Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt His name could sadden, and his acts surprise ; XII. None are all evil-quickening round his heart, Which still would meet with joy, with calmness part, Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart; Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove- He paused a moment-till his hastening men R Strange tidings !-many a peril have I past, « Nor know I why this next appears the last! ་་ << 'Tis rash to meet, but surer death to wait « Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate; And, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smile, « We'll furnish mourners for our funeral-pile. Ay-let them slumber-peaceful be their dreams! «Morn ne'er awoke them with such brilliant beams «As kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze!) «To warn these slow avengers of the seas. « Now to Medora-Oh! my sinking heart, Long may her own be lighter than thou art! « Yet was I brave-mean boast where all are brave! « Ev'n insects sting for aught they seek to save. « This common courage which with brutes we share, << That owes its deadliest efforts to despair, « Small merit claims-but 'twas my nobler hope ་་ To teach my few with numbers still to cope; Long have I led them-not to vainly bleed : « No medium now we perish or succeed! "So let it be-it irks not me to die; « But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly. " My lot hath long had little of my care, « But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare : « Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last " Hope, power, and life upon a single cast? «Oh, Fate!-accuse thy folly, not thy fate« She may redeem thee still-nor yet too late. » XIV. Thus with himself communion held he, till " I. Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, 2. «There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp « Remember me—-Oh! pass not thou my grave Without one thought whose relics there recline: The only pang my bosom dare not brave, 4. 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! >> He passed the portal-crossed the corridor, ་ o'er : « In Conrad's absence wouldst thou have it glad? « Without thine ear to listen to my lay, «Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray: << Still must each accent to my bosom suit, ་ 、 Oh ! My heart unhushed-although my lips were mute! 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 night outwatched 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 mast « That met my sight-it neared-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 << 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; K many a home Then not for mine, but that far dearer life, « Which flies from love and languishes for strife- 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, But-Oh, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart, << This hour again-but not for long-we part. »> « This hour we part!-my heart foreboded this : << Have need of rest before they toil 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. |