Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife.
XIV.

« Corsair thy doom is named-but I have power
«To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour.

*

«

Thee would I spare-nay more-would save thee now But this time-hope-nor even thy strength allow; But all I can, I will: at least, delay

«The sentence that remits thee scarce a day.

<< More now were ruin-even thyself were loth
« The vain attempt should bring but doom to hoth.»
<< Yes!-loth indeed :-my soul is nerved to all,
<<< Or fall'n too low to fear a further fall:

Tempt not thyself with peril; me with hope, Of flight 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
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;

сс

<< It is enough-I breathe—and I can bear.

r

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 love-

« For her in sooth my voice would mount above:
Oh! she is all that still to earth can bind-

And this will break a heart so more than kind, And blight a form-till thine appeared, Gulnare! « Mine eye ne'er asked if others were as fair ?» << Thou lov'st another then?--but what to me << Is this 'tis nothing-nothing e'er can be :

God!

But yet-thou lov'st-and--Oh! I envy those "Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, Who never feel the void-the wandering thought That sighs o'er visions-such as mine hath wrought.»

«

Lady-methought thy love was his, for whom

«This arm redeemed thee from a fiery tomb,»

My love stern Seyd's! Oh-No-No-not my loveYet 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 favoured slave at best,

<< To share his splendour, and seem very blest!
« Oft must my soul the question undergo,

« Of-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 checked-nor quickened-calmly cold: «And when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight.

From one I never loved enough to hate.

No warmth these lips return by his imprest,

« Yes

« And chilled remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
had I ever proved that passion's zeal,
The change to hatred were at least to feel:

« But still- he goes unmourned returns unsoughtAnd oft when present- absent from my thought.

« Or when reflection comes, and come it must

<< I fear that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust; I am his slave but, in despite of pride,

"Twere worse than bondage to become his bride. << Oh! that this dotage of his breast would cease! « Oreek another and give mine release,

<< But yesterday- I could have said, to peace! « Yes - if unwonted fondness now I feign,

Remember captive! 'tis to break thy chain;
Repay the life that to thy hand I owe ;

To give thee back to all endeared below,

Who share such love as I can never know.

« Farewell morn breaks and I must now away:

« Twill cost me dear

- but dread not death to-day!

XV.

She pressed his fettered fingers to her heart,
And bowed her head, and turned her to depart;
And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone."

And was she here? and is he now alone?

What gem hath dropped and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
That starts at once-bright-pure-from Pit y's mne,
Already polished by the hand divine!

Oh! too convincing dangerously dear -
In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness she can wield,
To save, subdue - at once her
and shield:
spear
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 foe,

And seal their own to spare some wanton' woe

XVI.

'Tis morn- and o'er his altered features play
The beams without the hope of yesterday.
What shall he be ere night? perchance a thing
O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing:
By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt,

While sets that sun, and dews of evening melt,
Chill-wet-and misty round each stiffened limb,
Refreshing earth-reviving all but him!

THE CORSAIR.

CANTO III.

« Come vedi--ancor non m'abbandona. »

I.

DANTE.

SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea's hills she setting sun

Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light!

O'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws,
Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows.
On old Ægina's rock, and Idra's isle,

The god of gladness sheds his parting smile;
O'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine,
Though there his altars are no more divine.
Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss
The glorious gulf, unconquered Salamis !
Their azure arches through the long expanse
More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance,
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
Mark his gay course and own the hues of heaven;
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,
Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.
On such an eve, his palest beam he cast,
When Athens! here thy Wisest looked this last.
How watched thy better sons his farewell ray,
That closed their murdered sage's latest day!
Not yet not yet · Sol pauses on the hill-
The precious hour of parting lingers still;
But sad his light to agonizing eyes,

And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes:
Gloom o'er the lovely land he seemed to pour,
The land, where Phoebus never frowned before;
But ere he sunk below Citharon's head;

The cup of woe was quaffed — the spirit fled —
The soul of him who scorned to fear or fly -
Who lived and died, as none can live or die!
But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain,
The queen of night asserts her silent reign.
No murky vapour, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form;
With cornice glimmering as the moon-beams play,
There the white column greets her grateful ray,
And, bright around with quivering beams beset,
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret:
The groves of olive scattered dark and wide
Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide,
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,
The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk,
And, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calm,
Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,
All tinged with varied hues arrest the eye
And dull were his that passed them heedless by.
Again the Ægean, heard no more afar,
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war;
Again his waves in milder tints unfold
Their long array of sapphire and of gold,
Mixt with the shades of many a distant isle,
That frown-where gentler Ocean seems to smile.

II.

Not now my theme-why turn my thoughts to thee?
Oh! who can look along thy native sea,
Nor dwell upon thy name, whate'er the tale,
So much its magic must o'er all prevail?
Who that beheld that sun upon thee set,
Fair Athens! could thine evening face forget?
Not he whose heart nor time nor distance frees
Spell-bound within the clustering Cyclades !

Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain,