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;

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eye.

Too late for life, but not too late to die,
With, though a hostile hand, to close his
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 ;
He beckoned to the foremost, who drew nigh,
But, as they neared, he reared his weapon high-
His last ball had been aimed, but from his breast
He tore the topmost button from his vest*,
Down the tube dashed it, levelled, fired, and smiled
As his foe fell; then, like a serpent, coiled

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* In Thibault's account of Frederic the IId. of Prussia, there is a singular relation of a young Frenchman, who with his mistress appeared to be of some rank. He enlisted and deserted at Scweidnitz; and after a desperate 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 permission 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.]

His wounded, weary form, to where the steep

Looked desperate as himself along the deep;

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

His last rage 'gainst the earth which he forsook;

Then plunged: the rock below received like glass
His body crushed into one gory mass,

With scarce a shred to tell of human form,

Or fragment for the sea-bird or the worm;

A fair-haired scalp, besmeared with blood and weeds,
Yet reeked, the remnant of himself and deeds;
Some splinters of his weapons (to the last,
As long as hand could hold, he held them fast)
Yet glittered, but at distance-hurled away
To rust beneath the dew and dashing spray.
The rest was nothing-save a life mis-spent,
And soul-but who shall answer were it went?
'Tis ours to bear, not judge the dead; and they
Who doom to hell, themselves are on the way,
Unless these bullies of eternal pains

Are pardoned their bad hearts for their worse brains.

XVI.

The deed was over! All were gone or ta'en,

The fugitive, the captive, or the slain.

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Chained on the deck, where once, a gallant crew,

They stood with honour, were the wretched few

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Survivors of the skirmish on the isle;

But the last rock left no surviving spoil.

Cold lay they were they fell, and weltering,

While o'er them flapped the sea-bird's 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,

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Till its dried wing relapsed from its brief height,

To gather moisture for another flight.

XVII.

"Twas morn; and Neuha, who by dawn of day
Swam smoothly forth to catch the rising ray,
And watch if ought 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:

But no! it came not; fast and far away

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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.

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;

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

Drifting along the tide, without an oar,

That eve the strangers chased 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.

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 welcomed Torquil as a son restored;

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The women thronged, embracing and embraced

By Neuha, asking where they had been chaced,

And how escaped? The tale was told; 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 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.

THE END OF THE POEM.

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