188
MARITORNE; OR, THE PIRATE OF MEXICO.
The sound of a footstep is on the shore,
It dies away in the surge's roar;
It is heard again as the angry spray
Rolls back and foams its shame away;
And shrill and clear was the call of alarm,—
'Twas like the breaking of spell or charm;
It screamed o'er the dark wave, it rose to the hill.
And the answering echoes reëchoed it still.
A rushing sound as of coming waves,
A glittering band as if burst from their graves,
Are the answers which wake at the bidding clear
Of him, the Lord of the Isle of Fear.
But scarce had the summons in silence died,
When the foot which had waked the tumult wide,
Was pressing the sand where it yielding gave
To the lightest tread as 'twas washed by the wave
By the side of the Pirate, with outstretched hand,
The bold intruder looked round on the band;
But none saw the face of that being save he;
In wonder he gazed; in his eye you might see
Surprise, and shame, and a fiend-like gleam,
Which whispered of more than fear might dream;
"And is it for this—for a woman like thee?"
He angrily muttered and turned to the sea—
"And is it for this I have sounded the call
Whose notes may never unanswered fall;
Whose lowest tone is the knell of more
Than can crowd at once upon Hell's broad shore?
And is it for this I must idly stand
To trace the wave with my sword on the strand?
It dies away in the surge's roar;
It is heard again as the angry spray
Rolls back and foams its shame away;
And shrill and clear was the call of alarm,—
'Twas like the breaking of spell or charm;
It screamed o'er the dark wave, it rose to the hill.
And the answering echoes reëchoed it still.
A rushing sound as of coming waves,
A glittering band as if burst from their graves,
Are the answers which wake at the bidding clear
Of him, the Lord of the Isle of Fear.
But scarce had the summons in silence died,
When the foot which had waked the tumult wide,
Was pressing the sand where it yielding gave
To the lightest tread as 'twas washed by the wave
By the side of the Pirate, with outstretched hand,
The bold intruder looked round on the band;
But none saw the face of that being save he;
In wonder he gazed; in his eye you might see
Surprise, and shame, and a fiend-like gleam,
Which whispered of more than fear might dream;
"And is it for this—for a woman like thee?"
He angrily muttered and turned to the sea—
"And is it for this I have sounded the call
Whose notes may never unanswered fall;
Whose lowest tone is the knell of more
Than can crowd at once upon Hell's broad shore?
And is it for this I must idly stand
To trace the wave with my sword on the strand?
