CHAPTER I.
DURING this voyage, when on calm evenings we conversed on deck, watchingthe glancing of the waves and the changeful appearances of the sky, Idiscovered the total revolution that the disasters of Raymond had wroughtin the mind of my sister. Were they the same waters of love, which, latelycold and cutting as ice, repelling as that, now loosened from their frozenchains, flowed through the regions of her soul in gushing and gratefulexuberance? She did not believe that he was dead, but she knew that he wasin danger, and the hope of assisting in his liberation, and the idea ofsoothing by tenderness the ills that he might have undergone, elevated andharmonized the late jarring element of her being. I was not so sanguine asshe as to the result of our voyage. She was not sanguine, but secure; andthe expectation of seeing the lover she had banished, the husband, friend,heart's companion from whom she had long been alienated, wrapt her sensesin delight, her mind in placidity. It was beginning life again; it wasleaving barren sands for an abode of fertile beauty; it was a harbour aftera tempest, an opiate after sleepless nights, a happy waking from a terribledream.
Little Clara accompanied us; the poor child did not well understand whatwas going forward. She heard that we were bound for Greece, that she wouldsee her father, and now, for the first time, she prattled of him to hermother.
On landing at Athens we found difficulties encrease upon us: nor could thestoried earth or balmy atmosphere inspire us with enthusiasm or pleasure,while the fate of Raymond was in jeopardy. No man had ever excited sostrong an interest in the public mind; this was apparent even among thephlegmatic English, from whom he had long been absent. The Athenians hadexpected their hero to return in triumph; the women had taught theirchildren to lisp his name joined to thanksgiving; his manly beauty, hiscourage, his devotion to their cause, made him appear in their eyes almostas one of the ancient deities of the soil descended from their nativeOlympus to defend them. When they spoke of his probable death and certaincaptivity, tears streamed from their eyes; even as the women of Syriasorrowed for Adonis, did the wives and mothers of Greece lament our EnglishRaymond--Athens was a city of mourning.
All these shews of despair struck Perdita with affright. With that sanguinebut confused expectation, which desire engendered while she was at adistance from reality, she had formed an image in her mind of instantaneouschange, when she should set her foot on Grecian shores. She fancied thatRaymond would already be free, and that her tender attentions would come toentirely obliterate even the memory of his mischance. But his fate wasstill uncertain; she began to fear the worst, and to feel that her soul'shope was cast on a chance that might prove a blank. The wife and lovelychild of Lord Raymond became objects of intense interest in Athens. Thegates of their abode were besieged, audible prayers were breathed for hisrestoration; all these circumstances added to the dismay and fears ofPerdita.
My exertions were unremitted: after a time I left Athens, and joined thearmy stationed at Kishan in Thrace. Bribery, threats, and intrigue, soondiscovered the secret that Raymond was alive, a prisoner, suffering themost rigorous confinement and wanton cruelties. We put in movement everyimpulse of policy and money to redeem him from their hands.
The impatience of my sister's disposition now returned on her, awakened byrepentance, sharpened by remorse. The very beauty of the Grecian climate,during the season of spring, added torture to her sensations. Theunexampled loveliness of the flower-clad earth--the genial sunshine andgrateful shade--the melody of the birds--the majesty of the woods--the splendour of the marble ruins--the clear effulgence of the stars bynight--the combination of all that was exciting and voluptuous in thistranscending land, by inspiring a quicker spirit of life and an addedsensitiveness to every articulation of her frame, only gave edge to thepoignancy of her grief. Each long hour was counted, and "He suffers" wasthe burthen of all her thoughts. She abstained from food; she lay on thebare earth, and, by such mimickry of his enforced torments, endeavoured tohold communion with his distant pain. I remembered in one of her harshestmoments a quotation of mine had roused her to anger and disdain. "Perdita,"I had said, "some day you will discover that you have done wrong in againcasting Raymond on the thorns of life. When disappointment has sullied hisbeauty, when a soldier's hardships have bent his manly form, and lonelinessmade even triumph bitter to him, then you will repent; and regret for theirreparable change
"will move In hearts all rocky now, the late remorse of love."[1]
The stinging "remorse of love" now pierced her heart. She accused herselfof his journey to Greece--his dangers--his imprisonment. She picturedto herself the anguish of his solitude; she remembered with what eagerdelight he had in former days made her the partner of his joyful hopes--with what grateful affection he received her sympathy in his cares. Shecalled to mind how often he had declared that solitude was to him thegreatest of all evils, and how death itself was to him more full of fearand pain when he pictured to himself a lonely grave. "My best girl," he hadsaid, "relieves me from these phantasies. United to her, cherished in herdear heart, never again shall I know the misery of finding myself alone.Even if I die before you, my Perdita, treasure up my ashes till yours maymingle with mine. It is a foolish sentiment for one who is not amaterialist, yet, methinks, even in that dark cell, I may feel that myinanimate dust mingles with yours, and thus have a companion in decay." Inher resentful mood, these expressions had been remembered with acrimony anddisdain; they visited her in her softened hour, taking sleep from her eyes,all hope of rest from her uneasy mind.
Two months passed thus, when at last we obtained a promise of Raymond'srelease. Confinement and hardship had undermined his health; the Turksfeared an accomplishment of the threats of the English government, if hedied under their hands; they looked upon his recovery as impossible; theydelivered him up as a dying man, willingly making over to us the rites ofburial.
He came by sea from Constantinople to Athens. The wind, favourable to him,blew so strongly in shore, that we were unable, as we had at firstintended, to meet him on his watery road. The watchtower of Athens wasbesieged by inquirers, each sail eagerly looked out for; till on the firstof May the gallant frigate bore in sight, freighted with treasure moreinvaluable than the wealth which, piloted from Mexico, the vexed Pacificswallowed, or that was conveyed over its tranquil bosom to enrich the crownof Spain. At early dawn the vessel was discovered bearing in shore; it wasconjectured that it would cast anchor about five miles from land. The newsspread through Athens, and the whole city poured out at the gate of thePiraeus, down the roads, through the vineyards, the olive woods andplantations of fig-trees, towards the harbour. The noisy joy of thepopulace, the gaudy colours of their dress, the tumult of carriages andhorses, the march of soldiers intermixed, the waving of banners and soundof martial music added to the high excitement of the scene; while round usreposed in solemn majesty the relics of antient time. To our right theAcropolis rose high, spectatress of a thousand changes, of ancient glory,Turkish slavery, and the restoration of dear-bought liberty; tombs andcenotaphs were strewed thick around, adorned by ever renewing vegetation;the mighty dead hovered over their monuments, and beheld in our enthusiasmand congregated numbers a renewal of the scenes in which they had been theactors. Perdita and Clara rode in a close carriage; I attended them onhorseback. At length we arrived at the harbour; it was agitated by theoutward swell of the sea; the beach, as far could be discerned, was coveredby a moving multitude, which, urged by those behind toward the sea, againrushed back as the heavy waves with sullen roar burst close to them. Iapplied my glass, and could discern that the frigate had already castanchor, fearful of the danger of approaching nearer to a lee shore: a boatwas lowered; with a pang I saw that Raymond was unable to descend thevessel's side; he was let down in a chair, and lay wrapt in cloaks at thebottom of the boat.
I dismounted, and called to some sailors who were rowing about the harbourto pull up, and take me into their skiff; Perdita at the same momentalighted from her carriage--she seized my arm--"Take me with you," shecri
ed; she was trembling and pale; Clara clung to her--"You must not," Isaid, "the sea is rough--he will soon be here--do you not see hisboat?" The little bark to which I had beckoned had now pulled up; before Icould stop her, Perdita, assisted by the sailors was in it--Clarafollowed her mother--a loud shout echoed from the crowd as we pulled outof the inner harbour; while my sister at the prow, had caught hold of oneof the men who was using a glass, asking a thousand questions, careless ofthe spray that broke over her, deaf, sightless to all, except the littlespeck that, just visible on the top of the waves, evidently neared. Weapproached with all the speed six rowers could give; the orderly andpicturesque dress of the soldiers on the beach, the sounds of exultingmusic, the stirring breeze and waving flags, the unchecked exclamations ofthe eager crowd, whose dark looks and foreign garb were purely eastern; thesight of temple-crowned rock, the white marble of the buildings glitteringin the sun, and standing in bright relief against the dark ridge of loftymountains beyond; the near roar of the sea, the splash of oars, and dash ofspray, all steeped my soul in a delirium, unfelt, unimagined in the commoncourse of common life. Trembling, I was unable to continue to look throughthe glass with which I had watched the motion of the crew, when thefrigate's boat had first been launched. We rapidly drew near, so that atlength the number and forms of those within could be discerned; its darksides grew big, and the splash of its oars became audible: I coulddistinguish the languid form of my friend, as he half raised himself at ourapproach.
Perdita's questions had ceased; she leaned on my arm, panting with emotionstoo acute for tears--our men pulled alongside the other boat. As a lasteffort, my sister mustered her strength, her firmness; she stepped from oneboat to the other, and then with a shriek she sprang towards Raymond, kneltat his side, and glueing her lips to the hand she seized, her face shroudedby her long hair, gave herself up to tears.
Raymond had somewhat raised himself at our approach, but it was withdifficulty that he exerted himself even thus much. With sunken cheek andhollow eyes, pale and gaunt, how could I recognize the beloved of Perdita?I continued awe-struck and mute--he looked smilingly on the poor girl;the smile was his. A day of sun-shine falling on a dark valley, displaysits before hidden characteristics; and now this smile, the same with whichhe first spoke love to Perdita, with which he had welcomed theprotectorate, playing on his altered countenance, made me in my heart'score feel that this was Raymond.
He stretched out to me his other hand; I discerned the trace of manacles onhis bared wrist. I heard my sister's sobs, and thought, happy are women whocan weep, and in a passionate caress disburthen the oppression of theirfeelings; shame and habitual restraint hold back a man. I would have givenworlds to have acted as in days of boyhood, have strained him to my breast,pressed his hand to my lips, and wept over him; my swelling heart chokedme; the natural current would not be checked; the big rebellious tearsgathered in my eyes; I turned aside, and they dropped in the sea--theycame fast and faster;--yet I could hardly be ashamed, for I saw that therough sailors were not unmoved, and Raymond's eyes alone were dry fromamong our crew. He lay in that blessed calm which convalescence alwaysinduces, enjoying in secure tranquillity his liberty and re-union with herwhom he adored. Perdita at length subdued her burst of passion, and rose,--she looked round for Clara; the child frightened, not recognizing herfather, and neglected by us, had crept to the other end of the boat; shecame at her mother's call. Perdita presented her to Raymond; her firstwords were: "Beloved, embrace our child!"
"Come hither, sweet one," said her father, "do you not know me?" sheknew his voice, and cast herself in his arms with half bashful butuncontrollable emotion.
Perceiving the weakness of Raymond, I was afraid of ill consequences fromthe pressure of the crowd on his landing. But they were awed as I had been,at the change of his appearance. The music died away, the shouts abruptlyended; the soldiers had cleared a space in which a carriage was drawn up.He was placed in it; Perdita and Clara entered with him, and his escortclosed round it; a hollow murmur, akin to the roaring of the near waves,went through the multitude; they fell back as the carriage advanced, andfearful of injuring him they had come to welcome, by loud testimonies ofjoy, they satisfied themselves with bending in a low salaam as the carriagepassed; it went slowly along the road of the Piraeus; passed by antiquetemple and heroic tomb, beneath the craggy rock of the citadel. The soundof the waves was left behind; that of the multitude continued at intervals,supressed and hoarse; and though, in the city, the houses, churches, andpublic buildings were decorated with tapestry and banners--though thesoldiery lined the streets, and the inhabitants in thousands were assembledto give him hail, the same solemn silence prevailed, the soldiery presentedarms, the banners vailed, many a white hand waved a streamer, and vainlysought to discern the hero in the vehicle, which, closed and encompassed bythe city guards, drew him to the palace allotted for his abode.
Raymond was weak and exhausted, yet the interest he perceived to be excitedon his account, filled him with proud pleasure. He was nearly killed withkindness. It is true, the populace retained themselves; but there arose aperpetual hum and bustle from the throng round the palace, which added tothe noise of fireworks, the frequent explosion of arms, the tramp to andfro of horsemen and carriages, to which effervescence he was the focus,retarded his recovery. So we retired awhile to Eleusis, and here rest andtender care added each day to the strength of our invalid. The zealousattention of Perdita claimed the first rank in the causes which induced hisrapid recovery; but the second was surely the delight he felt in theaffection and good will of the Greeks. We are said to love much those whomwe greatly benefit. Raymond had fought and conquered for the Athenians; hehad suffered, on their account, peril, imprisonment, and hardship; theirgratitude affected him deeply, and he inly vowed to unite his fate for everto that of a people so enthusiastically devoted to him.
Social feeling and sympathy constituted a marked feature in my disposition.In early youth, the living drama acted around me, drew me heart and soulinto its vortex. I was now conscious of a change. I loved, I hoped, Ienjoyed; but there was something besides this. I was inquisitive as to theinternal principles of action of those around me: anxious to read theirthoughts justly, and for ever occupied in divining their inmost mind. Allevents, at the same time that they deeply interested me, arrangedthemselves in pictures before me. I gave the right place to every personagein the groupe, the just balance to every sentiment. This undercurrent ofthought, often soothed me amidst distress, and even agony. It gave idealityto that, from which, taken in naked truth, the soul would have revolted: itbestowed pictorial colours on misery and disease, and not unfrequentlyrelieved me from despair in deplorable changes. This faculty, or instinct,was now rouzed. I watched the re-awakened devotion of my sister; Clara'stimid, but concentrated admiration of her father, and Raymond's appetitefor renown, and sensitiveness to the demonstrations of affection of theAthenians. Attentively perusing this animated volume, I was the lesssurprised at the tale I read on the new-turned page.
The Turkish army were at this time besieging Rodosto; and the Greeks,hastening their preparations, and sending each day reinforcements, were onthe eve of forcing the enemy to battle. Each people looked on the comingstruggle as that which would be to a great degree decisive; as, in case ofvictory, the next step would be the siege of Constantinople by the Greeks.Raymond, being somewhat recovered, prepared to re-assume his command in thearmy.
Perdita did not oppose herself to his determination. She only stipulated tobe permitted to accompany him. She had set down no rule of conduct forherself; but for her life she could not have opposed his slightest wish, ordo other than acquiesce cheerfully in all his projects. One word, in truth,had alarmed her more than battles or sieges, during which she trustedRaymond's high command would exempt him from danger. That word, as yet itwas not more to her, was PLAGUE. This enemy to the human race had begunearly in June to raise its serpent-head on the shores of the Nile; parts ofAsia, not usually subject to this evil, were infected. It
was inConstantinople; but as each year that city experienced a like visitation,small attention was paid to those accounts which declared more people tohave died there already, than usually made up the accustomed prey of thewhole of the hotter months. However it might be, neither plague nor warcould prevent Perdita from following her lord, or induce her to utter oneobjection to the plans which he proposed. To be near him, to be loved byhim, to feel him again her own, was the limit of her desires. The object ofher life was to do him pleasure: it had been so before, but with adifference. In past times, without thought or foresight she had made himhappy, being so herself, and in any question of choice, consulted her ownwishes, as being one with his. Now she sedulously put herself out of thequestion, sacrificing even her anxiety for his health and welfare to herresolve not to oppose any of his desires. Love of the Greek people,appetite for glory, and hatred of the barbarian government under which hehad suffered even to the approach of death, stimulated him. He wished torepay the kindness of the Athenians, to keep alive the splendidassociations connected with his name, and to eradicate from Europe a powerwhich, while every other nation advanced in civilization, stood still, amonument of antique barbarism. Having effected the reunion of Raymond andPerdita, I was eager to return to England; but his earnest request, addedto awakening curiosity, and an indefinable anxiety to behold thecatastrophe, now apparently at hand, in the long drawn history of Grecianand Turkish warfare, induced me to consent to prolong until the autumn, theperiod of my residence in Greece.
As soon as the health of Raymond was sufficiently re-established, heprepared to join the Grecian camp, hear Kishan, a town of some importance,situated to the east of the Hebrus; in which Perdita and Clara were toremain until the event of the expected battle. We quitted Athens on the 2ndof June. Raymond had recovered from the gaunt and pallid looks of fever. IfI no longer saw the fresh glow of youth on his matured countenance, if carehad besieged his brow, "And dug deep trenches in his beauty's field," ifhis hair, slightly mingled with grey, and his look, considerate even in itseagerness, gave signs of added years and past sufferings, yet there wassomething irresistibly affecting in the sight of one, lately snatched fromthe grave, renewing his career, untamed by sickness or disaster. TheAthenians saw in him, not as heretofore, the heroic boy or desperate man,who was ready to die for them; but the prudent commander, who for theirsakes was careful of his life, and could make his own warrior-propensitiessecond to the scheme of conduct policy might point out.
All Athens accompanied us for several miles. When he had landed a monthago, the noisy populace had been hushed by sorrow and fear; but this was afestival day to all. The air resounded with their shouts; their picturesquecostume, and the gay colours of which it was composed, flaunted in thesunshine; their eager gestures and rapid utterance accorded with their wildappearance. Raymond was the theme of every tongue, the hope of each wife,mother or betrothed bride, whose husband, child, or lover, making a part ofthe Greek army, were to be conducted to victory by him.
Notwithstanding the hazardous object of our journey, it was full ofromantic interest, as we passed through the vallies, and over the hills, ofthis divine country. Raymond was inspirited by the intense sensations ofrecovered health; he felt that in being general of the Athenians, he filleda post worthy of his ambition; and, in his hope of the conquest ofConstantinople, he counted on an event which would be as a landmark in thewaste of ages, an exploit unequalled in the annals of man; when a city ofgrand historic association, the beauty of whose site was the wonder of theworld, which for many hundred years had been the strong hold of theMoslems, should be rescued from slavery and barbarism, and restored to apeople illustrious for genius, civilization, and a spirit of liberty.Perdita rested on his restored society, on his love, his hopes and fame,even as a Sybarite on a luxurious couch; every thought was transport, eachemotion bathed as it were in a congenial and balmy element.
We arrived at Kishan on the 7th of July. The weather during our journey hadbeen serene. Each day, before dawn, we left our night's encampment, andwatched the shadows as they retreated from hill and valley, and the goldensplendour of the sun's approach. The accompanying soldiers received, withnational vivacity, enthusiastic pleasure from the sight of beautifulnature. The uprising of the star of day was hailed by triumphant strains,while the birds, heard by snatches, filled up the intervals of the music.At noon, we pitched our tents in some shady valley, or embowering woodamong the mountains, while a stream prattling over pebbles induced gratefulsleep. Our evening march, more calm, was yet more delightful than themorning restlessness of spirit. If the band played, involuntarily theychose airs of moderated passion; the farewell of love, or lament atabsence, was followed and closed by some solemn hymn, which harmonized withthe tranquil loveliness of evening, and elevated the soul to grand andreligious thought. Often all sounds were suspended, that we might listen tothe nightingale, while the fire-flies danced in bright measure, and thesoft cooing of the aziolo spoke of fair weather to the travellers. Did wepass a valley? Soft shades encompassed us, and rocks tinged with beauteoushues. If we traversed a mountain, Greece, a living map, was spread beneath,her renowned pinnacles cleaving the ether; her rivers threading in silverline the fertile land. Afraid almost to breathe, we English travellerssurveyed with extasy this splendid landscape, so different from the soberhues and melancholy graces of our native scenery. When we quittedMacedonia, the fertile but low plains of Thrace afforded fewer beauties;yet our journey continued to be interesting. An advanced guard gaveinformation of our approach, and the country people were quickly in motionto do honour to Lord Raymond. The villages were decorated by triumphalarches of greenery by day, and lamps by night; tapestry waved from thewindows, the ground was strewed with flowers, and the name of Raymond,joined to that of Greece, was echoed in the Evive of the peasant crowd.
When we arrived at Kishan, we learnt, that on hearing of the advance ofLord Raymond and his detachment, the Turkish army had retreated fromRodosto; but meeting with a reinforcement, they had re-trod their steps. Inthe meantime, Argyropylo, the Greek commander-in-chief, had advanced, so asto be between the Turks and Rodosto; a battle, it was said, was inevitable.Perdita and her child were to remain at Kishan. Raymond asked me, if Iwould not continue with them. "Now by the fells of Cumberland," I cried,"by all of the vagabond and poacher that appertains to me, I will stand atyour side, draw my sword in the Greek cause, and be hailed as a victoralong with you!"
All the plain, from Kishan to Rodosto, a distance of sixteen leagues, wasalive with troops, or with the camp-followers, all in motion at theapproach of a battle. The small garrisons were drawn from the various townsand fortresses, and went to swell the main army. We met baggage waggons,and many females of high and low rank returning to Fairy or Kishan, thereto wait the issue of the expected day. When we arrived at Rodosto, we foundthat the field had been taken, and the scheme of the battle arranged. Thesound of firing, early on the following morning, informed us that advancedposts of the armies were engaged. Regiment after regiment advanced, theircolours flying and bands playing. They planted the cannon on the tumuli,sole elevations in this level country, and formed themselves into columnand hollow square; while the pioneers threw up small mounds for theirprotection.
These then were the preparations for a battle, nay, the battle itself; fardifferent from any thing the imagination had pictured. We read of centreand wing in Greek and Roman history; we fancy a spot, plain as a table, andsoldiers small as chessmen; and drawn forth, so that the most ignorant ofthe game can discover science and order in the disposition of the forces.When I came to the reality, and saw regiments file off to the left far outof sight, fields intervening between the battalions, but a few troopssufficiently near me to observe their motions, I gave up all idea ofunderstanding, even of seeing a battle, but attaching myself to Raymondattended with intense interest to his actions. He shewed himself collected,gallant and imperial; his commands were prompt, his intuition of the eventsof the day to me miraculous. In the mean time the cannon roar
ed; the musiclifted up its enlivening voice at intervals; and we on the highest of themounds I mentioned, too far off to observe the fallen sheaves which deathgathered into his storehouse, beheld the regiments, now lost in smoke, nowbanners and staves peering above the cloud, while shout and clamour drownedevery sound.
Early in the day, Argyropylo was wounded dangerously, and Raymond assumedthe command of the whole army. He made few remarks, till, on observingthrough his glass the sequel of an order he had given, his face, cloudedfor awhile with doubt, became radiant. "The day is ours," he cried, "theTurks fly from the bayonet." And then swiftly he dispatched hisaides-de-camp to command the horse to fall on the routed enemy. The defeatbecame total; the cannon ceased to roar; the infantry rallied, and horsepursued the flying Turks along the dreary plain; the staff of Raymond wasdispersed in various directions, to make observations, and bear commands.Even I was dispatched to a distant part of the field.
The ground on which the battle was fought, was a level plain--so level,that from the tumuli you saw the waving line of mountains on thewide-stretched horizon; yet the intervening space was unvaried by the leastirregularity, save such undulations as resembled the waves of the sea. Thewhole of this part of Thrace had been so long a scene of contest, that ithad remained uncultivated, and presented a dreary, barren appearance. Theorder I had received, was to make an observation of the direction which adetachment of the enemy might have taken, from a northern tumulus; thewhole Turkish army, followed by the Greek, had poured eastward; none butthe dead remained in the direction of my side. From the top of the mound, Ilooked far round--all was silent and deserted.
The last beams of the nearly sunken sun shot up from behind the far summitof Mount Athos; the sea of Marmora still glittered beneath its rays, whilethe Asiatic coast beyond was half hid in a haze of low cloud. Many acasque, and bayonet, and sword, fallen from unnerved arms, reflected thedeparting ray; they lay scattered far and near. From the east, a band ofravens, old inhabitants of the Turkish cemeteries, came sailing alongtowards their harvest; the sun disappeared. This hour, melancholy yetsweet, has always seemed to me the time when we are most naturally led tocommune with higher powers; our mortal sternness departs, and gentlecomplacency invests the soul. But now, in the midst of the dying and thedead, how could a thought of heaven or a sensation of tranquillity possessone of the murderers? During the busy day, my mind had yielded itself awilling slave to the state of things presented to it by its fellow-beings;historical association, hatred of the foe, and military enthusiasm had helddominion over me. Now, I looked on the evening star, as softly and calmlyit hung pendulous in the orange hues of sunset. I turned to thecorse-strewn earth; and felt ashamed of my species. So perhaps were theplacid skies; for they quickly veiled themselves in mist, and in thischange assisted the swift disappearance of twilight usual in the south;heavy masses of cloud floated up from the south east, and red and turbidlightning shot from their dark edges; the rushing wind disturbed thegarments of the dead, and was chilled as it passed over their icy forms.Darkness gathered round; the objects about me became indistinct, Idescended from my station, and with difficulty guided my horse, so as toavoid the slain.
Suddenly I heard a piercing shriek; a form seemed to rise from the earth;it flew swiftly towards me, sinking to the ground again as it drew near.All this passed so suddenly, that I with difficulty reined in my horse, sothat it should not trample on the prostrate being. The dress of this personwas that of a soldier, but the bared neck and arms, and the continuedshrieks discovered a female thus disguised. I dismounted to her aid, whileshe, with heavy groans, and her hand placed on her side, resisted myattempt to lead her on. In the hurry of the moment I forgot that I was inGreece, and in my native accents endeavoured to soothe the sufferer. Withwild and terrific exclamations did the lost, dying Evadne (for it was she)recognize the language of her lover; pain and fever from her wound hadderanged her intellects, while her piteous cries and feeble efforts toescape, penetrated me with compassion. In wild delirium she called upon thename of Raymond; she exclaimed that I was keeping him from her, while theTurks with fearful instruments of torture were about to take his life. Thenagain she sadly lamented her hard fate; that a woman, with a woman's heartand sensibility, should be driven by hopeless love and vacant hopes to takeup the trade of arms, and suffer beyond the endurance of man privation,labour, and pain--the while her dry, hot hand pressed mine, and her browand lips burned with consuming fire.
As her strength grew less, I lifted her from the ground; her emaciated formhung over my arm, her sunken cheek rested on my breast; in a sepulchralvoice she murmured:--"This is the end of love!--Yet not the end!"--and frenzy lent her strength as she cast her arm up to heaven: "there isthe end! there we meet again. Many living deaths have I borne for thee, ORaymond, and now I expire, thy victim!--By my death I purchase thee--lo! the instruments of war, fire, the plague are my servitors. I dared, Iconquered them all, till now! I have sold myself to death, with the solecondition that thou shouldst follow me--Fire, and war, and plague, unitefor thy destruction--O my Raymond, there is no safety for thee!"
With an heavy heart I listened to the changes of her delirium; I made her abed of cloaks; her violence decreased and a clammy dew stood on her brow asthe paleness of death succeeded to the crimson of fever, I placed her onthe cloaks. She continued to rave of her speedy meeting with her beloved inthe grave, of his death nigh at hand; sometimes she solemnly declared thathe was summoned; sometimes she bewailed his hard destiny. Her voice grewfeebler, her speech interrupted; a few convulsive movements, and hermuscles relaxed, the limbs fell, no more to be sustained, one deep sigh,and life was gone.
I bore her from the near neighbourhood of the dead; wrapt in cloaks, Iplaced her beneath a tree. Once more I looked on her altered face; the lasttime I saw her she was eighteen; beautiful as poet's vision, splendid as aSultana of the East--Twelve years had past; twelve years of change,sorrow and hardship; her brilliant complexion had become worn and dark, herlimbs had lost the roundness of youth and womanhood; her eyes had sunkdeep,
Crushed and o'erworn, The hours had drained her blood, and filled her brow With lines and wrinkles.
With shuddering horror I veiled this monument of human passion and humanmisery; I heaped over her all of flags and heavy accoutrements I couldfind, to guard her from birds and beasts of prey, until I could bestow onher a fitting grave. Sadly and slowly I stemmed my course from among theheaps of slain, and, guided by the twinkling lights of the town, at lengthreached Rodosto.
[1] Lord Byron's Fourth Canto of Childe Harolde.[2] Shakspeare's Sonnets.