So steel'd by pondering o'er his far career,
He half-way meets him should he menace near !
XI.
In the high chamber of his highest tower
Sate Conrad, fetter'd in the Pacha's power.
His palace perish'd in the flame-this fort
Contain'd at once his captive and his court.
Not much could Conrad of his sentence blame,
His foe, if vanquish'd, had but shared the same :-
Alone he sate-in solitude had scann'd
His guilty bosom, but that breast he mann'd:
One thought alone he could not-dared not meet-
"Oh, how these tidings will Medora greet?"
Then-only then-his clanking hands he raised,
And strain'd with rage the chain on which he gazed;
But soon he found-or feign'd-or dream'd relief,
And smiled in self-derision of his grief,
"And now come torture when it will-or may,
More need of rest to nerve me for the day!"
This said, with languor to his mat he crept,
And, whatsoe'er his visions, quickly slept.
"Twas hardly midnight when that fray begun,
For Conrad's plans matured, at once were done;
And Havoc loathes so much the waste of time,
She scarce had left an uncommitted crime.
One hour beheld him since the tide he stemm'd-
True-'tis to him my life, and more, I owe,
And me and mine he spared from worse than wo:
"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 seem'd 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
Snatch'd 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 griet
Is link'd a mirth-it doth not bring relief-
Disguised-discover'd-conquering-ta'en-con- That playfulness of Sorrow ne'er beguiles,
A chief on land-an outlaw on the deepDestroying-saving prison'd-and asleep!
He slept in calmest seeming-for his breath
Was hush'd so deep-Ah! happy if in death!
He slept-Who o'er his placid slumber bends?
His foes are gone-and here he hath no friends:
Is it some seraph sent to grant him grace?
No, 'tis an earthly form with heavenly face!
Its white arm raised a lamp-yet gently hid,
Lest the ray flash abruptly on the lid
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 flash'd 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
Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain,
And once unclosed-but once may close again.
That form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair,
And auburn waves of gemm'd and braided hair;
With shape of fairy lightness-naked foot,
That shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute-But all I can, I will: at least delay
Through guards and dunnest night how came it The sentence that remits thee scarce a day.
"Corsair! thy doom is named-but I have power
To sooth the Pacha in his weaker hour.
Thee would I spare-nay more-would save thee
now,
Ah! rather ask what will not woman dare?
Whom youth and pity lead like thee, Gulnare!
She could not sleep-and while the Pacha's rest
In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest,
She left his side-his signet-ring she bore,
Which oft in sport adorn'd her hand before-
And with it, scarcely question'd, won her way
Through drowsy guards that must that sign obey.
Worn out with toil, and tired with changing blows,
Their eyes had envied Conrad his repose;
And chill and nodding at the turret door,
They stretch their listless limbs, and watch no more:
Just raised their heads to hail the signet-ring,
Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring.
She gazed in wonder, "Can he calmly sleep,
While other eyes his fall or ravage weep?
And mine in restlessness are wandering here-
What sudden spell hath made this man so dear?
But this-time-hope-nor even thy strength allow
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-n
God!
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;
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 love stern Seyd's! Oh-No-No-not my While sets that sun, and dews of evening melt, loveChill-wet-and misty round each stiffen'd limb Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once Refreshing earth-reviving all but him! —
To meet his passion-but it would not be.
I felt I feel-love dwells with-with the free.
I am a slave, a favor'd slave at best,
To share his splendor, 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 not check'd-nor quicken'd-calmly cold:
And when resign'd, it drops a lifeless weight
From one I never loved enough to hate.
No warmth these lips return by his impress'd,
And chill'd remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
Yes-had I ever proved that passion's zeal,
The change to hatred were at least to feel:
Come vedi-ancor non m'abbandona.
SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea's hills the setting sun;
Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light!
O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws
But still-he goes unmourn'd-returns unsought-Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows
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-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 endear'd below,
Who share such love as I can never know.
Farewell-morn breaks-and I must now away:
'Twill cost me dear-but dread no death to-day!
She press'd his fetter'd fingers to her heart,
And bow'd her head, and turn'd her to depart,
And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.
And was she here? and is he now alone?
What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for others' pain,
That starts at once bright-pure-from Pity's mine,
Already polish'd by the hand divine!
Oh! too convincing-dangerously dearIn woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
On old gina'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
Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd 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 look'd his last.
How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray,
That closed their murder'd sage's 12 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 seem'd to pour,
The land, where Phœbus never frown'd before;
But ere he sank below Citharon's head,
The cup of wo was quaff'd—the spirit fled;
The soul of him who scorn'd to fear or fly-
Who liv'd and died, as none can live or die!
But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain, The queen of night asserts her silent reign.18
No murky vapor, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form;
With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams 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 scatter'd dark and wide
Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide,
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,
The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk,14
And, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calin,
Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,
All tinged with varied hues arrest the eye-
And dull were his that pass'd them heedless by.
Again the Egean, 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.15
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,
His Corsair's isle was once thine own domain-
Would that with freedom it were thine again!
The Sun hath sunk-and, darker than the night,
Sinks with its beam upon the beacon height,
Medora's heart-the third day's come and gone-
With it he comes not-sends not-faithless one!
The wind was fair though light; and storms were
Last eve Anselmo's bark return'd, and yet
His only tidings that they had not met!
Though wild, as now, far different were the tale,
Had Conrad waited for that single sail.
The night-breeze freshens-she that day had past
In watching all that Hope proclaim'd a mast;
Sadly she sate-on high-Impatience bore
At last her footsteps to the midnight shore,
And there she wander'd heedless of the spray
That dash'd her garments oft, and warn'd away;
She saw not-felt not this-nor dared depart,
Nor deem'd it cold-her chill was at her heart;
Till grew such certainty from that suspense-
His very Sight had shock'd from life or sense!
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Her own dark soul-these words at once subdued:
She totters-falls-and senseless had the wave
Perchance but snatch'd her from another grave:
But that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes,
They yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies:
Dash o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew,
Raise-fan-sustain-till life returns anew;
Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave
That fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve;
Then seek Anselmo's cavern, to report
The tale too tedious-when the triumph short.
In that wild council words wax'd warm and strange,
With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge;
All, save repose or flight: still lingering there
Breathed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair;
Whate'er his fate-the breasts he form'd and led
Will save him living, or appease him dead.
Wo to his foes! there yet survive a few,
Whose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true.
Within the Haram's secret chamber sate
Stern Seyd, still pondering o'er his Captive's fate;
His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell,
Now with Gulnare, and now in Conrad's cell;
Here at his feet the lovely slave reclined
Surveys his brow-would sooth his gloom of mind
While many an anxious glance her large dark eye
Sends in its idle search for sympathy,
His only bends in seeming o'er his beads, 16
But inly views his victim as he bleeds.
"Pacha! the day is thine; and on thy crest
Sits triumph-Conrad taken-fall'n the rest!
His doom is fix'd-he dies: and well his fate
Was earn'd-yet much too worthless for thy hate:
Methinks, a short release, for ransom told
It came at last-a sad and shatter'd boat,
Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought;
Some bleeding all most wretched-these the few-With all his treasure, not unwisely sold;
Scarce knew they how escaped-this all they knew.
In silence, darkling, each appear'd to wait
His fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate:
Something they would have said; but seem'd to fear
To trust their accents to Medora's ear.
She saw at once, yet sunk not-trembled not-
Beneath that grief, that loneliness of lot;
Within that meck fair form, were feelings high,
That deem'd not till they found their energy.
Report speaks largely of his pirate-hoard-
Would that of this my Pacha were the lord!
While baffled, weaken'd by this fatal fray-
Watch'd-follow'd-he were then an easier prey;
But once cut off-the remnant of his band
Embark their wealth, and seek a safer strand."
"Gulnare!-if for each drop of blood a gem
Were offer'd rich as Stamboul's diadem;
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
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 cars 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 claimh;
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 first 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,
! Thee from the flames, which better far-but-no-That ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep;
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
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,
When every hour might doom him worse than dead,
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;
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,
And beauteous still as hermit's hope can paint;
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."
Reply ngt, 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?"
"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 filed.
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
|