"Ev'n insects sting for aught they seek to save. "This common courage which with brutes we share, "That owes its deadliest efforts to despair, 330 "Small merit claims- but 'twas my nobler hope "To teach my few with numbers still to cope; "Long have I led them-not to vainly bleed: "No medium now-we perish or succeed! "So let it be-it irks not me to die;

"But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly.

My lot hath long had little of my care,

"But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare :

"Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last

66

Hope, power, and life upon a single cast?

"Oh, Fate !-accuse thy folly, not thy fate

"She may redeem thee still-nor yet too late."

340

XIV.

Thus with himself communion held he, till

He reached the summit of his tower-crowned hill.

There at the portal paused-for wild and soft

He heard those accents never heard too oft; Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung, And these the notes his bird of beauty sung :

1.

Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,
Lonely and lost to light for evermore,

Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,

Then trembles into silence as before.

2.

"There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp

Burns the slow flame, eternal-but unseen; Which not the darkness of despair can damp,

Though vain its ray as it had never been.

350

3.

"Remember me-Oh! pass not thou my grave Without one thought whose relics there recline: The only pang my bosom dare not brave,

Must be to find forgetfulness in thine.

360

4.

"My fondest-faintest-latest-accents hear: Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove; Then give me all I ever asked—a tear,

The first-last-sole reward of so much love!"

He passed the portal-crossed the corridore,

And reached the chamber as the strain gave o'er:

66

My own Medora! sure thy song is sad—"

"In Conrad's absence wouldst thou have it glad? "Without thine ear to listen to my lay,

369

"Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray:

"Still must each accent to my bosom suit,

My heart unhushed--although my lips were mute! "Oh! many a night on this lone couch reclined,

66

My dreaming fear with storms hath winged the

wind,

"And deemed the breath that faintly fanned thy sail "The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale;

'Though soft, it seemed the low prophetic dirge, "That mourned thee floating on the savage surge: "Still would I rise to rouse the beacon fire, 379 "Lest spies less true should let the blaze expire; "And many a restless hour outwatched each star, "And morning came- -and still thou wert afar. "Oh! how the chill blast on my bosom blew, "And day broke dreary on my troubled view, "And still I gazed and gazed-and not a prow "Was granted to my tears-my truth-my vow!

At length-'twas noon-I hailed and blest the mast "That met my sight-it neared-Alas! it past!

"Another came-Oh God! 'twas thine at last! "Would that those days were over! wilt thou ne'er,

My Conrad! learn the joys of peace to share? 391 "Sure thou hast more than wealth; and many a home "As bright as this invites us not to roam: "Thou know'st it is not peril that I fear,

"I only tremble when thou art not here; "Then not for mine, but that far dearer life, "Which flies from love and languishes for strife"How strange that heart, to me so tender still, "Should war with nature and its better will!"

"Yea, strange indeed that heart hath long been

changed;

400

"Worm-like 'twas trampled-adder-like avenged, "Without one hope on earth beyond thy love,

"And scarce a glimpse of mercy from above. "Yet the same feeling which thou dost condemn, "My very love to thee is hate to them,

VOL. III.