%<^' A^ ■■< .^^\ •^ 6i -^ ^i^" (&EOM.(&TE ©OMBC)^, ILOIRIj) BYm®:K'o '/7?l m//i/, ( ^f PHir,A.DKT,PHr\ LORD BYRON'S POETICAL WOEKS. WITH fife anb i;ates BT ALLAK CUNNINGHAM, ESQ. ^Uuetralcb. PHILADELPHIA : DAVIS, PORTER & COATES, ^ 31 SOUTH SIXTH STREET. 1866. /\ ' % ^^ w CONTENTS. THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR^ ^„ ix THE GIAOUR; A Fraomknt or a Tdbkish Talk..... 1 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS; A Tubkisb Talk 30 THE CORSAIR; A Tale 57 LARA; A Tale ^ ^.. 97 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH 12« PARISINA 150 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON; A Fablb Ifi3 MANFRED 172 CAIN; A Mtstert 205 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 253 HOURS OF IDLENESS ; A Sbriks or Poems, orioi- KAL AND TRANSLATED ib. Epitaph on a Friend 25* A Fragment ib. On learing Newstend Abbey 25i Adrian'! Address to his Soul when dying 257 Translation from Catullus. Ad L«sbiam ib. Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Tibullun, by Pomitini Marsus ikk ill r CONTENTS. rAGu translated from Catullus. " Lucius de inorte passe- ris" 253 Imitated from Catullus. To Ellen ib. Xranslation fiom Anacreon. To his Lyre . . 259 — — Ode III ib. Prom the Prometheus Vinctus of ^schylus 200 Stanzas to a Lady, with the Poems of Caraoens..^ .. 261 The First Kiee of Love ib. To the Duke of Dorset 262 Granta. A Medley 261 On a distant View of the Village and School of Har- row on the Hill 267 ToM. To Woman 268 To Mary, on receiving her Picture 269 Love's last Adieu 270 Damsetas 271 To Marion 272 Oscar of Alva. A Tale 273 The Episode of Nisus and Euryalus 2S0 Translation from the Medea of Euripcdes 288 Thiaugbts suggested by a College Examination 290 To a beautiful Quaker 291 An Occasional Prologue to " The Wheel of Fortune." 293 On the Death of Mr. Fox ib. The Tear 294 Lachin y Gair 296 To Romance ib. Answer to some elegant Verses sent by a Friend to the Author, complaining that one of his Descrip- tions was rather too warmly drawn 298 Elegy on Newstead Abbey 299 Childish Recollections 303 The Death of Calmar and Orla. An imitation of Macphorsou's Ossian 311 To Edward Noel Long, Esq., 315 To a Lady 317 Stanzas. I would I were a careless child 318 Song. When I roved a young highlander 319 To George, Earl Delawarr 320 To the Earl of Clare 321 Lines written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Harrow on the Hill 324 CONTENTS. T FAUM ENGLISH LARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS; A Satihe 325 THE CURSE OF MINERVA 349 THE WALTZ; An Apostbophic Htmn 358 ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE 363 HEBREW MELODIES 367 Sbo walks in beauty ib. The harp the monarch minstrel swept ib. If that high world.— The wild gazelle 368 Jophtba's Daughter 370 Oh, snatch'd away in beauty's bloom ib. My soul is dark. — I saw thee weep 371 Thy days are done ib. Sougof Saul before his last Battle 372 Saul. — "All is vanity, eaith tho Preacher" 373 When coldness wraps this suffering clay 374 Vision of Bolshazzar ib. Sun of the sleepless 376 Were my bosom as false as thou deom'st it to bo ib. Ilerod'ii Lament for Mariamne ib. On the Day of the Destruction of Jerusalem by Titus 377 By the Rivers of Babylon wo sat down and wept ib. The Destruction of Sennacherib 378 A t'pirit pnss'd before mo 379 DOMESTIC PIECES 380 Fare tiicc well ib. A Sketch 382 Stanza.s to Augusta 384 Stanzas to Augusta 385 Epi.--llu to Augusta 38*5 MONODY ON THE DEATH OF THE RT. HON. R. B. SHERIDAN .390 THE DREAM 393 THE LAMENT OF TASSO 398 niE VISION OF JUDGMENT 404 '>CGASIONAL PIECES 428 CONTENTS. FAOI Farewell, if ever fondest prayer 428 Bright be the place of thy soul ib. When we two parted 429 To a youthful Friend ib. Lines inscribed on a Cup formed from a Skull 431 Well, thou art happy 432 Inscription on the monument of a Newfoundland Dog 433 The farewell ib. A Love Song 434 There was a time, I need not name 435 And wilt thou weep when I am low? ib. Fill the goblet again 436 Stanzas to a Lady on leaving England 437 To Florence 43S Stanzas composed during a Thunder-storm 439 Stanzas written in passing the Ambracian Gulf. 441 The spell is broke, the charm is flown 442 Written after swimming from Sestos to Abydos ib. Lines written in the Travellers' Book at Orchomenus 443 Maid of Athens, ere we pai-t ib. Lines written beneath a Picture 444 Translation of the famous Greek War Song ib. Translation of the Romaic Song 445 On parting 446 Farewell to Malta 447 To Thyrza 448 Away, away, ye notes of woe 449 One struggle more, and I am free 450 Euthanasia 451 And thou art dead, as young as fair 452 If sometimes in the haunts of men 454 On a cornelian heart which was broken 455 Lines to a Lady weeping ib. The Chain I gave ib. To Samuel Rogers, Esq 456 Address, spoken at the opening of Drury-lane Theatre, October, 1812 ib. Remamber thee, remember thee 458 To Time ib. Tronslation of a Romaic Love Song 459 Thou art not false, but thou art fickle.... 460 On being asked what was the "Origin of Love" 461 CONTENTS. *ll FAGS Reuiomber him, whose passion's power 461 Impromptu, in reply to a Friend 462 Sonnet, to Goncvra B Woe to that hour he came or went! \\ The curse for Hassan's sin was sent Sj To turn a palace to a tomh : S He came, he went, like the Simoom," ■ ■!] That harhinger of fate and gloom, H Beneath whose widely-wasting breath ^ The very cyjjress droops to death — « Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled, ^ The onlv constant mourner o'er the dead ! U The steed is vanish'd from the stall ; No serf is seen in Hassan's hall ; The lonely Spider's thin gray pall Waves slowly widening o'er the wall ; The Bat builds in his Haram bower, And in the fortress of his power The Owl usurps the beacon-tower ; The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim, With bafBed thirst, and famine, grim ; For the stream has shrunk from its marble bed, Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread. 'Twas sweet of yore to sec it play And chase the sultriness of day, As springing high the silver dew In whirls fantastically flew, * And flung luxurious coolness round The air, and verdure o'er the grounc^ 'Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright^ To view the wave of watery light. And hear its melody by night. And oft had Hassan's Childhood plav'd /jound the verge of that cascade; Xns, GIAOUK. And oft upon Ins motlier's lireast That sound had harinoiii/.ed his rest ; And oft had Hassan's Youtli along Its bank been soothed by Beauty'S song | And softer seem'd each melting tone Of Music mingled with its own. But ne'er shall Hassan's age repose Along the brink at twilight's close: The stream that fiU'd that font is fled — The blood that warm'd his heart is shed I And here no more shall human voice Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice. The last sad note tliat swell'd the gale Was woman's wildest funeral wail : That quench'd in silence, all is still, But the lattice thai flaps when the wind is sbriUi Though raves the gust, and floods the rain. Mo band shall close its clasp again. On desert sands 'twere joy to scan The rudest steps of fellow man. So here the very voice of Grief Might wake an Echo like relief— At least 'twould say, "All are not gone ; There lingers Life, though but in one"— For many a glided chamber's there, "Which Solitude might well forbear ; Within that dome as yet Decay Hath slowly work'd her cankering way— But gloom is gather'd o'er the gate, Nor there the Fakir's self will wait; Nor there will wandering Dervise stay, For bounty cheers not his delay ; Nor there will weary stranger halt To bless the sacred " bread and salt."* Alike must Wealth and Poverty Pass heedless and unheeded by. For Courtesy and Pity died With Hassan on the mountain side. His roof, that refuge unto men. Is Desolation's hungry den. The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour, Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre «*• If 1^ * * * I hear the sound of coming feet, But not a voice mine ear to greet ; More near — each turban 1 can scan. And silvcr-shealhed atngliaii ;'^ The foremost of the hand is seen An Emir by his garb of gro'»n :'* TItK (ilAOTTl. " Ho ! who art thou?" — " Tliis low salam^ Replies of Moslem faith I am." — " The burthen ye so gently bear Seems one that claims your utmost care, And, doubtless, holds some precious freight, My humble bark would gladly wait." " Thoa speakcst sooth ; thy skiff unmoor, i| And waft us from the silent shore ; ij Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply j' The nearest oar that's scatter'd by, |{ And midway to those rocks were sleep Hj Thechannei'd waters dark and deep. |{ Rest from your task — so — bravely done, Ji Our course has been right swiftly run; U Yet 'tis the longest voyage, 1 trow, ' Ij That one of— * * ♦ h **•*♦»' !, «< Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank, Ij The calm wave rippled to the liauk ; |i I watch'd it as it sank, mcthougbt ji Some motion from the current caught |j Bestirr'd it more, — 'twas but the beam j That checker'd o'er the living stream : j! I gazed, till vanishing from view, <■ Like lessening pebble it withdrew Still less and less, a speck of w hite That gemm'd the tidt-, then mock'd the sighlf And all its hidden secrets sleep, Known but to Genii of the deep, Which, trembling in their coral caves, They dare not whisper to the waves. * « « * * As rising on its purple wing The insect-queen'" of eastern spring, O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer Invites the young pursuer near, And leads him on from llower to flower A weary chase and wasted hour, Then leaves him, as it soars on high, With panting heart and tearful eye; So Beauty lures the full-grown child, Witli hue as bright, and wing as wild} A chase of idle hopes and fears, Begun in folly, closed in tears. If won, to equal ills betray'd, Woe waits the insect and the maid ; A life of pain, the loss of peace, Prom infint's play, and man's caprice i 10 THE GIAOUR. The lovely toy so fiercely sought Hath lost its charm by being caught^ For every touch that woo'd its stay Hath briish'd its brightest hues away, Till chariu, and hue, and beauty gone, Tis left to fly or fa'l alone. With wounded wing, or bleeding breait* Ah ! where shall eitiier victim rest ? Can this with faded pinion soar From rose to tulip as before ; Or Beauty, blighted in an hour Find joy within her broken bower ? No : gayer insects fluttering by Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that dic^ And lovelier things have mercy shown To every failing but their own. And every woe a tear can claim Except an erring sister's shame * * ' « * The Mind, that broods o'er guilty woes. Is like the Scorpion girt by fire, In circle narrowing as it glows, The flames around their captive close, Till inly search 'd by thousand throes, And maddening in her ire, One sad and sole relief she knows, The sting she nourish'd for her foes, Whose venom never yet was vain. Gives but one pang, and cures all pain. And darts into her desperate brain : So do the dark in soul expire, Or live like Scorpion girt by fire ; '^ So writhes the mind Remorse hath rived. Unfit for earth, undoom'd for Hearen, Darkness above, despair beneath, Around it flame, within it death ! * * * » ti Black Hassan from the Haram flies, Nor bends on woman's form his eyes ; The unwonted chase each hour emploji, Yet shares he not the hunter's joys. Not thus was Hassan wont to fly When Leila dwelt in his Serai, Doth Leila there no longer dwell ? That tale can only Hassan tell : Strange rumours in our city say 'Jpon that eve she fled away ; When Rhamazan's^ last sun was 8«t» And flashing from each minaret TRK QIAO OB. U Millions of lamps proclaim'd the feast Of Bairain through the boundless East. 'Twas then she went as to the bath, Which Hassan vainly scarch'd in wrath ; For she was flown her master's rage In likeness of a Georgian page, And far beyond the Moslem's power Had wrong'd him with the faithless Giaour* Somewhat of this had Hassan deem'd; But still so fond, so fair she seem'd, Too well he trusted to the slave Whose treachery deserved a grave | And on that eve had gone to mosque, And thence to feast in his kiosk. Such is the talc his Nubians tell, Who did not watch their charge loo weU| But others say, that on that night, By pale I'hingari's-' trembling light, The Giaour upon his jet black steed Was sefn, liut seen alone in speed. With bloody spur along the shore, Nor maid nor page behind him bore. * * * * Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell, But gaze on that of the Gazelle, It will assist thy fancy well ; As large, a languishingly dark, ■ tut soul heain'd forth in every spark That darted from beneath the lid, Bright as the jewel of Giamschid." Yea, Soul, and should our prophet say That form was nought but breathing clay, By Alia! I would answer nay; TkoMgh on Al-Sirat's^ arch I stood, Which tottprs o'er the fiery flood. With Paradise within my view, And all his Ilouris'^ beckoning through. Ob ! who young Leila's glance could read And kcrp that portion of his creed, Which saith that woman is hut dust, A soulless toy for tyrant's lust ."" On her might Muftis gaze, and own That through her rye the Immortal shoM| On her fair check's unfading hue The young pomegranate's^" blossoms strew Thoir bloom in blushes ever new , Her hair in byacintliinc'^ flow, When left to roll its folds below, As midst her handinaids in Ihe hall She stood superior to them all. IS TIIK GIAOUR. H*th swept ilie niarl)lp where her feet Gleaiii'd whiter ihan the luountain sleet, Ere from the cloud that gave it birth It fell, and caught one stain of earth. The cygnet nobly walks the water; So moved on earth Circassia's daughter, The loveliest bird of Franguesi.Tn !^ As rears her crest the ruttied Swan. And spurns the -wave with wings of prids. When pass the steps of stranger man Along the banks that bound her tide; Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck: — Thus arm'd with beauty would she check Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze Shrunk from the charms it meant to praiMit Thus high and graceful was her gait; Her heart was tender to her mate ; Her mate — stern Hassan, who was he? Alas ! that name was not for thee 1 « • • • • Stern Hassan hatn a journey ta'en With twenty vassals in his train, Each arm'd as best becomes a man, With arquebuss and ataghan ; The chief before, as deck'd for war, Bears in his belt the scimitar Stain'd with the best of Arnaut blood, When in the pass the rebels stood, And few return'd to tell the tale Of what befell in Parne's vale. The pistols which his girdle bore Were those that once a pasha wore, Which still, though gemm'd and boss'd with firil^ Even robbers tremble to heboid, 'Tis said he goes to woo a bride More true than her who left his side ; The taitlilcss slave that broke her bower. And, worse than faithless, for a Giaour ! • * » • • The sun's last rays are on the hill. And sparkle in the fountain rill. Whose welcome waters, cool and clear, Draw blessings from the mountaineer ; Here may the loitering merchant Greek Find that repose 'twere vain to seek In cities lodged too near his lord And trembling for lus secret hoard — Here may he nst wherv none can see, In crowds a sLivo, m descrl;. iVcc; THR OIAOUK. 19 And with Tm hidden wine may stain The bnwl a Moslem must not drain. • • • • • The foremost Tartar's in the gap, Conspicuous by his yellow cap; The rest in lengthening line the while Wind slowly through the long defile. Ahove, the mountain rears a peak, Where vultures whet the thirsty beak, And theirs may be a feast to-night, Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light | Beneath, a river's wintry stream Has shrunk hefore the summer beam, And left a channel bleak and bare, Save shrubs that spring to perish there. Each side the midway path they lay Small broken crags of granite gray. By time, or mountain lightning, riven From summits clad in mists of heaven ; For where is he that hath beheld The peak of Liakura unveil'd ; • • • • • They reacli the grove of pine at last: " Bismillah !" now the peril's past ; For yonder view the opening plain. And there we'll prick our steeds amain:" The Chiaus spake, and as he said, A bullet whistled o'er his head ; The foremost Tartar bites the ground: Scarce had they time to check the rein. Swift from their steeds the riders boimd But three shall never mount again: Unseen the foes that gave the wound, The dying ask revenge in vain. With steel unsheath'd, and carbine bent, Some o'er their courser's harness leant, Half shelterd by the steed ; Some fly behind the nearest rock. And there await the coming shock. Nor tamely stand to bleed Beneath the shaft of foes unseen, Who dare not quit their craggy screen. Stern Hassan only from his horse Disdains to light, and keeps his course, Till fiery flashes in the van Proclaim too sure the robber-clan Have well secured the only way Could now avail the promised prey ; Than cnrl'd his very beard-* with ire, And glared his eye with fiercer fire: 14 THE UIAODtt- m ■' Though far and near the bullets hiM,. I've 'scaped a bloodier hour than this.* And now the foe their covert quit, And call his vassals to submit ; But Hassan's frown and furious word Are dreaded more than hostile sword, Nor of his little band of man Resign'd carbine or ataghan, Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun !•* In fuller sight, more near and near, The lately ambush 'd foes appear. And, issuing from the grove, advance Some who on battle- charger prance. "Who leads them on with foreign brand. Far flashing in his red right hand ? " 'Tis he ! 'tis he! I know him now ; I know him by his pallid brow ; I know him by the evil eye^ That aids his envious treachery ; I know him l)y his jet-black barb : Though now array d in Arnaut garb, Apostate from his own vile faith, It shall not save him from the death : 'Tis he ! well met in any hour, Lost Leila's love, accursed Giaour !" As rolls the river into ocean, In sable torrent wildly streaming ; As the sea-tide's opposing motion. In azure column proudly gleaming, Beats back the current many a rood. In curling foam and mingling flood, While eddying whirl, and breaking wave. Roused by the blast of winter, rave ; Through sparkling spray, in thundering clait^ The lightnings of the waters flash In awful whiteness o'er the shore. That shines and shakes beneath the roar ; Thus — as the stream and ocean greet, "With waves that madden as they meet — Thus join the bands, whom mutual wrong, And fate, and fury, drive along. The bickering sabres' shivering jar; And pealing wide or ringing near Its echoes on the throbbing ear, The deathshot hissing from afar; The shock, the shout, the groan of war, Reverberate along that val.;. More suited to the shepherd's tale THE GIAOUR. 16 Thmijrh few the numlicrs — ilicirs the ttniSy Thni nciiher spares nor speaks for life I All! foiully yiiutliful hearts c.iii press, To sei/e ami share the dear caress ; But Love itself coiih) never pant For all that Boaiily sighs to grant With half the fervour Hate hestows Upon the last emhracc of foes, When grapi)ling in the fight they fold Those arms that ne'er sliall loose their holdt Friends meet to part ; Love laughs at faith ; True foes, once met, are join'd till death ! • * • • • With sabre shiver'd to the hilt, Yet dripping with the Mood he spilt; Yet struin'd within the sever'd hand Which quivers round that faithless brand; Ilis turhan far hehind him roll'd, And cleft in twain its firmest fold; His flowing rohe by falchion torn, And crimson as those clouds of mom Tliat, streak'd with dusky red, portend The day shall have a stormy end ; A stain on every bush that bore A fragment of his palampore,^^ His hi east with wounds unnumber'd riveB» His back to earth, his face to heaven, lal'.'n Hassan lies — his unclosed eye Yei lowering on his enemy, A"- if the hour that seal'd his fate Surviving left his quenchless hate; And o'er him bends that foe with brow As dark as his that bled below. — • • • • • " Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave, But his shall be a redder grave ; Her spirit pointed well the steel Which taught that felon heart to feel. He call'd the Prophet, but his power Was \ain against the vengeful Giaour: He call'd on Alia — but the word Arose unheeded or unheard. Thou I'aynim fool ! could T^eila's prayer Be pass'd, and thine accorded there ? I watch'd my time, I leagued with these, The traitor in his turn to seize ; My wrath is wreak'd, the deed is done, And now I go — hut go alone." IS THE GIAOUR. The browsing camels' bells are tinkling : His Mother look'd from her lattice high — 34 She saw the dews of eve besprinkling The pasture green beneath her eye, She saw the planets faintly twinkling : '"Tis twilight — sure his train is nigh." She could not rest in the garden-bower, Uut ^ajied through the grate of liis kteepest towCTt '' Why comes he noi ? liis st«eds are fleet, Nor sliriiik they from the »uranier heat ; Why sends not the liridegioom his promised gift ? Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift? Oh, false reproacli ! yoii Tartar now Has gain'd our nearest mountain's brow, And warily the steep descends, And now within the valley bends ; And he hears the gift at his saddle bow- How could I deem his courser slow ? Right well ray largess shall repay His welcome speed, and weary way." The Tartar lighted at the gate. But scarce upheld his fainting weight: His swarthy visage spake distress, But this might be from weariness ; His garb with sanguine spots were dyed, But these might be from his courser's side ; He drew the token from his vest — Angel of death ! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest 1 His caijiac** rent — his caftan red — " Lady, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed : Me, not from mercy, did they spare, But this empurpled pledge to bear. Peace to the brave ! whose blood is spilt i Woe to the Giaour ; for his the guilt." • • • * • A turban^ carved in coarsest stone A pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown. Whereon can now be scarcely read The Koran verse that mourns the dead, Point out the spot where Hassan fell A victim in that lonely dell. There sleeps as true an Osmanlie As e'er at Mecca bent the knee : As ever scorn'd forbidden wine, Or pray'd with face towards the shrine. In orisons resumed anew At solemn sound of " Alia Hu!"37 Tet died he by a stranger's hand. And stranger in his native land ; THE GIAOUR. 17 Yet died lie as in arms he stood. And unavenged, at least in blood. But him the maids of Paradise Impatient to ihcir halls invite, And the dark Heaven of Iloiiris' eyes On him shall I'laiicc for ever bright; They come — their kerchiefs green they wave* And wcleomc with a kiss tlic brave ! Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour Is worthiest an immortal bower. But thou, false Infidel I shall writhe Beneath avenging Monkir's^' scythe ; And from its torment 'scape alone To wander round lost Eblis''^ throne; And fire unquencli'd, unquenchable. Around, within, thy heart shall dwell; Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell The tortures of that inward hell ! But first, on earth as Vampire^' sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent: Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race ; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse : Thy victims ere they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them. Thy flowers are wither'd on the stem. But one that for thy crime must fall, The youngest, most beloved of all, Shall bless thee with a. father's name — That word shall wrap they heart iu flame! Yet must thou end thy task, and mark Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark. And the last glassy glance must view Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue ; Then with unhallow'd hand shall tear The tresses of her yellow hair, Of which if life a lock when shorn Affection's fondest pledge was worn. But now is borne away by thee, Memorial of thine agnny ! Wet with thine own best blood shall drip Thy gnashing tooth and hnggard lip*^ Then stalking to thy sullen grave, Go — and with Gouls and Afrits rave ; • 18 THE CIAOtJR. Till these in Horror shrink away From spectre more accursed than they ! * * * * " Ho\v name ye yon lone Caloyer? His features I have scann'd before In mine own land : 'tis many a j'ear, Since, dashing by the lonely shore, I saw him urge as fleet a steed As ever served a horseman's need. But once I saw that face, yet then It was so mark'd with inward pain, I could not pass it by again ; It breathes the same dark spirit now. As death were stamp'd upon his brow. " 'Tis twice three years at summer tide Since first among our freres he came And here it soothes him to abide For some dark deed he will not name. But never at our vesper prayer. Nor e'er before confession chair Kneels he, nor recks he when arise Incense or anthem to the skies, But broods within his cell alone. His faith and race alike unknown. The sea from Paynim land he crost, And here ascended from the coast ; Yet seems he not of Othman race. But only Christian in his face : I'd judge him some stray renegade, Repentant of the change he made. Save that he shuns our holy shrine, Nor tastes the sacred bread and wins. Great largess to these walls he brought. And thus our abbot's favour bought ; But were I prior, not a day Should brook such stranger's further stay Or pent within our penance cell Should doom him there for aye to dwell. Much in his visions mutters he Of maiden whelm'd beneath the sea ; Of sabres clashing, foemen flying. Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying. On cliff he hath been known to stand. And rave as to some bloody hand, Tresh sever'd from its parent limb, Invisible to all but him, Which beckons onward on his grave, And lures to leap into the wave." TUB (ilAOUR. 19 Dark and unearthly is the scowl That glares beneath his dusky cowl: The flash of tliat dilating eye Reveals too nuich of times gone by ; • Though varying, indistinct its hue, Oft will liis glance the gazer rue, , For in it lurks that nainclcss spell. Which speaks, itself unspeakable, A spirit yet unqucll'd and high, That claims and keeps ascendancy ; And like the bird whose pinions quake. But cannot fly the gazing snake. Will others quail beneath his look, Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can brook. From him the half-alFrighted Friar When met alone would fain retire. As if that eye and bitter smile Transferred to others fear and guile : Not oft to smile descendeth he And when he doth 'tis sad to see That he but mocks at misery. How that pale lip will curl and quiver I Then fix once more as if for ever ; As if his sorrow or disdain Forbade him e'er to smile again. Well were it so — such ghastly mirth From joyauiice ne'er derived its birth. But sadder still it were to trace What once were feelings in that face : Time hath not yet the features fix'd, But brighter traits with evil mix'd; And tliere are hues not always faded, Which speak a mind not all degraded Even by the crimes through which it waded. The common crowd but see the gloom Of wayward deeds, and fitting doom ; The close observer can espy A noble soul, and lineage high : Alas ! though both bestow'd in vain. Which Grief could change, and Guilt coidd sUil^ It was no vulgar tenement To which such lofty gifts were lent. And still with little less than dread On such the sight is riveted. The roofless cot, dccay'd and rent. Will scarce delay the passer by ; The tower by war or tempest bent While yet may frown one battlement, Demands and daunts the stranger's cyej 20 THt (ilAOUR. Each ivied arch, and pillar lone. Pleads haughtily for glories gone ! " Hia floatii>g rohe around him folding, Slow sweeps he through the column'd aisle) With dread beheld, with gloom beholding The rites that sanctify the pile. But when the anthem shakes the choir, And kneels the monks, his steps retire ; By yonder lone and wavering torch His aspect glares within the porch; There will he pause till all is done — And hear the prayer, but utter none. See — by the half-illumined wall His hood fly back, his dark hair fall, That pale brow wildly wreathing round, As if the Gorgon there had bound The sablest of the serpent-braid That" e'er her fearful forehead stray'd : For he declines the convent oath, And leaves those locks unhallow'd grovrtb, But wears our garb in all beside ; And, not from piety but pride, Gives wealth to walls that never heard Of his one holy vow nor word. Lo ! — mark ye, as the harmony Peals louder praises to the sky, That livid cheek, that stony air Of mix'd defiance and despair ! Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine ! Else may we dread the wrath divine Made manifest by awful siga. If ever evil angel bore The form of mortal, such he wore : By all my hope of sins forgiven, Such looks are not of earth nor heaven 1" To love the softest hearts are prone. But such can ne'er be all his own ; Too timid in his woes to share, Too meek to meet, or brave despair ; And sterner hearts alone may feel The wound that time can never heal. The rugged metal of the mine, Must burn before its surface shine But plunged within the furnace-flame. It bends and melts — though still the same; Then temper'd to thy want, or will, 'Twill serve thee to defend or kill ; A breast-plate for thine hour of need. Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed 1 THE Ol\0UR. 21 But if a dagger's form it bear, Let those who shape its edge, beware ! Thus passion's fire, and woman's art, Can turn and tame tlie sterner heart; From tiicse its form and tone are ta'en, And what they make it, must remain. But break — before it bend again. • >):•«• If solitude succeed to grief. Release from pain is slight relief; The vacant bosom's wilderness Might thank the pang that made it less. We loathe what none are left to share: Even bliss — 'twere woe alone to bear; The heart once left thus desolate Must fly at last for case — to hate. It is as if the dead could feel >■ The icy Nvorm around them steal, And shudder, as the reptiles creep To revel o'er their rotting sleep, Without the power to scare away The cold consumers of their clay It is as if the desert-bird,^^ Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream To still her famish'd nestlings' scream, Nor mourns a life to them transferr'd, Should rend her rash devoted breast. And find them flown her empty nest. The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings uncmploy'd. Who would be doom'd to gaze upon A sky without a cloud or sun ? Less hideous far the tempest's roar Than ne'er to brave the billows more — Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er, A lonely wreck on fortune's shore, 'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay. Unseen to drop by dull decay ; — Better to sink beneath tiie shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock ! * • * * • " Father ! thy days have pass'd in peace, ' Mid counted beads and countless prayei To bid the sins of others cease, Thyself without a crime or care, Save transient ills that all must bear. Has been thy lot from youth to age ; And thou wilt bletis thee from the rage 22 THE GIAOUR. Of passions fierce and uncontroU'd, Such as thy penitents unfold, Whose secret sins and sorrows rest Within thy pure and jiitying breast. My days, tlioiigh few, have pass'd below In much of joy, but more of woe; Yet still in hours of love oi strife, I've 'scaped the weariness of life ; Now leagued witli friends, now girt by foet^ I loathed the langour of repose. Now nothing left to love or hate. No more witli hope or pride elate, I'd rather be the thing that crawls Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls, Than pass my dull unvarying days, Condemn'd to meditate and gaze. Yet, lurks a wish within my breast For rest — but not to feel 'tis rest. Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil ; And I shall sleep without the dream Of what I was, and would be still. Dark as to thee my deeds may seem: My memory now is but the tomb Of joys long dead ; my hope, their doom. Though better to have died with those Than bear a life of lingering woes. My spirit shrunk not to sustain The searching throes of ceaseless pain; Nor sought the self-accorded grave Of ancient fool and modern knave; Yet death I have not fear'd to meet ; And in the field it had been sweet, Had danger woo'd me on to move The slave of glory, not of love. I've braved it — not for honour's boast { I smile at laurels won or lost ; To such let others carve their way, For high renown, or hireling ^y ; But place again before my eyes Aught that I deem a worthy prize ; The maid I love, the man I hate, And I will hunt the steps of fate, To save or slay, as these require, m Through rending steel, and rolling fire; '■' Nor need'st thou doubt this speech from one ■ Who would but do— what he hath done. Death is but what the haughty brave. The weak must bear, the wretch must crave; Then let Life go to him who gave: THE GIAOUR. 23 I have not quail'd to danger's brow When high and happy — need I now • • • • • " I loved her, Friar ! nay, adored — But these are words that all can use— I proved it more in deed than word There's blood upon that dinted sword, A stain its steel can never lose: 'Twas shed for her, who died for me, It warni'd the heart of one ahhorr'd : Nay, start not — no — nor bend thy kne«, Nor midst my sins such act record ; Thou wilt absolve me from the deed, For he was hostile to tliv creed The very name of Nazarene Was wormwood to his Paynim spleen. Ungrateful fool ! since but for brands ,- Well wielded in some hardy hands, And wounds by Galileans givon, The surest pass to Turkish hcivven, For him his llouris still might wait Impatient at the Prophet's gate. I loved her — love will find its way Through paths where wolves would fear to prej( And if it dares enough, 'twere hard If passion met not some reward — No matter how, or where, or why, I did not vainly seek, nor sigh : Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain I wish she had not loved again. She died — I dare not tell thee how ; But look — 'tis written on my brow ! There read of Cain the curse and crime. In characters unworn by time : Still, ere thou dost condemn me, pause; Not mine the act, though I the cause. Yet did he but what I had done Had she been false to more than one. Faithless to him, he gave the blow But true to mc, I laid him low : Ilowe'cr, deserved her doom might be, Her treachery was truth to mc ; To mc she gave her heart, that all Which tyranny can ne'er enthrall; And I, alas ! too late to save ! Yet all I then could give, I gave, Twas some relief, our foe a grave. His death sits lightly : but her fate Has nade me — what thou well mny'st hate. 24 THE GIAtJUR. His doom was seal'd — he knew it well, Warn'd by the voice of stern Taheer, Deep in wliose darkly boding ear^'' The deathshot peal'd of murder near, As filed the troop to where they fell! He died too in the battle broil, A time that heeds nor pain nor toil; One cry to Mahomet for aid, One prayer to Alia all he made : He knew and cross'd me in the fray — I gazed upon him where he lay, And watch'd his spirit ebb away: Though pierced like pard by hunters' stedy He felt not half that now I feel. I search'd, but vainly search'd, to find The workings of a wounded mind ; Each feature of that sullen coi'se Betray d Ins rage, but no remorse. Oh, what had Vengeance given to trace Despair upon his dying face . The late repentance of that hour, When penitence hath lost her power To tear one terror from the grave, And will not soothe, and cannot save. • • « • " The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name ; But mine was like a lava flood That boils in Etna's breast of flame. I cannot prate in puling strain Of ladye-love, and beauty's chain : If changing cheek, and scorching vein. Lips taught to writhe, but not complain, If bursting heart, ar.d madd'ning brain, And daring deed, and vengeful steel, And all that I have felt, and feel, Betoken love — that love was mine. And shown by many a bitter sign. 'Tis true, I could not whine nor sigh, I knew but to obtain or die. I die — but first 1 have possess'd, And come what may, I have been bless'd. Shall I the doom I sought upbraid ? No — reft of all, yet nndismny'd But for the thought of Leila slain, Give me the pleasure with the pain. So would I live and love again. I grieve, but not, my holy guide ! For him who dies, but her who died ; THE GIAOUR. 2ft She sleeps beneath the wandering wave — Ah ! had she hut au earthly grave. This hreaking heart and tlirohhing head Should seek and share her narrow bed. She was a form of life and light, That, seen, became a part of sight ; And rose, where'er I turned mine eye, The iMorning-star of Memory ! " Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven ; A spark of that immortal fire With angels shared, by Alia given, To lift from earth our low desire. Devotion wafts the mind above, But heaven itself descends in love ; A feeling from the Godhead caught, To wean from self each sordid thought: A Ray of him who fonn'd the whole ; A Glory circling round the soul ! 1 grant my love imperfect, all That mortals by the name miscall ; Then deem it e\ll, what thou wilt ; But say, oh say, her's was not guilt ! She was ray life's unerring light : That qunnch'd, what beam shall break my nigbtf Oh ! would it shone to lead me still. Although to death or deadliest ill ! Why marvel ye, if they who lose This present joy, this future hope, No more with sorrow meekly cope ; In phrensy then their fate accuse: In madness do those fiwrful deeds That seem u> .;dd but guilt to woe? Alas ! the breast that inly bleeds Hath nought to dread from outward blow { Who falls frcm all he knows of bliss, Cares little into what abyss. Fierce as the gloomy vulture's now To thee, old man, my deeds appear I reed abhorrence on thy brow. And this too was I born to bear ! 'Tis true, that, like the bird of prey, With havocl: have I mark'd ray way : But this was taught me by the dove, To die— and know no second love. This le!^son yet hath man to learn. Taught by the thing he dares to spurn : The bird that sings within the brake. The swan that swims upon the lake, One mate, and one alone, will take. S8 THE GIAOUR. And let the fool still prone to range, And sneer on all who cannot change. Partake his jest with boasting boys ; I envy not his varied joys, But deem such feeble, heartless man, Less than yon solitary swau ; Far, far beneath the shallow maid He left belicying and betray'd. Such shame at least was never mine — Leila ! each thouglit was only thine ! My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe My hope on high — my all below. Earth holds no other like to thee, Or, if it doth, in vain for me : For world si dare not view the dame Resembling thee, yet not the same. The very crimes that mar my youth, This bed of death — attest my truth! 'Tis all too late — thou wert, thou art The cherish'd madness of my heart J " And she was lost — and yet I breathed, But not the breath of human life : A serpent round my heai't was wreathed. And stung my every thought to strife. Alike all time, aljliorred all place, Shuddering I shrunk from Nature's face, Where every hue that charm'd before The blackness of my bosom wore. The rest thou dost already know, And all my sins, and half my woe. But talk no more of penitence Thou see'st I soon shall part from hence i And if thy holy tale siere true. The deed that's done canst thou undo ? Think me not thankless — but this grief Looks not to priesthood for relief. My soul's estate in secret guess: But would'st thou pity more, say less. When thou canst bid my Leila live, Then will I sue thee to forgive ; Then plead my cause in that high place Where purchased masses proffer grace. Go, when the hunter's hand hath rung From forest-cave her shrieking young, And calm the lonely lioness : But soothe not — mock not my distress ! In earlier days, and calmer hours, "When heart with heart delights to blend, Where bloom my native valley's bowers, 2} I had — All ! have I now ?— a friend ! To him this pledge T charge thee send, Memorial of a youthful vow ; I would remind him of my end : Though souls aljsorb'd like mine allow Brief thought to distant friendship's claim, Yet dear to him my liiii^btcd name. 'Tis strange — he ])rophoiir(l my doom, And I have smiled - I then could smile — ' ^Vllen Prudence won d his voice assume, And warn — I rcck'd not what — the while ; But now remembrance wliispers o'er Those accents scarcely mark'd before Say — that his hodings came to pass And he will start to hear their truth. And wish his words had not been sooth : Tell him, unheeding as I was. Through many a busy bitter scene Of all our golden youth had been. In pain, my faltering tongue had tried To bless his memory ere I died ; But Heaven in wrath would turn away, If Guilt should for the guiltless pray, I do not ask him not to blame, Too gentle he to wound my name : And what have I to do with fame ? I do not ask him not to mourn. Such cold request might sound like scorn; And what than friendship's manly tear May better grace a brother's bier ? But bear this ring, his own of old, And teU him — whH, thou dost behold ! The \vither'd fram' Mie ruin'd mind, The wrack by d? ^lon left behind, A shrivell'd tc , , a scatter'd leaf, Sear'd by '.If mumn blast of grief ! " Tell me no more of fancy's gleam. No, father, no, 'twas not a dream ; Alas ! the dreamer first must sleep, I only watch'd, and wisb'd to weep ; But could n t, for my burning brow Throbb'd to ihe very brain as now I wish'd but lor a single tear. As something welcome, new, and dear ; I wish'd it then, I wish it still ; Despair is stronger than my will. Waste not thine orison, despair Is mightier than thy pious prayer : 2S THE GIAOUR. 1 would not, if I might, be blest ; I want no paradise, but rest. 'Twas then, I tell thee, father! then I saw her ; yes, she lived again ; And shining in her white symar,^» . As through yon pale gray cloud the star Which now I gaze on, as on her, Who look'd and looks far lovelier ; Dimly I view its trembling spark: To-morrow's night shall be more dark; And I, before its rays appear,- That lifeless thing the living fear. I wander, father ! for my soul Is fleeting towards the final goal. I saw her, friar ! and I rose Forgetful of our former woes ; And rusning from my couch, I dart, And clasp her to my desperate heart I clasp — what is it that I clasp ? No breathing form within my grasp, No heart that beats reply to mine, Yet, Leila ! yet the form is thine ! And art thou, dearest, changed so much, As meet my eye, ye^ock my touch ? Ah ! were thv beauties e'er so cold, I care not ; so my arms enfold The all they ever wish'd to hold. Alas 1 around a shadow prest, They snrink upon my lonely breast ; Yet still 'tis there ! In silence stands, And beckons with beseeching hands ! With braided hair, and bright-black ey«— • I knew 'twas false, she could not die I But he is dead ! within the dell I saw him buried where he fell ; He comes not, for ho cannot break From earth ; why then art thou awake They told me wild waves roU'd above The face I view, the form I love They told me — 'twas a hideous tale ! I'd tell it, but my tongue would fail : If true, and from thine ocean-cave Thou com'st to claim a calmer grave Oh ! pass thy dewy fingers o'er This brow that then will burn no more ; Oh ! place them on my hopeless heart : But, shape or shade ; whate'er thou art, In mercy ne'er again depart ! Or farther with thee bear my soul Than winds can wait or waters roll ! m * * * Tlli: GIAUUU. If " Such is luy name, and such my tale, Confessor ! to thy secret ear I breathe the sorrows I bewail, And thank thee for the generous teai This glazing eye could never shed. Then lay me with the humblest dead, And, save the cross aiiove my head, Be neither name nor emblem spread, By prying stranger to be read, Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread."** He pass'd — nor his name and race Hath left a token or a trace, Save wha'. the father must not say Who shrived him on his dying day » This broken tale was all we knew Of h»x he loved, or him he tlewt THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS; A TURKISH TALE2. " Had we never loved so kindly, Had we never loved so blindly, Never met or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted,' Burks. CANTO THE ?iaST. I. Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle, Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the txirtle, Now melt luio sorrow, now madden to crime ? Know ye the laud of the cedar and vine. Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine : Where the hght wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul" in her bloom ; Where the citron aad olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute : Where the tints of the earth and the hues of the sky, In colour though varied, in beauty may vie. And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye ; Where the virgins are soft as the roses i-hey twine. And aU, save the spirit of man, is divine ? 'Tis the cHme of the East ; 'tis the laud *>f t^e Sun — Can he smile on such deeds as his children '::ave done ? Oh ! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell. II. Begirt with many a gallant slave, Apparell'd as becomes the brave. Awaiting each his lord's behest To guide his steps, or guard his rest, Old Giaffir sate in his Divan : Deep thought was in his aged eye ; And though the face of Mussulman Not oft betrays to standers by TUE URIDE OF ABYDOS. ^\ The mind within, well skill'd to hide All but unconquerable pride, His pensive cheek and pondering brow Did more than he was wont avow. * Let the chamber be clear'd." — The train disappear'd- " Now call me the chief of the Haram guwd." With Giaffir is none but his only son. And the Nubian awaiting the sire's award. " Haroun — when all the crowd that wait Are passM beyond the outer gate, (Woe to the head whose eye beheld My child Zuleika's face unveil'd \) Hence, lead my daughter from her tower} Her fate is fix'd this very hour : ( Yet not to her repeat my thought ; By me alone be duty taught !" " Pacha ! to hear is to obey." No more must slave to despot say- Then to the tower had ta'en his way, But here young Selim silence brake. First lowly rendering reverence meet ; And downcast look'd, and gently spake, Still standing at the Pacha's feet : For son of Moslem must expire. Ere dare to sit before his sire 1 " Father ! for fear that thou shouldst chide Mf sister, or her sable guide, Know — for the fault, if fault there be, Was mine, then fall thy frowns on me— So lovelily the morning shone, That — let the old and weary sleep— I could not ; and to view alone The fairest scenes of land and deep. With none to listen and reply To thoughts with which my heart beat iiigh Were irksome — for whate'cr my mood. In sooth 1 love not solitude ; I on Zuleika's slumber broke, And, ai thou knowest that for me Soon turns the haram's grating key, lleTorc the guardian slaves awoke We to the cypress groves had flown. And made earth, main, and heaven our owol There lingcr'd we, beguiled too long With Mejuoun's talc, or Sadi's song ;* rVi THK Uli.!)'!' "I.- AHYDOS. Till I, who beard tlie deep tambour^ Beat thy Divan's approaching hour, To thee, and to my duty true, Wani'd by the sound, to greet thee flewt But there Zuleika wanders yet — Nay, Father, rage not, nor forget That none can pierce that secret bower 13ut those who watch the women's tower." IV. •' Son a slave" — the Pacha said — ■ " From unbelieving mother bred, Vain were a father's hope to see Aught that beseems a man in thee. Thou, when thine arm should bend theboWf And hurl the dart, and curb the steed. Thou, Greek in soul, if not in creed, Must pore where babbling waters flow, And watch unfolding roses blow. Would that yon orb, whose matin glow Thy listless eyes so much admire. Would lend thee something of his fire ! Thou, who wouldst see this battlement By Christian cannon piecemeal rent : Nay, tamely view old Stambol's wall Before the dogs of Moscow fall, Nor strike one stroke for life and death Against the curs of Mazareth ! Go — let thy less than woman's band Assume the distaff — not the brand. But, Ilaroun ! — to my daughter speed : And hark — of thine own head take heei-» If thus Zuleika oft takes wing — Thou see'st yon bow — it hath a string I" No sound from Selim's lip was heard, At least that met old Giaffir's ear, But every frown and every word Pierced keener than a Christian's sword.. " Son of a slave ! — reproach'd with fear Those gibes had cost another dear. Son of a slave ! — and who my sire ?" Thus held his thouj^hts their dark careerj And glances ev'n of more than ire Flash forth, then faintly disappear. Old Giaffir gazed upon his son And started ; for within his eye He read how much his wrath had done; He saw rebellion there begun : ' Come hither, boy — what, uo r6ply ? THK BRIDK OP ABYDOS. 88 I mark thee — and I know thee too ; But there be deeds thou dar'st not do : But if thy beard had manlier length, And if thy hand had skill and strength, I'd joy to see the break a lance, Albeit against my own perchance." As sneeringly these accents fell, On Sebm's eye he fiercely gazed: That eye return'd him glance for glance, A».d ;)roadly to his sire's was raised, Till Giaffir's quail'd and shrunk askance— And why — he felt, but durst not tell. ' Much I misdoubt this wayward boy Will one dav work me more annoy : I never lovcu iiim from his birth,. ,- And — but his arm is Utile worth. And scarcely in the chase could cope With timid fawn or antelope. Far less would venture into strife Where man contends for fame and life— I would not trust that look or tone : No — nor the blood so near my own. That blood — he hath not heard — no more— I'll watch him closer than before. He is an Arab" to my sight. Or Christian crouching in the fight- But hark ! — I hear Zuleika's voice; Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear She is the ufTspring of my choice ; Oh ! more than ev'n her mother dear, With all to hope, and nought to fear — My Peri ! ever welcome here ! Sweet, as the desert's fountain vraye. To lips just cool'd in time to save — Such to my longing sight art thou; Nor can they waft to Mecca's shrine More thanks for life, than I for thine. Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now." VI. Fair as the first that fell of womankind. When on that dread yet lovely seri)ent smiling, Whose image then was stamp'd upon her mind But once bcguil'd, an Oh, Selim dear ! oh, more than dearest ! Say, is it me thou hat'sl or fearest ? Come, lay thy head upon ray breast, (^nd I will kiss thee into rest. TliB URIOi: OV AUYO03. 37 Since words of mine, and songs must fail} Ev'n from my fabled nighiingale I knew our sire at times was stern, But this from thee liad yet to learn. Too well 1 know he loves thee not ; But is Zuleika's love forgot ? Ah ! deem I right ? the Pacha's plan— This kinsman Bjy of Carasman Perhaps may prove son\e foe of thine : If so, 1 swear by Mecca's shrine, If shrines that ne'er approach allow To woman's step admit her vow. Without thy free consent, command, The Sultan should not have my hand ! Think'st thou that I could bear to part With thee, and learn to halve my heart ? Ah ! were I sever'd from thy side. Where were thy friend — and who my guide? Years have not seen, Time shall not see The hour that tears my soul from thee : Even Azracl," from his deadly quiver, When flies that shaft, and fly it must, That parts all else, shall doom for ever Our hearts to undivided dust !" XII. He lived — he breathed— lie moved— he felt; lie raised the maid from where she knelt ; His trance was gone — his keen eye shone With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt; With thoughts that burn— in rays that melt As the stream late conceal'd By the fringe of its willows, When it rushes reveal'd In the light of its billows; As the bolt bursts on high From the black cloud that bound it. Flash'd the soul of that eye Through the long lashes round it. A war-horse at the trumpet's sound A lion roused by heedless hound, A tyrant waked to sudden strife By graze of ill directed knife, Starts not to niore convulsive life Than he, who heard that vow, displayed, And all. before repress'd, betray'd : '• Now thou art mine, for ever mine. With life to keep, and scarce with life resign; Now thou art mine, that sacred oath, Though sworn by one, hath bound us both. 58 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. Yes, fondly, wisely hast thou done That vow hath saved more heads than one. Rut blench not thou— thy simplest tress Claims more from me than tenderness ; I would not wrong the slenderest hair That clusters round thy forehead fair, For all the treasures buried far Within the caves of Istakar.'S This morning clouds upon me lower'd, Reproaches on my head were shower'd, And Giaffir almost call'd me coward 1 Now I have motive to be brave: The son of his neglected slave, Nay, start not, 'twas the term he gave, May show, though little apt to vaunt, A heart his words nor deeds can daunt. His son, indeed! — yit, thanks to thee, Perchance I am, at least shalt be ; But let our plighted secret vow Be only known to us as now. I know the wretch who dares demand From Giaffir thy reluctant hand ; More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul Holds not a Musselim's'9 control: Was he not bred in Egripo ? *<> A viler race let Israel show ; But let that pass — to none be told Our oath, the rest shall time unfold. To me and mine leave Osman Bey ; I've partisans for peril's day : Think not I am what I appear : I've arms, and friends, and vengeance near/* XIII. •• Think not thou art what thou appearest! My Selim, thou art sadly changed This morn I saw thee gentlest, dearest ; But now thou'rt from thyself estranged^ My love thou surely knew'st before, It ne'er was less, nor can be more. To see thee, hear thee, near thee stay. And hate the night I know not why, Save that we meet not but by day ; With thee to live, with thee to die, I dare not to my hope deny : Thy cheek, thine eyes, thy lips to kiss, Like this — and this — no more than this/ For Alia ! sure thy lips are flame : What fever in thy veins is flushing? My own have nearly caught the same. At least I feel my cheek too blushing. u= FHK UKIDG OF ABYDOS. 39 To sootlic thy sickness, watch thy health, I'ai take, but never waste thy wealth, Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by. And lighten half thy poverty ; Do all but close thy dying eye, For that I could not live to try : To these alone my thoughts aspire More can I do ? or thou require ? But, Selira, thou must answer why We need so much of mystery ? The cause I cannot dream nor tell, But be it, since thou say'st 'tis well ; Yet what thou mean'st by ' arms ' and ' friendB, Beyond my weaker sense extends, I meant that Giaffir should have heard The very vow I plighted thee ; His wrath would not revoke my word : j- But surely he would leave me free. Can this fond wish seem strange in me, To be what I have ever been ? What other hath Zuleika seen From simple childhood's earliest hour ? What other can she seek to see Than thee, companion of her bower, The partner of her infancy ? These cherish'd thoughts, with life begun, >Say, why must I no more avow ? What change is wrought to make me shun The truth j my pride, and thine till now ? To meet the gaze of stranger's eyes Our law, our creed, our God denies ; Nor shall one wandering thought of mine At such, our Prophet's will repine : No ! happier made by that decree ! He left me all in leaving thee. Deep were my anguish, thus compeli'd To wed with one I ne'er beheld : This wherefore should I not reveal ? Why wilt thou urge me to conceal ? I know the Pacha's haughty mood To thee hath never boded good ; And he so often storms at nought, Alia ! forbid that e'er he ought ! And why I know not, but within My heart concealment weighs like sin. If then such secrecy be crime. And such it feels while lurking here; Oh, Sclim ! tell me yet in time. Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear. Ah 1 yonder see the Tchocadar^i, My father leaves the mimic war: THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. I tremble now to meet his eye — hame, regret, remorse. And little fear from infant's force ; Besides, adoption as a son By him whom Heaven accorded none, Or some unknown cabal, iJaprice, Preserved me thus ; — but not iu peace : He cannot curb his haughty mood, Nor I forgive a father's blood. XVI. *' Within thy father's house are foes ; Not all who break his bread are true To these should I my birth disclose, His days, his very hours were few : THE BRIDE OF ABYOOS. 47 They only irant a heart to lead, A hand to point them to the deed. But Ilaroun only knows, or knew This tale, whose close is almost nigh He in Abdallah's palace grew, And held that post in his Serai Whicli holds he here — he saw liim die : But what could single slavery do ? Avenge his lord ? alas ! too late ; ^ Or save his son from such a fate ? He chose the last, and when elate With foes subdued, or friends betray'd, Proud Giaffir in high triumph sate, He led me helpless to his gate, And not in vain it seems essay'd To save the life for which he pray'd. The knowledge of my birth secured From all and each, but most from me ; Thus Giaffir's safety was ensured. Removed he too from Roumelie To this our Asiatic side, Far from our seats by Danube's tide, With none but Haronn, who retains Such knowledge — and that Nubian feels A tyrant's secrets are but chains, From which the captive gladly steals, And this and more to mc reveals : Such still to guilt just Alia sends — Slaves, tools, accomplices — no friends 1 " All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds ; But harslier still my tale must be : Howe'er my tongue thy softness wounds, Yet I must prove all truth to thee. 1 saw thee start this garb to see, Yet is it one I oft have worn, And long must wear : this Galiongee, To whom thy plighted vow is sworn. Is leader of those pirate hordes. Whose laws and lives are on their swords To hear whose desolating tale» Would make thy waning checK more pale: Those arms thou see'st my band have brought. The bands that wield arc not remote ; This cup, too, for the nigged knaves Is fiU'd— once quaflF'd, they ne'er repine: 'Our prophet might forgive the slaves; They're only infidels iu wine. 48 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. XVIII. " What could I be ? Proscribed at home, A.nd taunted to a wish to roam ; And listless left — for Giaffir's fear Denied the courser and the spear — Though oft— Oh, Mahomet ! how oft ! — In full Divan the despot scoff'd, As if wy weak unwilling hand Refused the bridle or the brand : He ever went to war alone, And pent me here untried— unknown ; To Haroun's care with women left, By hope unblest, of fame bereft. While thou — whose softness long endear'd. Though it unmann'dme, still had cheer'd— To Brusa's walls for safety sent, Awaitedst there the field's event. Haroun, who saw my spirit pining Beneath inaction's sluggish yoke. His captive, though with dread resigning, My thraldom for a season broke, On promise to return before The day when Giaffir's charge was o'er 'Tis vain — my tongue can not impart My almost drunkenness of heart. When first this liberated eye Survey'd. Earth, Ocean, Sun and Sky, As if my spirit pierced them through, And all their inmost wonders knew ! One word alone can paiut to thee That more than feeling — I was free ! E'en for thy presence ceased to pine The World—nay, Heaven itself was mine i, " The shallop of a trusty Moor Convey'd me from this idle shore ; I long'd to see the isles that gem Old Ocean's purple diadem : I sought by turns, and saw them all ;32 But when and where I join'd the crew. With whom I'm pledg'd to rise or fall, When all that we design to do Is done, 'twill then be time more meet To tell thee, when the tale's complete. " 'Tis true, they are a lawless brood, But rough ir form, uor mild in mood; rHK BKIDK OK AliYDOS. And every creed, nnd every ract;, With them h:ith found — may find a placet But open sjjeech, and ready hand. Obedience to their chiefs command ; A soul for every enterprise, That never sees with terror's eyes ; Friendship for each, and faith to all, And vengeance vow'd for those who fall, Have made them fitting instruments For more than cv'n my own intents. And some — and I have studied ail Distinguisli'd from the vulgar rank, But chiefly to my council call The wisdom of tlie cautious Frank — And some to higher thoughts aspire, The last of Lamhro's^^ patriots there Anticipated freedom share ; And oft around the cavern fire On visionary schemes debate To snatch the Rayahs^-* from their fate. So let them case their hearts with prate Of equal rights, which man ne'er knew ; I have a love for freedom too. Ay ! let me like the ocean-Patriarch^' roam Or only know on land the Tartar's home!''*" My tent on shore, my galley on the sea, Are more than cities and Serais to me : Borne by my steed, or wafted by my sail, Across the desert, or before the gale. Bound where thou wilt, my barb ! or glide, my prawt But be the star that guides the wanderer, Thou I Thou, my Zulcika, share and bless my bark ; The Dove of peace and promise to mine ark ! Or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife. Be thou the rainbow to the stonns of life I The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray ! Blest — as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall To pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call; Soft — as the melody of youthful days. That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise; Dear as his native song to exile's ears, Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears. For thee in those bright isles is built a bower Blooming as Aden^" in its earliest hour. A thousand swords, with Selim's heart and hand, Wait — wave — defend — destroy— at thy command ! Girt by my band, Znleika at my side. The spoil of nations shall bedeck mvbride. 7 60 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. The Haram's languid years of listless ease ;\.re well resigu'd for cares — for joys like these: Not blind to fate, I see, where'er I rove, Unnumber'd perils, but one only love : Yet well ray toils shall that fond breast repay, Though fortune frown, or falser friends betray. How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill. Should all be changed, to find thee faithful still ! Be but thy soul, like Selim's, firmly shown To thee be Selim's tender as thine own ; To soothe each sorrow, share in each delight, Blend every thought, do all — but disunite ! Once free, 'tis mine our horde again to guide: Friends to each other, foes to aught beside: Yet there we follow but the bent assign'd By fatal Nature to man's warring kind: Mark ! where his carnage and his conquests cease \ He makes a solitude, and calls it— peace ! I like the rest must use my skill or strength. But ask no land beyond my sabre's length: Power sways but by division — her resource The blest alternative of fraud or force ! Ours be the last : in time deceit may come When cities cage us in a social home : There ev'n thy soul might err — how oft the heart Corruption shakes which peril could not part ! A.nd woman, more than man, when death or woe, Or even disgrace, would lay her lover low, Sunk in the lap of luxury will shame — Away suspicion ! — not Zuleika's name 1 But life is hazard at the best ; and here No more remains to win, and much to fear Yes, fear! — the doubt, the dread of losing thee, By Osman's power, and GiaflBr's stern decree. That dread shall vanish with the favouring gale. Which love to-night hath promised to my sail : No danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest. Their steps still roving, but their hearts at rest. With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charmg ; Earth — sea alike — our world within our arms ! Ay — let the loud winds whistle o'er the deck, So that those arms cling closer round my neck, The deepest murmur of this lip shall be No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee ! The war of elements no fears impart To Love, whose* deadliest bane is human Art. There lie the only rocks our course can check : Here moments menace — there are years of wreck ! But hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape 1 This hour bestows, or ever bars escape. TBB UniDF. OK AUVDOS. 61 Few words remain of mine my talc to close ; Of thine but one to waft us from our foes : Yea — foes — to me will Gialfir's hate decline ? And is not Osman, who would part us, thiue ? XXI. " His head and faith from doubt and death Returu'd in time my guard to save ; Few heard, none told, that o'er the wave From isle to isle I roved the while : And since, though parted from my band, Too seldom now I leave the land, No deed they've done, nor deed shall do, Ere'I have heard and doom'd it too: I form the plan, decree the spoil, 'Tis fit I ofiener share liie toil. But now too long I've held thine ear; Time presses, floats my bark, and here We leave behind but hate and fear. To-morrow Osman with his train Arrives — to-night must break thy chain : And would'st thou save that haughty Bey, Perchance, his life who gave thee thine, With me, this hour away— away 1 Buc yet, though thou art plighted mine, Would'st thou recall thy willing vow, Appall'd by truths impaited now, Here rest 1 — not to see thee wed; But be that peril on my head I " XXII. Znlcika, mute and motionless, Stood like that statue of distress. When, her last hope for ever gone. The mother harden'd into stone ; All in the maid that eye could see Was but a younger Niobe. But ere her lip, or ev'n her eye, ^ Essay 'd to speak, or look reply, Beneath the garden's wicket porch Far flash'd on high a blazing torch ! Another — and another — and another — " Oh ! fly — no more — yet now my more than brotbert* Far, wide, through every thicket spread, The fearful lights are gleaming red : Nor these alone — for each right hand Is ready with a sheathless brand. Thoy part, pursue, return, and wheel With searching flambeau, shining steel ; )2 THE BRIDE OP ABYD09. And last of all, his sabre waving, Stern Giaffir in his fury raving : And now almost they touch the cave — Oh 1 must that grot be Selim's grave ? xxtii. Dauntless he stood — " 'Tis come — soon past^- One kiss, Zuleika — 't is my last : But yet my band not far from shore May hear this signal, see the flash ; Yet now too few — the attempt were rash I No matter — yet one effort more." Forth to the cavern mouth he stept ; His pistol's echo rang on high, Zuleika started not, nor wept, Despair benumb'd her breast and eye ! — " They hear me not, or if they ply Their gars, 'tis but to see me die That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh. Then forth my father's scimitar, Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war ! Farewell, Zuleika ! — Sweet ! retire : Yet stay within — here linger safe, At thee his rage will only chafe. Stir not — lest even to thee perchance Some erring blade or ball should glance, Fear'st thou for him ? — may I expire If in this strife I seek thy sirel No — though by him that poison pour'd : No — though again he call me coward 1 But tamely shall I meet their steel ? No — as each crest save his may feel ! " _ XXIV. One bound he made, aiid gaiii'd the sandt Already at his feet hath sunk The foremost of the prying band, A gasping head, a quivering trunk : Another falls — but round him close A swarming circle of his foes ; From right to left his path he cleft, And almost met the meeting wave : His boat appears— not five oars' length— His comrades strain with desperate strength— Oh ! are they yet in time to save ? His feet the foremost breakers lave ; His band are plunging in the bay. Their sabres glitter through the spray; Wet — wild — unwearied to the strand They struggle — now they toudh the land ! TUR BRIUK or ABYU03. M They come — 'tis but to add to slaughter— His heart's best blood is on the water. Escaped from shot, unharm'd by steel, Or scarcely grazed its force to feel. Had Selim won, betray'd, beset, To where the strand and billows met : There as his last step left the land, And the last death-blow dealt his hand — Ah ! wherefore did he turn to look For her his eye but sou ght in vain ? That pause, that fatal gaze he took, Hath doom'd his death, or fixed his chain. Sad ])roof, in peril and in pain, How late will Lover's hope remain ! His back was to the dashing spray: Behind, but close, his comrades lay, •When, at the instant, hissed the ball — " So may the foes of GiafSr fall ! " Whose voice is heard ? whose carbine rang ? Whose bullet through the night-air sang, Too nearly, deadly aim'd to err? 'lis thine — Abdallah's Murderer! The father slowly rued thy hate. The son hath found a quicker fate ; Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling. The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling— If aught his lips essay'd to groan, The rushing billows choked the tone Morn slowly rolls the clouds 4way ; Few trophies of the fight are there The shouts that shook the midnight-bay Arc silent ; but some signs of fray That strand of strife may bear. And fragments of each sbivcr'd brand ; Steps Btamp'd ; and dash'd into the sand The print of many a struggling hand May there be niark'd ; not far remote A broken torch, an oarlcss boat; And tangled on the weeds that heap The beach where shelving to the deep There lies a while capote ! 'Tis rent in twain — one dark-red staia The wave yet ripples o'er in vain : But where is he who wore? 54 THE BRIDE OF ABYUOS. Ye ! who would o'er his relics weep, Go, seek them where the surges sweep Their burthen round Sigaeum's steep And cast on Lemnos' shore ; The sea-birds shriek above the prey O'er which their hungry beaks delay, As shaken ou his restless pillow, His head heaves with the heaving billow ; That hand, whose motion is not life, Yet feebly seems to menace strife, Flung by the tossing tide on high, Then levell'd with the wave '^ — What recks it, though that corse shall lie Within a living grave? The bird that tears that prostrate form Hath only robb'd the meaner worm ; The only heart, the only eye Had bled or wept to see him die. Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed, And mourn' d above his turban-stone,39 That heart hath burst— that eye was closed- Yea— closed before his own ! XXVI I. By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail ! And wsman's eye is wet — man's cheek is pjde : Zuleika ! last of Giaffir's race, Thy destined lord is come too late : He sees not — ne'er shall see thy face ! Can he not hear The loud Wul-wuHeh ^^ vvarn his distant ear? Thy handmaids weeping at the gate, The Koran -chanters of the hymn of fate, The silent slaves with folded arras that wait, Sighs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale, Tell him thy tale! Thou didst not view thy Selim fall '. That fearful moment when he left the cave Thy heart grew chill : He was tny hope— thy joy— thy love— thine all — And that last thought on him thou could'st not save Sufficed to kill ; Burst forth in one wild cry— and all was still. Peace to thy broken heart and virgin grave ! Ah ! happy ! but of life to lose the worst ! That grief— though deep— though fatal— was thy first ! Thrice happy ! ne'er to feel nor fear the force Of absence, shame, pride, hate, revenge, remorse ! And, oh ! that pang where more than madness lies ! The worm that will not sleep— and never dies ; THE BRIDE OP ABYDOS. 55 Thought of the fjloomy day nnd phaRlly night, That drciuls tho darkness aud yet loathes tho light, That winds around, and tours tho quivering heart! Ah ! wherefore not consume it — and depart ! Woo to thoc, rash and unrelenting chief! Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head, Vainly tho sackcloth o'er thy limhs dost spread; By that same hand Abdallah— Selim bled. Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief; Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Usman's bed, She, whom thy sultan had but seen to wed. Thy Daughter's dead ! Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam. The Stai- hath set that shone on Helle's stream, What quench'd its ray?— the blood that thou hast shedl Hark ! to the 'hurried question of Despair : " Where is my child? "—an Echo answers — " Where?"*' xxvm. Within the place of thousand tombs That shine beneath, while dark above The sad but living cypress glooms. And withers not, though branch and leaf Are stamp'd with an eternal grief, Like early unrequited Love, One spot exists, which ever blooms, Ev'n in that deadly grove — A Sngle rose is shedding there Its lonely lustre, meek and pale : It looks as planted by Despair — So white— so faint — the slightest gale Might whirl the leaves on high; And yet, though storms and blight assail, And hands more rude than wintry sky May wring it from the stem— in vain — To-morrow sees it bloom agtfin ; The stalk some spirit gently rears, And waters with celestial tears ; For well may maids of Helle deem That this can be no earthly flower, Which mocks the tempest's withering hour. And buds unshelter'd by a bower ;^ Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower, Nor woos the summer beam : To it the livelong night there sings A bird unseen — but not remote : Invisible his airy wings. But soft as harp that Houri strings His long entrancing note ! It were the Bulbul ; but his throat, &6 THE BRIDK OF ABYOOQ. Though mournful, pours not such a strain For they who listen cannot 'cave The spot, hut hnger there and grieve, As if they loved in vain ! And yet so sweet the tears they shed, 'Tis sorrow so unmix'd with dread. Ttiey scarce can bear the morn to break That melancholy speL, And longer yet would weep and wake, He sings so wild and well ! But when the day-blush bursts from high Expires that magic melody. And some have been who could believe, (So fondly youthful dreams deceive, Yet harsh be they that blame,) That note so piercing and profound Will shape and syllable^^ jts sound Into Zuleika's name. 'Tis from her cypress' summit heard, That melts in air the liquid word : 'Tis from her lowly virgin earth That white rose takes its tender birth. There late was laid a marble stone ; Eve saw it placed — the Morrow gone ! It was no mortal arm that bore That deep fixed pillar to the shore ; For there, as Helle's legends tell, l^ext morn 'twas found where Selim fell ; Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave Denied his bones a holier grave • And there by night, reclined, 'tis said, Is seen a ghastly turban'd head : And hence extended by the billow, 'Tis named the " Pirate-phantom's pillow I* Where first it lay that mourning flower Hath flourished ; flourisheth this hour, Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale ; As weeping Beauty's cheek at sorrow's i$hl THE CORSATR; A TALE. I luoi pensieri in lui donnir non ponno." Tasso, Oerusalemme Liberata, canto Xi CANTO THE FIRST. ' ncssun maggior dolore. Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria, -" — Dantb. " O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home I These are our realms, no Lraits to their sway— » Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey. Ours the wild life in tumult still to range From toil to rest, and joy in every change. Oh, who can tell ? not thou, luxurious. slave Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave ; Not Ihou, vain lord of wantonness and case! Whom slumber soothes not — pleasure cannot please— Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, The exulting sense— the pulse's maddening play. That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way? That for itself can woo the approaching fijht, And turn what some deem riangcr to delight ; That seeks what cravens sliun with more than zeal, And where the feebler faint — can only feel — Feel— to the rising bosom's inmost core, Its hope awaken and its spirit soar ? No dread of death— if with us die our foes — Save that it seems even duller than repose: Come when it will — we snatch the life of life — Wlien lost — what recks it — by disease or strife ? Let him who crawls enamonr'd of decay, Chng to his couch, and sicken years away; F 58 THE COKSAIR. Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head; Ours — the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed. While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul. Ours with one pang — one bound — escapes control. His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave, And they who loath'd his life may gild his grave : Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed, When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead. For us, even banquets fond regret supply In the red cup that crowns our memory ; And the brief epitaph in danger's day. When those wlio win at length divide the prey, And cry. Remembrance saddening o'er each brow, How had the brave who fell exulted now." Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle, Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while : Such were the sounds that thrill'd the rocks along, And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song ! In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand, They game — carouse — converse — or whet the brand i Select the arms — to each bis blade assign. And careless eye the blood that dims its shine; Repair the boat, replace the helm or oar. While others straggling muse along the shore; For the wild bird the busy springes set. Or spread beneath the sun the dripping net; Gaze where some distant sail a speck supplies. With all the thirsting eye of Enterprise ; Tell o'er the tales of many a night of toil, And marvel where they next shall seize a spoil : No matter where — their chiefs allotment this ; Theirs, to believe no prey nor plan amiss. But wlio that Chief ? his name on every shore Is famed and fear'd — they ask and know no more. With these he mingles not but to command ; Few are his words, but keen his eye and hand. Ne'er seasons he with mirth their jovial mess. But they forgive his silence for success. Ne'er for his lip the purpling cup they fill, That goblet passes hinx^untasted still — And for his fare — the rudest of bis crew Would that, in turn, have pass'd untasted too ; Earth's coarsest bread, the garden's homeliest lOOtSy And scarce the summer luxury of fruits, His short repast in humbleness supply With all a hermit's board would scarce deny. But while he siiuns the grosser joys of sense. His mind seems nourislied liy tliat aljstinence. THK COKSAIR. 59 "Steer to that shore!" — they saU. "Do this!" — 't« done: " Now form and follow me \" — the spoil is won. Thus prompt his accents and his actions still, And all obey and few inquire his will ; To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye Convey reproof, nor further deign reply. III. " A sail ! — a sail !" — a promised prize to Hope Her nation — flag — how speaks the telescope ? No prize, alas !— hut yet a welcome sail ; The blood-red signal glitters in the gale. Yes — she is ours — a home-returning bark — Blow fair, thou breeze ! — she anchors ere the dark. Already doubled is the cape — our bay Receives that prow which proudly spurns the spray. How gloriously her gallant course she goes ! Her white wings flying — never from her foes — She walks the waters like a thing of life, And seems to dare the elements to strife. Who would not brave the battle-fire — the wreck- To move the monarch of her peopled deck ? IV. Hoarse o'er her side the rustling cable rings ; The sails are furl'd ; and anchoring round she swings : And gathering loiterers on the land discern Her boat descending from the latticed stern. 'Tis mann'd— the oars keep concert to the strand, Till grates her keel upon the shallow sand. Hail to the welcome shout! — the friendly speech! When hand grasps hand uniting on the beach; The smile, the question, and the quick reply, And the heart's promise of festivity! V. The tidings spread, and gathering grows the crowd: The hum of voices, and the laughter loud, And woman's gentler anxious tone is heard — Friends' — husbands' — lovers' names in each dear wordt " Oh ! are they safe ? we ask not of success — But shall we see them ? will their accents bless ? From where the battle roars — the billows chafe— They doubtless boldly did — but who are safe } Here let them haste to gladden and surprise, And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes !" " Where is our chief ? for him we bear report — And doubt that joy — which hails our coming — shortf 60 THE CORSAIR. Yet thus sincere — 'tis cheering, though so brief; But, Juan ! instant guide us to our chief : Our greeting paid, we'll feast on our return, And all shall hear what each may wish to learn." Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way, To where his A-atch-tower beetles o'er the bay, l>y bushy brake and wild flowers blossoming, And freshness breathing from each silver spring, Whose scatter'd streams from granite basins bxirst, Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst ; From crag to cliif they mount — Near yonder cave, What lonely straggler looks along the wave ? In pensive posture leaning on the brand, Not oft a resting-stafF to that red hand ? " 'Tis he — 'tis Conrad — here — as wont alone; On — Juan ! — on — and make our purpose known. The bark he views — and tell him we would greet His ear with tidings he must quickly meet : We dare not yet approach — thou know'st his moody When strange or uninvited steps intrude." VII. Him Juan sought, and told of their intent ; — He spake not — but a sign express'd assent. These Juan calls — they come — to their salute He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute. " These letters. Chief, are from the Greek — the spy, Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh : Whate'er his tidings, we can well report " Jluch that" — " Peace, peace !"— he cuts their prating short, Wondering they turn ; abash'd, while each to each Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech : They watch his glance with many a stealing look, To gather how that eye the tidings took ; But, this as if he guess'd, with head aside. Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride He read the scroll—" My tablets, Juan, hark — Where is Gonsalvo 1" " In the anchor'd baik." " There let him stay — to him this order bear — Back to your duty — for my course prepare : Myself this enterprise to-night will share." " To-night, Lord Conrad ?" " Ay ! at set of sun : The breeze will freshen when the day is done. My corslet — cloak — one liour — and we are gone. THU CORSAIR. 61 Sling on thy bu^le — see that free from rust, My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust ; Be the edge sharpen'd of my boarding-brand, And give its guard more room to lit my hand. This let the armourer with speed dispose ; Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes : Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired, To tell us when the hour of stay's expired." VIII. \f'' They make obeisance, and retire in haste, ./' Too soon to seek again the watery waste : Yet they repine not — so that Conrad guides ; And who dare question aught that he decides ? That man of loneliness and mystery, Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh ; Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew, r And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue Still swiiys their souls with that commanding art That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart. What is that spell, that thus his lawless train Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain .' What should it be, that thus their faith can bind ? The power of Thought — the magic of the Mind ! Liiik'd with success, assumed and kept with skill That moulds another's weakness to its will; Wields svitli their hands, but, still to these unknown. Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own. Such hath it been — shall be — beneath the sun The many still must labour for the one 1 'Tis Nature's doom — but let the wretch who toils, Accuse not, hate not him who wears the spoils Oh ! if he knew the weight of splendid chains, Mow light the balance of his humbler pains 1 Unlike the heroes of each ancient race, Demons in act, but Gods at least in face. In Conrad's form seems little to admire, Though his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire: Robust but not Herculean— to the sight No giant frame sets forth his common height; Yet, in the whole, who paused to look again, Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men They gaze and marvel how — and still confess That thus it is, but why they cannot guess. Sun-burnt his check ; his forehead high and pale, The sable curls in wild profusion veil ; .\nd oft perforce his rising lip reveals The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce con C2 THE CORSAIR. Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mein» sun seems there something he would not have seen: His features' deepening lines and varying hue At times attracted, yet perplex'd the view, As if within the murkiness of mind Work'd feelings fearful and yet undefined ; Such might it be — that none could truly tell — Too close inquirj his stern glance would quell. There breathe but few whose aspect might defy The full encounter of his searching eye : He had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek, At once the observer's purpose to espy, And on himself roll back his scrutiny. Lest he to Conrad rather should betray Some secret thought, than drag that chief's to-day. There was a laughing Devil in his sneer, That raised emotions both of rage and fear ; And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, Hope withering fled — and Mercy sigh'd farewell 1* X. Slight are the outward signs of evil thought, Within — within — 'twas there the spirit wrought ! Love shows all changes — Hate, Ambition, Guile, Betray no further than the bitter smile ; The lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown Along the govern'd aspect, speak alone Of deeper passions ; and to judge their mien, He, who would see, must be himself unseen. Then — with the hurried tread, and upward eye, The clenched hand, the pause of agony. That listens, starting, lest the step too near Approach intrusive on that mood of fear : Then — with each feature working from the heart, With feelings loosed to strengthen — not depart : That rise — convulse — contend — that freeze or glow. Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow ; Then — Stranger ! if thou canst, and tremblest not, Behold his soul — the rest that soothes his lot ! Mark — how that lone and blighted bosom sears The scathing thought of execrated years 1 Behold — but who hath seen, or e'er shall see, Man as himself — the secret spirit free ? XI. Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent To lead the guilty — guilt's worse instrument — His soul was changed, before his deeds had driyen Him forth to war with man and forfeit heaven. THE CORSAIR. 63 Warp'd l»y the world in Disaiipointmcnt's school, In words too wise, in conduct there a fool ; Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop, Dooin'd by his very virtues for a dupe, He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill, And not the traitors who betray'd him still ; Nor deein'd that gifts bestow'd on better men Had left him joy, and means to give again. Fear'd — shunn'd — belied^ere youth had lost her force, He hated man too much to feel remorse, And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call, To pay the injuries of some on all. He knew himself a villain — but he deem'd The rest no better than the thing he scem'd ; And scorn'd the best as hypocrites who hid Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did. He knew himself detested, but he knew The hearts that loath'd him, crouch'd and dreaded too. Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt From all affection and from all contempt : H.s name could sadden, and his acts surprise ; Hut they that fear'd him dared not to despise: Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake The slumbering venom of the folded snake: The first may turn — but not avenge the blow ; The last expires— but leaves no living foe; Fast to the doom'd olTender's form it clings, And he may crush — not conquer — still it stings 1 XII. None arc all evil — quickening round his heart, One softer feeling would not yet depart ; Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled By passions worthy of a fool or child ; Vet 'gainst that i)assion vainly still he strove, And even in him it asks the name of Love ! Yes, it was lo\e— unchangeable — unchanged. Felt but for one from whom he never ranged ; Though fairest captives daily met his eye, He shunn'd, nor sought, but coldly pass'd them by; Though many a beauty droop'd in prison'd bower, _^ None ever soothed his most unguarded hour. ^ Yes — it was Love— if thoughts of tendernese. Tried in temptation, strcngthcn'd by distress. Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime. And yet — Oh more than all 1 — unlired by time Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile, Could render sullen were she ne'er to smile, Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent Ou her one murmiu- of his discontent; 64 THE CORSAtR. Which still would meet. wiUi joy, with calitinesi part Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart; Which naught removed, nor menaced to remove— If there he love in mortals — this was love ! lie was a villain— ay — reproaches shower On him — hut not the passion, nor its power, Which only proved, all other virtues gone, Not guilt itself could quench this loveliest one ! XIII. He paused a moment — till his hastening men Pass'd the first winding downward to the glen. " Strange tidings ! — many a peril have I past, Nor know I why this next appears the last ! Yet so my heart forebodes, but must not fear, Nor shall my followers find me falter here. 'Tis rash to meet, but surer death to wait Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate ; And, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smile, We'll furnish mourners for our funeral pile. Ah — let them slumber — peaceful be their dreams 1 Morn ne'er awoke them with such brilliant beams As kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze 1) To warm these slow avengers of the seas. Now to Medora — Oh ! my sinking heart, Long may her own be lighter than thou art ! Yet was I brave— mean boast where all are brave Ev'n insects sting for aught they seek to save. This common courage which with brutes we share. That owes its deadliest efforts to despair. Small merit claims — but 'twas my nobler hope To teach my few with numbers still to cope ; Long have I led them — not to vainly bleed : No medium now — we perish or succeed ! So let it be — it irks not me to die ; But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly. My lot hath long had little of ray care, But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare : Is this ray skill ? my craft ? to set at last Hope, power, and life upon a single cast ? Oh Fate ! — accuse thy folly, not thy fate — She may redeem thee still — nor yet too late." XIV. Thus with himself communion held he, till He reach'd the summit of his tower-crown'd hill: There at the portal paused — for wild and soft He heard those accents never heard too oft ; Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung, And these the notes the bird of beauty sung : THE consAiR. 65 I. " Deep In my soul that tender secret dwells, Lonely and lost to light for evermore, Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, Then trembles into silence as before. 2. " There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp Burns the slow flame, eternal — but unseen; Which not the darkness of despair can damp,' Though vain its ray as it had never been. 3. " Remember me — Oh ! pass not thou my grave Without one thought whose relics there recline The only pang my bosom dare not brave Must be to find forgetfulness in thine. 4. " My fondest — faintest — latest accents hear : . Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove ; Then give me all I ever ask'd — a tear. The first — last — sole reward oi so much love I" He pass'd the portal — cross'd the corridore, And reach'd the chamber as the strain gave o'er: " My own Medora ! sure thy song is sad — " " In Conrad's absence wouldst thou have it glad ? Without thine ear to listen to my lay. Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray ; Still must each accent to my bosom suit. My heart unhush'd — although my lips were mute I Oh ! many a night on this lone couch reclined, My dreaming fear with storms hath wing'd the wind-^ And deem'd the breath that faintly fann'd thy sail The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale; Though soft, it seem'd the low prophetic dirge. That mourn'd thee floating on the savage surge; Still would I rise to rouse the beacon fire, Lest spies less true should let the blaze expire ; And many a restless hour outwatch'd each star, And morning came — and still thou wert afar. Oh 1 how the chill blast on my bosom blew. And day broke dreary on my troubled view, And still I gazed and gazed — and not a prow Was granted to my tears — my truth — my vow ! At length — 'twas noon — I hail'd and blest the mast That met my sight — it near'd — Alas 1 it passed 1 Another came — Oh God ! 'twas thine at last ! 66 TUE CORSIA.U. Would that those day's were over ! wilt thou ne'er. My Conrad ! learn the joys of peace to share ! Sure thou hast more than wealth, and many a home As bright as this invites us not to roam : rhou know'st it is not peril that I fear, I only tremble when thou art not here ; Then not for mine, but that far dearer life, Which flies from love and languishes for strife — How strange that heart, to me so tender still, Should war with nature and its better will !" " Yea, strange indeed — that heart hath long been changed! Worm-like 'twas trampled — adder-like avenged, Without one hope on earth beyond thy love, And scarce a glimpse of mercy from above. Yet the same feeling which thou dost condemn, My very love to thee is hate to them, So closely mingling here, that disentwined, I ceased to love thee when I love mankind : Yet dread not this — the proof of all the past Assures the future that my love will last ; But— Oh, Medora ! nerve thy gentler heart, This hour again — but not for long — we part." " This hour we part ! my heart foreboded this : Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss. This hour — it cannot be — this hour away ! Yon bark hath hardly anchored in the bay ; Her consort still is absent, and her crew Have need of rest before they toil anew : My love ! thou mock'st my weakness; and would'st steel My breast before the time when it must feel ; But trifle now no more with my distress, Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness. Be silent, Conrad ! — dearest ! come and share The feast these hands delighted to prepare ; Light toil ! to cull and dress thy frugal fare ! See, I have pluck'd the fruit that promised best, And where not sure, perplex'd, but pleased, I guess'd At such as seem'd the fairest ; thrice the hill My steps have wound to try the coolest rill; i'es ! thy sherbet to-night will sweetly flow, See how it sparkles in its vase of snow ! The grapes' gay juice thy l)osom never cheers ; Thou more than Moslem when the cup appears: Think not I mean to chide — for I rejoice What others deem a penance is thy choice. But come, the board is spread ; our silver lamp Is trimm'd, and heeds not the sirocco's damp : Then shall my handmaids while the time along, And join with me tne dance, or wake the song ; THi; coiisAiu. G7 Or my guitar, which still iIkhi lov'st to hear, Shall soothe or lull — or, shoulii it vex thine ear, We'll turn the tale, hy Ariosto told. Of fair Olyinpia loved and left of old. Why — thou wcrt worse than he who hroke his VOW To that lost damsel, shonldst thou leave me now ; Or even that traitor chief — I've seen thee smile, When the clear sky show'd Ariadne's Isle, Whieh I have pointed from these cliffs the while : And tluis, h:i!f sportive, half in f.ar, I said, Lest time should raise that doubt to more than dread. Thus Conrad, too, will quit me for the main: And he deceived me — for — he came again!" " Again — again-;— aiul oft again — my love! If there be life below, and hope above, He will return — but now, the moments bring The time of parting with redoubled wing ; The why — the wliere— what boots it now to tell? Since all must end in that wild word — farewell! Yet would I fain — did time allow — disclose — Fear not — these are no formidable foes; And here shall wateb a more than wonted guard, For sudden sii'ge and long defence prepared : Nor be thou lonely — though thy lord's away, Our matrons and thy handuiaids with thee stay ; And this thy comfort — that, when next we meet, Security shall make repose more sweet. List — 'tis the bugle " — Juan shrilly blew — " One kiss — one more — another — Oh ! Adieu ! " She rose — she sprang — she clung to his embrace, Till his heart heaved beneath her ludden face, lie dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye. Which downcast droop'd in tearless agony. Iler long fair hair lay floating o'er his aruis, In all the wildness of disheveU'd charms; Scarce beat that bosom \vhere his image dwelt So full — that feeling seem'd almost unfelt! Hark — peals the thunder of the signal gun ! It told 'twas sunset — and he cursed that sun. Again — again — that form he madly press'd, Which mutely clasp'd, imploringly caress'd ! And totterinq' to the couch his bride he bore. One moment gazed— as if to gaze no more; Felt — that for him earth held but her alone, Kiss'd her cold forehead — turn'd — is Courad gone? XV. " And is he gone ! " — on sudden solitude How oft that fearful nm^stion will intrude I 68 THE CORSAIR. ' " 'T^ras but an instant past* — and here he stood ! and now" — without the portal's porch she rush'd, And then at length her tears in freedom gush'd ; Big — biigiit — and fast, unknown to her they fell ; But still her lips refused to send — " Farewell! " For in that word — that fatal word — howe'er We promise — hope — believe — there breathes despair. O'er every feature of that still, pale face, Had sorrow fix'd what time can ne'er erase: The tcjidei- blue of that large loving eye Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy. Til! — Oh, how far! it caught a glimpse of him, And tlien it flow'd — and plirensied seem'd to swim, Tliniugh those long, dark, and glistening lashes dew'd With drops of sadness oft to be renew'd. " He's gone ;" against her heart tliat hand is driven, Convulsed and quick — then gently raised to heaven ; She look'd and saw the heaving of the main ; The white sail set — she dared not look again ; But turn'd with sickening soul within the gate — " It is no dream — and I am desolate ! " From crag to crag descending — swiftly sped Stern Conrad down, nor once he turned his head ; But shrunk whene'er the windings of his way Forced on his eye what he would not survey, His lone, but lovely dwelling on the steep. That hail'd him first when homeward from the deep; And she — the dim and melancholy star, Whose ray of beauty reach'd him from afar. On her he must not gaze, he must not think, There he might rest — but on Destruction's brink ? Yet once almost he stopp'd — and nearly gave Hij fate to chance, his projects to the wave : But no — it must not be — a worthy chief May melt, but not betray to woman's grief. He sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind, And sternly gathers all his might of mind: Again he hurries on — and as he hears The clang of tumult vibrate on his ears, The busy sounds, the bustle of the shore, The shout, the signal, and the dashing oar; As marks his eye the seaboy on the mast. The anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast, The waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urge That mute adieu to those who stem the surge; And more than all, his blood-red flng aloft. He marvell'd how his heart could seem so soft. THK CORSAIR. 69 Fire ill his glance, and wildness in liis breast, He feels of all his former self possest ; He bounds — he flies — until his footsteps reach The verge where ends the cliff, begins the beach, There checks his speed ; but pauses less to breathe The breezy freshness of the deep beneath, Than there his wonted statelier step renew ; Nor rush, disturb'd by haste, to vulgar view: For well had Conrad learu'd to curb the crowd, By arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud ; His was the lofty port, the distant mien, riial seems to shun the sight — and awes if seen: The solemn aspect and the high-born eye, Tliat checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy ; All these he wieldrd to command assent; Hut where he wish'd to '.viii, so well unbent, That kindness cancell'd fear in those who heard, And other's gifts show'd nieau beside his word, When echo'd to the heart as from his own Ilis deep yet tender melody of tone : But sucli was foreign to his wonted mood, lie cared not what he soften'd, but subdued ; The evil passions of his youth had made Him value less who loved — than what obey'd. Around him mustering ranged his ready guard. Before him Juan stands — " Are all prepared ?" " They are — nay more — embark'd : the latest boat Wails but my chief " "My sword, and my capote." Soon firndy girded on, and lightly slung. His belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung: " Call Fedro liere ! " He comes — and Conrad bend* With all the courtesy he deign'd his friends ; " Receive these tablets, and peruse with care. Words of high trust and truth are graven there; Double the guard, and when Anselmo's bark Arrives, let him alike these orders mark: In tliree days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shine On our return — till then all peace bo thine ! " This said, his brother Pirate's hand he wrung, Then to bis boat with )i!>.na;hty gc.-ture sprung. Flash'd ♦he dipt oars, and si^arkling with tlie stroke Around the waves jthosphoric* briiihtness broke; They gain the vessel — on the deck he stands, — Shrieks the shrill whistle — ply the busy hands — He marks how well the shij) her helm obeys. How gallant all her crew — and aeigns to praise. 70 THE CORSAIR. His eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turn — Why doth he start, and inly seem to mourn? Alas ! those eyes beheld his rocky tower, And live a moment o'er the parting hour : She — his Medora — did she mark the prow ? Ah ! never loved he half so much as now I But much must yet be done ere dawn of day — Again he mans himself and turns away ; Down to the cabin with Gonsalvo bends, And there unfolds his plan — his means — and ends: Before them burns the lamp, and spreads the chart, And all that speaks atid aids the naval art ; They to the midnight watch protract debate ; To anxious eyes what hour is ever late .' Meantime the steady breeze serenely blew, And fast and falcon-like the vessel flew : Pass'd the high headlands of each chistering isle, To gain their port— long — long ere morning smile : And soon the night-glass through the narrow bay Discovers where the Pacha's galleys lay. Count they each sail— and mark how there supine The lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine. Secure, unnoted, Conrad's prow pass'd by, And anchor'd where his ambush meant to lie! bcrecn'd from espial by the jutting cape, That rears on high its rude fantastic shape. Then rose his band to duty — not from sleep — Equipp'd for deeds alike on land or deep ; While Ican'd their leader o'er the fretting flood, And calmly talk'd— and yet he lalk'd of blood I CANTO THE SECOND. " Conosceste i dubiosi desiri?" — Dantb. In Coron's bay floats many a galley light, Through Coron's lattices the lamps are bright, For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast lo-night : * A feast for promised triumph yet to come, When he shall firag the feUer'd Uovers home; This hat! he sworn by Alia and his sword, And faithful to his firman and his word, - His sununon'd prows collect along the coast. And great r.he gatUeriug crews, and loud the boaat THli CORSAIR. Already shared the captives and the prize, Tlioiigli lar llie distant loe iliey thus despise; "fis but to sail- no doubt to-morrow's Sua Will see the Pirates bound— their haven won ! Meantime the wateh may slumber, it' they will, Nor only wake to war, imt dreuiuing kill, Tiioiigh'all, who can, disperse on shore and seek To tlcsh their growing valour on the Greek; Mow well such ileed becomes the turban'd brave— lo bare the sabre's edge before a slave 1 Infest his dwelling— but forbear to slay, Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day, And do not deign to smite because they may ! Unless some gay caprice suggests tlie blow, lo keep in practice for the coming foe. Uevel and rout the evening hours beguile, And they who wish to wear a head must smile; Fur .Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer, .Vnd hoard their curses till the coast is clear. High in his hall reclines the turban'd Seyd ; Around— the bearded chiefs he came to lead. Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff— Torbidden draughts, 'tis said, he dared to quaflf, Tliough to the rest the sober berry's juice,^ The slaves bear round for rigid Moslems' use; The long chibouque's" dissolving cloud supply, Wliile dance the Almas' lo wild minstrelsy. 1 he rising morn will view the chiefs embark ; lUii waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark: \nd revellers may more securely sleep On silken couch than o'er the rugt:ed deep; Keasi there who can— nor combat till they must. And hss to conquest than to Korans trust; And yet the numbers crowded in his host •Might warrant more than even the Pacha's boa»t. \\ ith cautioii> reverence from the outer gate, Slow stalks I Ik slave, wiiosc otlice there to wait, Uovss hi3 beia heud-his baud salutes the floor, Kre yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore : " A captive Dervise, from the pirate's nest Escaped, is here— himself would lell the rest."' He took liie sign from bieyd's assenting eye, \nd led ihe iioly man in sileucfc ni^h. His arms were folded on his dark-grocn ve«t, Ui8 ste;^ wag feeble, and bis look depreat; 71 72 THE CORSAIR. Yet worn he seem'd of liardship more than years, • And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears. 'Yovv'd to his God — his sable locks he wore, And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er : Around his form kis loose long robe was thrown, And wrapt a breast bestow'd on heaven alone; Submissive, yet with sell-possession manu'd, He calmly met the. curious eyes that scann'd; And question of his coming fain would seek, Before the Pacha's will allow 'd to speak. IV. " Whence com'st thou Dervise ?" " From the outlaw's den, A fugitive — " " Thy capture where and when?" " From Scalanovo's port to Scio's isle, The Saick was bound ; but Alia did not smile Upon our course — the Moslem merchant's gains The Rovers won : our limbs have worn their chaiu*. I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast. Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost ; At length a lisher's humble boat by night Afforded hope, and offer'd chance of flight ; I seized the hour, and find my safety here — With thee— most mighty Pacha ! who can fear ?" " How speed the outlaws ? stand they well prepared, Their plunder'd wealth, and robber's rock to guard ? Dream they of this our preparation, doom'd To view with fire their scorpion nest consumed?" " Pacha! the fetter'd captive's moaruing eye. That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy ; I only heard the reckless waters roar, Those waves that would not bejir me from the shore i I only mark'd the glorious sun and sky, Too bright — too blue — for my captivity ; And felt — that all which Freedom's bosom cheers. Must break my chain before it dried my tears. This may'st thou judge, at least, from my escape, They little deem of aught in peril's shape ; Else vainly had I pray'd or sought the chance That leads me here — if eyed with vigilance : The careless guard that did not see me fly, May watch as idly when thy power is nigh. Pacha ! — my limbs are faint — and nature craves Food for my hunger, vest from tossing waves : Permit my absence — peace be with thee ! Peace With all around! — now grant repose — release." THE CORSAIR. 73 " Stay, Dervisc ! I have inori' to question — stay, I do coininaiul lliee — sit — -.lost hear? — obey! More 1 must ask, and food tiie slaves shall briag; Thou shait not pine wliero all arc banqueting; Tiie sup|)er done — pre|)are thee to rejily, Clearly and full — 1 love not mystery." 'Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man^ Who look'd not lovinf^ly on that Divan; Nor show'd high relibh for the baiKjuet prest, And less res])eet for every fellow guest. 'Twas hu a moment's pcevihh hictic past Along his cheek, and traiupiillised as fast : lie sate him down in silence, and his look Resumed the calmness which before forsook: Tiie feast was usher'd in — l)ut sumptuous fare lie shiinn'd as if some poison mingled there. I'or one so long condeinn'il to toil and fast, ,- Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast. " What ails thee, Dervir.e ? eat — dost thou suppose This feast a Christian's ? or my friends thy foes? Why dost thou shun the salt ? that s.icred pledge, '\\hich, once ])artaken, blunts the sabre's edge. Makes even contending triiics in peace unite. And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight !" " Salt seasons dainties — and my food is still The humblest root, tny drink the simplest rill; And my stern vow and order'*!' laws oppose To break or mingle bread with friends or foes ; It may seem strange — if there be aughi to dread, Tiiat ])erii rests upon my single head ; liut fir thy sway — nay more — thy Sultan's throne, 1 taste nor bread nor banquet — save alone ; Infringed our order's rule, the Prophet's rage To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage." " Well — as thou wilt — ascetic as thou art — One question answer ; then in peace depart. How many? — 11a ! it cannot sure be day? What star — what stm is bursting on the bay ? It shines a lake of fire ! — away — away ! llo! treachery! my guards ! my scimitar! The galleys feed the tlames — and I afar ! Accursed Uervise ! — these thy tidings — thou Some villain spy — seize — cleave him — slay him now I* Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light. Nor less his change of form appall'd the sight : 74 , THIi cons AIR. Up rose that Dervise- -not in saintly garb, But like a M'arrior bounding on his barb, Dash'd his high cap, and lore hfs robe away — Shone his mail'd breast, and flash'd his sabre's ray I His close but glittering casque, and sable plume, More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom, Glared on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit sprite. Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight. The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow Of flames on high, and torches from below; The sliriek of terror, and the mingling yell — For swords began to clasli, and shouts to swell- Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of hell! Distracted, to and fro, the flying slaves Behold but bloody shore and fiery waves ; Nought heeded they the Pacha's angry cry, They seize that Dervise ! — seize on Zatanai \^^ He saw their terror — check'd the first despair That urged him but to stand and perish there, Since far too early and too well obey'd, The flame was kindled ere the signal made; He saw their terror— from his baldric drew His bugle — brief the blast — but shrilly blew ; 'Tis answer'd — " Well ye speed, my gallant crew ; Why did I doubt their quickness of career ? And deem design had left me single here?" Sweeps his long arm — that sabre's whirling sway, Sheds fast atonement for its first delay ; Completes his fury what their fear begun, And makes the many basely quail to one. The cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread, And scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head : Even Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelm'd, with rage, surpriw^ Retreats before him, though he still defies. No craven he — and yet he dreads the blow. So much Confusion magnifies his foe I His blazing galleys still distract his sight, He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight ;i' For now the Pirates pass'd the Haram gate. And burst within — and it were death to wait ; Where wild Amazement shrieking — kneeling — throws The sword aside — in vain — the blood o'erflows ! The Corsairs pouring, haste to where within, Invited Conrad's bugle, and the din Of groaning victims, and wild cries for life, Proclaim'd how well he did the work of strife. They shout to find him grim and lonely there, A glutted tiger mangling in his lair ! But short their greeting — shorter his reply — ' 'Tis well — but Scyd escapes — and he must die— Much hath been done — but more remains to do— Tlieir galleys blaze — why not their city too ." Quick at the word — they seized him each a torch, And fire the dome from minaret to porch. A stern delight was fix'd in Conrad's eye, But sudden sunk — for on his ear tlie cry Of women struck, and like a deadly Knell Kiiork'd at that heart unmoved by battle's yell. " Ob ! burst the Haram — wrong not on your lives One female form — remember — ive have wives. On them such outrage Vengeance will repay ; Man is our foe, and such 'tis ours to slay : I5ut still we spared— must spare the weaker prey. Oh ! I forgot — but Heaven will not forgive If at my word the helpless cease to live : Follow who will — I go — we yet have time Our souls to lighten of at least a crime." He climbs the crackling stair — he bursts the door, Nor feels his feet glow scorching with the floor ; Elis breath choked gasping with the volumed smoke, But still from room to room his way he broke. They search — they find — they save — with lusty arms Each bears a prize of unregarded charms ; Calm their loud fears ; sustain their sinking frames With all the care defenceless beauty claims : So well could Conrad tame their fiercest mood, And check the very hands with gore imbrued. But who is she ? ■whom Conrad's arms convey From recking pile and combat's wreck — away — Who but tlic love of him he dooms to bleed ? The Ilaram queen — hut still the slave of Seyd I Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare," Few words to re-assure the trembling fair ; For in that pause compassion snateh'd from war, The foe before retiring, fast and far, With wonder saw their footsteps impursued, First slowlier fled — then rallied — then withstood. This Seyd perceives, then first perceives how few, Compared with his, the Corsair's roving crew. And blushes o'er his error, as he eyes The ruin wrought by panic and surprise. Alia il Alia! Vr-ngcance swells the cry — Shame mounts to rage that must atone or die! And flnme for flame and blood for blood must tell. The tide of triumph ebbs that flow'd too well — 76 THE CORSAIR. When wrath returns to renovaterl strife, And those who fought for conquest strike for life. Conrad beheld the danger — he Ijeheld His followers faint by freshening foes repell'd : " One effort — one — to break the circling host !" They form — unite — charge — waver — all is lost! Within a narrower ring compress'd, beset, Hopeless, not heartless, strive and struggle yet — Ah ! now they fight in firmest file no more, Herani'd in — cut off — cleft down — and trarajHed o'er| But each strikes singly, silently, and home, And sinks outwearied rather than o'ercome, His last faint quittance rendering with his breath, Till the blade glimmers in the grasp of death ! But first, ere came the rallying host to blows, And rank to rank, and hand to hand o))pose, Guhiare and all her Haram handmaids freed, Safe in the dome of one who held their creed, By Conrad's mandate safely were bestow'd, And dried those tear? for life and fame that flow'd : And when that dark eyed lady, young Gulnare, Recall'd those thoughts late wandering in despair. Much did she marvel o'er the couriesy, That smooth'd his accents ; soften'd in his eye : 'Twas strange — that robber thus with gore bedew'df Seem'd gentler then than Seyd in fondest mood. The Facha woo'd as if he deem'd tiie slave Must seem delighted with the heart he gave : The Corsair vow'd protection, soothed affright, As if his homage were a woman's right. " Tlie wish is wrong — nay, worse for female — vain; Yet much I long to view that chief again ; If but to thank for, what my fear forgot, The life — my loving lord remember'd not!'' And him she saw, where thickest carnage spread, But gather'd breathing from the happier dead : Far from his band, and battling with a host That deem right dearly won the field he lost, Fell'd — bleeding — baffled of the death he sought, And snatch'd to expiate all the ills he wrought ; Preserved to linger and to live in vain, While Vengeance ponder'd o'er new plans of pain, And stanch'd the blood she saves to shed again — But drop for drop, for Seyd's unghuted eye Would doom hin" ever dying — ne'er to dici THE CORSAIR. 77 Can tins be he ? triiim pliant late she saw, When his red hand's wild gesture waved, a law ! 'Tis he indeed — dis-arni'd hut undeprest, His sole regret tiie life he siill pos^est ; His wounds too slij^lit, thoiigii taken with that will, Which wouhl have kiss'd the hand that then could kiU. ')h wore there none, of all the many given, To send his soul — he scarcely ask'd to heaven? Must he alone of all retain his Ijrcath, Who more than all had striven and struck for death? He deeply felt— what mortal hearts must feel, When thus reversed on faithless fortune's wheel, For crimes committed, and tire victor's threat ( If linu'cring tortures to rejiay the debt — He dec; ly, darkly felt; but evil pride That led to perpetrate — now serves to hide. Still ill his storn and self-collected mien A conqueror's more than capiivo's air is seen. ,- Though faint with wasting toil and stiffening wound, But few that saw — so calmly gazed around: Though the far shouting of the distant crowd, Their tremors o'er, rose insolently loud, The better warriors who beheld him near. Insulted not the foe who taught thesi fear; And the grim guards ihat to his durance led, In silence eyed him with a secret dread. IX. The Leech was sent — but not in mercy — there. To note how much the life yet left could bear; He found enough to load with heaviest chain, And promise feeling for liii^ wreiuh of pain : To-moriow — yea — to-mcrrow's evening sun Will linking see impalement's pangs begun, And rising with the wonted blush of morn Meho'd how well or ill those jiangs are borne. Of loruients this the longest and the worst. Which adds all other agony to thirst, That day by day death still forbears to slake. While famish'd vultures flit around the stake. " Oh ! water — water!" — smiling Hate denies The victim's prayer — for if he drinks — he dies. This was his doom : — the Leech, the guard were gOM^ And left proud Conrad felter'd and alone. 'Twere vain to paint to what his feelings grew — It even were doubtful if their victim knew. There is a war, a chaos of tlie mind, When all its elements convulsed — combined— 78 THE coasAia. Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force, And gnashing witii impenitent Remorse; Tliat juggling fiend — who never spake before — But cries " I warn'd thee !" when the deed is o'er. Vaiu voice ! the spirit burning but unbent, May writhe — rebel — the weak alone repent ! Even in that lonely hour when most it feels, And, to itself, all — all that self reveals, No single passion, and no ruling thought That leaves the rest as once unseen, unsought ; But the wild prospect when the soul reviews — All rushing through their thousand avenues, Ambition's dreams expiring,^ove's regret, Endanger'd gloiy, life itself beset ; Tlie joy untasted, the contempt or hate 'Gainst those who fain would triumph in our fate • Tlie hopeless past, the hasting future driven Too quickly on to guess if hell or heaven ; Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps remember'd not So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot ; Things light or lovely in their acted time, But now to stern reflection each a crime ; The withering sense of evil unreveal'd. Not cankering less because tlie more conceal'd — All, in a word, from which all eyes must start, That opening sepulchre — the naked heart Bares with its buried woes, till Pride awake. To snatch the mirror from the soul— and break. Ay — Pride can veil, and Courage brave it all, All— all — before — beyond — the deadliest fall. Each has some fear, and he who least betrays. The only hypocrite deserving praise : Not the loud recreant wretch who boasts and flies ; But he who looks on death — and silent dies. So steel'd by pondering o'er his far career, lie halfway meets him should he menace near! lu the high chamber of liis highest tower Sate Conrad, fettcr'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 raann'd ; One thought alone he could not — dared not meet— " Oh, how these tirUngs will Medora greet ? " Then — only — then — his clanking hands he raised, And strained with rage the chain on which he gazed : TIIR COIIMAIR. 79 But soon he found — or feign'd — or ilreain'd relief, And smiled in sclf-derision of his grief, " And now come torture when it will — or may More need of rest to nerve me for the day !" This s.iid, with langour to his mat he erept And, whatsoe'er his visions, quickly slept* 'Twas hardly midnight when that fray begun, Far Conrad's plans matured, at once were done: And Havoc loathes so much Ihi; waste of time, Shr scarce had left an uncommitted crime. One hour beheld him since the tide he stenim'd — 1 )isguiscd — discover'd — conquering — ta'en — condemn'd-^ A chii-f on land — an outlaw on the deep — IJesiroyiiig — saving — prison'd — and asleep ! XII. lie slept in calmest seeming — for his breath Was hush'd so deep — Ah! happy, if in death! >- lie slept — Who o'er his placid slumber bends ? His foes are gone — and here he hath no friends: Is it soii^o seraph sent to grant him grace ? No, 'tis an earthly form with heavenly face! Us white arm raised a lamp — yet gently hid. Lest th(; ray flash abruptly on the lid Of tl-.^. : :i.-ed eye. which opens but to pain. And jf in 'incloieo — out ouce may close again. T bat tbrfi!. with eye s-.^ fjarii, and check so fair; An! au!)ur'i waves of jjeiETn'd and 'oralded hair With shape of fair7,' lightness — nake.u fooV, "Wiat snines .'i'lve snow, and falls evi earth an mute— • Through guards and diu'.ncst nijr.ii oc-.t cap« It there; Ah ! rather ask what will not >v',!ran daie; Whom youth and pity lead like thee, liuiaar'.'.' Slie could not sleep — and while the Pacha's rest In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate guest, Siie left his side — his signet-ring she bore, \\ liich oft in sport adorned her hand t)efore — 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 mores Just raised their heads to hail the signet-ring, Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring. XIII. She giizcd 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 ? dC THE COPSAIR. True — 'tis to him my life, and more, I owe, And me and mme he spared from worse than woe: 'Tis late to think — but soft — his slumber breaks — • How heavily he sighs ! — lie starts — awakes !" He raised his head — and dazzled with the light, His eye seem'd dubious if it saw aright : He niov'd 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, Metliinks, my jailor's face show's wond'rous fair 1" " Pirate ! thou knowest 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 baud. I come through darkness — and I scarce know why- Yet net to hurt — 1 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 1" Strange though it seem — yet with extremest grief Is link'd 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 ihe joy to which it seems akin — It may deceive all hearts, save that within. Whate'ei- it was that flash'd on Conrad, now A laughing wildness half unbent his brow : And these bis accents had a sound of mirth, (Is if r,lie iast he could enjoy on earth ; Ifet 'gainst his ".atnre— -for through that short life, 'ew t'ii';u{rht'- ^;ari ht. -.o spare irom c'loom and strife. •* torsair ! thy doom is namf d — Ci'. L ntve p(;we>; i'c -dothe the Pacha in his 'veaker hour. rViet ^vould I spare — nay more — woiid £,ave thee uovr, But 'his — time — hope — nor even th, ftrength ailow:; But lii I can, I will: at least, delay Tlie •ipn'f-nce that remits thee scarce a day. More now were ruin — even thyself were loth The vain n'lempt should bring but doom to both." '• Yes ! — loft: indeed : — my soul is nerved to all, Or fali'n too low to fear a furthor fall : THK COKSAlll. 81 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 hand 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 NVerc these — my hark — my sword— my love — my God I The last I left in youth — he leaves me now — And Man hut 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- 1 breathe — and I can bear. My sword is sliakcu from the worthless hand Tliat 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 moie than kind, And blight a form — till thine appear'd, Gulnare I Mine eve ne'er ask'd if others were so fair." " Thou lov'st another then ? — but what to me Is this — 'tis nothing — nothing e'er can be : But yet — thou lov'st — and — Oh ! 1 envy those 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 redeem'd thee from a fiery tomb." " My love stern Seyd's ! Oh— No— !^o— not my love- Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once 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 favour'd slave iit 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 V 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 lakes the hand 1 give not — nor withhold — Its pulse nor check'd — nor quicken'd — calmly cold: And when resign'd, it drops :i lifeless weight From one I never loved eiiougb to hate. • No warmth those lips return by his imprest, Kod chill'd reniembraiici! bhudders o'er the rest. 82 T[!E CORSAIR, Yes — had I ever proved that passion's zeal, Tke change to hatred were at least to feel But still — he goes unmoura'd — returns unsought— And oft when present — absent from my thought Cr 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 1 '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 !* XV. She press'd his fotter'd fingers to her heart. And bow'd her head, and turn'd her to depart ind noiseless as a lovely dream is gone. And was she here? and is she now alone ? What gem hath dropp'd 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 polish'd by the hand divine 1 Oil ! too convincing — dangerously dear — (n woman's eye the unanswerable tear! Thai 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 faidt forgiven By this — how many lose not earth — but heaven 1 Consign their souls to man's eternal foe, And seal their own to snare some wanton's woe, XVI. 'Tis mom — 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; Whi.'e sets that sun, the dews of evening melt, Chill — wet — and misty round each stitt'en'd limb Refreshing earth — reviving all but him ! — THE CORSAIR. B3 CANTO THE THIRD. " Come T«ili— aacor nsa m'abbandona." Dantb, I. Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun; Not, as in northeru climes, ohscnrely hright, lUit one unclouded blaze of living light ! O'er the hush'il deep the yeilosv beam he throws, Ciilils the green wave, that trembles as it glows. On old iEginu's rock, and Idra's isle, The god of gladness sheds his parting smile; O'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine, Tl'.ough there his altars arc no more divine. Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss Thy glorious gulf, uneouquiT'd Salamis ! Their azuro arches through the long expanse More deci)ly purpled meet his mellowing glance. And tenderest tints, along their sumunts driven, Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven j Till darkly shaded from the laud and deep, Behind Ids Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep. On such an eve, his palest beam he cast, AVhen — Alliens I here thy Wisest look'd his last. How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray. That closed their murder'd sage's''' latest day 1 Nor yet — nor yet — Sol pauses on the hill — The precious hour of parting lingers still; 15ut sad his light to agonising eyes. And ilark the mountain's once ilcliglftful dyes: (;ioom o'er the lovely lanrl he scem'd to pour, The land, where I'hoebus never frown'd before; But ere he sank below CilliKrou's head, The cup of woe was quaff' d — the spirit fled ; The soul of him who scorn'd to fear or fly — Who lived and died, as none can live or die I 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 ihc moon-beams play There the white colunm greets iier grateful ray. And, iH-ight around with quivering beams beset, Mer emblem sparkles o'er the minaret : Tlic groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide NA'hnrc meek Ccphisus ponrs his scanty tide. The cypress ?nddening by the sacred mosque The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk,"* 8* THE CORSAIR. And, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calm, Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm, All tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye — And dull were his that pass'd them heedless bf. Again the ^gean, heard no more afar, Lulls his chafed breast from elemental w*r ; Again his waves in milder tints unfold Their long array of sapphire and of gold, Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle, That frown— where gentler ocean seems to smile. II. Not now my theme — why turn my thoughts to thte? Oh I 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 1 could thine evening face forget ? Not he — whose heart nor time nor distance frees, Spell-bouiul within the clustering Cyclades! Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain, His Corsiar's isle was once thine own domain — Would that with freedom it were thine again ! III. The sun hath snnk — 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 nonei 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 pass'd 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 1 It came at last — a sad and siiatter'd boat, Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought; Some bleeding — all most wretched — these the few- 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 . THE CORSAIR. bb SonuHhing they would have said ; but secm'd to fear To trust their accents to Medoia's ear. She saw at once, yet sunk nnt — trembled not — Beneath that grief, that lonehness of lot, NVilhin that meek fair form, were feelings high, That (ieem'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 Dcliiium gathers from the fever's heiglit. " Silent you stand — nor would I hear you tell Uhat — 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." " Lady 1 we know not — scarce with life we fled, But here is one denies that he is dead: He saw him bound ; and bleeding — but alive." She heard no further — 'twas In vain to strive — So throbb'd each vein — each thought — till then withstoodj Her own dark soul — these words at once subdued : She totters — falls — and senseless had the wave I'erchance 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 ; Uasli 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 strange, \\ ith thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge ; All, save repose or flight : and still lingering there liiiMthed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair ; W luit'er his fate — the breasts he form'd and led, 'Vill save him living, or appease him dead. Woe; to his foes 1 there yet survive a few, Whose deeds arc daring, as their hearts arc true. V. Within the llaram's secret chamber sate Stern Seyd, still pondering o'er his Cajjtive's fate; His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell. Now with Gulnarc. and now in Conrad's cell ; 86 THE COUSAIR. Here at his feet the lovely slave- reclined Surveys his brow — would soothe his gloom of mind; While many an anxious glance her large da-k eye Sends in its idle search for sympathy, His only bends in seeming o'er his beads," 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 •wortMcss for thy hate: Methinks, a short release, for ransom told With all his treasure, not unwisely sold; 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 Of wealth were here — that gold should not redeem > It had not now redeem'd a single hour ; But that I know him fetter'd, in my power ; And, thirsting for revenge, 1 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 hii> arms through fire from yon Serai- Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly ? THE CORSAIR. 87 Thou iiced'st not answer — thy confession speaks, Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks; Then, lovely dame, bethink thee ! and beware: "J'is not /lii life alone may claim such care : Anotlicr word and — nay — I need no more. Accursed was the moment when he bore Thee from the flames, which better far — but — no— I tiieii bad mourn'd tlice with a lover's woe — 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 bis 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! Wiien soft could feel, and when incensed could dare, Ilis doubts appear'd to wrong — nor yet she knew How deep the root from wlience compassion grew— 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! VI. 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 ccho'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 ; 'Twas worn — perhaps decay'd — yet silent bore That conflict, deadlier far than all before : Tlic heat of fight, the hurry of the gale, Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail; But bound and fix'd in fctter'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, 88 THE CORSAIA. With not a fiuend to animate, and tell To other ears that death hecame thee well ; Around thee foes to forge the ready lie, And hlot life's latest scene with calumny; Before thee tortures, which the soul can dare, Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear j But deeply feels a single cry would shame, To valour'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 paiu : And those sustain'd he — boots it well or ill ? Since not to sink beneath is something still ! VII. 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, 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 ; Aud now its dashing echo'd on his ear, A long kno\^ n voice — alas ! too vainly near ! Loud sung the wind above ; and, doubly loud, Shook o'er his turret-cell the tlinnder-cloud; Aiul flash'd 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 I'aised 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 roU'd onward, and disdain'd to strike; Its peal wax'd fainter — ceas'd — he felt alone, As if some faithless friend had spurn'd his groan vm. The midnight pass'd — and to the massy dooi 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 shft ' THB CORSAIR. 89 Wliate'er her sins, to him a guardian saint, And heauteous still as hermit's hope can paint; Yet.clianged since last within that cell she came, More pale her chtek, more tremulous her frame . On him she cast her dark and hurried eye, Which spoke hefore her accents — " Thou must diet 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 ] earn'd — nor here alone — the meed Of Seyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed." " Why should I seek? because — Oh ! didst thou not Kei. fiiiiii^ fe>m' . Hut since the dagger suits iln-: irk* iha" nvand. I'll try the firmness of a fcrnaic hand. The guards are gain'd — one moment all were o'cr 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 followed 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 andjjolt 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 indisftnct and weak ? Chance guides his steps— a freshness seems to bear Full on his brow, as if from morning air — He reach'd an open gallery — on his eye Gleam'd 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 outwarj past, Tlien paused — and turn'd — and paused — 'tis she at last I No poniard in that hand — nor sign of ill — " Thanks to that softening heart — she could not kill I" Again he look'd, the wildncss 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 lier doubt or dread. They meet — upon her brow — unknown — forgot — Her hurrying hand had left — 'twas but a spot — Its line was all he saw, and scarce withstood — Oh ! slight but certain pledge of crime — 'tis bloodl 92 THE CORSAIR. X. He had seen battle— he had brooded lone O'er promised pangs to sentenced guilt foreshowil>. 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 straifd." She clapp'd her hands — and through the gallery pour, Equipp'd for flight, her vassals — Greek and Moor; Silent but quick they stoop, his chains unbind; Once more his limbs are free as mountain wind I 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. Embark'd, the sail unfurl'd, the light breeze hlew— 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 pass'd ; He thought of all — Gonsalvo and his band. His fleeting triumph and his failing hand; THE CORSAIR. IS He thought on her afar, nis lonely bride ; lie turn'd aiwl saw — Gulnare, the homicide I 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. She knelt beside him and his hand she press'd, " Thou may'st forgive, though Alla's self detest. Rut for that deed of darkness what wert thou ? Reproach me — but not yet — Oh ! spare me now I I am not what I seem — this fearful night My brain bewilder'd — do not madden quite 1 If I had never loved — though less my guilt. Thou hadst not lived to — hate me — if thou wilt." XV. She wrongs his thoughts, they more himself upbraid ^ Thau her, though undesign'd, the wTetch he made ; But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest, Thoy 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 liooras harmless, hissing to the deep below. L'p rose keei:*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 m^in !" 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 ! XVI. These greetings o'f-r, the feelings that o'erflow, Yet grieve to win him hack without a blow: 94 THE COKSAIK. They sail'd prepared for vengeance — had they known A woman's hand secured that deed her own, She were their queen — less scrupulous are they Than haughty Conrad how they win ilieir way. With many an asking smile, and wondering stare, They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare; And her, at once above — beneatli her sex, Whom blood appall'd not, their regards [lerplex. To Conrad turns her faini imploring eye. She drops her veil, and stands in silence by ; Her arms are meekly folded on that breast. 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 ! XVII. 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 giult, 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 -eyed 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 colour 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 — 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 ihe 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 ', XVIII. They gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle. To them the lery rocks appear to smile ; THE CORSAIR. fft The liavcn hums with many a cheering sound, The beacons blaze their Wdnted stations round, The boats are darting o'er tlie curly bay, And !>|)oilive dolphins beini tliciu through the spray; Even the hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discordant shriek, Greets like the wt-lconie of his •.uneless beak 1 Utiieath eacii lamp that through its lattice gleams, Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams. Oh ! V. hat can sanctify the joys of home, Like Hope's gay glance from Ocean's troubled foam ? XIX. The lights are high on bracon and from bower. And 'midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower: lie looks in vain — 'lis stiange — and all remark, Amid so many, hers alone is dark. 'Tis strange — of yore its welcome never fail'd, Nor now, perchance, extinguish'd, only veil'd. With the lirst 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 NVitb the first pause the resting rowers gave, He waits not — looks not — leaps into the wave, S'.rivi's 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 round. 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 Rflused to aid his heavy heart's demand. The portal opi;ns — 'tis a well known face — But not the form he panted to embrace. lis lips are silent — twice his cwn essay'd, And fail'd to frame the questiou they delay'd ; lie siiatcli'd the lamp — its light will answer all— It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall, lie would not wait for that reviving ray — As soon could he have linger'd there for day ; Hut, glimmering through the dusky corridor, Another chequers o'er the shadow'd floor; His steps the chamber gain — his eyes behold All that his heart believed not — yet foretold I XX. He turn'd not — spoke not — sunk not — fix'd his Isokf And set the anxious frame that lately shook : He gnzed — bow long we gaze despite of pain. And know, luit dare not own, we gaze in vain! 96 THE COKSAIR. 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 gasp 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 lips 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 bind; These — and the pale pure cheelc, became the bier— But she is nothing — wherefore is he here ? XXI. He ask'd no question — a^' were answer'd now By the first glance on that still — marble brow. 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 could 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 t The proud — the wayward — who have fix'd below Their joy, and find this earth enough for woe, 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. XXII. By those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest The indistinctness of the suflfering breast ; Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, Which seeks from all the refuge found in none ; No words suffice the secret soul to show, For Truth denies all eloquence to Woe. On Conrad's stricken soul exhaustion prest, And stupor almost luU'd it into rest ; So feeble now — his mother's softness crept To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept i THK CORSAIIi. 97 It was tlie very weakness of his brain, Which thin confessM 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 — broketiness of heart: The sun goes forth — hut Conrad's day is dim ; And the night coineth — ne'er to pass from him. There is r,o darkness like the cloud of mind, On Griefs vain eye — the blindest of the blind ! Which may not — dare not see — but turns aside To blackest shade — noi will endure a guide ! XXIII. ilis heart was form'd for softness — warp'd to wrong; IJetray'd too early, and beguiled too long: Each feeling pure — as falls the drojjping dew Within the grot; like that had harden'd too; Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials pass'd, i Hut sunk, and chillM, and petrified at last. Yet t< mpests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock. If such his heart, so shattcr'd it the shock. There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, Thniigh dark the shade^t shelter'd — saved till now. The thunder came — tlie bolt bath blasted both, The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth : The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell lis tale, but shrunk and wither'd where it fell ; And of its cold protector, blacken round Hut shiver'd fragments on the barren ground! XXIV. 'Tis morn — to venture on his lonely hour I'ew 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 : Tlieir hopes revive — they follow o'er the main. 'lis irlle 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 ,iuld seem in more tlian nature's fear; \et Le was firm, or had beefi firm tijl now, And still defiance knit his gather'd brow ; Though mix'd with terror, senseless as he lay, There lived upon his lip the wish to slay ; Some balf.form'd threat in utterance there had died, some imprecation of despairing pride ; liis eje was almost seal'd, but not forsook Lvcn in its trance the gladiator's look, Thai oft awake bis aspect could disclose, Anci now was fix'd in horrible repose, Tliey raise him— bear him ;— hush ! he breathes, he apcaklL The swarthy blush recolours in his cheeks, r— » }Iis lip resumes Us red, his eye, though dim, Robs wide and wild, each slowly quivering Jimb Uecallsits function, but his words are strung In terms that seem not of his native tongue ; Distinct but strange, enough they understand To deem them accents of another land; And such they were, and meant to meet an ear That hears him not— alas ! that cannot heur I His page approach'd, and he alone appeaPd To know the import of the words they heard ; And, by the changes of his cheek and' bro\?, They were not such as Lara should avow, Nor he interpret, — yet with less surprise Than those around their chieftain's state be ajtt, iUu Lara's prostrate form he bent beside, And in that tongue which seem'd his own replied, And Lara heeds those tones that gently seem To soothe away the horrors of his dream — If dream it were, that thus could overthrow A breast that needed not ideal woe. XV. Whate'er his frenzy dream'd or eye beheld. It yet remember'd ne'er to be reveal'd. Rests at his heart : the custom'd morning came, And breathed new vigour in his shaken frame; And solace sought he none from priest or leecn, And soon the same in movement and in speech As heretofore he fill'd the passing hours,— ^or less he smiles, nor more his forehead lowers. Than these were wont : and if the coming night Apptar'd less welcome now to Lara's sight, He to his marvelling vassals sliow'd it not. Whose shuddering proved t/teir fear was Jess forgot. 1U4 I.AR^ Iti trembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl, The astonish'd slaves, and shun the fated hall ; The waving banner, and the clapping door, The rustling tapestry, and the echouig tioor; The long dun shadows of surrounding trees. The flapping bat. the night song of the breeze ; Aught they behold or hear their thought appals, As evening au.ddens o'er the dark grey walls. XVI. Vain thought ! that hour of ne'er unravelled gloom Came not a^^aiK,. o; Li.ra could assume A. seeming jI ior)/);tfulneas, that made His vassals more aiaa'icd c.ir ls*s afraid — • Had memory vaiusli'd tfaiu wi»h w.i'.^c. restored ? Since word, nor look, uor gesture of uicir lord IJetray d a feeling thii rifiall'd to tliese That fever' d moment of his mind's disease. Was it a dream .' was lu3 the voice that spoke Those strange wild acceuis ; his i):€