Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Still void of fear, the great MONDINGO stands, And turning, thus in brief address'd his bands; "No wonder, warriors, that we're forc'd to yield, Jove favors them, and lo! we quit the field;

Their strokes he seconds, and averts our spears,
And hell, all hell, in their behalf appears."

But thrice, ev'n then, he flew amidst the train,
And thrice repuls'd the vaunting foe again.
But now the troops and sable allies ran,
Full on the prince, an army on a man.
As the bold hound that gives the lion chase,
With beating bosom, and with eager pace,
Hangs on his haunch or fastens on his heels,
Guards as he turns, and circles as he wheels,
Thus oft MONDINGO turns, but still he flew,
Thus swift, the tyrants eagerly pursue.
Ev'n then the prince recedes with tardy pace,
Tho' hosts, not decades, thunder in his face;
None turn their backs to mean ignoble flight,
Slow they retreat, and ev'n retreating, fight.
As the fierce boar whom all the troop surrounds
Of shouting huntsmen, and of yelping hounds,
He grinds his iv'ry tusks, he foams with ire,,
His sanguine eye-balls glare with living fire;
By those, by these, on ev'ry part is ply'd,
And the red slaughter spreads on ev'ry side.
Thus the bold prince; lance after lance he threw,
And glaring round, by tardy steps withdrew.
So from the fold th' unwilling lion parts,
Forc'd by loud clamors, and a storm of darts;
He flies indeed, but threatens as he flies,
With heart indignant, and retorted eyes.
MANDINGO thus retreats, and now he stands,

Now turns, and backward views the yielding bands

Now stiff recedes, yet hardly seems to fly,
And treats his followers with retorting eye.
The chief unnerv'd in LECLERC's presence grown,
Amaz'd he stood, with terrors not his own;
Yet still collected in himself and whole,
He questions thus his own unconquer'd soul:
"What farther subterfuge, what hopes remain,
What shame inglorious, if I quit the plain?
What danger singly if I stand the ground,
My men all scatter'd, all the foes around?
Yet wherefore doubtful? let this truth suffice,
The brave meets danger, and the coward flies;
To die or conquer proves a hero's heart,
And knowing this, I know a warrior's part."
Then swift as light, resistless as the wind,
He flew, and left his mournful friends behind;
And big with fury, on the press he flew,
And twenty ruffians at the onset slew :

He like a whirlwind toss'd the scattʼring throng,
Mingled the troops, and drove the field along.
So midst the dogs and hunter's daring bands,
Fierce of his might, a yellow lion stands ;
Arm'd foes around, a dreadful circle form,
And hissing bullets rain a leaden storm;
His pow'rs untam'd, their bold assault defy,
And where he turns, the rout disperse or die;
He foams, he glares, he bounds against them all,
And if he falls, his courage makes him fall.
Back to the lines a wounded chief retir'd,
And thus retreating his associates fir❜d:
Fix'd in his face a quiv'ring weapon stood,
Fix'd was the point, but broken was the wood.
So sends the heedless hunter's twanging bow,
The shaft that quivers in the bleeding doe;

Stung with the stroke,, and mad'ning with the pain,
She wildly flies from wood to wood in vain ;

Shoots o'er the verdant lawns with many a bound,
The cleaving dart still rankling in the wound.

He cries, "Oh chiefs, who has your hearts dismay'd?
O turn to arms, MONDINGO claims your aid ;

This hour he stands the mark of hostile rage,
And this the last brave battle he shall wage.
Haste join your forces; from the gloomy grave
The hero rescue and your country save."
Thus urg'd the chief....A gen'rous troop appears,
Prepar❜d to meet the foe, advanc'd their spears ;
To guard their valiant prince, while thus they stand,
With pious care MONDINGO join'd his band;
Each takes new courage at their prince's sight;
He rallies them and yet renews the fight.
That moment LECLERC pale with guilt retir'd,
While th' intrepid prince his warriors fir'd;
Loud groans proclaim him conqu❜ror thro' the plain,
As he rush'd grimly o'er the heaps of slain,
Heaps pil'd on heaps the bravest foes are kill'd,
And rage and death and carnage load the field;
The ruffians fly, and flying pant for breath,
And thick and heavy grows the work of death;
The prince is stiff with dust and sweat and gore,
His knees and feet and legs are cover'd o'er ;
Drop follows drop, and clouds of dust arise,

Blood clogs their hands, and darkness fills their eyes:
Ev'n treach'rous THOMAS fell, whose ruthless spear
Slew good LOUVERTURE and renew'd the war.
Meanwhile the plaintive melancholy train,
With awful grief move slowly o'er the plain;
With solemn sadness to the town they bring
LOUVERTURE's corpse, and thus their sorrows sing;

With grief profound still moving from the shore,
"Our prince is slain, and coNGO is no more."
And lo! a messenger, swift as the wind,
Flew to the town, and left the corpse behind;
Panting, before his sov'reign he appears,
And tells the tale, the mournful tale with tears,
"Sad tidings, gracious monarch, you must hear,
And wretched I th' unwilling messenger;
Dead is LOUVERTURE, slaughter'd in the fight,
Thro' treach'ry, while the Christians were in flight."
A sudden horror dreadful and profound,

Shot thro' the sire, he fainted on the ground;
Scarce from the gates of death recall'd, again
He faints, and but recovers to complain.
Th' infectious tidings thro' the people ran,
One universal solemn show'r began.
As snows collected on the mountains, freeze,
When milder regions breathe a vernal breeze;
The fleecy pile obeys the whisp❜ring gales,
Ends in a stream, and murmurs thro' the vales.
So melted with the dreadful tale he told,

Down their black cheeks the tender sorrows roll'd;
A peal of groans from the sad matrons broke,
And from the king, when thus the mourner spoke :
"And is my dearest, bravest hero gone,

My loving, and my best beloved son?

Alas! my people, and my trusty friends,
LOUVERTURE dead, this day your glory ends."
He lifts his wither'd arms towards the skies,
While tides of tears flow trickling from his eyes;
He cries for veng'ance to the pow'rs above,
The sire of men, the god of truth and love :
Oh Christians, barb'rous Christians, might you be
To gracious Jove no dearer than to me;

Thee vultures wild should scatter round the shore,
And bloody dogs grow fiercer from your gore ;
My valiant sons I late in peace enjoy'd,
Valiant in vain, by treachery destroy'd :
Must I with scenes of blood then close my eyes,
And number all my days with miseries?
And must my dogs, late guardians of my door,
Lick their old master's mingled spatter'd gore?
My sons have dy'd in youth, and dy'd the best,'
Struck thro' with wounds, all honest on the breast;
But when the cruel Christians in their rage,
Spurn the hoar head of unresisting age,
This, this is misery, the last, the worst,
That man can feel, man fated to be curs'd.”
He said, and acting what no words could say,
Tore from his head the silver hairs away;
Thrice beat his breast with agonizing woe,
And thrice parental tears began to flow :
With him the screaming mother bears a part,
And mourns her offspring with a mother's heart;
She rent her garments, venerably gray,

Thrice beat her breast, and tore her locks away,
With piercing shrieks and agonizing moans,
While the old monarch answers groans for groans ;
Tears after tears their languid cheeks o'erflow;
And the whole city wears one face of woe;
No less than if the rage and base desires
Of Christians, wrapp'd their town in curling fires,
And if the hissing dreadful flames should rise,
And the last blaze send CONGO to the skies.
Then, lo! the monarch lifts his hoary head,
And thus with intermitting groans he said :
"Help me my people, help me to the plain,
To meet my loving son, my hero slain."

« AnteriorContinuar »