and boy 
 
 With tearless eye, but yet a gloomy joy 
 
 Mixed with those bitter thoughts the soul arrays 
 
 In hopeless visions of our better days, 
 
 When all's gone — to the rainbow's latest ray. 
 
 " And but for me !" he said, and turned away ; 
 
 Then gazed upon the pair, as in his den 
 
 A lion looks upon his cubs again ; 210 
 
 And then relapsed into his sullen guise, 
 
 As heedless of his further destinies. 
 
THE ISLAND. 57 
 
 X. 
 
 But brief their time for good or evil thought ; 
 
 The billows round the promontory brought 
 
 The plash of hostile oars — Alas ! who made 
 
 That sound a dread ? All round them seemed arrayed 
 
 Against them, save the bride of Toobonai : 
 
 She 5 as she caught the first glimpse o'er the bay 
 
 Of the armed boats which hurried to complete 
 
 The remnant's ruin with their flying feet, 220 
 
 Beckoned the natives round her to their prows, 
 
 Embarked their guests, and launched their light canoes ; 
 
 Tn one placed Christian and his comrades twain ; 
 
 But she and Torquil must not part again. 
 
 » She fixed him in her own — Away ! away ! 
 
 I They clear the breakers, dart along the bay, 
 And towards a group of islets, such as bear 
 The sea-bird's nest and seal's surf-hollowed lair, 
 
 t They skim the blue tops of the billows ; fast 
 
 , They flew, and fast their fierce pursuers chased. 230 
 
 . They gain upon them — now they lose again, — 
 Again make way and menace o'er the main ; 
 
 " And now the two canoes in chase divide, 
 And follow different courses o'er the tide, 
 
53 THE ISLAND. 
 
 To baffle the pursuit — Away ! away ! 
 
 As life is on each paddle's flight to-day, 
 
 And more than life or lives to Neuha : Love 
 
 Freights the frail back and urges to the cove — 
 
 And now the refuge and the foe are nigh — 
 
 Yet, yet a moment ! — Fly, thou light Ark, fly ! 240 
 
 I 
 
 END OF CANTO THIRD. 
 
THE ISLAND. 5* 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 I. 
 
 j K y t > White as a white sail on a dusky sea, 
 
 When half the horizon's clouded and half free, 
 Fluttering between the dun wave and the sky, 
 Is hope's last gleam in man's extremity. 
 Her anchor parts ; but still her snowy sail 
 
 * Attracts our eye amidst the rudest gale : 
 
 v Though every wave she climbs divides us more, 
 
 * The heart still follows from the loneliest shore. 
 
 II. 
 
 Not distant from the isle of Toobonai, 
 
 A black rock rears its bosom o'er the spray, 10 
 
 The haunt of birds, a desart to mankind, 
 
 Where the rough seal reposes from the wind, 
 
 And sleeps unwieldy in his cavern dun, 
 
 Or gambols with huge frolic in the sun : 
 

 60 THE ISLAND. 
 
 There shrilly to the passing oar is heard 
 
 The startled echo of the ocean bird, 
 
 Who rears on its bare breast her callow brood, 
 
 The feathered fishers of the solitude. 
 
 A narrow segment of the yellow sand 
 
 On one side forms the outline of a strand ; 20 
 
 Here the young turtle, crawling from his shell, 
 
 Steals to the deep wherein his parents dwell ; 
 
 Chipped by the beam, a nursling of the day, 
 
 But hatched for ocean by the fostering ray j 
 
 The rest was one bleak precipice, as e'er 
 
 Gave mariners a shelter and despair, \ 
 
 A spot to make the saved regret the deck 
 
 Which late went down, and envy the lost wreck. 
 
 Such was the stern asylum Neuha chose 
 
 To shield her lover from his following foes ; 30 
 
 But all its secret was not told ; she knew 
 
 In this a treasure hidden from the view. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ere the canoes divided, near the spot, 
 The men that manned what held her Torquil's lot, 
 By her command removed, to strengthen more 
 The skiff which wafted Christian from the shore. 
 
THE ISLAND. 61 
 
 This he would have opposed j but with a smile 
 
 She pointed calmly to the craggy isle, 
 
 And bade him " speed and prosper." She would take 
 
 The rest upon herself for Torquil's sake. 40 
 
 They parted with this added aid ; afar 
 
 The proa darted like a shooting star, 
 
 And gained on the pursuers, who now steered 
 
 Right on the rock which she and Torquil neared. 
 
 They pulled ; her arm, though delicate, was free — 
 
 And firm as ever grappled with the sea, 
 
 And yielded scarce to Torquil's manlier strength. 
 
 The^prow now almost lay within its length 
 i Of the crag's steep, inexorable face, 
 I With nought but soundless waters for its base ; 50 
 
 Within an hundred boats' length was the foe, 
 
 And now what refuge but their frail canoe ? 
 
 This Torquil asked with half upbraiding eye, 
 
 Which said — " Has Neuha brought me here to die ? 
 
 Is this a place of safety, or a grave, 
 
 And yon huge rock the tombstone of the wave?"! 4 
 
 IV 
 
 They rested on their paddles, and uprose 
 Neuha, and pointing to the approaching foes, 
 
If 
 
 62 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Cried, " Torqiiil, follow me, and fearless follow !" 
 
 Then plunged at once into the ocean's hollow. 60 
 
 There was no time to pause — the foes were near — 
 i Chains in his eye and menace in his ear ; 
 
 With vigour they pulled on, and as they came, 
 
 Hailed him to yield, and by his forfeit name. 
 
 Headlong he leapt — to him the swimmer's skill 
 
 Was native, and now all his hope from ill ; 
 
 But how or where? He dived, and rose no more; 
 
 The boat's crew looked amazed o'er sea and shore. 
 
 There was no landing on that precipice, 
 
 Steep, harsh, and slippery as a berg of ice. 70 
 
 They watched awhile to see him float again, 
 
 But not a trace rebubbled from the main: 
 --* The wave rolled on, no ripple on its face, 
 
 * Since their first plunge recalled a single trace ; 
 The little whirl which eddied, and slight foam, 
 That whitened o'er what seemed their latest home, 
 White as a sepulchre above the pair 
 
 Who left no marble (mournful as an heir) 
 -The quiet proa wavering o'er the tide 
 I Was all that told of Torquil and his bride ; 80 
 
 * And but for this alone the whole might seem 
 
 * The vanished phantom of a seaman's dream. 
 
THE ISLAND. 63 
 
 They paused and searched in vain, then pulled away, 
 
 Even superstition now forbade their stay. 
 
 Some said he had not plunged into the wave, 
 
 But vanished like a corpse-light from a grave; 
 
 Others, that something supernatural 
 
 Glared in his figure, more than mortal tall; 
 '- While all agreed, that in his cheek and eye 
 * There was the dead hue of eternity. 90 
 
 Still as their oars receded from the crag, 
 
 Round every weed a moment would they lag, 
 
 Expectant of some token of their prey ; 
 
 But no — he had melted from them like the spray. 
 
 V. 
 
 And where was he, the Pilgrim of the Deep, 
 
 Following the Nereid ? Had they ceased to weep 
 
 For ever ? or, received in coral caves, 
 
 Wrung life and pity from the softening waves ? 
 
 Did they with Ocean's hidden sovereigns dwell, 
 
 And sound with Mermen the fantastic shell? 100 
 
 Did Neuha with the Mermaids comb her hair 
 
 Flowing o'er ocean as it streamed in air ? 
 
 Or had they perished, and in silence slept 
 
 Beneath the gulph wherein they boldly leapt ? 
 
64 THE ISLAND. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Young Neuha plunged into the deep, and he 
 
 Followed : her track beneath her native sea 
 
 Was as a native's of the element, 
 ■* So smoothly, bravely, brilliantly she went, 
 ; Leaving a streak of light behind her heel, 
 ' Which struck and flashed like an amphibious steel. 1 10 
 
 Closely, and scarcely less expert to trace 
 
 The depths where divers hold the pearl in chase, 
 
 Torquil, the nursling of the northern seas, 
 
 Pursued her liquid steps with art and ease. 
 
 * Deep — deeper for an instant Neuha led 
 
 * The way — then upward soared — and as she spread 
 Her arms, and flung the foam from off her locks, 
 Laughed, and the sound was answered by the rocks. 
 They had gained a central realm of earth again, 
 
 But looked for tree, and field, and sky, in vain. 120 
 
 Around she pointed to a spacious cave, 
 Whose only portal was the keyless wave * 
 
 * Of this cave (which is no fiction) the original will be found in the 9th 
 chapter of " Mariner's Account of the Tonga Islands." I have taken the 
 poetical liberty to transplant it to Toobonai, the last island where any distinct 
 account is left of Christian and his comrades. 
 
THE ISLAND. 05 
 
 (A hollow archway by the sun unseen, 
 
 Save through the billows glassy veil of green, 
 
 In some transparent ocean holiday, 
 
 When all the finny people are at play) 
 
 Wiped with her hair the brine from Torquil's eyes, 
 
 And clapped her hands with joy at his surprise ; 
 
 Led him to where the rock appeared to jut 
 
 And form a something like a Triton's hut; 130 
 
 For all was darkness for a space, till day 
 
 Through clefts above let in a sobered ray ; 
 
 As in some old cathedral's glimmering aisle 
 
 The dusty monuments from light recoil, 
 
 Thus sadly in their refuge submarine 
 
 The vault drew half her shadow from the scene. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Forth from her bosom the young savage drew 
 
 A pine torch, strongly girded with gnatoo ; 
 
 A plaintain leaf o'er all, the more to keep 
 
 Its latent sparkle from the sapping deep. 140 
 
 This mantle kept it dry ; then from a nook 
 
 Of the same plaintain leaf, a flint she took, 
 
 A few shrunk withered twigs, and from the blade 
 
 Of Torquil's knife struck fire, and thus arrayed 
 
* 
 
 66 THE ISLAND. 
 
 The grot with torchlight. Wide it was and high, 
 
 And showed a self-born Gothic canopy ; h 
 
 The arch upreared by nature's architect, 
 
 The architrave some earthquake might erect ; 
 
 The buttress from some mountain's bosom hurled, 
 
 When the Poles crashed and Water was the World ; 1 50 
 
 Or hardened from some earth-absorbing fire 
 
 While yet the globe reeked from its funeral pyre ; 
 
 The fretted pinnacle, the aisle, the nave,* 
 
 Were there, all scooped by Darkness from her Cave. 
 
 There, with a little tinge of Phantasy, 
 
 Fantastic faces moped and mowed on high, 
 
 And then a mitre or a shrine would fix 
 
 The eye upon its seeming crucifix. 
 
 Thus Nature played with the Stalactites, 
 
 And built herself a chapel of the Seas. 160 
 
 * This may seem too minute for the general outline (in Mariner's Account) 
 from which it is taken. But few men have travelled without seeing something 
 of the kind — on land, that is. Without adverting to Ellora, in Mungo Park's 
 last journal (if my memory do not err, for there are eight years since I read 
 the book) he mentions having met with a rock or mountain so exactly resem- 
 bling a Gothic cathedral, that only minute inspection could convince him that 
 it was a work of nature. 
 
 - 
 
THE ISLAND. 67 
 
 VITT 
 
 . 
 
 And Neuba took her Torquil by the hand, 
 
 And waved along the vault her kindled brand, 
 
 And led him into each recess, and showed 
 
 The secret places of their new abode. 
 
 Nor these alone, for all had been prepared 
 
 Before, to soothe the Lover's lot she shared ; 
 
 The mat for rest ; for dress the fresh gnatoo, 
 
 And sandal oil to fence against the dew ; 
 
 For food the cocoa nut, the yam, the bread 
 
 Born of the fruit; for board the plantain spread 170 
 
 With its broad leaf, or turtle shell which bore 
 
 A banquet in the flesh it covered o'er ; 
 
 The gourd with water recent from the rill, 
 
 The ripe banana from the mellow hill ; 
 
 A pine-torch pile to keep undying light, 
 
 And she herself, as beautiful as Night, 
 
 To fling her shadowy spirit o'er the scene, 
 
 And make their subterranean world serene. 
 
 She had foreseen, since first the stranger's sail 
 
 Drew to their isle, that force or flight might fail, 180 
 
 And formed a refuge of the rocky den 
 
 For Torquil's safety from his countrymen. 
 
63 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Each Dawn had wafted there her light canoe, 
 Laden with all the golden fruits that grew ; 
 Each Eve had seen her gliding through the hour 
 With all could cheer or deck their sparry hower ; 
 *• And now she spread her little store with smiles, 
 The happiest daughter of the loving isles. 
 
 IX. 
 
 She, as he gazed with grateful wonder, pressed 
 
 Her sheltered love to her impassioned breast; 190 
 
 And suited to her soft caresses, told 
 
 An elden tale of Love, — for Love is old, 
 
 Old as Eternity, but not outworn 
 
 With each new being born or to be born :* 
 
 How a young Chief, a thousand moons ago, 
 
 Diving for turtle in the depths below, 
 
 Had risen, in tracking fast his ocean prey, 
 
 Into the cave which round and o'er them lay ; 
 
 How, in some desperate feud of after time 
 
 He sheltered there a daughter of the clime, 200 
 
 * The reader will recollect the epigram of the Greek Anthology, or its 
 translation into most of the modern languages : — ■ 
 
 " Whoe'er thou art, thy master see 
 He was, or is, or is to be." 
 
THE ISLAND. 69 
 
 A foe beloved, and offspring of a foe, 
 Saved by his tribe but for a captive's woe j 
 *How, when the storm of war was stilled, he led 
 His island clan to where the waters spread 
 Their deep green shadow o'er the rocky door, 
 Then dived — it seemed as if to rise no more: 
 His wondering mates, amazed within their bark, 
 Or deemed him mad, or prey to the blue shark ; 
 Rowed round in sorrow the sea-girded rock, 
 Then paused upon their paddles from the shock, 210 
 
 When, fresh and springing from the deep, they saw 
 A Goddess rise — so deemed they in their awe ; 
 And their companion, glorious by her side, 
 Proud and exulting in his Mermaid bride ; 
 And how, when undeceived, the pair they bore 
 With sounding conchs and joyous shouts to shore; 
 How they had gladly lived and calmly died, 
 And why not also Torquil and his bride ? 
 Not mine to tell the rapturous caress 
 
 Which followed wildly in that wild recess 220 
 
 This tale ; enough that all within that cave 
 Was Love, though buried strong as in the grave 
 Where Abelard, through twenty years of death, 
 When Eloisa's form was lowered beneath 
 
70 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Their nuptial vault, his arms outstretched, and prest 
 
 The kindling ashes to his kindled breast.* 
 
 The waves without sang round their couch, their roar 
 
 As much unheeded as if life were o'er ; 
 
 Within, their hearts made all their harmony, 
 
 Love's broken murmur and more broken sigh. 230 
 
 X. 
 
 And they, the cause and sharers of the shock 
 
 Which left them exiles of the hollow rock, 
 
 Where were they? O'er the sea for life they plied, 
 
 To seek from heaven the shelter men denied. 
 
 Another course had been their choice — but where ? 
 
 The wave which bore them still, their foes would bear, 
 
 Who, disappointed of their former chase, 
 
 In search of Christian now renewed their race. 
 
 Eager with anger, their strong arms made way, 
 
 Like vultures baffled of their previous prey. 240 
 
 They gained upon them, all whose safety lay 
 
 In some bleak crag or deeply hidden bay : 
 
 * The tradition is attached to the story of Eloisa, that when her body was 
 lowered into the grave of Abelard (who had been buried twenty years) he 
 opened his arms to receive her. 
 
THE ISLAND. 71 
 
 No further chance or choice remained ; and right 
 
 For the first further rock which met their sight 
 
 They steered, to take their latest view of land, 
 
 And yield as victims, or die sword in hand ; 
 
 Dismissed the natives and their shallop, who 
 
 Would still have battled for that scanty crew ; 
 
 But Christian bade them seek their shore again, 
 
 Nor add a sacrifice which were in vain ; 250 
 
 For what were simple bow and savage spear 
 
 Against the arms which must be wielded here ? 
 
 XL 
 
 They landed on a wild but narrow scene, 
 
 Where few but Nature's-footsteps yet had been ; 
 
 Prepared their arms, and with that gloomy eye, 
 
 Stern and sustained, of man's extremity, 
 
 When Hope is gone, nor Glory's self remains 
 
 To cheer resistance against death or chains, — 
 
 They stood, the three, as the three hundred stood 
 
 Who dyed Thermopylae with holy blood. 260 
 
 But, ah ! how different ! 'tis the cause makes all, 
 
 Degrades or hallows courage in its fall. 
 
 O'er them no fame, eternal and intense, 
 
 Blazed through the clouds of death and beckoned hence ; 
 
72 THE ISLAND. 
 
 No grateful country, smiling through her tears, 
 
 Begun the praises of a thousand years ; 
 
 No nation's eyes would on their tomb be bent, 
 
 No heroes envy them their monument ; 
 
 However boldly their warm blood was spilt, 
 
 Their life was shame, their epitaph was guilt. 270 
 
 And this they knew and felt, at least the one, 
 
 The leader of the band he had undone ; 
 
 Who, born perchance for better things, had set 
 
 His life upon, a cast which lingered yet : 
 
 But now the die was to be thrown, and al 
 
 The chances were in favour of his fall : 
 
 And such a fall ! But still he faced the shock, 
 
 Obdurate as a portion of the rock 
 
 Whereon he stood, and fixed his levelled gun, 
 
 Dark as a sullen cloud before the sun. 280 
 
 XII. 
 
 The boat drew nigh, well armed, and firm the crew 
 To act whatever Duty bade them do ; 
 Careless of danger, as. the onward Wind 
 Is of the leaves it strews, nor looks behind 
 And yet perhaps they rather wished to go 
 Against a nation's than a native foe, 
 
THE ISLAND. 73 
 
 And felt that this poor victim of self-will, 
 
 Briton no more, had once been Britain's still. 
 
 They hailed him to surrender — no reply ; 
 
 Their arms were poised, and glittered in the sky. 290 
 
 They hailed again — no answer ; yet once more 
 
 They offered quarter louder than before. 
 
 i The echoes only, from the rock's rebound, 
 
 1 Took their last farewell of the dying sound. 
 Then flashed the flint, and blazed the volleying flame, 
 And the smoke rose between them and their aim, 
 While the rock rattled with the bullets' knell, 
 Which pealed in vain, and flattened as they fell ; 
 Then flew the only answer to be given 
 By those who had lost all hope in earth or heaven. 300 
 
 After the first fierce peal, as they pulled nigher, 
 They heard the voice of Christian shout, " Now fire !" 
 And ere the word upon the echo died, 
 Two fell ; the rest assailed the rock's rough side, 
 And, furious at the madness of their foes, 
 Disdained all further efforts, save to close. 
 But steep the crag, and all without a path, 
 Each step opposed a bastion to their wrath ; 
 While, placed midst clefts the least accessible, 
 Which Christian's eye was trained to mark full well, 310 
 The three maintained a strife which must not yield, 
 In spots where eagles might have chosen to build. 
 
74 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Their every shot told ; while the assailant fell, 
 
 Dashed on the shingles like the limpet shell ; 
 
 But still enough survived, and mounted still, 
 
 Scattering their numbers here and there, until 
 
 Surrounded and commanded, though not nigh 
 
 Enough for seizure, near enough to die, 
 
 The desperate trio held aloof their fate 
 
 But by a thread, like sharks who have gorged the bait ; 320 
 
 Yet to the very last they battled well, 
 
 And not a groan informed their foes who fell. 
 
 Christian died last — twice wounded ; and once more 
 
 Mercy was offered when they saw his gore ; 
 
 Too late for life, but not too late to die, 
 
 With though a hostile hand to close his eye. 
 
 A limb was broken, and he drooped along 
 
 The crag, as doth a falcon reft of young. 
 
 The sound revived him, or appeared to wake 
 
 Some passion which a weakly gesture spake ; 330 
 
 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 of his vest, * 
 
 * In Thibault's account of Frederic the 2d of Prussia, there is a singular 
 relation of a young Frenchman, who with his mistress appeared to be of 
 
THE ISLAND. 75 
 
 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 
 *•"-'_ Locked 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 ; 340 
 
 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. 350 
 
 some rank. He enlisted and deserted at Scweidnitz; and after a despe- 
 rate resistance was retaken, having killed an officer, who attempted to seize 
 \ him after he was wounded, by the discharge of his musket loaded with a 
 » button of his uniform. Some circumstances on his Court-Martial raised a 
 great interest amongst his Judges, who wished to discover his real situation in 
 life, which he offered to disclose, but to the King only, to whom he requested 
 pennission to write. This was refused, and Frederic was filled with the 
 greatest indignation, from baffled curiosity or some other motive, when he 
 understood that his request had been denied. — See Thibault's Work, vol. 2d. 
 — (I quote from memory). 
 
76 THE ISLAND. 
 
 The rest was nothing 1 — save a life mis-spent, 
 And soul — but who shall answer where it went ? 
 >J 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. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The deed was over ! All were gone or ta'en, 
 The fugitive, the captive, or the slain. 
 Chained on the deck, where once, a gallant crew, 
 They stood with honour, were the wretched few 360 
 
 Survivors of the skirmish on the isle % 
 But the last rock left no surviving spoil. 
 Cold lay they where they fell, and weltering, 
 While o'er them flapped the sea-birds dewy wing, 
 Now wheeling nearer from the neighbouring surge, 
 And screaming high their harsh and hungry dirge : 
 ' But calm and careless heaved the wave below, 
 Eternal with unsympathetic flow ; 
 Far o'er its face the dolphins sported on, 
 And sprung the flying fish against the sun, 370 
 
 Till its dried wing relapsed from its brief height, 
 To gather moisture for another flight. 
 
THE ISLAND. 77 
 
 XVII. 
 
 J Twas mora ; and Neuha, who by dawn of day 
 Swam smoothly forth to catch the rising ray, 
 And watch if aught approach'd the amphibious lair 
 Where lay her lover, saw a sail in air : 
 » It flapped, it filled, and to the growing gale 
 * Bent its broad arch : her breath began to fail 
 With fluttering fear, her heart beat thick and high, 
 While yet a doubt sprung where its course might lie : 380 
 But no! it came not j fast and far away ? 
 
 r The shadow lessened as it cleared the bay. 
 > She gazed and flung the sea-foam from her eyes 
 To watch as for a rainbow in the skies. 
 
 n On the horizon verged the distant deck, 
 
 * Diminished, dwindled to a very speck — 
 
 <— <• Then vanished. All was ocean, all was joy! 
 
 Down plunged she through the cave to rouse her boy ; 
 
 Told all she had seen, and all she hoped, and all 
 
 That happy Love could augur or recal ; 390 
 
 Sprung forth again, with Torquil following free 
 
 His bounding Nereid over the broad sea ; 
 
 Swam round the rock, to where a shallow cleft 
 
 Hid the canoe that Neuha there had left 
 
78 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Drifting along the tide, without an oar, 
 
 That eve the strangers chaced them from the shore; 
 
 But when these vanished, she pursued her prow, 
 
 Regained, and urged to where they found it now : 
 
 Nor ever did more Love and Joy embark, 
 
 Than now was wafted in that slender ark. 400 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Again their own shore rises on the view, 
 
 No more polluted with a hostile hue ; 
 
 No sullen ship lay bristling o'er the foam, 
 
 A floating dungeon : — all was Hope and Home ! 
 
 A thousand proas darted o'er the bay, 
 
 With sounding shells, and heralded their way ; 
 
 The Chiefs came down, around the People poured, 
 
 And welcom'd Torquil as a son restored ; 
 
 The women thronged, embracing and embraced 
 
 By Neuha, asking where they had been chaced, 410 
 
 And how escaped ? The tale was told j and then 
 
 One acclamation rent the sky again ; 
 
 And from that hour a new tradition gave 
 
 Their sanctuary the name of " Neuha's Cave." 
 
 An hundred fires, far flickering from the height, 
 
 Blazed o'er the general revel of the night, 
 
THE ISLAND. 79 
 
 The feast in honour of the guest, returned 
 
 To Peace and Pleasure, perilously earned ; 
 
 A night succeeded by such happy days 
 
 As only the yet infant world displays. 420 
 
 THE END OF THE POEM. 
 
 
 

APPENDIX. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM THE VOYAGE BY CAPTAIN BLIGH. 
 
 On the 27th of December it blew a severe storm of wind from 
 the eastward, in the course of which we suffered greatly. One 
 sea broke away the spare yards and spars out of the starboard 
 mainchains ; another broke into the ship and stove all the boats. 
 Several casks of beer that had been lashed on deck broke loose, 
 and were washed overboard ; and it was not without great risk 
 and ^lifnculty that we were able to secure the boats from being 
 washed away entirely. A great quantity of our bread was also 
 damaged and rendered useless, for the sea had stove in our stern, 
 and filled the cabin with water. 
 
 On the 5th of January, 1788, we saw the island of Teneriffe 
 about twelve leagues distant, and next day, being Sunday, came 
 to an anchor in the road of Santa Cruz. There we took in the 
 necessary supplies, and, having finished our business, sailed on the 
 10th. 
 
 I now divided the people into three watches, and gave the 
 charge of the third watch to Mr. Fletcher Christian, one of the 
 mates. I have always considered this a desirable regulation when 
 circumstances will admit of it, and I am persuaded that unbroken 
 rest not only contributes much towards the health of the ship's 
 company, but enables them more readily to exert themselves in 
 cases of sudden emergency. 
 
 As I wished to proceed to Otaheite without stopping, I reduced 
 the allowance of bread to two-thirds, and caused the water for 
 
 r 
 
8<2 APPENDIX. 
 
 drinking to be filtered through drip-stones, bought at Teneriffe for 
 that purpose. I now acquainted the ship's company of the object 
 of the voyage, and gave assurances of certain promotion to every 
 one whose endeavours should merit it. 
 
 On Tuesday the 26th of February, being in South latitude 
 .29? 38', and 44 Q 44' West longitude, we bent new sails, and made 
 other necessary preparations for encountering the weather that 
 was to be expected in a high latitude. Our distance from the 
 coast of Brazil was about 100 leagues. 
 
 On the forenoon of Sunday the 2nd of March, after seeing that 
 every person was clean, divine service was performed, according 
 to my usual custom on this day. I gave to Mr. Fletcher Christian, 
 whom I had before directed to take charge of the third watch, a 
 written order to act as lieutenant. 
 
 The change of temperature soon began to be sensibly felt, and, 
 that the people might not suffer from their own negligence, I supr 
 plied them with thicker clothing, as better suited to the climate. 
 A great number of whales of an immense size, with two spout' 
 holes on the back of the head, were seen on the 11th. 
 
 On a complaint made to me by the Master, I found it necessary 
 to punish Matthew Quintal, one of the seamen, with two dozen 
 of lashes, for insolence and mutinous behaviour, Which was the 
 first time that there was any occasion for punishment on board. 
 
 We were off Cape St. Diego, the Eastern part of the Terra de 
 Fuego, and, the wind being unfavourable, I thought it more advi- 
 sable to go round to the eastward of Staten-land than to attempt 
 passing through Straits le Maire. We passed New Year's Har- 
 bour and Cape St. John, and on Monday the 31st were in lati- 
 tude 60° 1 ' south. But the wind became variable, and we had 
 bad weather". 
 
 Storms, attended with a great sea, prevailed until the 12th of 
 April. The ship began to leak, and required pumping every hour, 
 which was no more than we had reason to expect from such a 
 
APPENDIX. 83 
 
 continuance of gales of wind and high seas. The decks also be- 
 came so leaky that it was necessary to allot the great cabin, of 
 which I made little use except in fine weather, to those people 
 who had not births to hang their hammocks in, and by this means 
 the space between decks was less crowded. 
 
 With all this bad weather, we had the additional mortification 
 to find, at the end of every day, that we were losing ground; for, 
 notwithstanding our utmost exertions, and keeping on the most 
 advantageous tacks, we did little better than drift before the wind. 
 On Tuesday the 22nd of April, we had eight down on the sick 
 list, and the rest of the people, though in good health, were greatly 
 fatigued ; but I saw, with much concern, that it was impossible to 
 make a passage this way to the Society Islands, for we had now 
 been thirty days in a tempestuous ocean. Thus the season was 
 too far advanced for us to expect better weather to enable us to 
 double Cape Horn ; and, from these and other considerations, I 
 ordered the helm to be put a-weather, and bore away for the Cape 
 of Good Hope, to the great joy of every one on board. 
 
 We came to an anchor on Friday the 23rd of May, in Simon's 
 Bay, at the Cape, after a tolerable run. The ship required complete 
 caulking, for she had become so leaky, that we were obliged to 
 pump hourly in our passage from Cape Horn. The sails and rig- 
 ging also required repair, and, on examining the provisions, a 
 considerable quantity was found damaged. 
 
 Having remained thirty-eight days at this place, and my people 
 having received all the advantage that could be derived from 
 refreshments of every kind that could be met with, we sailed on 
 the 1st of July. 
 
 A gale of wind blew on the 20th, with a high sea ; it increased 
 after noon with such violence, that the ship was driven almost 
 forecastle under before we could get the sails clewed up. The 
 lower yards were lowered, and the top-gallant-mast got down 
 upon deck, which relieved her much. We lay to all nightj and 
 
84 APPENDIX. 
 
 in the morning bore away under a reefed foresail. The sea still 
 running high, in the afternoon it became very unsafe to stand on ; 
 we therefore lay to all night, without any accident, excepting that 
 a man at the steerage was thrown over the wheel and much 
 bruised. Towards noon the violence of the storm abated, and we 
 again bore away under the reefed foresail. 
 
 ; In a few days we passed the Island of St. Paul, where there is 
 good fresh water, as I was informed by a Dutch captain, and also 
 a hot spring, which boils fish as completely as if done by a fire. 
 Approaching to Van Dieman's land, we had much bad weather, 
 with snow and hail, but nothing was seen to indicate our vicinity, 
 on the 13th of August, except a seal, which appeared at the dis- 
 tance of twenty leagues from it. We anchored in Adventure Bay 
 on Wednesday the 20th. 
 
 In our passage hither from the Cape of Good Hope, the winds 
 were chiefly from the westward, with very boisterous weather; 
 The approach of strong southerly winds is announced by many 
 birds of the albatross or peterel tribe ; and the abatement of the 
 gale, or a shift of wind to the northward, by their keeping away. 
 The thermometer also varies five or six degrees in its height, when 
 a change of these winds may be expected. 
 
 In the land surrounding Adventure Bay are many forest trees 
 one hundred and fifty feet high ; we , saw one which measured 
 above thirty- three feet in girth. We observed several eagles, 
 some beautiful blue-plumaged herons, and parroquets in great 
 variety. > : 
 
 The natives not appearing, we went in search of them towards 
 Cape Frederic Henry. Soon after, coming to a grapnel close -to 
 the shore, for it was impossible to land, we heard their voices; 
 like the cackling of geese, and twenty persons came out of the 
 woods. We threw trinkets ashore tied up in parcels, which they 
 would not open out until I made an appearance of leaving them ; 
 they then did so, and, taking the articles out, put them on their 
 
APPENDIX. 85 
 
 heads. On first coming in sight, they made a prodigious clatter- 
 ing in their speech, and held their arms over their heads. They 
 spoke so quick, that it was impossible to catch one single word 
 they uttered. Their colour is of a dull black ; their skin scarified 
 about the breast and shoulders. One was distinguished by his 
 body being coloured with red ochre, but all the others were painted 
 black, with a kind of soot, so thickly laid over their faces and 
 shoulders, that it was difficult to ascertain what they were like. 
 
 On Thursday, the 4th of September, we sailed out of Adventure 
 Bay, steering first towards the east-south-east, and then to the 
 northward of east, when, on the 19th, we came in sight of a clus- 
 ter of small rocky islands, which I named Bounty Isles. Soon 
 afterwards we frequently observed the sea, in the night-time, to 
 be covered by luminous spots, caused by amazing quantities of 
 small blubbers, or medusae, which emit a light, like the blaze of a 
 candle, from the strings or filaments extending from them, while 
 the rest of the body continues perfectly dark. 
 
 We discovered the island of Otaheite on the 25th, and, before 
 casting anchor next morning in Matavai Bay, such numbers of 
 canoes had come. off, that, after the natives ascertained we were 
 friends, they came on board, and crowded the deck so much, that 
 in ten minutes I could scarce find my own people. The whole 
 distance which the ship had run, in direct and contrary courses, 
 from the time of leaving England until reaching Otaheite, was 
 twenty-seven thousand and eighty-six miles, which, on an average, 
 was one hundred and eight miles each twenty-four hours. 
 : Here we lost our surgeon on the 9th of December. Of late he 
 had scarcely ever stirred out of the cabin, though not apprehended 
 to be in a dangerous state. Nevertheless, appearing worse than 
 usual in the evening, he was removed where he could obtain more 
 air, but without any benefit, for he died in an hour afterwards. 
 This unfortunate man drank very hard, and was so averse to ex- 
 ercise, that he would never be prevailed on to take half a dozen 
 
S« APPENDIX. 
 
 turns on deck at a time, during all the course of the voyage. He 
 was buried on shore. 
 
 On Monday the 5th of January, the small cutter was missed, 
 of which I was immediately apprised. The ship's company being 
 mustered, we found three men absent, who had carried it off. 
 They had taken with them eight stand of arms and ammunition ; 
 but with regard to their plan, every one on board seemed to be 
 quite ignerant. I therefore went on shore, and engaged all the 
 chiefs to assist in recovering both the boat and the deserters. Ac- 
 cordingly, the former was brought back in the course of the day, 
 by five of the natives ; but the men were not taken until nearly 
 three weeks afterwards. Learning the place where they were, in 
 a different quarter of the island of Otaheite, I went thither in the 
 cutter, thinking there would be no great difficulty in securing 
 them with the assistance of the natives. However, they heard 
 of my arrival; and when I was near a house in which they 
 were, they came out wanting their fire-arms, and delivered them- 
 selves up. Some of the chiefs had formerly seized and bound 
 these deserters ; but had been prevailed on, by fair promises of 
 returning peaceably to the ship, to release them. But finding an 
 opportunity again to get possession of their arms, they set the na- 
 tives at defiance. 
 
 The object of the voyage being now completed, all the bread- 
 fruit plants, to the number of one thousand and fifteen, were got 
 on board on Tuesday the 31st of March. Besides these, we had 
 collected many other plants, some of them bearing the finest fruits 
 in the World; and valuable, from affording brilliant dyes, and for 
 various properties besides. At sunset of the 4th of April, we made 
 sail from Otaheite, bidding farewell to an island where for twenty- 
 three weeks We had been treated with the utmost affection and 
 regard, and which seemed to increase in proportion to our stay. 
 That we were not insensible to their kindness, the succeeding cir- 
 cumstances sufficiently proved ; for to the friendly and endearing 
 
APPENDIX. 87 
 
 behaviour of these people may be ascribed the motives inciting an 
 event that effected the ruin of our expedition, which there was 
 every reason to believe would have been attended with the most 
 favourable issue. 
 
 Next morning we got sight of the island Huaheine ; and a 
 double canoe soon coming alongside, containing ten natives, I 
 saw among them a young man who recollected me, and called me 
 by my name. I had been here in the year 1780, with Captain 
 Cook, in the Resolution. A few days after sailing from this 
 island, the weather became squally, and a thick body of black 
 clouds collected in the east. A water-spout was in a short 
 time seen at no great distance from us, which appeared to 
 great advantage from the darkness of the clouds behind it. As 
 nearly as I could judge, the upper part was about two feet in dia- 
 meter, and the lower about eight inches. Scarcely had I made 
 these remarks, when I observed that it was rapidly advancing 
 towards the ship. We immediately altered our course, and took 
 in all the sails except the foresail; soon after which it passed 
 within ten yards of the stern, with a rustling noise, but without 
 our feeling the least effect from it being so near. It seemed to be 
 travelling at the rate of about ten miles an hour, in the direction 
 of the wind, and it dispersed in a quarter of an hour after pass- 
 ing us. It is impossible to say what injury we should have re- 
 ceived, had it passed directly over us. Masts, I imagine, might 
 have been carried away, but I do not apprehend that it would 
 have endangered the loss of the ship. 
 
 Passing several islands on the way, we anchored at Annamooka, 
 on the 23d of April; and an old lame man called Tepa, whom 
 IJiad known herein 1777, and immediately recollected, came 
 on board, along with others, from different islands in the vicinity. 
 They were desirous to see the ship, and oh being taken below, 
 where the bread-fruit plants were arranged, they testified great 
 surprise. A few of these being decayed, we went on shore to pro- 
 cure some in their place. 
 
88 APPENDIX. 
 
 The natives^xhibited numerous marks of the peculiar mourning 
 which they express on losing their relatives ; such as bloody tem- 
 ples, their, heads being deprived of most of the hair, and what 
 was worse, almost the whole of them had lost some of their fingers. 
 Several fine boys, not above six years old, had lost both their little 
 fingers ; and several of the men, besides these, had parted with 
 the middle finger of the right hand. 
 
 The chiefs went off with me to dinner, and we carried on a 
 brisk trade for yams ; we also got plantains and bread fruit. But 
 the yams were in great abundance, and very fine and large. One 
 of them weighed above forty-five pounds. Sailing canoes came, 
 some of which contained not less than ninety passengers. Such 
 a number of them gradually arrived from different islands, that 
 it was impossible to get any thing done, the multitude became so 
 great, and there was no chief of sufficient authority to command 
 the whole. I therefore ordered a watering party, then employed, 
 to come on board, and sailed on Sunday the 26th of April. 
 
 We kept near the island of Kotoo all the afternoon of Monday, 
 in hopes that some canoes would come off to the ship, but in this 
 we were disappointed. The wind being northerly, we steered to 
 the westward in the evening, to pass south of Tofoa ; and I gave 
 directions for this course to be continued during the night. The 
 master had the first watch, the gunner the middle watch, and Mr. 
 Christian the morning watch. This was the turn of duty for the 
 night. 
 
 Hitherto the voyage had advanced in a course of uninterrupted 
 prosperity, and had been attended with circumstances equally 
 pleasing and satisfactory. But a very different scene was now, 
 to be disclosed; a conspiracy had been formed, which was to 
 render all our past labour productive only of misery and distress ; 
 and it had been concerted with so much secrecy and circumspec- 
 tion, that no one circumstance escaped to betray the impending 
 calamity. . , 
 
 On the night of Monday, the watch was set as I have de- 
 
APPENDIX. 89 
 
 scribed. Just before sunrise, on Tuesday morning, while I was 
 yet asleep, Mr. Christian, with the master at arms, gunner's mate, 
 and Thomas Burkitt, seaman, came into my cabin, and seizing me, 
 tied my hands with a cord behind my back; threatening me with 
 instant death if I spoke or made the least noise. I nevertheless 
 called out as loud as I could, in hopes of assistance ; but the offi- 
 cers not of their party were already secured by sentinels at their 
 doors. At my own cabin door were three men, besides the four 
 within ; all except Christian had muskets and bayonets ; he had 
 only a cutlass. I was dragged out of bed, and forced on deck in 
 my shirt, suffering great pain in the mean time from the tightness 
 with which my hands were tied. On demanding the reason of 
 such violence, the only answer was abuse for not holding my 
 tongue. The master, the gunner, surgeon, master's mate, and Nel- 
 son the gardener, were kept confined below, and the fore hatchway 
 was guarded by sentinels. The boatswain and carpenter, and 
 also the clerk, were allowed to come on deck, where they saw 
 me standing abaft the mizen-mast, with my hands tied behind my 
 back, under a guard, with Christian at their head. The boat- 
 swain was then ordered to hoist out the launch, accompanied by 
 a threat, if he did not do it instantly, to take care of himself. 
 
 The boat being hoisted out, Mr. Hayward and Mr. Hallet, two 
 of the midshipmen, and Mr. Samuel, the clerk, were ordered into 
 it. I demanded the intention of giving this order, and endea- 
 voured to persuade the people near me not to persist in such acta 
 of violence ; but it was to no effect ; for the constant answer was r 
 " Hold your tongue, Sir, or you are dead this moment." 
 
 The master had by this time sent, requesting that he mighfc 
 come on deck, which was permitted ; but he was soon ordered 
 back again to his cabin. My exertions to turn the tide of affairs 
 were continued ; when Christian, changing the cutlass he held for 
 a bayonet, and holding me by the cord about my hands with a 
 strong gripe, threatened me with immediate death if I would not 
 
90 APPENDIX. 
 
 be quiet; and the villains around me had their pieces cocked and 
 bayonets fixed. 
 
 Certain individuals were called on to get into the boat, and 
 were hurried over the ship's side ; whence I concluded, that along 
 With them I was- to be set adrift. Another effort to bring about a 
 change produced nothing but menaces of having my brains blown 
 out. 
 
 The boatswain and those seamen who were to be put into the 
 boat, were allowed to collect twine, canvas, lines, sails, cordage, 
 an eight-ahd-twenty gallon cask of water ; and Mr. Samuel got 
 150 pounds of bread, with a small quantity of rum and wine ; 
 also a quadrant and compass ; but he was prohibited, on pain of 
 death, to touch any map or astronomical book, and any instru- 
 ment, or any of my surveys and drawings. 
 
 The mutineers having thus forced those of the seamen whom 
 they wished to get rid of into the boat, Christian directed a 
 dram to be served to each of his crew. I then unhappily saw 
 that nothing could be done to recover the ship. The officers 
 were next called on deck, and forced over the ship's side into the 
 boat, while I was kept apart from every one abaft the mizen- 
 mast. Christian, armed with a bayonet, held the cord fasten- 
 ing my hands, and the guard around me stood with their pieces 
 cocked ; but on my daring the ungrateful wretches to fire, they 
 uncocked them. Isaac Martin, one of them, I saw had an incli- 
 nation to assist me; and as he fed me with shaddock, my lips 
 being quite parched, we explained each other's sentiments by 
 looks. But this was observed, arid he was removed. He then 
 got into the boat, attempting to leave the ship ; however, he was 
 compelled to return. Some others were also kept contrary to 
 their inclination. 
 
 It appeared to me, that Christian was some time in doubt whe- 
 ther he should keep the carpenter or his mates. At length he 1 
 determined on the latter, and the carpenter was ordered into the 
 
APPENDIX. 91 
 
 boat. He was permitted, though not without opposition, to take 
 his tool chest. 
 
 Mr. Samuel secured my journals and commission, with some 
 important ship papers; this he did with great resolution, though 
 strictly watched. He attempted to save the time-keeper, and a 
 box with my surveys, drawings, and remarks, for fifteen years 
 past, which were very numerous, when he was hurried away 
 with — " Damn your eyes, you are well off to get what you have." 
 
 Much altercation took place among the mutinous crew during 
 the transaction of this whole affair. Some swore, " I'll be damned 
 if he does not find his way home, if he gets any thing with him," 
 meaning me ; and when the carpenter's chest Was carrying away, 
 " Damn my eyes, he will have a vessel built in a month ;" while 
 others ridiculed the helpless situation of the boat, which was very 
 deep in the water, and had so little room for those who were in 
 her. As for Christian, he seemed as if meditating destruction on 
 himself and every one else. 
 
 I asked for arms, but the mutineers laughed at me, and said I 
 was well acquainted with the people among whom I was going ; 
 four cutlasses, however, were thrown into the boat, after we were 
 veered astern. 
 
 The officers and men being in the boat, they only waited for 
 me, of which the master-at-arms informed Christian, who then 
 said, " Come, Captain Bligh, your officers and men are now in 
 the boat, and you must go with them ; if you attempt to make 
 the least resistance, you will instantly be put to death ;" and 
 without further ceremony, I was forced over the side by a tribe of 
 armed ruffians, where they untied my hands. Being in the boat, 
 we were veered astern by a rope. A few pieces of pork were 
 thrown to us, also the four cutlasses. The armourer and carpen- 
 ter then called out to me to remember that they had no hand in 
 the transaction. After having been kept some time to make 
 sport for these unfeeling wretches, and having undergone milch 
 ridicule, we were at length cast adrift in the open ocean. 
 
92 APPENDIX. 
 
 Eighteen persons were with me in the boat, — the master, acting 
 surgeon, botanist, gunner, boatswain, carpenter, master, and 
 quarter-master's mate, two quarter-masters, the sail maker, two 
 cooks, my clerk, the butcher, and a boy. There remained on 
 board, Fletcher Christian, the master's mate ; Peter Haywood, 
 Edward Young, George Stewart, midshipmen ; the master-at- 
 arms, gunner's mate, boatswain's mate, gardener, armourer, car- 
 penter's mate, carpenter's crew, and fourteen seamen, being alto- 
 gether the most able men of the ship's company. 
 
 Having little or no wind, we rowed pretty fast towards the 
 island of Tofoa, which bore north-east about ten leagues distant. 
 The ship while in sight steered west-north-west, but this I consi- 
 dered only as a feint, for when we were sent away, " Huzza for 
 Otaheite !" was frequently heard among the mutineers. 
 
 Christian, the chief of them, was of a respectable family in the 
 north of England. This was the third voyage he had made with 
 me. Notwithstanding the roughness with which I was treated, 
 the remembrance of past kindnesses produced some remorse in 
 him. While they were forcing me out of the ship, I asked him 
 whether this was a proper return for the many instances he had 
 experienced of my friendship ? He appeared disturbed at the ques- 
 tion, and answered with much emotion, " That — Captain Bligh — 
 that is the thing — I am in hell — I am in hell." His abilities to 
 take charge of the third watch, as I had so divided the ship's com- 
 pany, were fully equal to the task. 
 
 Haywood was also of a respectable family in the north of Eng- 
 land, and a young man of abilities, as well as Christian. These 
 two had been objects of my particular regard and attention, and 
 I had taken great pains to instruct them, having entertained 
 hopes that, as professional men, they would have become a credit 
 to their country. Young was well recommended ; and Stewart of 
 creditable parents in the Orkneys, at which place, on the return of 
 the Resolution from the South Seas in 1780, we received so many 
 civilities, that in consideration of these alone I should gladly 
 
APPENDIX. 93 
 
 have taken him with me. But he had always borne a good cha- 
 racter. 
 
 When I had time to reflect, an inward satisfaction prevented the 
 depression of my spirits. Yet, a few hours before, my situation had 
 been peculiarly flattering; I had a ship in the most perfect order, 
 stored with every necessary, both for health and service ; the ob- 
 ject of the voyage was attained, and two-thirds of it now com- 
 pleted. The remaining part had every prospect of success. 
 
 It will naturally be asked, what could be the cause of such a 
 revolt ? In answer, I can only conjecture that the mutineers had 
 flattered themselves with the hope of a happier life among the 
 Otaheitans than they could possibly enjoy in England ; which, 
 joined to some female connections, most probably occasioned the 
 whole transaction. 
 
 The women of Otaheite are handsome, mild, and cheerful in 
 manners and conversation; possessed of great sensibility, and 
 have sufficient delicacy to make them be admired and beloved. 
 The chiefs were so much attached to our people, that they rather 
 encouraged their stay among them than otherwise, and even made 
 them promises of large possessions. Under these, and many other 
 concomitant circumstances, it ought hardly to be the subject of 
 surprise that a set of sailors, most of them void of connections, 
 should be led away, where they had the power of fixing them- 
 selves in the midst of plenty, in one of the finest islands in the 
 world, where there was no necessity to labour, and where the al- 
 lurements of dissipation are beyond any conception that can be 
 formed of it. The utmost, however, that a Commander could 
 have expected, was desertions, such as have already happened 
 more or less in the South Seas, and not an act of open mutiny. 
 
 But the secrecy of this mutiny surpasses belief. Thirteen of 
 the party who were now with me had always lived forward among 
 the seamen ; yet neither they, nor the messmates of Christian, 
 Stewart, Haywood, and Young, had ever observed any circum- 
 
94 APPENDIX. 
 
 stance to excite suspicion of what was plotting ; and it is not 
 wonderful if I fell a sacrifice to it, my mind being entirely free 
 from suspicion. Perhaps, had marines been on board, a sentinel 
 at my cabin-door might have prevented it ; for I constantly slept 
 with the door open, that the officer of the watch might have access 
 to me on all occasions. If the mutiny had been occasioned by 
 any grievances, either real or imaginary, I must have discovered 
 symptoms of discontent, which would have put me on my guard ; 
 but it was far otherwise. With Christian, in particular, I was on 
 the most friendly terms; that very day he was engaged to have 
 dined with me ; and the preceding night he excused himself from 
 supping with me on pretence of indisposition, for which I felt 
 concerned, having no suspicions of his honour or integrity. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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