MARITORNE; OR, THE PIRATE OF MEXICO.
185
That fiend was vengeance; e'en his virtues bowed
Before the altar which to vengeance glowed.
His virtues! yes; for even fiends may boast
A shadow of the glory they have lost.
But O! like them, his crimes were dark and deep,
For vengeance was awake,—can vengeance sleep;
Yes; sleep, as tigers sleep, with half-shut eye,
Crouching to spring upon the passer-by,
With parched tongue cleaving to his blackened cell,
Stiff'ning with thirst, and jaws which hunger fell
Hath sharply whetted, quivering to devour
The reckless wretch abandoned to his power.
Yes: thus may vengeance sleep in breast like his,
Where thoughts of wild revenge are thoughts of bliss.
Thus may it sleep, like Ætna's burning breast,
To burst in thunders when 'tis dreaded least;
For his had been the joyless, thankless part
Of one who warmed a viper at his heart,
And clasped the venomed reptile to his breast
Till wounded by the ingrate he caressed.
Such had been Maritorne's accursed fate,
Ere he became the hardened child of hate.
At first, his breast was torn with anguish wild;
He cursed himself, then bitterly reviled
The world as hollow-hearted, false, unkind;
He cursed himself, and doubly cursed mankind;
And then his heart grew callous, and like steel
Grasped in his hand, had equal power to feel.
'Twas like yon mountain snow-crest, chill though bright,
Cold to the touch, but dazzling to the sight,
Before the altar which to vengeance glowed.
His virtues! yes; for even fiends may boast
A shadow of the glory they have lost.
But O! like them, his crimes were dark and deep,
For vengeance was awake,—can vengeance sleep;
Yes; sleep, as tigers sleep, with half-shut eye,
Crouching to spring upon the passer-by,
With parched tongue cleaving to his blackened cell,
Stiff'ning with thirst, and jaws which hunger fell
Hath sharply whetted, quivering to devour
The reckless wretch abandoned to his power.
Yes: thus may vengeance sleep in breast like his,
Where thoughts of wild revenge are thoughts of bliss.
Thus may it sleep, like Ætna's burning breast,
To burst in thunders when 'tis dreaded least;
For his had been the joyless, thankless part
Of one who warmed a viper at his heart,
And clasped the venomed reptile to his breast
Till wounded by the ingrate he caressed.
Such had been Maritorne's accursed fate,
Ere he became the hardened child of hate.
At first, his breast was torn with anguish wild;
He cursed himself, then bitterly reviled
The world as hollow-hearted, false, unkind;
He cursed himself, and doubly cursed mankind;
And then his heart grew callous, and like steel
Grasped in his hand, had equal power to feel.
'Twas like yon mountain snow-crest, chill though bright,
Cold to the touch, but dazzling to the sight,
