She rose-she sprung-she clung to his embrace,
Till his heart heaved beneath her nidden face-

"Corsair," canto i. 14.

List!-'tis the bugle "-Juan shrilly blew-
"One kiss-one more-another-oh! Adieu!"

She rose-she sprung-she clung to his embrace,
Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face.
He dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye,
Which downcast droop'd in tearless agony.
Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms,
In all the wildness of dishevell'd charms;
Scarce beat that bosom where his image dwelt
So full-that feeling seem'd almost unfelt!
Hark-peals the thunder of the signal-gun !
It told 'twas sunset-and he cursed that sun.
Again-again-that form he madly press'd,
Which mutely clasp'd, imploringly caress'd!
And tottering to the couch his bride he bore,
One moment gazed-as if to gaze no more;
Felt-that for him earth held but her alone,
Kiss'd her cold forehead-turn'd-is Conrad gone?

XV.

"And is he gone?"-
'-on sudden solitude
How oft that fearful question will intrude!
""Twas but an instant past-and here he stood!
And now "-without the portal's porch she rush'd,
And then at length her tears in freedom gush'd;
Big,-bright-and fast, unknown to her they fell;
But still her lips refused to send-" Farewell!"
For in that word-that fatal word-howe'er
We promise-hope-believe-there breathes despair.
O'er every feature of that still pale face,
Had sorrow fix'd what time can ne'er erase:
The tender blue of that large loving eye

Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy,

Till-oh, how far!-it caught a glimpse of him,
And then it flow'd-and phrensied seem'd to swim,
Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes dew'd
With drops of sadness oft to be renew'd.

"He's gone!"-against her heart that hand is driven,
Convulsed and quick-then gently raised to heaven;
She look'd and saw the heaving of the main ;
The white sail set-she dared not look again;
But turn'd with sickening soul within the gate-
"It is no dream-and I am desolate!"

XVI.

From crag to crag descending-swiftly sped
Stern Conrad down, nor once he turn'd his head;
But shrunk whene'er the windings of his way
Forced on his eye what he would not survey,
His lone, but lovely dwelling on the steep,

That hail'd him first when homeward from the deep;
And she-the dim and melancholy star,

Whose ray of beauty reach'd him from afar,

On her he must not gaze, he must not think,
There he might rest-but on Destruction's brink;
Yet once almost he stopp'd-and nearly gave
His fate to chance, his projects to the wave;
But no-it must not be a worthy chief
May melt, but not betray to woman's grief.
He sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind,
And sternly gathers all his might of mind:
Again he hurries on-and as he hears
The clang of Tumult vibrate on his ears,
The busy sounds, the bustle of the shore,
The shout, the signal, and the dashing oar;
As marks his eye the seaboy on the mast,
The anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast,
The waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urge
That mute adieu to those who stem the surge;
And more than all, his blood-red flag aloft,
He marvell'd how his heart could seem so soft.
Fire in his glance, and wildness in his breast,
He feels of all his former self possess'd;

He bounds-he flies-until his footsteps reach
The verge where ends the cliff, begins the beach.
There checks his speed; but pauses less to breathe
The breezy freshness of the deep beneath,
Than there his wonted statelier step renew;
Nor rush, disturb'd by haste, to vulgar view:
For well had Conrad learn'd to curb the crowd,
By arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud;
His was the lofty port, the distant mien,
That seems to shun the sight-and awes if seen :
The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye,
That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy ;
All these he wielded to command assent:
But where he wish'd to win, so well unbent,
That kindness cancell'd fear in those who heard,
And others' gifts show'd mean beside his word,
When echo'd to the heart, as from his own,
His deep yet tender melody of tone:
But such was foreign to his wonted mood,
He cared not what he soften'd, but subdued;
The evil passions of his youth had made
Him value less who loved-than what obey'd.

XVII.

Around him mustering ranged his ready guard.
Before him Juan stands Are all prepared?"

66

They are-nay more-embark'd; the latest boat Waits but my chief

My sword, and my capote."

Soon firmly girded on, and lightly slung,

His belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung: "Call Pedro here !"-He comes-and Conrad bends, With all the courtesy he deign'd his friends;