Hermit
Though many years on these tall cliffs residing
I recollect not such a dreadful quarrel
Between the seas and water-vexing tempests
As now torments my ears, and pains my eyes—
Clouds, low suspended, seem to embrace the foam
Of yonder angry ocean—bursting thunders,
With their pale sheets of lightning, are as busy
As though they meant to cleave this mass of nature,
Proving at once the world's mortality—
But am I safe on this sea-girded island,
Or can these shores, thus beaten, bear the shock
Of such a bold assault—?
When universal ruin shall approach,
Will the grand scene be more astonishing
When thou, sky-pointing Saba,
Shalt tremble on thy base most fearfully!—
Night comes!—I'll to my cavern in the mountain,
Far from the torrent's roar and bursting billow;
That cavern, where I oft have found repose
Since on this barren isle, a shipwrecked stranger,
I made my sole escape—Ha! what are these!
A barque half buried in the spouting surge
Comes rushing towards the isle, impelled by winds
That scorn all motives of compassion.
Hark! now she strikes the iron pointed reef
Foundering; the horrid surge that breaks upon her
Has sealed their doom, and hope itself forsakes them
Man is too weak to combat with the power
Of these mad elements, that conquer all,
Ending the day light of our misery!—
Yes, yes—I'll to my haunt, for scenes like these
Pain the shocked soul and damp all resolution;—
Or, shall I to the shore, while day remains,
And search among the shell-incrusted coral,
Lest if by some great chance or miracle
Some wretch survives upon the ragged rocks,
Who knowing not of human kind residing
On this sequestered, unfrequented isle,
Tired in contending with the angry billows
And beaten by the surge the whole night through
For want of such relief, may die ere morning—
Perdition! three I see upon the rocks
Clinging, to keep off death, while the rude billow
Swells o'er their heads, insultingly victorious:
Now from the reef upborne I see them struggle,
Heaven grant, successfully!—they labour on,
Now headlong to the shore, now back they go
Despairing to the main!—now, now they land
Safe in that calm recess, a narrow bay
To them the heaven from impending ruin—
So what are you?—
First Mariner
If thou art an inhabitant of the isle,
Lend your kind aid to three half perished wretches
Of threescore souls, the only three remaining—
And if thou knowest of any sheltered spot
Where from these horrid blasts and water spouts
We may retire to pass the long dull night:
Or if thou knowest of any standing pool
Or running stream, or earth-supported spring,
O tell us! and, as nothing more remains,
Our gratitude must be thy sole reward.
Hermit
Among the hills, on their declivities
Full many a sylvan haunt I have espied
Ere now, in wandering when the heaven was bright;
But springs or running streams abound not here
The skies alone supply the hollowed rock
From whence I drain my annual full supply:
Yet to my cavern you shall all resort
To taste a hermit's hospitality—
If you have strength, ascend this winding path
And amongst these rugged rocks, still following me,
We soon shall reach a safe retreat, removed
Alike from noisy seas, and mountain torrents.
Second Mariner
Lo! here the tall palmettoe, and the cedar,
The lime tree, and sweet scented shrubs abundant
With mingling branches, form a blest abode;
Here, bleating lambs crowd to the evening fold
And goats and kids, that wander o'er the hills,
Vext by the storm, herd to the social hermit;
In neighbouring groves the juicy lemon swells,
The golden orange charms the admiring eye,
And the rich cocoa yields her milky stream.
Hermit
Here, strangers, here repose your wearied limbs
While some dead boughs I bring from yonder thicket,
To wake the friendly blaze.—To drain the dams
Of these impatient kids, be next my care:
The cocoa's milky flesh, dried pulse and roots
Shall be your fare to night; and when to-morrow
Dispells the gloom, and this tornado ceases,
We'll search along the shores, and find where lie
The bodies of your dear and lost companions,
That so we may commit them to the dust,
And thus obliterate from our remembrance
The horrid havock that this storm occasioned.
Third Mariner
O good old man, how do I honour thee!
My future days, my services are your's;
For you, will I be earlier than the sun
To bring you sticks to light the morning fire;
For you, will I attempt these dangerous cliffs
And climb on high to pluck the blushing plum;
For you will I from yonder rocky height
Drain chrystal waters, to delight your taste:
But now be kind; I wish to hear you tell
What chance or fortune brought you to these shores:
Whether alone on these rough craggs you dwell
Where wandering mist is gathered into showers,
Or whether town or village decks the plain;
Or is there sheltered port, where swelling sails
Lodge lofty ships, from hurricanes secure,
Fenced in by reefs, or locked by neighbouring hills.
Hermit
No town or village owns this scanty soil,
Nor round its coast one safe recess is seen,
Where lofty ship, or barque of meaner freight
Might rest secure, untroubled by the winds,
Which still pursue the restless surge that pours,
And spits its venom, on these ragged shores;
Nor in these woody wilds, till you were wrecked,
Except myself, did Christian man reside,
Wandering from Europe to these Indian isles
So late discovered on the world's green end.—
All lies as Nature formed it, rough throughout,
And chance has planted here this garden wild,
For such as I, who wandering from the world;
Cities, and men, and civilized domains,
The farther distant, find the bliss more pure.
Third Mariner
In such a sad retreat, and all alone!—
To hold no converse but with senseless trees,
To have no friendship but with wandering goats,
And worthless reptiles that infest the ground—
Can man be happy in so dull a scene?
Hermit
To the steep summit of this slighted isle
I often climb at early dawn of day,
And o'er the vast expanse I throw my view,
Not idly thence the busy scene surveying—
Vast fleets I sometimes see, each kept at bay,
Or joining both in angry conversation,
Their object avarice half, and half ambition—
What is it all to me? what are they seeking
That can give more than a sufficiency?—
That object I have here which they pursue,
Grasping it, miser-like, in my embraces—
The stream distilling from the shaded cliff,
And fruits mature from trees by Nature planted,
And contemplation, heaven-born contemplation!
These are my riches! I am wealthier far
Than Spain's proud fleets, that load the groaning ocean—
Wait you in yonder cave—I will return—
My herd of goats is wandering in the wild,
And I must house them, ere the close of day. (Exit)
First Mariner
Who can this hermit be—what doth he here?
In such a dismal cell who would inhabit
Thus lonely, who has crowds and cities seen—
Is he some savage offspring of the isle,
The mountain goat his food, his god the sun;
Some wretch produced from mingled heat and moisture.
Full brother to the hungry pelican;
His friend, some monster of the adjacent wood;
His wife, some sorceress, red haired hag from hell;
His children, serpents, scorpions, centipedes—
Third Mariner
It was but now, (he spoke before he thought) he told me,
That he is richer than the fleets of Spain
That burden the wide bosom of the ocean;
And then he seemed so pleased and satisfied,
Boasting himself the happiest of mankind.
Second Mariner
Where should this wealth be hid—his cave shows none:
A prayer book and a cross, a string of beads,
A bed of moss, a cap, an earthen jug,
And some few goat skins, furnish out his cave:
But still this humble guise of poverty
Vast sums of splendid riches may conceal:
The flooring of his den is a loose sand—
Searching a fathom deep may shew strange things,
While we, so long pursuing, hit on fortune.—
Perhaps this hermit is some bloody pirate,
Who having plundered friends and foes, alike,
Has brought his booty here, to bury it.
First Mariner
Lo! there he comes, driving his goats before him:
He means to fence them from the tempest's rage
Under the shelter of those tufted cedars:
It does, indeed, appear most possible,
That in this cavern rests his plundered wealth:
When sleep has locked his senses in repose
We'll seize him on his couch, and binding him,
Cast him from yonder jutting promontory
That hangs a hundred fathoms o'er the deep—
Thus, shall his fate prevent discovery.
Second Mariner
Your project pleases me—it is most wrong
That such a savage should enjoy such hoards
Of useful wealth, he has not heart to use:—
He builds no ships, employs no mariners;
But, like a miser, hides the ill-gotten store,
And had he died before we wandered hither
His gold had perished, and none been the wiser.
Third Mariner
While you observe his motions, fellow sufferers,
Of twisted bark I'll make a sett of thongs
Wherewith to bind him at the midnight hour,
Lest waking, he should struggle to be free
And slip our hands before we gain the summit
From whence we mean to plunge his tawny carcase:—
There, there he comes—"Now, hermit, now befriend us,
"For cruel, merciless hunger gnaws our vitals,
"And every mischief that can man dishearten
"Is ripe to drive us into desperation!"
Hermit
Have patience, till from yonder arched grotto
I bring my bowls of milk, and seasoned roots,
And fruits I plucked before the day was high:
Now, friends, enjoy my hospitality:
All's at your service, wretched shipwrecked men;
And when you've satisfied the rage of hunger
Repose on these soft skins; your sea-beat limbs
Demand the aid of kind refreshing sleep:
I'll to my evening prayers, as I am wont,
And early dreams;—for travelling o'er the hills,
And pelted by the storm the whole day past,
My knees grow feeble, and I wish for rest. (Exit)
Second Mariner
Yes, yes—first pray, and then repose in peace,
Hermit of Saba, ne'er to wake again!
Or should you wake, it must be in convulsions,
Tossed from the peak of yonder precipice,
Transfixt on pointed rocks, most bloodily.
Third Mariner
Now, now's the time: he sleeps: I hear him snore—
This hidden gold has so possessed my brain,
That I, at all events, must handle it:
Yet should the hermit 'wake while thus engaged,
Sad mischief might ensue: his nervous arm
(More than a match for our exhausted vigour)
Might exercise most horrible revenge!
Long practising among these rugged mountains,
Pursuing goats, bounding from rock to rock,
And cleaving trees to feed his evening fire,
His nerves and blood are all activity:
And then he is of so robust a fabrick
That we should be mere children in his hands,
Whirling us from the precipice at pleasure,
(Thus turning on ourselves our own designs)
Or catching up some fragment of a rock
Grind into atoms our pale, quivering limbs;
Taking full vengeance on ingratitude.
First Mariner
Fast bound in chains of sleep, I first assail him;
This knotty club shall give the unerring blow;
You follow on, and boldly second me!
Thus—comrades—thus!—that stroke has crushed his brain!
He groans! he dies?—now bear him to the summit
Of yon' tall cliff, and having thence dislodged him,
Uninterrupted we shall dig his riches,
Heirs to the wealth and plenty of his cave.
Second Mariner (conscience struck)
'Tis done, 'tis done—the hermit is no more:—
Say nothing of this deed, ye hills, ye trees,
But let eternal silence brood upon it.
O, base, base, base!!—why was I made a man,
And not some prowling monster of the forest,
The worst vile work of Nature's journeymen!
Ye lunar shadows! no resemblance yield
From craggy pointed rock, or leafy bush,
That may remind me of this murdered hermit.
Third Mariner
Deep have I fathomed in his cave, but find
No glimpse of gold—we surely did mistake him:
His treasures were not of that glittering kind;
Dryed fruits, and one good book; his goats, his kids,
These were, indeed, his riches—
Now, hermit, now I feel remorse within me:
While here we stay thy shadow will torment us,
From every haunted rock, or bush, projecting;
And when from hence we go, that too shall follow,
Crying—Perdition on these fiends from Europe,
Whose bloody malice, or whose thirst for gold,
Fresh from the slaughter-house of innocence
Unpeoples isles, and lays the world in ruin!