And stead of trowsers (ah! too early torn!

For even the mildest woods will have their thorn)

A curious sort of somewhat scanty mat

Now served for inexpressibles and hat;

480

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,
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);
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.

490

XXI.

"What cheer, Ben Bunting?" cried (when in full view Our new acquaintance) Torquil, "Aught of new?" 501

66 Ey, ey," quoth Ben, " not new, but news enow;
A strange sail in the offing."-" 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, " 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
She bore down on us, till the wind grew still."

511

« 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 elm about." "About?—Whate'er may have us now in chase, 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?"-"Ay; he has piped all hands

To quarters. They are furbishing the stands

521

Of arms; and we have got some guns to bear,

And scaled them. You are wanted."-" That's but fair;

And if it were not, mine is not the soul

To leave my comrades helpless
comrades helpless on the shoal.

My Neuha! ah! and must my fate pursue,
Not me alone, but one so sweet and true?

But whatsoe'er betide, ah, Neuha! now

Unman me not; the hour will not allow

A tear; I am thine whatever intervenes !"

66

530

Right," quoth Ben, " that will do for the marines *."

* "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.

CANTO III.

I.

THE fight was o'er; the flashing through the gloom,
Which robes the cannon as he wings a tomb,

Had ceased; and sulphury vapours upward driven

Had left the earth, and but polluted heaven:

The rattling roar which rung in

every volley Had left the echoes to their melancholy;

10

No more they shrieked their horror, boom for boom;
The strife was done, the vanquished had their doom,
The mutineers were crushed, dispersed, or ta'en,
Or lived to deem the happiest were the slain.
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;

But vainly wolves and lions seek their den,

And still more vainly, men escape from men.