Yet stay within — here linger safe, Stir not lest even to thee perchance Some erring blade or ball should glance. - as each crest save his may feel!" One bound he made, and gain'd the sand: Already at his feet hath sunk The foremost of the prying band, A gasping head, a quivering trunk: Another falls but round him close A swarming circle of his foes; From right to left his path he cleft, And almost met the meeting wave: His boat appears not five oars' lengthHis comrades strain with desperate strength Oh! are they yet in time to save? His feet the foremost breakers lave; His band are plunging in the bay, Their sabres glitter through the spray; Wet-wild-unwearied to the strand They struggle- now they touch the land! They come 't is but to add to slaughterHis heart's best blood is on the water. Escaped from shot, unharm'd by steel, Had Selim won, betray'd, beset, To where the strand and billows met; For her his eye but sought in vain ? Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd his chain. Sad proof, in peril and in pain, Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang? Whose bullet through the night-air sang, Too nearly, deadly aim'd to err? 'Tis thine- Abdallah's Murderer! The father slowly rued thy hate, The son hath found a quicker fate: The rushing billows choked the tone! Morn slowly rolls the clouds away; Few trophies of the fight are there: The shouts that shook the midnight-bay Are silent; but some signs of fray That strand of strife may bear, And fragments of each shiver'd brand; Steps stamp'd; and dash'd into the sand May there be mark'd; nor far remote 'T is rent in twain - one dark-red stain But where is he who wore? Ye! who would o'er his relics weep, The sea-birds shriek above the prey, What recks it, though that corse shall lie The bird that tears that prostrate form Hath only robb'd the meaner worm; The only heart, the only eye Had bled or wept to see him die, Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed, And mourn'd above his turban-stone, That heart hath burst - that eye was closed Yea-closed before his own! CORSAIR LIFE. (CORSAIR, Canto i. Stanza 1.) O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea, From toil to rest, and joy in every change. Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease! Whom slumber soothes not - pleasure cannot please — Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, The exulting sense -the pulse's maddening play, Feel to the rising bosom's inmost core, Its hope awaken and its spirit soar? No dread of death if with us die our foes Save that it seems even duller than repose: Come when it will we snatch the life of life- Let him who crawls enamour'd of decay Cling to his couch, and sicken years away; Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head; Ours the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed. While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul, Ours with one pang one bound escapes control. When those who win at length divide the prey, PARTING OF CONRAD AND MEDORA. (CORSAIR, Canto i. Stanzas 14, 15.) SHE rose - she sprung she clung to his embrace, Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face. |