IV.

And now along the horizon's edge
Mountains of cloud uprose,
Black, as with forests, underneath,
Above, their sharp and jagged teeth
Were white as drifted snows.

Unseen behind them sank the sun,
But flushed each snowy peak

A little while with rosy light,
That faded slowly from the sight,

As blushes from the cheek.

Black grew the sky; all black, all black, The clouds were everywhere;

There was a feeling of suspense

In nature, a mysterious sense

Of terror in the air.

And all on board the Valdemar

Was still as still could be,

Save when the dismal ship-bell tolled,

As ever and anon she rolled,

And lurched into the sea.

The captain up and down the deck

Went striding to and fro;

Now watched the compass at the wheel,

Now lifted up his hand to feel

Which way the wind might blow.

And now he looked up at the sails,

And now upon the deep;

In every fibre of his frame

He felt the storm before it came;
He had no thought of sleep.

Eight bells! and suddenly abaft,
With a great rush of rain,

Making the ocean white with spume,

In darkness like the day of doom,

On came the hurricane.

The lightning flashed from cloud to cloud,

And tore the dark in two;

A jagged flame, a single jet

Of white fire, like a bayonet,

That pierced his eyeballs through.

Then all around was dark again,
And blacker than before;
But in that single flash of light

The captain saw a fearful sight,

And thought of the oath he swore.

For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead,

The ghostly Carmilhan!

Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare,

And on her bowsprit, poised in air,

Sat the Klaboterman.

Her crew of ghosts was all on deck,

Or clambering up the shrouds;

The boatswain's whistle, the captain's hail, Were like the piping of the gale,

And thunder in the clouds.

And close behind the Carmilhan

There rose up from the sea,

As from a foundered ship of stone,
Three bare and splintered masts alone :
They were the Chimneys Three!

And onward dashed the Valdemar,
And leaped into the dark;

A denser mist, a colder blast,
A little shudder, and she had passed
Right through the Phantom Bark.

She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk,
But cleft it unaware;

As when careering to her nest

The sea-gull severs with her breast

The unresisting air.

Again the lightning flashed; again

They saw the Carmilhan,

Whole as before in hull and spar;
But now on board of the Valdemar

Stood the Klaboterman.

And they all knew their doom was sealed;
They knew that death was near;

Some prayed who never prayed before,
And some they wept, and some they swore,
And some were mute with fear.

Then suddenly there came a shock,
And louder than wind or sea

A cry burst from the crew on deck,

As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck,
Upon the Chimneys Three.

The storm and night were passed, the light
To streak the east began;

The cabin-boy, picked up at sea,
Survived the wreck, and only he,

To tell of the Carmilhan.

THE FUGITIVE.

A TARTAR SONG, FROM THE PROSE VERSION OF CHODZKO.

I.

"HE is gone to the desert land!

I can see the shining mane

Of his horse on the distant plain,

As he rides with his Kossak band!

"Come back, rebellious one! Let thy proud heart relent;

Come back to my tall, white tent,

Come back, my only son!

"Thy hand in freedom shall

Cast thy hawks when morning breaks
On the swans of the Seven Lakes,
On the lakes of Karajal.

"I will give thee leave to stray,
And pasture thy hunting steeds
In the long grass and the reeds
Of the meadows of Karaday.

"I will give thee my coat of mail
Of softest leather made,

With choicest steel inlaid ;

Will not all this prevail?"

II.

"This hand no longer shall

Cast my hawks when morning breaks

On the swans of the Seven Lakes,
On the lakes of Karajal.

"I will no longer stray,

And pasture my hunting steeds
In the long grass and the reeds
Of the meadows of Karaday.