XCIV.

About this time a beautiful white bird,
Webfooted, not unlike a dove in size
And plumage, (probably it might have err'd
Upon its course,) pass'd oft before their eyes,
And tried to perch, although it saw and heard

The men within the boat, and in this guise
It came and went, and flutter'd round them till
Night fell-this seem'd a better omen still.

XCV.

But in this case I also must remark,

'Twas well this bird of promise did not perch,
Because the tackle of our shatter'd bark
Was not so safe for roosting as a church;
And had it been the dove from Noah's ark,
Returning there from her successful search,
Which in their way that moment chanced to fall,
They would have eat her, olive-branch and all.

XCVI.

With twilight it again came on to blow,

But not with violence; the stars shone out, The boat made way; yet now they were so low, They knew not where nor what they were about; Some fancied they saw land, and some said "No!" The frequent fog-banks gave them cause to doubt-Some swore that they heard breakers, others guns, And all mistook about the latter once.

XCVII.

As morning broke the light wind died away,
When he who had the watch sung out, and swore
If 'twas not land that rose with the sun's ray,
He wish'd that land he never might see more;

And the rest rubb'd their eyes, and saw a bay,

Or thought they saw, and shaped their course for shore; For shore it was, and gradually grew

Distinct, and high, and palpable to view.

XCVIII.

And then of these some part burst into tears,
And others, looking with a stupid stare,
Could not yet separate their hopes from fears,
And seem'd as if they had no further care;
While a few pray'd-(the first time for some years)——
And at the bottom of the boat three were
Asleep; they shook them by the hand and head,
And tried to awaken them, but found them dead.

XCIX.

The day before, fast sleeping on the water,
They found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind,
And by good fortune gliding softly, caught her,
Which yielded a day's life, and to their mind
Proved even still a more nutritious matter,
Because it left encouragement behind:
They thought that in such perils, more than chance
Had sent them this for their deliverance.

The land appear'd a high and rocky coast,

And higher grew the mountains as they drew,
Set by a current, toward it: they were lost
In various conjectures, for none knew

To what part of the earth they had been tost,

So changeable had been the winds that blew; Some thought it was Mount Etna, some the highlands Of Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other islands.

CANTO II.-D

CI.

Meantime the current, with a rising gale,

Still set them onwards to the welcome shore, Like Charon's bark of spectres, dull and pale: Their living freight was now reduced to four, And three dead, when their strength could not avail To heave into the deep with those before, Though the two sharks still follow'd them, and dash'd The spray into their faces as they splash'd.

CII.

Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had done
Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd them to
Such things a mother had not known her son
Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew;

By night chill'd, by day scorch'd, thus one by one
They perish'd, until wither'd to these few,
But chiefly by a species of self slaughter,
In washing down Pedrillo with salt water.

CIII.

As they drew nigh the land, which now was seen
Unequal in its aspect here and there,

They felt the freshness of its growing green,

That waved in forest-tops, and smooth'd the air, And fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen

From glistening waves, and skies so hot and bareLovely seem'd any object that should sweep Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep.

CIV.

The shore look'd wild, without a trace of

man,

And girt by formidable waves; but they
Were mad for land, and thus their course they ran,
Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay;

A reef between them also now began

To show its boiling surf and bounding spray, But finding no place for their landing better, They ran the boat for shore, and overset her.

CV.

But in his native stream, the Guadalquivir,
Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont;
And having learnt to swim in that sweet river,
Had often turn'd the art to some account;
A better swimmer you could scarce see ever,
He could, perhaps, have pass'd the Hellespont,
As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided)
Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did.

CVI.

So here, though faint, emaciated, and stark,
He buoy'd his boyish limbs, and strove to ply
With the quick wave, and gain, ere it was dark,
The beach which lay before him, high and dry:
The greatest danger here was from a shark,
That carried off his neighbour by the thigh;
As for the other two they could not swim,
So nobody arrived on shore but him.

CVII.

Nor yet had he arrived but for the oar,

Which providentially for him, was wash'd, Just as his feeble arms could strike no more,

And the hard wave o'erwhelm'd him as 'twas dash'd, Within his grasp; he clung to it, and sore

The waters beat while he thereto was lash'd; At last, with swimming, wading, scrambling, he Roll'd on the beach, half senseless from the sea:

CVIII.

There, breathless, with his digging nails he clung
Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave,
From whose reluctant roar his life he wrung,
Should suck him back to her insatiate grave:
And there he lay, full length, where he was flung,
Before the entrance of a cliff-worn cave,

With just enough of life to feel its pain,
And deem that it was saved, perhaps, in vain.

CIX.

With slow and staggering effort be arose,
But sunk again upon his bleeding knee
And quivering hand; and then he look'd for those
Who long had been his mates upon the sea,
But none of them appear'd to share his woes,
Save one, a corpse from out the famish'd three,
Who died two days before, and now had found
An unknown barren beach for burial ground.

CX.

And as he gazed, his dizzy brain spun fast,

And down he sunk; and as he sunk, the sand Swam round and round, and all his senses pass'd: He fell upon his side, and his stretch'd hand Droop'd dripping on the oar, (their jury-mast,) And, like a wither'd lily, on the land His slender frame and palid aspect lay, As fair a thing as e'er was form'd of clay.

CXI.

How long in this damp trance young Juan lay He knew not, for the earth was gone for him, And Time had nothing more of night nor day For his congealing blood, and senses dim;