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«Here let them haste to gladden and surprize,
« And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes!

VI.

« Where is our chief? for him we bear report— "And doubt that joy-which hails our coming-short; «Yet thus sincere-'tis cheering, though so brief;

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But, Juan! instant guide us to our chief:

« Our greeting paid, we'll feast on our return,

« And all shall hear what each may wish to learn. «
Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way,
To where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay,
By bushy brake and wild-flowers blossoming,
And freshness breathing from each silver spring,
Whose scattered streams from granite basins burst,
Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst;
From crag to cliff they mount-Near yonder cave,
What lonely straggler looks along the wave?
In pensive posture leaning on the brand,
Not oft a resting-staff to that red hand? -

<< "Tis he 'tis Conrad-here-as wont-alone ;
« On-Juan! on-and make our purpose known.
« The bark he views-and tell him we would greet
« His ear with tidings he must quickly meet :
"We dare not yet approach-thou know'st his mood,
"When strange or uninvited steps intrude. >>

VII.

Him Juan sought, and told of their intent— He spake not-but a sign expressed assent. These Juan calls-they come-to their salute He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute. « These letters, Chief, are from the Greek-the spy, "Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh :

«Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,

«Much that»--«Peace,peace!»--He cuts their prating short.
Wondering they turn, abashed, while each to each
Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech:
They watch his glance with many a stealing look,
To gather how that eye the tidings took;

But, this as if he guessed, with head aside,
Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,
He read the scroll-« My tablets, Juan, hark→
« Where is Gonsalvo? >>

"

<< In the anchored bark. » « There let him stay--to him this order bear. << Back to your duty-for my course prepare: Myself this enterprize to-night will share. » To-night, Lord Conrad? »

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« The breeze will freshen when the day is done. My corslet-cloak-one hour-and we are gone. Sling on thy bugle-see that free from rust,

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My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust; Be the edge sharpened of my boarding-brand, «And give its guard more room to fit my hand. This let the Armourer with speed dispose ; «Last time it more fatigued my arm than foes: « Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired, « To tell us when the hour of stay's expired.

VIII.

They make obeisance, and retire in haste,
Too soon to seek again the watery waste :
Yet they repine not-so that Conrad guides,
And who dare question aught that he decides?
That man of loneliness and mystery,

Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;

Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew,

And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue ;
Still sways their souls with that commanding art
That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
What is that spell, that thus his lawless train
Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain ?
What should it be? that thus their fate can bind?
The power of Thought-the magic of the Mind!
Linked with success, assumed and kept with skill,
That moulds another's weakness to its will;
Wields with their hands, but, still to these unknown,
Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own.
Such hath it been-shall be-beneath the sun
The many still must labour for the one!

'Tis Nature's doom-but let the wretch who toils,
Accuse not, hate not him who wears the spoils.
Oh! if he knew the weight of splendid chains,
How light the balance of his humbler pains!

IX.

Unlike the heroes of each ancient race,
Demons in act, but gods at least in face,
In Conrad's form seems little to admire,
Though his dark eye-brow shades a glance of fire
Robust but not Herculean-to the sight
No giant frame sets forth his common height;
Yet, in the whole, who paused to look again,
Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men ;
They gaze and marvel how-and still confess
That thus it is, but why they cannot guess.
Sun burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale
The sable curls in wild profusion veil;
And oft perforce his rising lip reveals

:

The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals.

Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien,
Still seems there something he would not have seen :
His features' deepening lines and varying hue
At times attracted, yet perplexed the view,
As if within that murkiness of mind

Worked feelings fearful, and yet undefined;
Such might it be—that none could truly tell—
Too close enquiry his stern glance would quell.
There breathe but few whose aspect might defy
The full encounter of his searching eye;

He had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek
To probe his heart and watch his changing check,
At once the observer's purpose to espy,
And on himself roll back his scrutiny,
Lest he to Conrad rather should betray
Some secret thought, than drag that chief's to day.
There was a laughing Devil in his sneer,
That raised emotions both of rage and fear;
And where his frown of hatred darkly fell,
Hope withering fled-and Mercy sighed farewell!

X.

Slight are the outward signs of evil thought,
Within-within-'twas there the spirit wrought!
Love shows all changes-Hate, Ambition, Guile,
Betray no further than the bitter smile;
The lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown
Along the governed aspect, speak alone
Of deeper passions; and to judge their mien,
He, who would see, must be himself unseen.
Then-with the hurried tread, the upward eye,
The clenched hand, the pause of agony,
That listens, starting, lest the step too near
Approach intrusive on that mood of fear:

Then-with each feature working from the heart,
With feelings loosed to strengthen-not depart :
That rise-convulse-contend-that freeze, or glow,
Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow;
Then-Stranger! if thou canst, and tremblest not,
Behold his soul-the rest that soothes his lot!
Mark-how that lone and blighted bosom sears
The scathing thought of execrated years!
Behold—but who hath seen, or e'er shall see,
Man as himself the secret spirit free?

XI.

Yet was not Conrad thus by nature sent
To lead the guilty-guilt's worst instrument-
His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven
Him forth to war with man and forfeit heaven.
Warped by the world in Disappointment's school,
In words too wise, in conduct there a fool;
Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop,
Doomed by his very virtues for a dupe,
He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill,
And not the traitors who betrayed him still;
Nor deemed that gifts bestowed on better men
Had left him joy, and means to give again.
Feared-shunned-belied-ere youth had lost her force,
He hated man too much to feel remorse,
And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call,
To pay the injuries of some on all.

He knew himself a villain-but he deemed
The rest no better than the thing he seemed;
And scorned the best as hypocrites who hid
Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.

He knew himself detested, but he knew

The hearts that loathed him, crouched and dreaded too.

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