XCIV. About this time a beautiful white bird, The men within the boat, and in this guise XCV. But in this case I also must remark, 'Twas well this bird of promise did not perch, 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, 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, XCIX. The day before, fast sleeping on the water, The land appear'd a high and rocky coast, And higher grew the mountains as they drew, 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 By night chill'd, by day scorch'd, thus one by one CIII. As they drew nigh the land, which now was seen 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 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, CVI. So here, though faint, emaciated, and stark, 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 With just enough of life to feel its pain, CIX. With slow and staggering effort be arose, 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; |