quail; 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, Shook o'er his turret-cell the thunder-cloud; And hoped that peril might not prove in vain. He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and pray'd One pitying flash to mar the form it made: 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, But bound and fix'd in fetter'd solitude, once more; Too late the last to shun-the first to mend-Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key: To count the hours that struggle to thine end, 'Tis as his heart foreboded-that fair she! Whate'er her sins, to him a guardian-saint, | Thou hast forgot Yet changed since last within that cell she 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. If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime: "Lady! I look to none-my lips proclaim That hated tyrant, Conrad-he must bleed! What last proclaim'd they - Conrad still I see thee shudder-but my soul is changed― Wrong'd-spurn'd-reviled—and it shall be avenged the same: Why shouldst 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 meed Of Seyd's revenge by many a lawless deed." 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. "Twas false thou knowst-but let such augurs rue, Their words are omens Insult renders true. Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer; This flecting 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 ? I saw thee-loved thee-owe thee allwould save, If but to show how grateful is a slave. 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 Pacha spared. Now I am all thine own-for all prepared: Thou lov'st me not-nor knowst-or but the worst. Alas! this love-that hatred are the firstOh! couldst thou prove my truth, thou wouldst 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 Mainote prow: Bat in one chamber, where our path must | From a lone chamber struck upon his sight. 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 knifeWho spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life. Thine saved I gladly, Lady, not for this Let me not deem that mercy shewn amiss. Now fare thee well-more peace be with thy breast! Night wears apace-my last of earthly rest!" I'll try the firmness of a female hand. The guards are gain'd one moment all were o'er 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! No poniard in that hand nor sign of ill "Thanks to that softening heart – she could not kill!" 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 hair, 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-unknownforgot Her hurrying hand had left-'twas but a spotIts hue was all he saw, and scarce withstoodOh! slight but certain pledge of crime'tis blood! He had been tempted-chasten'd—and the chain Yet on his arms might ever there remain: But ne'er from strife-captivity-remorseFrom all his feelings in their inmost forceSo 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 Corsair! we meet in safety or no more; done. She turn'd,and vanish'd ere he could reply," "Tis done - he nearly waked-but it is 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 to bear Full on his brow, as if from morning-airHe reach'd an open gallery-on his eye Gleam'd the last star of night, the clearing sky: Yet scarcely heeded these - another light Corsair! he perish'd-thou art dearly won. 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; A long, long absent gladness in his glance; "Tis mine - my blood-red flag! againagain I am not all deserted on the main!" With light alacrity and gaze of pride, embrace. Than haughty Conrad how they win their way. With many an asking smile, and wonder- They whisper rouud, and gaze upon Gulnare; To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye, Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill, This Conrad mark'd, and felt ah! could Hate of that deed - but grief for her distress ; For him that poniard smote, that blood was And he was free! and she for him had given Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven! slave Far on the horizon's verge appears a speck, 1 he gave, fain and meek♫ 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! Refused to aid his heavy heart's demand. He snatch'd the lamp-its light will answer all It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall. dore, Another chequers 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 her colder hand contain'd, In that 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 Jurk'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 bind; |