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Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one,
Which seeks from all the refuge found in none; 1820
No words suffice the secret soul to show,
For Truth denies all eloquence to Wo.
On Conrad's stricken soul exhaustion prest,
And stupor almost lull'd it into rest;
So feeble now---his mother's softness crept 1825
To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept:
It was the very weakness of his brain,
Which thus confess'd without relieving pain.
None saw his trickling tears---perchance, if seen,
That useless flood of grief had never been: 1830
Nor long they flow'd---he dried them to depart,
In helpless---hopeless---brokenness of heart :
The sun goes forth---but Conrad's day is dim;
And the night cometh---ne'er to pass from him.
There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, 1835
On Grief's vain eye---the blindest of the blind !
Which may not---dare not see---but turns aside
The blackest shade---nor will endure a guide!

XXIII. His heart was form’d for softness---warp'd to wrong; Betray'd too early, and beguiled too long; 1840 Each feeling pure---as falls the dropping dew Within the grot; like that had harden'd too; Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials passid, But sunk, and chill'd, and petrified at last. Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock; 1845 If such his heart, so shatter'd it the shock.

There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow,
Though dark the shade---it shelter'd---saved till now.
The thunder came---that bolt hath blasted both,
The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth: 1850
The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell
Its tale, but shrunk and wither'd where it fell,
And of its cold protector, blacken round
But shiver'd fragments on the barren ground!

XXIV. 'Tis morn---to venture on his lonely hour, 1855 Few dare; though now Anselmo sought his tower. He was not there---nor seen along the shore; Ere night, alarm'd, their isle is traversed o’er: Another morn---another bids them seek, And shout his name till echo waxeth weak; 1860 Mount---grotto---cavern---valley search'd in vain, They find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain : Their hope revives---they follow o'er the main. 'Tis idle all---moons roll on moons away, And Conrad comes not--came not since that day: 1865 Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom declare Where lives his grief, or perish'd his despair! (side; Long mourn'd his band whom none could mourn beAnd fair the monument they gave his bride: For him they raise not the recording stone--- 1870 His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known; He left a Corsair's name to other times, Lnk'd with one virtue, and a thousand crimes. (17)




The time in this poem may seem too short for the occurrences, but the whole of the Ægean isles are within a few hours sail of the continent, and the reader must be kind enough to take the wind as I have often found it.

Note 1, page 92, line 14.
Of fair Olympia loved and left of old.
Orlando, Canto 10.

Note 2, page 97, line 12. Around the waves' phosphoric brightness broke. By night, particularly in a warm latitude, every stroke of the oar, every motion of the boat or ship, is followed by a slight flash like sheet lightning from the water..

Note 3, page 100, line 18. Though to the rest the sober berry's juice. Coffee.

Note 4, page 100, line 20.
The long Chibouque's dissolving cloud supply.

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Note 5, page 100, line 21.
While dance the Almas to wild minstrelsy,


Note to Canto II. page 101, line 7. It has been objected that Conrad's entering disguised as a spy is out of nature. Perhaps so. I find something not unlike it in history.

“ Anxious to explore with his own eyes the state of the Vandals, Majorian ventured, after disguising the colour of his hair, to visit Carthage in the character of his own ambassador ; and Genseric was afterwards mortified by the discovery, that he had entertained and dismissed the Emperor of the Romans. Such an anecdote may be rejected as an improbable fiction; but it is a fiction which would not have been imagined unless in the life of a hero." Gibbon, D. and F. Vol. VI. p. 180.

That Conrad is a character not altogether out of nature I shall attempt to prove by some historical coincidences which I have met with since writing “ The Corsair."

“ Eccelin prisonnier," dit Rolandini,“ s'enfermoit dans un silence menaçant, il fixoit sur la terre son visage feroce, et ne donnoit point d'essor à sa profonde indignation. De toutes partes cependant les soldats & les peuples accouroient; ils vouloient voir cet homme, jadis si puissant, et la joie universelle eclatoit de toutes parts.

6 Eccelin etoit d'une petite taille ; mais tout l'aspect de sa personne, tous ses mouvemeos indiquoient un soldat.-Son langage etoit amer, son deportment superbe

et par son seul egard, il faisoit trembler les plus hardis." Sismondi, tome III. page 219, 220.

“ Gizericus (Genseric, king of the Vandals, the conqueror of both Carthage and Rome,) statura mediocris, et equi casu claudicans, animo profundus, sermone rarus, luxuriæ contemptor, ira turbidus, habendi cupidus, ad solicitandas gentes providentissimus, &c. &c. Journandes de Rebus Getius, c. 33.

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