MARITORNE; OR, THE PIRATE OF MEXICO.
187
He only muttered, gnashed his teeth, and smiled;
Fit mirth were that, so ghastly and so wild,
To grace a Pirate Chieftain's scornful lip;
'Twas like St. Helmo's night-fire o'er the deep.
The beacon blaze is burning on the shore,
But burns it not more dimly than before?
Perchance the drowsy sentinel is sleeping,
His weary vigils negligently keeping.
So thought the Chief, but still his wary eye
Was fixed intently between earth and sky,
As if its quick, keen glance would light the flame,
And blast the sleeper with remorse and shame.
He starts; suspicion flashes on his brain—
He grasps his dagger—by St. Mark—again!
His bugle brightly glittered on his breast;
His lip the gilded bauble gently pressed;
One breath, one sigh, and rock and hill and sea
Will echo back the warlike minstrelsy.
The figure which had slowly passed between
Himself and yonder blaze, sank where 'twas seen,
As though the earth had gaped with sudden yawn,
And drank both fire and form in silence down;
The beacon was extinguished, rock and tree
And beetling cliff, and wildly foaming sea,
Were hid in darkness, for the deep red light
Which faintly sketched them on the brow of night,
Was dim as was the moon's pale tremulous glow,
For tempest-clouds were rallying round her brow;
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Fit mirth were that, so ghastly and so wild,
To grace a Pirate Chieftain's scornful lip;
'Twas like St. Helmo's night-fire o'er the deep.
The beacon blaze is burning on the shore,
But burns it not more dimly than before?
Perchance the drowsy sentinel is sleeping,
His weary vigils negligently keeping.
So thought the Chief, but still his wary eye
Was fixed intently between earth and sky,
As if its quick, keen glance would light the flame,
And blast the sleeper with remorse and shame.
He starts; suspicion flashes on his brain—
He grasps his dagger—by St. Mark—again!
His bugle brightly glittered on his breast;
His lip the gilded bauble gently pressed;
One breath, one sigh, and rock and hill and sea
Will echo back the warlike minstrelsy.
The figure which had slowly passed between
Himself and yonder blaze, sank where 'twas seen,
As though the earth had gaped with sudden yawn,
And drank both fire and form in silence down;
The beacon was extinguished, rock and tree
And beetling cliff, and wildly foaming sea,
Were hid in darkness, for the deep red light
Which faintly sketched them on the brow of night,
Was dim as was the moon's pale tremulous glow,
For tempest-clouds were rallying round her brow;
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