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But each strikes singly, silently, and home,
And the grim guards that to his durance led.
In silence eyed him with a secret dread.
The Leech was sent-but not in mercy-there, VII.
To note how much the life yet left could beir; But first, ere came the rallying host to blows,
lle found enough to load with heaviest chun, And rank to rank, and hand to hand oppose,
And promise feeling for the wrench of pain: Gulnare and all her Haram handmaids freed,
To-morrow-yea--to-morrow's evening sun Safe in the dome of one who held their creed,
Will sinking see implement's pangs begun, By Conrad's mandate safely were bestow'd,
And rising with the wonted blush of morn
Behold how well or ill those pangs are borne.
That day by day death still forbears to slake, That smooth'd his accents; soften'd in his eye: While famish'd vultures fit around the stake. 'Twas strange—that robber thus with gore bedew'ci
'Oh! water-water I-smiling Hate denies Seem'd gentler then than Seyd in fondest inood.
The victim's prayer; for if lie drinks, he dies. The Pacha wood as if he deen'd the slave
This was his doom: the Leech, the guard, were Must seem delighted with the heart he gave;
gone, The Corsair vow'd protection, soothed affright,
And left proud Conrad fetter'd and alone. As if his homage were a woman's right. "The wish is wrong-nay, worse for female-vain :
X. Yet much I long to view that chief again;
'Twere vain to paint to what his feelings grew If but to thank for, what my fear forgot,
It even were doubtful if their victiin knew. The life-my loving lord reinember'd not!'
There is a war, a chaos of the mind,
When all its eleinents convulsed-combined -
Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force,
But cries, I warn d thee!' when the deed is o'er. That deem right dearly won the field he lost,
Vain voice! the spirit burning but unbent, Fell'd—bleeding-bafiled of the death he sought, May writhe-rebel-the weak alone repent ! And snatch'd to expiate all the ills he wrought; Even in that lonely liour when most it feels, Preserved to linger and to live in vain,
And to itself, all-all that self reveals, While Vengeance ponder'd o'er a-w plans of pain, No single passion, and no ruling thought And stanch'd the blood she saves to shed again That leaves the rest as once unseen, unsought; But drop by drop, for Seyd's unglutted eye
But the wild prospect when the soul reviews, Would doom him ever dying-ne'er to die!
All rushing through their thousand avenues, Can this be he? triumphant late she saw,
Ambition's dreams expiring, love's regret, When his red hand's wild gesture waved, a law! Endanger'd glory, life itself beset; 'Tis he indeed-disarm'd, but undeprest,
The joy untasted, the contempt or hate His sole regret the life he still possest;
'Gainst those who fain would triumph in our fate; His wounds too slight, though taken with that will, The hopeless past, the hasting future driven Which would have kiss'd the land that then could Too quickly on to guess of hell or heaven; kill.
Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps remember'd Oh, were there none, of all the many given,
rot To send his soul-he scarcely ask'd to heaven! So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot; Must he alone of all retain his breath,
Things light or lovely in their acted tinie, Who more than all had striven and struck for death? But now to stern reflection each a crime; He deeply felt-what mortal hearts must feel, The withering sense of evil unreveald, When thus reversed on faithless Fortune's wheel, Not cankering less because the more conceal'd-For crimes committed, and the victor's threat
All, in a word, from which all eyes must start, Of lingering tortures to repay the debt,
That opening sepulchre--the naked heart, He deeply, darkly felt; but evil pride
Bares with its buried woes, till Pride awake, That led to perpetrate-now nerves to hide.
To snatch the mirror from the soul-and break. Still in his stern and self-collected mien
Ay, Pride can veil, and Courage brave it all, A conqueror's more than captive's air is seen, All-all-before-beyond-the deadliest fall. Though faint with wasting toil and stiffening wound, Each hath some fear, and he who least betrays, But few that saw-so calmly gazed around:
The only hypocrite deserving praise : Though the far-shouting of the distant crowd, Not the loud recreant wretch who boasts and fies; Their tremors o'er, rose insolently loud,
But he who looks on death-and silent dies. The better warriors who beheld him near,
So steel'd by pondering o'er his far career, Insulted not the foe who taught them fear;
He half-way meets him should he menace near!
XIII, In the high chamber of his highest tower
She gazed in wonder: 'Can he calmly sleep.
While other eyes his fall or ravage weep!
And mine in restlessness are wandering here-
What sudden spell hath made this man so dear? Not much could Conrad of his sentence blame,
True-'tis to him my life, and more, I owe, His foe, if vanquish'd, had but shared the same :
And me and mine he spared from worse than woe :
'Tis late to think-but soft-his slumber breaksAlone he sate in solitude--had scann'd His guilty bosom, but that breast he niann'd:
How heavily he sighs 1-he starts-awakes !" One thought alone he could not-dared not
He raised his head ;-and dazzled with the light, ineet
His eye seem'd dubious if it saw aright: "Oh, how these tidings will Medora greet ?'
He moved his hand-the grating of his chain Then--only then-his clanking hands he raised,
Too harshly told him that he lived again. And strain'd with rage the chain on which he
• What is that forin? if not a shape of air, gazed; But soon he found-or feign'd-or dream'd relief,
Methinks, my jailor's face shows wondrous fairs' And smiled in self-derision of his grief.
* Pirate! thou know'st me not :--but I ain one, * And now come torture when it will-or may, Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done : More need of rest to nerve me for the day!'
Luok on me and remember her thy hand This said, with languor to his mat he crept,
Snatch'd from the flames, and thy more fearful And, whatsoe'er his visions, quickly slept.
band. 'Twas hardly midnight when that fray begun, I come through darkness, and I scarce know whyFor Conrad's plans matured, at once were done: Yet not to hurt-I would not see thee die.' And Havoc loathes so much the waste of time, *If so, kind lady! thine the only eye She scarce had left an uncommitted crime.
That would not here in that gay hope delight:
That would confess me at so fair a shrine !
Strange though it seem,-yet with extremest grief
That playfulness of Sorrow ne'er beguiles,
And smiles in bitterness-but still it smiles;
And sometimes with the wisest and the best,
Whate'er it was that flash'd on Conrad, now
A laughing wildness half unbent his brow: Its white arm raised a lamp-yet gently hid,
And these his accents had a sound of mirth, Lest the ray flash abruptly on the lid
As if the last he could enjoy on earth; Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain, Yet 'gainst his nature-for through that short life, And once unclosed—but once may close again. Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and That form with eye so dark, and cheek so fair,
‘Corsair! thy doom is named--but I have power That shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute- To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour. Througlı guards and dunnest night how came it Thee would I spare-nay more-would save thec there?
now, Ah! rather ask what will not woman dare?
But this time-hope-nor even thy strength allow; Whom youth and pity lead like thee, Gulnare ! But all I can, I will: at least delay She could not sleep-and while the Pacha's rest
The sentence that remits thee scarce a day. In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest, More now were ruin-even thyself were loti She left his side-his signet-ring she bore,
The vain attempt should bring but doom to both." Which oft in sport adorn'd her hand before And with it, scarcely question'd, won her way
Yes !-loth indeed :--my soul is nerved to all,
Or fall'n too low to fear a further fall:
* In Sir Thomas More, for instance, on the scaffold,
and Anne Boleyn in the Tower, when, grasping her And chill and nodding at the turret door,
neck, she remarked, that it was too slender to troubue They stretch their listless limbs, and watch no the headsman much.' During one part of the French more:
Revolution, it became a fashion to leave some of as Just raised their heads to hail the signet-ring,
a legacy; and the quantity of facetious iast words
spoken during that period would form a melancholy Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring. jest-book of a considerable size,
Tempt not thyself with peril; me with hope Of fight from foes with whom I could not cope : Unfit to vanquish-shall I meanly fly, The one of all my band that would not die ? Yet there is one-to whom my memory clings, Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs. My sole resources in the path I trod Were these-my bark, my sword, my love, my God The last I left in youth-He leaves me now And Man but works His will to lay me low. I have no thought to mock His throne with prayer Wrung from the coward crouching of despair ; It is enough-I breathe-and I can bear. My sword is shaken from the worthless hand That might have better kept so true a brand : My bark is sunk or captive; but my loveFor her in sooth my voice would mount above: Oh! she is all that still to earth can bindAnd this will break a heart so more than kind, And blight a form-till thine appear'd, Gulnare, Mine eye ne'er ask'd if others were so fair.'
Yes-had I ever proved that passion's zeal,
'Thou lov'st another then ?-but what to me
wrought.' 'Lady-methought thy love was his, for whom This arm redeeind thee from a fiery tomb.'
xv. She press'd his fetter'd fingers to her heart, And bow'd her head, and turn'd her to depart, And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone. And was she here? and is he now alone? What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er his
chain ? The tear more sacred, slied for others' pain, That starts at once-bright-pure--from Pity's
mine, Already polish'd by the hand divine ! Oh! too convincing-dangerously dearIn woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue-at once her spear and shield: Avoid it-Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs, Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers ! What lost a world, and bade a hero fly? The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye. Yet be the soft triumvir's fault forgiven ; By this-how many lose not earth—but heaven! Consign their souls to man's eternal foc, And seal their own to spare some wanton's woe!
Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once
strove To meet his passion-but it would not be. I felt-I feel-love dwells with-with the free. I am a slave, a favour'd slave at best, To share his splendour, and seem very blest! Oft must my soul the question undergo, 08-"Dost thou love ?" and burn to answer, "No!" Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain, And struggle not to feel averse in vain ; But harder still the heart's recoil to bear, And hide from one-perhaps another there. He takes the hand I give not-nor withhold Its pulse nor check’d, nor quicken'd-calmly cold: And when resign'd, it drops a lifeless weight From one I never loved enough to hate. No warmth these lips return by his imprest, And chill'd remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
'Tis morn--and o'er his alter'd features play
CANTO THE THIRD.
Come vedi-ancor non in'abbandona.'-DANTE.
Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
O'er the h ush'd deep the yellow beam he throws,
Descending fast, the mountain shadows kiss
II. Thy glorious gulf, unconqucr'd Salamis !
Not now my theme--why turn my thoughts to thee? Their azure arches through the long expanse Oh! who can look along thy native sea, More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance, Nor dwell upon thy name, what'er the tale, And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, So inuch its magic must o'er all prevail ? Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven; Who that beheld that Sun upon thee set, Till, darkiy shaded from the land and deep,
Fair Athens ! could thinc evening face forget ? Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.
Not he-whose heart nor time nor distance frees,
Spell-bound within the clustering Cyclades ! On such an eve, his palest beam he cast,
Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain, When-Athens ! here thy Wisest look'd his last.
His Corsair's isle was once thine own domain How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray,
Would that with freedom it were thine again! That closed their murder'd sage's* latest day!
III. Not yet--not yet-Sol pauses on tlie hill
The Sun hath sunk-and, darker than the night, The precious hour of parting lingers still ;
Sinks with its beam upon the beacon heightBut sad his light to agonizing eyes,
Medora's heart-the third day's come and gone And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes : With it he comes not-sends not-faithless one! Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour, The wind was fair though light; and storms were The land where Phæbus never frown'd before;
none. But ere he sank below Cithæron's head,
Last eve Anselmo's bark return'd, and yet The cup of woe was quaff d—the spirit fed;
His only tidings that they had not met ! The soul of him who scorn'd to fear or fiy
Though wild, as now, far different were the tale Who lived and died, as none can live or die !
Had Conrad waited for that single sail. But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain,
The night breeze freshens-she that day had pass'd The queen of night asserts her silent reign.t
In watching all that Hope proclaim'd a mast; No murky vapour, herald of the storm,
Sadly she sate-on high-Iinpatience bore Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form ; At last her footsteps to the midnight shore; With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play, And there she wander'd, heedless of the spray There the white column greets her grateful ray, That dash'd her garments oft, and warn'd away : And, bright around with quivering beams beset, She saw not, felt not this-nor dared depart, Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret:
Nor deem'd it cold-her chill was at her heart; The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide
Till grew such certainty from that suspense-
His very sight had shock'd from life or sense!
It came at last-a sad and shatter'd boat,
Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought; Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,
Some bleeding-all most wretchedl--these the fowAll tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye
Scarce knew they how escaped-this all they knew, And dull were his that pass'd then hecdless by. In silence, darkling, each appear'd to wait
His fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate: Again the Ægean, heard no more afar,
Something they would have said; but seem'd to Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war;
fear Again his waves in milder tints unfold
To trust their accents to Medora's ear. Their long array of sapphire and of gold,
She saw at once, yet sank not-trembled notMix'd with the shades of many a distant isle,
Beneath that grief, that loneliness of lot, That frown-where gentler ocean seems to smile. 8 Within that meek fair form, were feelings high,
That deem'd not, till they found their energy.
While yet was Hope, they soften'd, flutter'd, wept* Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset (the hour of execution), notwithstanding the
All lost-that softness died not-but it slept; entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went And o'er its slumber rose that Strength which said, down.
• With nothing left to love, there's nought to dread.' † The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our 'Tis more than nature's—like the burning might own country; the days in winter are longer, but summer of less duration.
Delirium gathers from the fever's height. The kiosk is a Turkish summer-house; the palm is without the present walls of Athens, not far from
Silent you stand-nor would I hear you tell the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree What-speak not-breathe not--for I know it well the wall'intervenes. Cephisus' stream is indeed scanty, Yet would I ask-almost my lip denies and Ilissus has no stream at all.
The-quick your answer--tell me where he lies.' $ The opening lines, as far as section ii., have perhaps little business here, and were annexed to an unpublished || (though printed) poein; but they were
Lady! we know not-scarce with life we fled; written on the spot in the spring of 1811, and I
But l.ere is one denies that he dead: scarcely know why--the reader must excuse their ap- He saw him bound; and bleeding-but alive.' pearance here if he can. # The Curse of Minerva.
She heard no further--'twas in vain to strive
So throbb'd each vein-each thought-till then with- Nay, Seyd !-I seek not to restrain thy rage,
Too justly moved for mercy to assuage;
His capture could !--and shall I then resign
One day to him—the wretch already mine? Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave
Release my foe:-at whose remonstrance ? That fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve;
thine! Then seek Anselmo's cavern, to report
Fair suitor!-to thy virtuous gratitude, The tale too tedious-when the triumph short.
That thus repays this Giaour's relenting mood,
Which thee and thine alone of all could spare,
No doubt-regardless if the prize were fair,
My thanks and praise alike are due-now hear! In that wild council, words wax'd warm and strange,
I have a counsel for thy gentler ear: With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge ;
I do mistrust tliee, woman! and each word All, save repose or flight : still lingering there
Of thine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard. Breathed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair;
Borne in his arms through fire from yon SeraiWhate'er his fate-the breasts he forin'd and led,
Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly? Will save him living, or appease him dead.
Thou need'st not answer—thy confession speaks, Woe to his foes! there yet survive a few,
Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks; Whose deeds are daring as their hearts are true.
Then, lovely dame, bethink thee, and beware!
'Tis not his life alone may claim sucli care ! v.
Another word and-nay-I need no more. Within the Haram's secret chamber sate
Accursed was the moment when he bore Stern Seyil, still pondering o'er his Captive's fate; Thee from the flames, which better far-but noHis thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell, I then had mourn'd thec with a lover's woeNow with Gulnare, and now in Conrad's cell;
Now, 'tis thy lord that warns-deceitful thing! Here at his feet the lovely slave reclined
Know'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing? Surveys his brow-would soothe lis glcom of In words alone I am not wont to chafe: mind :
Look to thy self-nor dcem thy falsehood safc !" While many an anxious glance her large dark cye
He rose-and slowly, sternly thence withdrew, Sends in its idle search for sympathy,
Rage in his eye and threats in his adieu : His only bends in seeming o'cr his beads,*
Ah! little reck'd that chief of womanhoodBut inly views his victim as he bleeds.
Which frowns ne'er quell'd, nor menaces subdued ; • Pacha! the day is thine ; and on thy crest
And little deem'd he what thy heart, Gulnare, Sits Triumph-Conrad taken-fall'n the rest ! When soft could feel, and when incensed could His doom is fix'd-he dies : and well his fate
dare. Was eam'd-yet much too worthless for tly hate: His doubts appear to wrong-nor yet she knew Methinks, a short release, for ransom told
How deep the root from whence compassion With all his treasure, not unwisely sold :
grewReport speaks largely of his pirate-hoard
She was a slave-from such may captives claim Would that of this my Pacha were the lord !
A felisw-feeling, differing but in name: While baffled, weaken'd by this fatal fray
Still half-unconscious-heedless of his wrath, Watch'd-follow'd-he were then an easier prey ; Again she ventured on the dangerous path, But once cut off-the remnant of his band
Again his rage repell'd-until arose Embark their wealth, and seek a safer stranci. That strife of thought, the source of woman's
woes! Gulnare !-if for each drop of blood a gem
VI. Were offer'd rich as Stanboul's diadem;
Meanwhile-long, anxious-weary, still the same If for each hair of his a massy mine
Roll'd day and night-his soul could terror tameOf virgin ore should supplicating shine;
This fearful interval of doubt and dread, If all our Arab tales divulge or dream
When cvery hour might doom him worse than Of wealth were here-that gold should not rc
dead, deem! >
When every step that echo'd by the gate It had not now redeem'd a single hour,
Might entering lead where axe and stake await; But that I know him fetter'd, in my power ;
When every voice that grated on his car And, thirsting for revenge, 1 ponder still
Might be the last that he could ever hear; On pangs that longest rack, and latest kill.'
Could terror tame—that spirit stern and high
Had proved unwilling as unfit to die; • The
'Twas worn-perhaps decay'd-yet silent bore beads are in number ninety-nine.
That conflict deadlier far than all before:
he Combololo, or Mahometan rosary.