of grateful sentiment. Conrad and his friends now approached their own fastThe hopes of all were alive to the There reception which awaited them. were some destined to severe disappointment. After the departure of Conrad on his expedition, Medora had impatiently awaited his return. As the allotted time axpired, her solicitude increased. Unable to restrain herself in her apartments, she wandered anxiously on the beach. A boat at last drew nigh. She learnednot indeed her Conrad's death-but that he was left, bound and bleeding, in the hands of the foe. Her fortitude was overcome, and she sunk upon the strand. She was delivered into the care of her female attendants-but she could not survive the shock. When Conrad, with all the ardour which absence can add to affection, hurried to the abode of Medora-he found it dark and silent. A fatal forboding which he would not recognize, struck upon his soul. He knocked-and no one appeared. He knocked again, more faintly-a slave bearing a light presented herself. He rushed past her-he entered the saloon-he saw Medora stretched upon her bier! and the hand-maids strowing flowers over her. He cast one long, enduring look upon the corpse-he tore himself suddenly away. In the morning it was discovered that a boat had been broken from her fastenings-and Conrad was never heard of more.
How far Mr. Holland has succeeded in transfusing the spirit of lord Byron into his dialogue, will be best made to appear by the comparison of parallel passages.
The poem opens with an ejaculatory burst, from the lips of the Corsair.
"O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
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,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
And where the feebler faint-can only feel-
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:
VOL. H.-No, I
Come when it will-we snatch the life of life-
When lost-what recks it-by disease or strife?
Let him who crawls enamoured 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 faulters forth his soul,
Ours with one-ang-one bound-escapes control.
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loath'd his life may gild his grave:
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
For us, even banquets fond regret supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory;
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,
When those who win at length divide the prey,
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each
brow,
How had the brave who fell exulted now!'"
The play commences with a "Chorus of Pirates."
"Far o'er the Ocean, and free as the breeze
That glides o'er its billows of brightness and foam,
Our Flag is the sceptre that governs the seas,
And fixes the limits that circle our home.
Wide o'er its waters we fearlessly range,
We sweep with the tempest, we rest with its close,
The wave is our empire-we joy in its change,
And triumph tho' dead; if we die with our foes."
Juan pursues-
"Hail to the Ocean! nurse of noble decds!
Hail to thy waters, tempest-tost or still!
What spirit wakes not with exulting sense,
That pauses in its gaze upon thy wild
And solitary waste!-Thine is the realm,
The charter'd empire of the brave and free!
The barrier, by the God of nature thrown
Between the oppressor and his victim."
A sail is descried, and is hailed with shouts. It is "a home returning bark." Her approach to the shore is thus described in the poem:
"How gloriously her gallant course she goes!
Her white wings flying-never from her foes→→
She walks the waters like a thing of life,
And seems to dare the elements to strife.
Who would not brave the battle-fire-the wreck--
To move the monarch of her peopled deck?"
In the play, Lillo exclaims-
"How gloriously her gallant course she bears!
She walks the waters like a thing of life,
Braving the warfare of the sternest storm,
Of battle-fire and of wreck."
We will adduce the parting scene be tween Conrad and Medora, as related by the poet, and by the dramatist.
Conrad is approaching the apartment of Medora, when his attention is arrested by a song.
"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.
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.
'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.
'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.""
We will let the poet speak-
"He passed the portal-crossed the corridore, And reached the chamber as the strain gave o'er: 'My own Medora!-sure thy song is sad'
'In Conrad's absence would'st thou have it glad?
Without thine car to listen to my lay,
Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray:
Still must each accent to my bosom suit,
My heart unhushed-although my lips were
Oh! many a night on this lone couch reclined, 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,
Lest spies less true should let the blaze expire;
And many a restless hour outwatch'd 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
That met my sight-it near'd-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? 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;
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,
So closely mingling here, that disentwined,
I cease to love thee when I love mankind:"
Yet dread not this-the proof of all the past
Assures the future that my love will last;
But-Oh, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart,
This hour again--but not for long-we part.'
This hour we part!-my heart foreboded this:
Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss.
This hour-it cannot be-this hour away!
Yon bark hath hardly anchored in the bay:
Her consort still is absent, and her crew
Hare need of rest before they teil anew
My love! thou mock'st my weakness; and would'st steel
My breast before the time when it must feel;
But trifle now no more with my distress,
Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness.
Be silent, Conrad!-dearest! come and share
The feast these hands delighted to prepare;
Light toil to cull and dress thy frugal fare!
See, I have plucked the fruit that promised best
And where not sure, perplexed, but pleased, I
guessed
At such as seemed the fairest: thrice the hill
My steps have wound to try the coolest rill;
Yes! thy Sherbet to-night will sweetly flow,
See how it sparkles in its vase of snow!
The grapes gay juice thy bosom never cheers;
Thou more than Moslem when the cup appears :
Think not I mean to chide-for I rejoice
What others deem a pennance is thy choice.
But come, the board is spread; our silver lamp
Is trimmed, and heeds not the Sirocco's damp:
Then shall my handmaids while the time along,
And join with me the dance, or wake the song;
Or my guitar, which still thou lov'st to hear,
Shall soothe or lull-or, should it vex thine ear,
We'll turn the tale, by Ariosto told,
Of fair Olympia loved and left of old.
Why--thou wert worse than he who broke his vow
To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me now;
Or even that traitor chief-I've seen thee smile,
When the clear sky showed Ariadne's Isle,
Which I have pointed from these cliffs the while;
And thus, half sportive, half in fear, I said,
Lest Time should raise that doubt to more than
Thus Conrad, too, will quit me for the main : And he deceived me-for-he came again!'
'Again-again-and oft again-my love!
If there be life below, and hope above,
He will return-but now, the moments bring
The time of parting with redoubled wing:
The why-the where-what boots it now to tell?
Since all must end in that wild word-farewell!
Yet would I fain-did time allow-disclose-
Fear not-these are no formidable foes;
And here shall watch a more than wonted guard,
For sudden siege and long defence prepared:
Nor be thou lonely-though thy lord's away,
Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay;
And this thy comfort-that, when next we meet,
Security shall make repose more sweet:
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,
That downcast drooped in tearless agony.
Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms,
In all the wildness of dishevelled 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 pressed,
Which mutely clasped, imploringly caressed,
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,
Kissed her cold forehead-turn'd-is Conrad
gone?
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 rushed, And then at length her tears in freedom gushed; 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 de
O'er every feature of that still, pale face,
Had sorrow fixed 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 flowed-and phrenzied seemed to
swim
Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes dewed
With drops of sadness oft to be renewed. 'He's gone!'-against her heart that hand is driven,
Convulsed and quick-then gently raised to hea
She looked and saw the heaving of the main; The white sail set-she dared not look again; But turned with sickening soul within the gate'It is no dream-and I am desolate!'
Our author has copied the two last verses of the song. He proceeds66 CONRAD.
"Thy song Medora, breath'd a strain so sad,
So wild and melancholy soft, it seem'd
A requiem, such as best might suit
The tomb of love ill-fated!
Thus must it ever breathe, without the joy
Thy presence sparkles o'er its lay-it must,
It will give utt'rance to such thoughts as these.
Oh! many a night, upon my couch reclin'd,
When solitude had set its silent seal
Upon the world, the slightest breath that mov'd
The bosom of the deep, seem'd to my fears
The prelude of a storm-Oh! I have gaz'd
Upon thy element of war and strife,
Till every star had sunk within its wave:
And yet thou cam'st not-still upon the main!
Would that these days of tumult were at end-
Sure thou hast wealth enough-yet strange, that
Nay, look not thus-tho' every hope of heaven
Were startled from its cherub seat of smiles,
I hate mankind too much to feel remorse.
My very love to thee, is hate to them-
I cease to love thee, when I love mankind.
Yet dread not this-the love that hath loved on
Thro' years of tried temptation and distress,
Must love as truly to the latest throb
That wakes existence in the soul-'twill last,
And rising o'er the wreck of life's decay,
Shine with the lustre of a light in heaven,
Still will some momentary cloud of gloom,
Its sky of gladness sometimes overcast-
This hour, Medora, once again, we part→→
This hour, tho' not for long.
The sensations of Conrad, when he finds himself a captive and incarcerated, are thus depicted by the poet,
""Twere vain to paint to what his feelings grew
It even were doubtful if their victim knew.
There is a war, a chaos of the mind,
When all its elements convulsed-combined-
Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force,
And gnashing with impenitent Remorse;
That juggling fiend-who never spake before-
But cries, 'I warned thee!' when the deed is o'er.
Vain voice! the spirit burning but unbent,
May writhe-rebel-the weak alone repent!
Even in that lonely hour when most it feels,
And, to itself, all-all that self reveals,
No single passion, and no ruling thought
That leaves the rest as once unseen, unsought;
But the wild propect when the soul reviews→→→
All rushing through their thousand avenues.
Ambition's dreams expiring, love's regret,
Endangered glory, life itself beset;
The joy untasted, the contempt or hate
'Gainst those who fain would triumph in our fate
The hopeless past, the hasting future driven
Too quickly on to guess if hefl or heaven;
Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps remem
So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot;
Things light or lovely in their acted time,
But now to stern reflection each a crime;
The withering sense of evil unrevealed,
Not cankering less because the more concealed
All, in a word, from which all eyes must start,
That opening sepulchre-the naked heart
Bares with its buried woes, till Pride awake,
To snatch the mirror from the soul-and break.
Ay-Pride can veil, and Courage brave it all,
All-all-before-beyond-the deadliest fall.
Each hath some fear, and he who least betrays,
The only hypocrite deserving praise:
Not the loud recreant wretch who boasts and
flies;
But he who looks on death-and silent dies.
So steeled by pondering o'er his far career,
He halfway meets him should he menace near!"
In the play, Conrad is made to utter the following soliloquy :
A captive and in chains?-but an hour since
A Chief on land, an Outlaw on the deep,
Free as the breeze that sported on its wave!
"Tis well!-my foe if vanquish'd, had but shar'd
A fate, as dark and terrible as mine!-
(He pauses thoughtfully.)
There is a war, a chaos of the mind,
When all its elements convuls'd lie dark
And jarring-impenitent remorse thea
Rushes thro' the thousand avenues of thought,
Sounding the larum bell, unheard before
Vain voice to me!-the weak alone repent!--
E'en in this lonely hour, when most I feel,
Feel to my writhing bosom's inmost core,
Tho' stern reflection doth unsepulchre
Each buried crime, and scan with with ring look
The blood-stain'd record of my life-e'en now,
I hear its voice as one who heard it not!--
One thought alone, a madd'ning image forms,
One image only in the wild prospect
Which my soul reviews, I cannot, dare not
Meet and gaze upon!- -Oh!-Medora! how
Will these tidings greet thy widow'd heart!
To-morrow, and thy dream of hope expires!
(Conrad veils his face and appears agitated with
the deepest emotions.)
Tis past!--and now come torture when it will,
I've need of rest to nerve me for the day.
(He throws himself upon a sofa, apparently ex-
hausted.)"
The last prison interview between Gulnare and Conrad, where she is instigating him to redeem them both by a single blow, is thus rehearsed by Lord Byron:
"The midnight passed--and to the massy door, A light step came-it paused-it moved once
Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key:
"Tis as his heart foreboded that fair she!
Whate'er her sins, to bim a guardian saint,
And beatcous still as hermit's hope can paint;
Yet changed since last within that cell she came,
More pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame.
On him she cast her dark and hurried eye
Which spoke before her accents- thou must die!
Yes, thou must die-there is but one resource,
The last-the worst--if torture were not worse.'
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To the fond workings of a woman's mind!
And must I say? albeit my heart rebel
With all that woman feels, but should not tell-
Because-despite thy crimes-that heart is
moved:
It feared thee-thanked thee-pitied-madden-
ed-loved.
Reply not, tell not now thy tale again,
Thou lov'st another-and I love in vain ;
Though fond as mine her bosom, form more fair,
I rush through peril which she would not dare.
If that thy heart to hers were truly dear,
Were I thine own-thou wert not lonely here:
An outlaw's spouse--and leave her lord to roam:
What hath such gentle dame to do with home?
But speak not now--o'er thine and o'er my head
Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread;
If thou hast courage still, and would'st be free,
Receive this poniard-rise-and follow me."
'Aye-in my chains! my steps will gently tread,
With these adornments, o'er each slumbering
head!
Thou hast forgot-is this a garb for flight?
Or is that instrument more fit for fight!'
'Misdoubting Corsair! I have gained the guard,
Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward.
A single word of mine removes that chain:
Without some aid how here could I remain?
Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time,
If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime:
The crime-'tis none to punish those of Seyd.
That hated tyrant, Conrad-he must bleed!
I see thee shudder-but my soul is changed-
Wronged-spurned-reviled-and it shall be
avenged-
Accused of what till now my heart disdained
Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chained.
Yes, smile!—but he had little cause to sneer,
I was not treacherous then-nor thou too dear:
But he has said it-and the jealous well,
Those tyrants, teasing, tempting to rebel,
Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell.
I never loved--he bought me---somewhat high---
Since with me came a heart he could not buy.
I was a slave unmurmuring; he hath said,
But for his rescue I with thee had fled.
'Twas false thou know'st---but let such augurs
Their words are omens Insult renders true.
Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer;
This fleeting grace was only to prepare
New torments for thy life, and my despair.
Mine too he threatens; but his dotage still
Would fain reserve me for his lordly will:
When wearier of these fleeting charms and me,
There yawns the sack---and yonder rolls the sea!
What, am I then a toy for dotard's play,
To wear but till the gilding frets away?
I saw thee-loved thee-owe thee all-would
But had he not thus menaced fame and life,
(And well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife) Gulnare!-
I still had saved thee-but the Pacha spared.
Now I am all thine own-for all prepared:
Thou lov'st me not-nor know'st-or but the
Alas! this love-that hatred are the first-
Oh! could'st thou prove my truth, thou would'st
not start,
Nor fear the fire that lights an eastern heart,
'Tis now the beacon of thy safety-now
It points within the port a Mainote prow:
But in one chamber, where our path must lead,
There sleeps he must not wake-the oppressor
Seyd!'
"Gulnare---Gulnare---I never felt till now
My abject fortune, withered fame so low:
Seyd is mine enemy: had swept my band
From earth with ruthless but with open hand,
And therefore came I, in my bark of war,
To smite the smiter with the scimitar;
Such is my weapon---not the secret knife---
Who spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life.
Thine saved I gladly, lady, not for this--
Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss.
Now fare thee well---more peace be with thy
breast!
Night wears apace---my last of earthly rest!'
Rest! rest! by sunrise must thy sinews shake,
And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake.
I heard the order---saw---I will not see---
If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.
My life---my love---my hatred---all below
Are on this cast---Corsair! 'tis but a blow!
Without it flight were idle---how evade
His sure pursuit? my wrongs too unrepaid,
My youth disgraced--the long, long wasted years,
One blow shall cancel with our future fears;
But since the dagger suits thee less than brand,
I'll try the firmness of a female hand.
The guards are gained---one moment all were
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-Nay, speak not now---
Thou lov'st another, and I love in vain!---
And yet methinks, were I an Outlaw's spouse,
The busiest scenes of danger and of death,
Should find me still partaker of his fate!-
Corsair, thy doom is fix'd!---time flies apace,
Destruction 'round thec close hath wound his
toils!---
If thou hast courage still to hazard life,
And set it on the casting of a die,
Take this poniard,
(She draws a poniard which she had concealed in her bosom.)
-on---and follow me!--
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Well since we met hath sped my busy time!
If in aught evil, 'twas for thee I sinn'd---
The hated Tyrant---Conrad, he must die!
I see thee shudder, but I am resolv'd;
Wrong'd, spurn'd, revil'd, and not to be aveng'd?
'Tis more than meek-ey'd mercy can endure!---
He call'd me treacherous, and curst the hour
In which you bore me trembling thro' the flames.
He told me, Conrad, what thou know'st is false:
But for his rescue, I had fled with thee---
Nor was thy respite granted to my pray'r:
'Twas giv'n, that cruelty might best contrive
New torments for thy life and mine?---
Mine too he threatens---but his dotage yet
Would fain preserve me for his tyrant will
'Till weary of these fleeting charms---and then,
There yawns the sack, and yonder rolls the
sea!
What?am I then a toy for dotard's play
To wear so long as does its gilding last ?---
Corsair, I saw thee---piti d---madden'd---lov'd
thee!
To thee my all of life on earth I owe!
This should have sav'd thee, if 'twere but to show
How grateful is the heart of e'en a slave---
Had he not menac'd with such kindling oaths,
The Pacha had been spar'd---I was his slave,
Had borne unmurmuring the wasting pangs
That bitter bondage planted in my heart,
And yet he basely trampled it in dust,
And crush'd its last, its sole remaining hope---
Compassion is at end---the thought is past---
Now I am all thine own, prepar'd for all !---
Oh!---could'st thou see this heart in all its truth,
Thou would'st not start, as if with sudden dread,
Or fear the fire that lightens o'er my brow---
Here!---take the poniard !---on---and follow me!
And in the chamber where our path must lead,
Sleeps the Oppressor---he must not wake!
Gulnare!---Gulnare!---I never felt till now,
My abject fortune and my wither'd fame
So sunk and blasted!---Seyd is mine enemy,
And with a ruthless and avenging hand,
Hath swept my gallant comrades from the earth-
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