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Full in thine eyes is waved the glittering blade,
Close to thy throat the pointed bayonet laid,
The levell'd muskets circle round thy breast
In hands as steel'd to do the deadly rest.

Thou darest them to their worst, exclaiming, “Fire!"
But they who pitied not could yet admire;
Some lurking remnant of their former awe
Restrain'd 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.

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.
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.

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.

66

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 drain'd 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 feast without a toil,
The courteous manners but from nature caught,
The wealth unhoarded, and the love unbought;
Could these have charms for rudest sea-boys driven
Before the mast by every wind of heaven?
And now, even now, prepar'd with others' 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.
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,
Man's conscience is the oracle of GOD!

VII.

The launch is crowded with the faithful few
Who wait their chief, a melancholy crew:
But some remain'd reluctant on the deck
Of that proud vessel—now a moral wreck-
And view'd their captain's fate with piteous eyes;
While others scoff'd his augur'd miseries,
Sneer'd 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-wing'd tornadoes 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.

VIII.

When all was now prepared, the vessel clear
Which hail'd her master in the mutineer-
A seaman, less obdurate than his mates,
Show'd the vain pity which but irritates ;
Watch'd 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.
Then forward stepp'd the bold and froward boy
His chief had cherish'd only to destroy,
And, pointing to the helpless prow beneath,
Exclaim'd, "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 show'd to one :

When Bligh, in stern reproach, demanded where
Was now his grateful sense of former care?—
Where all his hopes to see his name aspire,
And blazon Britain's thousand glories higher?
His feverish lips thus broke their gloomy spell,
"'T is that! 't is 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 lurk'd below his fierce farewell.

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IX.

The arctic sun rose broad above the wave;

The breeze now sunk, now whisper'd from his cave;
As on the Æolian harp, his fitful wings
Now swell'd, now flutter'd o'er his ocean strings.
With slow despairing oar, the abandon'd 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 't is 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 deem'd in vain ;
The sapping famine, rendering scarce a son
Known to his mother in the skeleton;

The ills that lessen'd 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 shatter'd 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
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 doom'd 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.

X.

We leave them to their fate, but not unknown
Nor unredress'd! 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;
Nature, and nature's goddess-Woman-woos
To lands where, save their conscience, none accuse;
Where all partake the earth without dispute;

And bread itself is gather'd 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,
Bestow'd her customs, and amended theirs,
But left her vices also to their heirs.

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 plough'd the Euxine's virgin foam;
But those she wafted still look'd back to home-
These their
spurn
with their rebel bark,
country
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 love.

*The now celebrated bread-fruit, to transplant which Captain Bligh's expedition was undertaken.

CANTO II.

I.

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How pleasant were the of Toobonai,
songs
When summer's sun went own 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;

We'll cull the flowers that grow above the dead,
For these must bloom where rests the warrior's head;

And we will sit in twilight's face, and see

The sweet moon dancing through the tooa tree,
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,
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 smoothes his ruffled mane beneath the moon.

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 gather'd from the grave,

And wear the wreaths that sprung from out the brave.
But lo! night comes, the Mooa woos us back,
The sound of mats is heard along our track;
Anon the torch-light 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,

*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 re、 tained as much as possible of the original.

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