If for each hair of his a massy mine
Of virgin ore should supplicating shine;
If all our Arab tales divulge or dream
'Twas worn-perhaps decay'd-yet silent bore
That conflict deadlier far than all before:
The heat of fight, the hurry of the gale,
Of wealth were here-that gold should not redeem! Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail;
It had not now redeem'd a single hour;
But that I know him fetter'd in my power;
And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still
On pangs that longest rack, and latest kill."
"Nay, Seyd!-I seek not to restrain thy rage,
Too justly moved for mercy to assuage;
My thoughts were only to secure for thee
His riches-thus released, he were not free:
Disabled, shorn of half his might and band,
His capture could but wait thy first command."
"His capture could?-and shall I then resign
One day to him-the wretch already mine?
Release my foe !-at whose remonstrance ?-thine
Fair suitor!-to thy virtuous gratitude,
That thus repays this Giaour's relenting mood,
Which thee and thine alone of all could spare,
No doubt-regardless if the prize were fair,
My thanks and praise alike are due-now hear!
I have a counsel for thy gentler ear:
I do mistrust thee, woman! and each word
Of thine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard.
Borne in his arms through fire from yon Serai-
Say-wert thou lingering there with him to fly?
Thou need'st not answer-thy confession speaks,
Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks;
Then lovely dame, bethink thee! and beware:
'Tis not his life alone may claim such care!
Another word and-nay-I need no more.
Accursed was the moment when he bore
Thee from the flames, which better far-but-no-
I then had mourn'd thee with a lover's wo-
Now 'tis thy lord that warns-deceitful thing!
Know'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing?
In words alone I am not wont to chafe :
Look to thyself—nor deem thy falsehood safe!"
He rose and slowly, sternly thence withdrew,
Rage in his eye, and threats in his adieu :
Ah! little reck'd that chief of womanhood-
Which frowns ne'er quell'd, nor menaces subdued;
And little deem'd he what thy heart, Gulnare!
When soft could feel, and when incensed could dare.
His doubts appear'd to wrong-nor yet she knew
But bound and fix'd in fetter'd solitude,
To pine, the prey of every changing mood;
To gaze on thine own heart; and meditate
Irrevocable faults, and coming fate-
Too late the last to shun-the first to mend→
To count the hours that struggle to thine end,
With not a friend to animate, and tell
To other ears that death became thee well.
Around thee foes to forge the ready lie,
And blot life's latest scene with calumny,
Before the tortures, which the soul can dare,
Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear;
But deeply feels a single cry would shame,
To valor's praise thy last and dearest claim;
The life thou leav'st below, denied above
By kind monopolists of heavenly love;
And more than doubtful paradise-thy heaven
Of earthly hope-thy loved one from thee riven.
Such were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain,
And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain:
And those sustain'd he-boots it well or ill?
Since not to sink beneath, is something still!
The nrst day pass'd-he saw not her-Gulnare-
The second-third-and still she came not there;
But what her words avouch'd, her charms had done,
Or else he had not seen another sun.
The fourth day roll'd along and with the night,
Came storm and darkness in their mingling might:
Oh! how he listen'd to the rushing deep,
That ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep;
And his wild spirit wilder wishes sent,
Roused by the roar of his own element!
Oft had he ridden on that winged wave,
And loved its roughness for the speed it gave;
And now its dashing echo'd on his ear,
A long known voice-alas! too vainly near!
Loud sung the wind above; and, doubly loud,
Shook o'er his turret cell the thunder-cloud;
And flashed the lightning by the latticed bar,
To him more genial than the midnight star:
Close to the glimmering grate he dragg'd his chain
And hoped that peril might not prove in vain.
He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and pray'd
How deep the root from whence compassion grew-One pitying flash to mar the form it made:
She was a slave-from such may captives claim
A fellow-feeling, differing but in name;
Still half unconscious-heedless of his wrath,
Again she ventured on the dangerous path,
Again his rage repell'd-until arose
That strife of thought, the source of woman's woes.
Meanwhile-long anxious-weary-still-the same
Roll'd day and night-his soul could never tame-
This fearful interval of doubt and dread,
His steel and impious prayer attract alike-
The storm roll'd onward, and disdain'd to strike;
Its peal wax'd fainter-ceased-he felt alone,
As if some faithless friend had spurn'd his groan!
The midnight pass'd-and to the massy door
A light step came-it paused-it moved once more;
Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key:
'Tis as his heart foreboded-that fair she!
Whate'er her sins, to him a guardian saint,
When every hour might doom him worse than dead, And beauteous still as hermit's hope can paint;
When every step that echo'd by the gate
Might entering lead where axe and stake await;
When every voice that grated on his ear
Might be the last that he could ever hear;
Could terror tame-that spirit stern and high
Had proved unwilling as unfit to die;
Yet changed since last within that cell she came,
More pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame:
On him she cast her dark and hurried eye,
Which spoke before her accents-"thou must die
Yes, thou must die-there is but one resource,
The last-the worst-if torture were not worse."
"Lady! I look to none-my lips proclaim
What last proclaim'd they-Conrad still the same
Why should'st thou seek an outlaw's life to spare,
And change the sentence I deserve to bear?
Well have I earn'd-nor here alone-the need
Of Seyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed."
"Why should I seek? because-Oh! didst thou not
Redeem my life from worse than slavery's lot?
Why should I seek?-hath misery made thee blind
To the fond workings of a woman's mind?
And must I say? albeit my heart rebel
With all that woman feels, but should not tell-
Because despite thy crimes-that heart is moved:
It fear'd thee-thank'd thee-pitied-madden'd-
loved :
Reply not, tell not now thy tale again,
Thou lov'st another-and I love in vain ;
Though fond as mine her bosom, form more fair,
I rush through peril which she would not dare.
If that thy heart to hers were truly dear,
Were I thine own-thou wert not lonely here:
An outlaw's spouse-and leave her lord to roam !
What hath such gentle dame to do with home?
But speak not now-o'er thine and o'er my head
Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread;
If thou hast courage still, and would'st be free,
Receive this poniard-rise-and follow me!"
'Ay-in my chains! my steps will gently tread, With these adornments, o'er each slumbering head! Thou hast forgot-is this a garb for flight: Or is that instrument more fit for fight?"
66 Misdoubting Corsair! I have gain'd the guard,
Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward.
A single word of mine removes that chain:
Without some aid how here could I remain ?
Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time,
If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime:
The crime-'tis none to punish those of Seyd.
That hated tyrant, Conrad-he must bleed!
I see thee shudder-but my soul is changed-
Wrong'd, spurn'd, reviled—and it shall be avenged-
Accused of what till now my heart disdain'd--
Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chain'd.
Yes, smile!-but he had little cause to sneer,
I was not treacherous then-nor thou too dear:
But he has said it-and the jealous well,
Those tyrants, teasing, tempting to rebel,
Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell.
I never loved-he bought me somewhat high-
Since with me came a heart he could not buy.
I was a slave unmurmuring: he hath said,
But for his rescue I with thee had fled.
But had he not thus menaced fame and life,
(And well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife
I still had saved thee-but the Pacna spared.
Now I am all thine own-for all prepared:
Thou lov'st me not-nor know'st-or but the worst.
Alas! this love-that hatred are the first-
Oh! could'st thou prove my truth, thou would'st
not start,
Nor fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart;
'Tis now the beacon of thy safety-now
It points within the port a Maniote prow:
But in one chamber, where our path must lead,
There sleeps-he must not wake-the oppressor
Seyd!"
"Gulnare-Gulnare-I never felt till now
My abject fortune, wither'd fame so low.
Seyd is mine enemy: had swept my band
From earth with ruthless but with open hand,
And therefore came I, in my bark of war,
To smite the smiter with the scimitar;
Such is my weapon-not the secret knife-"
Who spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life.
Thine saved I gladly, Lady, not for this-
Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss.
Now fare thee well-more peace be with thy breast!
Night wears apace-my last of earthly rest!"
"Rest! rest! by sunrise must thy sinews shake,
And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake.
I heard the order-saw-I will not see-
If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.
My life-my love-my hatred-all below
Are on this cast-Corsair! 'tis but a blow!
Without it flight were idle-how evade
His sure pursuit? my wrongs too unrepaid,
My youth disgraced-the long, long wasted years,
One blow shall cancel with our future fears;
But since the dagger suits thee less than brand,
I'll try the firmness of a female hand;
The guards are gain'd-one moment all were o'er-
Corsair! we meet in safety or no more;
If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud
Will hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud.”
She turn'd, and vanish'd ere he could reply,
But his glance follow'd far with eager eye;
And gathering, as he could, the links that bound
His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound,
Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude,
He, fast as fetter'd limbs allow, pursued.
'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where
That passage led; nor lamp nor guard were there:
He sees a dusky glimmering-shall he seek
Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak?
'Twas false thou know'st-but let such augurs rue, Chance guides his steps-a freshness seems to bear
Their words are omens Insult renders true.
Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer;
This fleeting grace was only to prepare
New torments for thy life, and my despair.
Mine too he threatens; but his dotage still
Would fain reserve me for his lordly will;
When wearier of these fleeting charms and me,
There yawns the sack-and yonder rolls the sea!
What, am I then a toy for dotard's play,
To wear but till the gilding frets away?
Full on his brow, as if from morning air-
He reach'd an open gallery-on his eye
Gleamed the last star of night, the clearing sky:
Yet scarcely heeded these-another light
From a lone chamber struck upon his sight.
Towards it he moved; a scarcely closing door
Reveal'd the ray within, but nothing more.
With hasty step a figure outward past,
Then paused-and turn'd-and paused-'tis She at
last!
I saw thee-loved thee-owe thee all-would save, No poniard in that hand-nor sign of ill- [kill!"
If but to show how grateful is a slave.
"Thanks to that softening heart-she could not
She knelt beside him, and his hand she prest: "Thou may'st forgive though Alla's self detest, hair, But for that deed of darkness, what wert thou? Reproach me-but not yet-Oh! spare me now! I am not what I seem-this fearful night My brain bewilder'd-do not madden quite! If I had never loved-though less my guilt, Thou hadst not lived to-hate me-if thou wilt '
Again he look'd, the wildness of her eye
Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully.
She stopp'd-threw back her dark far-floating
That nearly veil'd her face and bosom fair:
As if she late had bent her leaning head
Above some object of her doubt or dread.
They meet-upon her brow-unknown-forgot-
Her hurrying hand had left-'twas but a spot-
Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood-
Oh! slight but certain pledge of crime-'tis blood!
X.
He had seen battle-he had brooded lone
O'er promised pangs to sentenced guilt fore shown;
He had been tempted-chastened-and the chain
Yet on his arms might ever there remain :
But ne'er from strife-captivity-remorse-
From all his feelings in their inmost force-
So thrill'd-so shudder'd every creeping vein,
As now they froze before that purple stain.
That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,
Had banish'd all the beauty from her cheek!
Blood he had view'd-could view unmoved--but then
It flow'd in combat, or was shed by men.
""Tis done he nearly waked-but it is done.
Corsair he perish'd-thou art dearly won.
All words would now be vain-away-away!
Our bark is tossing-'tis already day.
The few gain'd over, now are wholly mine,
And these thy yet surviving band shall join:
Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand,
When once our sail forsakes this hated strand."
She clapp'd her hands-and through the gallery pour,
Equipp'd for flight, her vassals-Greek and Moc:;
Silent but quick they stoop, his chains unbind;
Once more his limbs are free as mountain wind;
But on his heavy heart such sadness sate,
As if they there transferr'd that iron weight.
No words are utter'd-at her sign, a door
Reveals the secret passage to the shore;
The city lies behind-they speed, they reach
The glad waves dancing on the yellow beach;
And Conrad following, at her beck, obey'd,
Nor cared he now if rescued or betray'd:
Resistance were as useless as if Seyd
Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed.
XIII.
She wrongs his thoughts, they more himself upbraid
Than her, though undesign'd, the wretch he made;
But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest,
They bleed within that silent cell-his breast
Still onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge,
The blue waves sport around the stern they urge;
Far on the horizon's verge appears a speck,
A spot-a mast-a sail-an armed deck!
Their little bark her men of watch descry,
And ampler canvas woos the wind from high;
She bears her down majestically near,
Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier.
A flash is seen-the ball beyond their bow
Booms harmless, hissing to the deep below.
Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance,
A long, long absent gladness in his glance;
"Tis mine-my blood-red flag! again-again-
I am not all deserted on the main !"
They own the signal, answer to the hail,
Hoist out the boat at once, and slacken sail.
"Tis Conrad! Conrad!" shouting from the deck,
Command nor duty could their transport check!
With light alacrity and gaze of pride,
They view him mount once more his vessel's side,
A smile relaxing in each rugged face,
Their arms can scarce forbear a rough embrace.
He, half forgetting danger and defeat,
Returns their greeting as a chief may greet,
Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand,
And feels he yet, can conquer and command!
These greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow,
Yet grieve to win him back without a blow;
They sail'd prepared for vengeance-had they
A woman's hand secured that deed her own, She were their queen-less scrupulous are they Than haughty Conrad how they win their way. With many an asking smile, and wondering stare, blew-They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare:
Embark'd, the sail unfurl'd, the light breeze
How much had Conrad's memory to review!
Sunk he in Contemplation, till the cape
Where last he anchor'd rear'd its giant shape.
Ah!—since that fatal night, though brief the time,
Had swept an age of terror, grief, and crime.
As its far shadow frown'd above the mast,
He veil'd his face, and sorrow'd as he past;
He thought of all-Gonsalvo and his band,
His fleeting triumph, and his failing hand;
He thought on her afar, his lonely bride:
He turn'd and saw-Gulnare, the homicide!
XIV.
She watch'd his features till she could not bear
Their freezing aspect and averted air,
And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye,
Fell quench'd in tears, too late to shed or dry.
And her, at once above-beneath her sex,
Whom blood appall'd not, their regards perplex.
To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye,
Her arms are meekly folded on that breast,
She drops her veil, and stands in silence by;
Which-Conrad safe-to fate resign'd the rest.
Though worse than frenzy could that bosom fill,
Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill,
The worst of crimes had left her woman still!
This Conrad mark'd, and felt-ah! could he less?-
Hate of that deed-but grief for her distress;
What she has done no tears can wash away,
And Heaven must punish on its angry day:
But it was done: he knew, whate'er her guilt,
For him that poniard smote, that blood was spilt,
And he was free!-and she for him had given
Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven!
And now he turn'd him to that dark-ey'd slave
Whose brow was bow'd beneath the glance he gave,
Who now seem'd changed and humbled:—faint and
meek,
But varying oft the color of her cheek
To deeper shades of paleness-all its red
That fearful spot which stain'd it from the dead!
He took that hand-it trembled-now too late-
So soft in love-so wildly nerved in hate;
He clasped that hand-it trembled and his own
Had lost its firmness, and his voice its tone.
"Gulnare!"-but she replied not-" dear Gulnare!"
She raised her eye-her only answer there-
At once she sought and sunk in his embrace:
If he had driven her from that resting-place,
His had been more or less than mortal heart,
But-good or ill-it bade her not depart.
Perchance, but for the bodings of his breast,
His latest virtue then had join'd the rest.
Yet even Medora might forgive the kiss
That ask'd from form so fair no more than this,
The first, the last that Frailty stole from Faith-
To lips where Love had lavish'd all his breath,
To lips-whose broken sighs such fragrance fling,
As he had fann'd them freshly with his wing!
They gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle:
To them the very rocks appear to smile;
The haven hums with many a cheering sound,
The beacons blaze their wonted stations round,
The boats are darting o'er the curly bay,
And sportive dolphins bend them through the spray;
Even the hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discordant shriek,
Greets like the welcome of his tuneless beak!
Beneath each lamp that through its lattice gleams,
Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams.
Oh! what can sanctify the joys of home,
He snatch'd the lamp-its light will answer all-
It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall.
He would not wait for that reviving ray-
As soon could he have linger'd there for day;
But, glimmering through the dusky corridore,
Another checkers o'er the shadow'd floor;
His steps the chamber gain-his eyes behold
All that his heart believed not-yet foretold'
He turn'd not-spoke not-sunk not-fix'd his look,
And set the anxious frame that lately shook :
He gazed-how long we gaze despite of pain,
And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain!
In life itself she was so still and fair,
That death with gentler aspect wither'd there;
And the cold flowers 17 her colder hand contain'd,
In the last grasp as tenderly were strain'd
As if she scarcely felt, but feign'd a sleep,
And made it almost mockery yet to weep:
The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow,
And veil'd-thought shrinks from all that lurk'd
below-
Oh! o'er the eye Death most exerts his might,
And hurls the spirit from her throne of light!
Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse,
But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips-
Yet, yet they seem as they forbore to smile,
And wish'd repose-but only for a while;
But the white shroud, and each extended tress,
Long-fair-but spread in utter lifelessness,
Which, late the sport of every summer wind,
Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bird;
These-and the pale pure cheek, became the bier-
But she is nothing-wherefore is he here?
He ask'd no question-all were answer'd now Like Hope's gay glance from Ocean's troubled foam? By the first glance on that still marble brow.
The lights are high on beacon and from bower,
And midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower:
He looks in vain-'tis strange-and all remark,
Amid so many, her's alone is dark.
'Tis strange-of yore its welcome never fail'd,
Nor now, perchance, extinguish'd, only veil'd.
With the first boat descends he for the shore,
And looks impatient on the lingering oar.
Oh! for a wing beyond the falcon's flight,
To bear him like an arrow to that height!
With the first pause the resting rowers gave,
He waits not looks not-leaps into the wave,
Strives through the surge, bestrides the beach, and
high
Ascends the path familiar to his eye.
He reach'd his turret door-he paused-no sound
Broke from within; and all was night around.
He knock'd, and loudly-footstep nor reply
Announced that any heard or deem'd him nigh;
He knock'd-but faintly-for his trembling hand
Refused to aid his heavy heart's demand.
The portal opens-'tis a well-known face-
But not the form he panted to embrace.
Its lips are silent-twice his own essay'd,
And fail'd to frame the question they delay'd;
It was enough-she died-what reck'd it how?
The love of youth, the hope of better years,
The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears,
The only living thing he couid not hate,
Was reft at once-and he deserved his fate,
But did not feel it less;-the good explore,
For peace, those realms where guilt can never soar.
The proud-the wayward-who have fix'd below
Their joy, and find this earth enough for wo,
Lose in that one their all-perchance a mite-
But who in patience parts with all delight?
Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern
Mask hearts where grief hath little left to learn;
And many a withering thought lies hid, not lost,
In smiles that least befit who wear them most.
By those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest
The indistinctness of the suffering breast;
Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one,
Which seeks for all the refuge found in none;
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 lulled it into rest:
So feeble now-his mother's softness crept
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:
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,
On Grief's vain eye-the blindest of the blind!
Which may not-dare not see-but turns aside
To blackest shade-nor will endure a guide!
His heart was formed for softness-warp'd to wrong;
Betray'd too early, and beguiled too long;
Each feeling pure-as falls the dropping dew
Within the grot; like that had harden'd too;
Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials pass'd,
But sunk, and chill'd, and petrified at last.
Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock,
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:
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!
'Tis morn-to venture on his lonely hour
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;
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:
Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom declare
Where lives his grief, or perish'd his despair!
Long mourn'd his band whom none could mourr
beside;
And fair the monument they gave his bride:
For him they raise not the recording stone-
His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known;
He left a Corsair's name to other times,
Link'd with one virtue, and a thousand crimes 18
THE time in this poem may seem too short for the occurrences, but the whole of the Egean 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.
While dance the Almas to wild minstrelsy. Page 141, line 42. Dancing girls.
A captive Dervise, from the Pirate's nest. Page 141, line 55. 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 color 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'enfer
|