But soon he found-or feign'd—or dream'd relief, And smiled in self-derision of his grief: More need of rest to nerve me for the day! Vain voice! the spirit burning but unhent, 'Twas hardly midnight when that fray begun, done; And Havoc loathes so much the waste of time, One hour beheld him since the tide he She scarce had left an uncommitted crime. All rushing through their thousand avenues. our fate; stemm'd -condemn'd The hopeless past, the hasting future driven A chief on land-arf outlaw on the deep- So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot; All, in a word, from which all eyes must That opening sepulchre-the naked heart 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? Is it some seraph sent to grant him grace? Ay-Pride can veil, and Courage brave it all, fall. Each hath some fear, and he who least The only hypocrite deserving praise: But he who looks on death- and silent dies. With shape of fairy lightness-naked foot, Through guards and dunnest night how A She could not sleep-and while the Pacha's | Till even the scaffold echoes with their jest! Yet not the joy to which it seems akin— rest In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-It may deceive all hearts, save that within. "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 wondrous fair!" grief "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, Till to these eyes her own wild softness -- my bark my sword-my love-my God! The last I left in youth-he leaves me nowAnd 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 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 bindAnd this will break a heart so more than kind, till thine appeared, Gulnare! Mine eye ne'er ask'd if others were as fair?” And blight a form "Thou lov'st another then? - but what to me Is link'd a mirth-it doth not bring relief -- those Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, | What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er Who never feel the void the wandering his chain? thought The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain, That sighs o'er visions-such as mine hath That starts at once- bright - pure-from wrought." Pity's mine, Lady - methought thy love was his, for whom This arm redeem'd thee from a fiery tomb." Already polish'd by the hand divine! Oh! too convincing-dangerously dearIn woman's eye the unanswerable tear! My love stern Seyd's! Oh-No-No-That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue at once her spear and shield: not my love- To meet his passion-but it would not be. free. Yes-had I ever proved that passion's zeal, The change to hatred were at least to feel : But still he goes unmourn'd-returns unsought And oft when present - absent from my thought. Or when reflection comes, and come it mustI 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? - Avoid it-Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs, heaven! Consign their souls to man's eternal foe, And seal their own to spare some wanton's woe! 'Tis morn- and o'er his alter'd 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 stiffen'd limb, Refreshing earth-reviving all but him! CANTO III. "Come vedi-ancor non m'abbandona." DANTE. SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun; | On old Aegina'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 gulph, unconquer'd Salamis! Their azure arches through the long expanse More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance, along their summits driven. And tenderest tints, Mark his gay course and own the hues of | His Corsair's isle heaven; Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, Would that with 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, But ere he sunk below Cithaeron's head, 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 moonbeams play, There the white column greets her grateful Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret: Again the Acgean, 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. Not now my theme - why turn my thoughts to thee? Oh! who can look along thy native sea, Not he-whose heart nor time nor distance was once thine own domainfreedom it were thine again! -- The Sun hath sunk and, darker than the night, Sinks with his beam upon the beacon height Medora's heart-the third day's come and to fear To trust their accents to Medora's ear. That deem'd not till they found their energy. While yet was Hope they soften’d—flutter'd-wept All lost-that softness died not-but it slept; And o'er its slumber rose that Strength which said, "With nothing left to love-there's nought to dread." Tis more than nature's; like the burning might Delirium gathers from the fever's height. “Silent you stand—nor would I hear you tell What speak not-breathe not-for I know it well Yet would I ask-almost my lip denies The quick your answer-tell me where he lies?" "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 Methinks, a short release, for ransom told "Lady! we know not-scarce with life Report speaks largely of his pirate-hoard we fled; He saw him bound; and bleeding-but But here is one denies that he is dead: alive." grave; ing eyes, Would that of this my Pacha were the Lord! 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 Were offer'd rich as Stamboul's diadem; gem If for each hair of his a massy mine Of virgin-ore should supplicating shine; Of wealth were here-that gold should If all our Arab tales divulge or dream not redeem! But that with hands though rude, yet weep-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." They yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies: That fainting form o'er which they gaze Then seek Anselmo's cavern, to report |