XIII.

She gazed in wonder, « Can he calmly sleep,
« While other eyes his fall or ravage weep?
« And mine in restlessness are wandering here-
a What sudden spell hath made this man so dear.
« True—'tis to him my life, and more, I owe,
« And me and mine he spared from worse than woe:
« 'Tis late to think—but soft—his slumber breaks—
« How heavily he sighs!—he starts—awakes ! »

He raised his head-and dazzled with the light,
His eye seemed dubious if it saw aright:
He moved his hand-the grating of his chain
Too harshly told him that he lived again.
« What is that form? if not a shape of air,
« Methinks my jailor's face shows wond’rous fair! »

« Pirate! thou know'st me not—but I am one
Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done;

« Look on me—and remember her, thy hand

« Snatched from the flames, and thy more fearful band. " I come through darkness—and I scarce know why«Yet not to hurt-I would not see thee die. »

« If so, kind lady! thine the only eye

« That would not here in that gay hope delight :
« Theirs is the chance—and let them use their right.
« But still I thank their courtesy or thine,

« That would confess me at so fair a shrine! »

Strange though it seem—yet with extremest grief
Is linked a mirth—it doth not bring relief—
That playfulness of sorrow ne'er beguiles,
And smiles in bitterness—but still it smiles;

And sometimes with the wisest and the best,
Till even the scaffold echoes with their jest!
Yet not the joy to which it seems akin-
It may deceive all hearts, save that within.
Whate'er it was that flashed on Conrad, now
A laughing wildness half unbent his brow:
And these his accents had a sound of mirth,
As if the last he could enjoy on earth;

Yet 'gainst his nature-for through that short life,
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 both. »

«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 God! 4 The last I left in youth-he leaves me now

« And man but works his will to lay me low.

97

<< 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 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? »

be:

those

Thou lov'st another then?-but what to me << Is this 'tis nothing-nothing e'er can "But yet-thou lov'st-and--Oh! I envy "Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, Who never feel the void-the wandering thought

<< That sighs o'er visions-such as mine bath 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 love«Yet much this heart, that strives no more, ouce 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,

And chilled remembrance shudders o'er the rest. «Yes-had I ever proved that passion's zeal,

<< The change to hatred were at least to feel :
«But still-he goes unmourned-returns unsought-
And 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!
«Or seek another and give mine release,

But yesterday-1 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 Pity's mine,
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 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 foe,

And seal their own to spare some wanton's 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!

END OF CANTO II.