While The Billy BoilsSearchI
I verse a Settler's tale of olden timesOne told me by our sage friend, Egremont;Who then went forth, meetly equipt, with fourOf his most trusty and adventurous menInto the wilderness — went forth to seekNew streams and wider pastures for his fastAugmenting flocks and herds. On foot were allFor horses then were beast of too great priceTo be much ventured on mountain routes,And over wild wolds clouded up with brush,And cut with marshes, perilously deep.
So went they forth at dawn: and now the sunThat rose behind them as they journeyed out,Was firing with his nether rim a rangeOf unknown mountains that, like ramparts, toweredFull in their front, and his last glances fellInto the gloomy forest's eastern gladesIn golden masses, transiently, or flashedDown to the windings of a nameless Creek,That noiseless ran betwixt the pioneersAnd those new Apennines — ran, shaded upWith boughs of the wild willow, hanging mixedFrom either bank, or duskily befringedWith upward tapering feathery swamp-oaks —The sylvan eyelash always of remoteAustralian waters, whether gleaming stillIn lake or pool, or bickering alongBetween the marges of some eager stream.
Before then, thus extended, wilder grewThe scene each moment — and more beautiful!For when the sun was all but sunk belowThose barrier mountains, — in the breeze that o'erTheir rough enormous backs deep-fleeced with woodCame whispering down, the wide up-slanting seaOf fanning leaves in the descending raysDanced interdazzingly, as if the treesThat bore them, were all thrilling, — tingling allEven to the roots for very happiness:So prompted from within, so sentient seemedThe bright quick motion — wildly beautiful.
But when the sun had wholly disappearedBehind those mountains — O what words, what huesMight paint the wild magnificence of viewThat opened westward! Out extending, lo,The heights rose crowding, with their summits allDissolving, as it seemed, and partly lostIn the exceeding radiancy aloft;And thus transfigured, for awhile they stoodLike a great company of Archaeons, crownedWith burning diadems, and tented o'erWith canopies of purple and of gold!
Here halting wearied, now the sun was set,Our travellers kindled for their first night's campThe brisk and crackling fire, which also lookedA wilder creature than 'twas elsewhere wont,Because of the surrounding savageness.And soon in cannikins the tea was made,Fragrant and strong; long fresh-sliced rashers thenImpaled on whittled skewers, were deftly broiledOn the live embers, and when done, transferredTo quadrants from an ample damper cut,Their only trenchers — soon to be dispatchedWith all the savoury morsels they sustained,By the keen tooth of healthful appetite.
And as they supped, birds of new shape and plumeAnd wild strange voice, nestward repairing by,Oft took their wonder; or betwixt the gapsIn the ascending forest growths they sawPerched on the bare abutments of the hills,Where haply yet some lingering gleam fell through,The wallaroo look forth: till eastward allThe view had wasted into formless gloom,Night's front; and westward, the high massing woodsSteeped in a swart but mellowed Indian hue —A deep dusk loveliness, lay ridged and heapedOnly the more distinctly for their shadeAgainst the twilight heaven a cloudless depthYet luminous with the sunset's fading glow;And thus awhile, in the lit dusk, they seemedTo hang like mighty pictures of themselvesIn the still chambers of some vaster world.
The silent business of their supper done,The Echoes of the solitary place,Came as in sylvan wonder wide aboutTo hear, and imitate tentatively,Strange voices moulding a strange speech, as thenWithin the pleasant purlieus of the fireLifted in glee — but to be hushed erelong,As with the night in kindred darkness cameO'er the adventurers, each and all, some sense —Some vague-felt intimation from without,Of danger lurking in its forest lairs.
But nerved by habit, and all settled soonAbout the well-built fire, whose nimble tonguesSent up continually a strenuous roarOf fierce delight, and from their fuming pipesFull charged and fragrant with the Indian weed,Drawing rude comfort, — typed without, as 'twere,By tiny clouds over their several headsQuietly curling upward; — thus disposedWithin the pleasant firelight, grave discourseOf their peculiar business brought to eachA steadier mood, that reached into the night.
The simple subject to their minds at lengthFully discussed, their couches they preparedOf rushes, and the long green tresses pulledDown from the boughs of the wild willows near.The four, as prearranged, stretched out their limbsUnder the dark arms of the forest treesThat mixed aloft, high in the starry air,In arcs and leafy domes whose crossing curvesAnd roof-like features, — blurring as they ranInto some denser intergrowth of sprays, —Were seen in mass traced out against the clearWide gaze of heaven; and trustful of the watchKept near them by their thoughtful Master, soonDrowsing away, forgetful of their toil,And of the perilous vast wildernessThat lay around them like a spectral world,Slept, breathing deep; — whilst all things there as wellShowed slumbrous, — yea, the circling forest trees,Their foremost holes carved from a crowded massLess visible, by the watchfire's bladed gleams,As quick and spicular, from the broad red ringOf its more constant light they ran in spurtsFar out and under the umbrageous dark;And even the shaded and enormous mounts,Their bluff brows grooming through the stirless air,Looked in their quiet solemnly asleep:Yea, thence surveyed, the Universe might have seemedCoiled in vast rest, — only that one dim cloud,Diffused and shapen like a huge spider,Crept as with scrawling legs along the sky;And that the stars, in their bright orders, stillCluster by cluster glowingly revealedAs this slow cloud moved on, — high over all, —Looked wakeful — yea, looked thoughtful in their peace.
II
Meanwhile the cloudless eastern heaven had grownMore and more luminous — and now the MoonUp from behind a giant hill was seenConglobing, till — a mighty mass — she broughtHer under border level with its cone,As thereon it were resting: when, beholdA wonder! Instantly that cone's whole bulkErewhile so dark, seemed inwardly a-glowWith her instilled irradiance; while the treesThat fringed its outline, — their huge statures dwarfed,By distance into brambles, and yet allClearly defined against her ample orb, —Out of its very disc appeared to swellIn shadowy relief, as they had beenAll sculptured from its substance as she rose.
Thus o'er that dark height her great orb arose,Till her full light, in silvery sequence stillCascading forth from ridgy slope to slope,Like the dropt foldings of a lucent veil,Chased mass by mass the broken darkness downInto the dense-brushed valleys, where it crouched,And shrank, and struggled, like a dragon doubtGlooming some lonely spirit that doth stillResist the Truth with obstinate shifts and shows,Though shining out of heaven, and from defectWinning a triumph that might else not be.
There standing in his lone watch, EgremontOn all this solemn beauty of the world,Looked out, yet wakeful; for sweet thoughts of homeAnd all the sacred charities it held,Ingathered to his heart, as by some niceAnd subtle interfusion that connectsThe loved and cherished (then the most, perhaps,When absent, or when passed, or even when lost)With all serene and beautiful and brightAnd lasting things of Nature. So then thoughtThe musing Egremont: when sudden — hark!A bough crackt loudly in a neighboring brake,And drew at once, as with a 'larum, allHis spirits thitherward in wild surmise.
But summoning caution, and back stepping closeAgainst the shade-side of a bending gum,With a strange horror gathering to his heart,As if his blood were charged with insect lifeAnd writhed along in clots, he stilled himself,Listening long and heedfully, with headBent forward sideways, till his held breath grewA pang, and his ears rung. But Silence thereHad recomposed her ruffled wings, and nowBrooded it seemed even stillier than before,Deep nested in the darkness: so that heUnmasking from the cold shade, grew erelongMore reassured from wishing to be so,And to muse, Memory's suspended mood,Though with an effort, quietly recurred.
But there again — crack upon crack! And hark!O Heaven! have Hell's worst fiends burst howling upInto the death-doom'd world? Or whence, if notFrom diabolic rage, could surge a yellSo horrible as that which now affrightsThe shuddering dark! Beings as fell are near!Yea, Beings, in their dread inherited hateAnd deadly enmity, as vengeful, comeIn vengeance! For behold, from the long grassAnd nearer brakes, a semi-belt of striptAnd painted Savages divulge at onceTheir bounding forms! — full in the flaring lightThrown outward by the fire, that roused and lappedThe rounding darkness with its ruddy tonguesMore fiercely than before, — as though even itHad felt the sudden shock the air receivedFrom those dire cries, so terrible to hear!
A moment in wild agitation seenThus, as they bounded up, on then they cameClosing, with weapons brandished high, and soRushed in upon the sleepers! three of whomBut started, and then weltered prone beneathThe first fell blow dealt down on each by threeOf the most stalwart of their pitiless foes!But One again, and yet again, heaved up —Up to his knees, under the crushing strokesOf huge-clubbed nulla-nullas, till his ownWarm blood was blinding him! For he was oneWho had with Misery nearly all his daysLived lonely, and who therefore, in his soulDid hunger after hope, and thirst for whatHope still had promised him, — some taste at leastOf human good however long deferred,And now he could not, even in dying, looseHis hold on life's poor chances of tomorrow —Could not but so dispute the terrible factOf death, e'en in Death's presence! Strange it is:Yet oft 'tis seen that Fortune's pampered childConsents to his untimely power with lessReluctance, less despair, than does the wretchWho hath been ever blown about the worldThe straw-like sport of Fate's most bitter blasts,Vagrant and tieless; — ever still in himThe craving spirit thus grieves to itself:
'I never yet was happy - never yetTasted unmixed enjoyment, and I wouldYet pass on the bright Earth that I have lovedSome season, though most brief, of happiness;So should I walk thenceforward to my grave,Wherever in her green maternal breastIt might await me, more than now preparedTo house me in its gloom, resigned at heart,Subjected to its certainty and soothedEven by the consciousness of having shapedSome personal good in being; — strong myself,And strengthening others. But to have lived long yearsOf wasted breath, because of woe and want,And disappointed hope, — and now, at last,To die thus desolate, is horrible!'
And feeling thus through many foregone moodsWhose lives had in the temper of his soulAll mixed, and formed one habit, — that poor man,Though the black shadows of untimely death,Inevitably, under every stroke,But thickened more and more, against them stillUpstruggled, nor would cease: until one lastTremendous blow, dealt down upon his headAs if in mercy, gave him to the dustWith all his many woes and frustrate hope.
Struck through with a cold horror, Egremont,Standing apart, — yea, standing as it wereIn marble effigy, saw this, saw all!And when out thawing from his frozen heartHis blood again rushed tingling - with a leapAwaking from the ghastly trance which thereHad bound him, as with chill petrific bonds,He raised from instinct more than conscious thoughtHis death-charged tube, and at that murderous crewFiring! saw one fall ox-like to the earth; —Then turned and fled. Fast fled he, but as fastHis deadly foes went thronging on his track!Fast! for in full pursuit, behind him yelledWild men whose wild speech had no word for mercy!And as he fled, the forest beasts as well,In general terror, through the brakes a-headCrashed scattering, or with maddening speed athwartHis course came frequent. On — still on he flies —Flies for dear life! and still behind him hearsNearer and nearer, the so rapid digOf many feet, — nearer and nearer still.
III
So went the chase! And now what should he do?Abruptly turning, the wild Creek lay rightBefore him! But no time was there for thought:So on he kept, and from a bulging rockThat beaked the bank like a bare promontory,Plunging right forth and shooting feet-first down,Sunk to his middle in the flashing stream —In which the imaged stars seemed all at onceTo burst like rockets into one wide blazeOf interwrithing light. Then wading throughThe ruffled waters, forth he sprang and seizedA snake-like root that from the opponent bankProtruded, and round which his earnest fearDid clench his cold hand like a clamp of steel,A moment, — till as swiftly thence he swungHis dripping form aloft, and up the darkO'erjutting ledge, went clambering in the blindAnd breathless haste of one who flies for life:When its face — O verily our GodHath those in his peculiar care for whomThe daily prayers of spotless WomanhoodAnd helpless Infancy, are offered up! —When in its face a cavity he felt,The upper earth of which in one rude massWas held fast bound by the enwoven rootsOf two old trees, — and which, beneath the mould,Just o'er the clammy vacancy below,Twisted and lapped like knotted snakes, and madeA natural loft-work. Under this he crept,Just as the dark forms of his hunters throngedThe bulging rock whence he before had plunged.
Duskily visible, thereon a spaceThey paused to mark what bent his course might takeOver the farther bank, thereby intentTo hold upon the chase, which way soe'erIt might incline, more surely. But no formAmongst the moveless fringe of fern was seenTo shoot up from its outline, — up and forthInto the moonlight that lay bright beyondIn torn and shapeless blocks, amid the bolesAnd mixing shadows of the taller trees,All standing now in the keen radiance thereSo ghostly still, as in a solemn trance,But nothing in the silent prospect stirred —No fugitive apparition in the viewRose, as they stared in fierce expectancy:Wherefore they augured that their prey was yetSomewhere between, — and the whole group with thatPlunged forward, till the fretted current boiledAmongst their crowd'ing trunks from bank to bank;And searching thus the stream across, and thenLengthwise, along the ledges, — combing downStill, as they went, with dripping fingers, coldAnd cruel as inquisitive, each clumpOf long-flagged swamp-grass where it flourished high, —The whole dark line passed slowly, man by man,Athwart the cavity — so fearfully near,That as they waded by the FugitiveFelt the strong odor of their wetted skinsPass with them, trailing as their bodies movedStealthily on, coming with each, and going.
But their keen search was keen in vain. And nowThose wild men marvelled, — till, in consultation,There grouped in dark knots standing in the streamThat glimmered past them, moaning as it went,His Banishment, so passing strange it seemed,They coupled with the mystery of some crudeOld fable of their race; and fear-struck all,And silent, then withdrew. And when the soundOf their receding steps had from his earDied off, as back to the stormed Camp againThey hurried to despoil the yet warm dead,Our Friend slid forth, and springing up the bank.Renewed his flight, nor rested from it, tillHe gained the welcoming shelter of his Home.
Return we for a moment to the sceneOf recent death. There the late flaring fireNow smouldered, for its brands were strewn about,And four stark corses plundered to the skinAnd brutally mutilated, seemed to stareWith frozen eyeballs up into the paleRound visage of the Moon, who, high in heaven,With all her stars, in golden bevies, gazedAs peacefully down as on a bridal thereOf the warm Living — not, alas! on themWho kept in ghastly silence through the nightUntimely spousals with a desert death.
O God! and thus this lovely world hath beenAccursed forever by the bloody deedsOf its prime Creature — Man. Erring or wise,Savage or civilised, still hath he madeThis glorious residence, the Earth, a HellOf wrong and robbery and untimely death!Some dread Intelligence opposed to GoodDid, of a surety, over all the earthSpread out from Eden — or it were not so!For see the bright beholding Moon, and allThe radiant Host of Heaven, evince no touchOf sympathy with Man's wild violence; —Only evince in their calm course, their partIn that original unity of Love,Which, like the soul that dwelleth in a harp,Under God's hand, in the beginning, chimedThe sabbath concord of the Universe;And look on a gay clique of maidens, metIn village tryst, and interwhirling allIn glad Arcadian dances on the green —Or on a hermit, in his vigils long,Seen kneeling at the doorway, of his cell —Or on a monster battlefield where lieIn sweltering heaps, the dead and dying both,On the cold gory grounds — as they that nightLooked in bright peace, down on the doomful Wild.
Afterwards there, for many changeful years,Within a glade that sloped into the bankOf that wild mountain Creek — midway within,In partial record of a terrible hourOf human agony and loss extreme,Four grassy mounds stretched lengthwise side by side,Startled the wanderer; — four long grassy moundsBestrewn with leaves, and withered spraylets, striptBy the loud wintry wing gales that roamedThose solitudes, from the old trees which thereMoaned the same leafy dirges that had caughtThe heed of dying Ages: these were all;And thence the place was long by travellers calledThe Creek of the Four Graves. Such was the TaleEgremont told us of the wild old times.