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George Gordon Byron - The Corsair
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`O`er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, 
Our thoughts as boundless, and our soul`s as free 
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, 
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits 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 thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease! 
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 fight, 
And turn what some deem danger to delight; 
That seeks what cravens shun 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 - 
When lost - what recks it but disease or strife? 
Let him who crawls enamour`d of decay, 
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away: 
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 who win at length divide the prey, 
And cry, Remembrance saddening o`er each brow, 
How had the brave who fell exulted now!` 

II.
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: 
Select the arms-to each his 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 eve 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 chief`s allotment this; 
Theirs, to believe no prey nor plan amiss. 
But who 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 him untasted still - 
And for his fare - the rudest of his crew 
Would that, in turn, have pass`d untasted too; 
Earth`s coarsest bread, the garden`s homeliest roots, 
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 shuns the grosser joys of sense, 
His mind seems nourish`d by that abstinence. 
`Steer to that shore! ` - they sail. `Do this!` - `tis 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; 
So To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye 
Convey reproof, nor further deign reply. 

III.
`A sail! - sail! ` -a promised prize to Hope! 
Her nation - flag - how speaks the telescope? 
No prize, alas! but 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 stem. 
`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 word: 
`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!` 

VI.
`Where is our chief? for him we bear report - 
And doubt that joy - which hails our coming short; 
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 watch-tower beetles o`er the bay, 
By bushy brake, and wild flowers blossoming, 
And freshness breathing from each silver spring, 
Whose scatter`d streams from granite basins burst, 
Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst; 
From crag to cliff 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 mood 
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, 
Much 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?` 
`In the anchor`d bark` 
 `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 hour and we are gone. 
Sling on thy bugle - 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 fit 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.
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, 
And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue; 
Still sways 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! 
Link`d with success, assumed and kept with skill, 
That moulds another`s weakness to its will; 
Wields with 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! 
`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, 
How light the balance of his humbler pains! 

IX.
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-bumt his cheek, his forehead high and pale 
The sable curls in wild profusion veil; 
And oft perforce his rising lip reveals 
The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals 
Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien` 
Still 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 that murkiness of mind 
Work`d feelings fearful, and yet undefined 
Such might it be - that none could truly tell - 
Too close inquiry 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! 

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, the 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! 
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 driven 
Him forth to war with man and forfeit heaven 
Warp`d by the world in Disappointment`s school, 
In words too wise, in conduct there a fool; 
Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop, 
Doom`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 deem`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 seem`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; 
His name could sadden, and his acts surprise; 
But 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 offender`s form it clings, 
And he may crush-not conquer-still it stings! 

XII.
None are 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; 
Yet `gainst that passion vainly still he strove, 
And even in him it asks the name of Love! 
Yes, it was love-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 sooth`d his most unguarded hour. 
Yes-it was Love-if thoughts of tenderness 
Tried in temptation, strengthen`d by distress 
Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime, 
And yet-oh more than all! untired by time; 
Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile, 
Could render sullen were she near to smile, 
Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent 
On her one murmur of his discontent; 
Which still would meet with joy, with calmness part, 
Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart; 
Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove- 
If there be love in mortals-this was love! 
He was a villain-ay, reproaches shower 
On him-but 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 pass`d 
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. 
Ay, let them slumber-peaceful be their dreams! 
Morn ne`er awoke them with such brilliant beams 
As kindle high to-flight (but blow, thou breeze!) 
To warm these slow avengers of the sea 
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 my care, 
But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare: 
Is this my 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, not yet too late.` 

XIV.
Thus with himself communion held he, till 
He reach`d the summit of his towercrown`d hill: 
There at the portal paused-or wild and soft 
He heard those accents never heard too oft 
Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung, 
And these the notes his bird of beauty sung: 

    1.
`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 of so much love!` 

He pass`d the portal, cross`d the corridor, 
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 action to my bosom suit, 
My heart unhush`d, although my lips were mute! 
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! 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! it pass`d! 
Another came-Oh God! `twas thine at last! 
Would that those days 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: 
Thou 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 cease 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 anchor`d 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 wouldst 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; 
Yes! thy sherbet tonight will sweetly flow, 
See how it sparkles in its vase of snow! 
The grapes` gay juice thy bosom 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 the dance, or wake the song; 
Or my guitar, which still thou lov`st to hear` 
Shall soothe or lull-or, should it vex thine ear 
We`ll turn the` tale, by Ariosto told, 
Of fair Olympia loved and left of old. 
Why, thou wert worse than he who broke his vow 
To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me now; 
Or even that traitor chief-I`ve seen thee smile, 
When the dear sky show`d Ariadne`s Isle, 
Which I have pointed from these cliffs the while: 
And thus half sportive, half in fear, I said, 
Lest time should rake that doubt to more than dread, 
Thus Conrad, too, win quit me for the main; 
And he deceived me-for he came again!` 

`Again, again-and 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 where - 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 watch a more than wonted guard, 
For sudden siege and long defence prepared: 
Nor be thou lonely, though thy lord `s away, 
Our matrons and thy handmaids 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 sprung-she clung to his embrace, 
Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face: 
He dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye, 
Which downcast droop`d in tearless agony. 
Her long fair hair lay floating o`er his arms, 
In all the wildness of dishevell`d charms; 
Scarce beat that bosom where 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 tottering 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 Conrad gone? 

XV.
`And is he gone?` on sudden solitude 
How oft that fearful question will intrude 
"Twas 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, bright, 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 tender blue of that large loving eye 
Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy, 
Till-Oh? how far!-it caught a glimpse of him, 
And then it flow`d, and phrensied seem`d to swim 
Through those` long, dark, and glistening lashes dew`d 
With drops of sadness oft to be renew`d. 
`He`s gone! `-against her heart that 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!` 

XVI.
From crag to crag descending, swiftly sped 
Stern Conrad down, nor once he turn`d 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 
His 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 dang 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 flag aloft, 
He marvell`d how his heart could seem so soft. 
Fire in his glance, and wildness in his 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 learn`d to curb the crowd, 
By arts that veil and oft preserve the proud; 
His was the lofty port, the distant mien, 
That seems to shun the sight-and awes if seen: 
The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye, 
That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy; 
All these he wielded to command assent: 
But where he wish`d to win, so well unbent 
That kindness cancell`d fear in those who heard, 
And others` gifts show`d mean beside his word, 
When echo`d to the heart as from his own 
His deep yet tender melody of tone: 
But such was foreign to his wonted mood, 
He 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. 

XVII.
Around him mustering ranged his ready guard, 
Before him Juan stands - `Are all prepared?` 
They are - nay more - embark`d: the boats 
Waits but my Chief-` 
 My sword, and my capote.` 
Soon firmly girded on, and lightly slung, 
His belt and cloak were o`er his shoulders flung: 
`Call Pedro here!` He comes - and Conrad bends, 
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 three days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shine 
On our return - till then all peace be thine!` 
This said, his brother Pirate`s hand he wrung, 
Then to his boat with haughty gesture sprung. 
Flash`d the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke, 
Around the waves` phosphoric brightness broke; 
They gain the vessel - on the deck he stands, - 
Shrieks the shrill whistle, ply the busy hands - 
He marks how well the ship her helm obeys, 
How gallant all her crew, and deigns to praise. 
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! 
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 and 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 clustering 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; 
Screen`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 lean`d their leader o`er the fretting flood, 
And calmly talk`d-and yet he talk`d of blood! 


CANTO THE SECOND 

`Conoscestci dubiosi desiri?`~Dante 

I.
IN Coron`s bay floats many a galley light, 
Through Coron`s lattices the lamps are bright 
For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night: 
A feast for promised triumph yet to come, 
When he shall drag the fetter`d Rovers home; 
This hath he sworn by Allah and his sword, 
And faithful to his firman and his word, 
His summon`d prows collect along the coast, 
And great the gathering crews, and loud the boast; 
Already shared the captives and the prize, 
Though far the distant foe they thus despise 
`Tis but to sail - no doubt to-morrow`s Sun 
Will see the Pirates bound, their haven won! 
Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will, 
Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill. 
Though all, who can, disperse on shore and seek 
To flesh their glowing valour on the Greek; 
How well such deed becomes the turban`d brave - 
To bare the sabre`s edge before a slave! 
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 the blow, 
To keep in practice for the coming foe. 
Revel and rout the evening hours beguile, 
And they who wish to wear a head must smile 
For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer, 
And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear. 

II.
High in his hall reclines the turban`d Seyd; 
Around-the bearded chiefs he came to lead. 
Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff - 
Forbidden draughts, `tis said, he dared to quaff, 
Though to the rest the sober berry`s juice 
The slaves bear round for rigid Moslems` use; 
The long chibouque`s dissolving cloud supply, 
While dance the Almas to wild minstrelsy. 
The rising morn will view the chiefs embark; 
But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark: 
And revellers may more securely sleep 
On silken couch than o`er the rugged deep: 
Feast there who can - nor combat till they must, 
And less to conquest than to Korans trust: 
And yet the numbers crowded in his host 
Might warrant more than even the Pacha`s boast. 

III.
With cautious reverence from the outer gate 
Slow stalks the slave, whose office there to wait, 
Bows his bent head, his hand salutes the floor, 
Ere yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore: 
`A captive Dervise, from the Pirate`s nest 
Escaped, is here - himself would tell the rest.` 
He took the sign from Seyd`s assenting eye, 
And led the holy man in silence nigh. 
His arms were folded on his dark-green vest, 
His step was feeble, and his look deprest; 
Yet worn he seem`d of hardship more than years, 
And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears. 
Vow`d to his God - his sable locks he wore, 
And these his lofty cap rose proudly o`er: 
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown 
And wrapt `a breast bestow`d on heaven alone; 
Submissive, yet with self-possession mann`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 Scalanova`s port to Scio`s isle, 
The Saick was bound; but Allah did not smile 
Upon our course - the Moslem merchant`s gains 
The Rovers won; our limbs have worn their chains. 
I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast 
Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost; 
At length a fisher`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 mourning eye, 
That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy; 
I only heard the reckless waters roar 
Those waves that would not bear me from the shore; 
I only mark`d the glorious sun and sky, 
Too bright, too blue, or 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, rest from tossing waves: 
Permit my absence - peace be with thee! Peace 
With all around! - now grant repose - release.` 

`Stay, Dervise! I have more to question - stay, 
I do command thee - sit - dost hear? - obey! 
More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring 
Thou shalt not pine where all are banqueting: 
The supper done - prepare thee to reply, 
Clearly and full -I  love not mystery.` 
`Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man, 
Who look`d not lovingly on that Divan; 
Nor show`d high relish for the banquet prest, 
And less respect for every fellow guest. 
`Twas but a moment`s peevish hectic pass`d 
Along his cheek, and tranquillised as fast: 
He sate him down in silence, and his look 
Resumed the calmness which before forsook: 
This feast was usher`d in, but sumptuous fare 
He shunn`d as if some poison mingled there. 
For one so long condemn`d to toil and fast, 
Methinks he strangely spares the rich re-past. 

`What ails thee, Dervise? eat - dost thou suppose 
This feast a Christian`s? or my friends thy foes? 
Why dost thou shun the salt? that sacred pledge, 
Which once partaken, blunts the sabre`s edge, 
Makes ev`n contending tribes in peace unite, 
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight!` 

`Salt seasons dainties-and my food is still 
The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill; 
And my stern vow and order`s laws oppose 
To break or mingle bread with friends or foes; 
It may seem strange - if there be aught to dread, 
That peril rests upon my single head; 
But for thy sway - nay more - thy Sultan`s throne, 
I 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 ? - Ha! it cannot sure be day? 
What star - what sun is bursting on the bay? 
It shines a lake of fire ! - away - away! 
Ho! treachery! my guards! my scimitar! 
The galleys feed the flames - and I afar! 
Accursed Dervise! - these thy tidings - thou 
Some villain spy-seize cleave him - slay him now!` 

Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light, 
Nor less his change of form appall`d the sight: 
Up rose that Dervise - not in saintly garb, 
But like a warrior bounding on his barb, 
Dash`d his high cap, and tore his robe away - 
Shone his mail`d breast, and flash`d his sabre`s ray! 
His dose 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 shriek of terror, and the mingling yell - 
For swords began to dash` 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 dispair 
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 answered-` 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 surprise, 
Retreats before him, though he still defies. 
No craven he - and yet he dreads the blow, 
So much Confusion magnifies his foe! 
His blazing galleys still distract his sight, 
He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight; 
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 Seyd escapes, and he must die- 
Much hath been done, but more remains to do - 
Their galleys blaze - why not their city too?` 

V.
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 the cry 
Of women struck, and like a deadly knell 
Knock`d at that heart unmoved by battle`s yell. 
`Oh! burst the Haram - wrong not on your lives 
One female form remember - we have wives. 
On them such outrage Vengeance will repay; 
Man is our foe, and such `tis ours to slay: 
But 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; 
His 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 reeking pile and combat`s wreck away - 
Who but the love of him he dooms to bleed? 
The Haram queen - but still the slave of Seyd! 
  
VI.
Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare, 
Few words to re-assure the trembling fair 
For in that pause compassion snatch`d from war, 
The foe before retiring, fast and far, 
With wonder saw their footsteps unpursued, 
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. 
Alla il Alla! Vengeance swells the cry - 
Shame mounts to rage that must atone or die! 
And flame for flame and blood for blood must tell, 
The tide of triumph ebbs that flow`d too well - 
When wrath returns to renovated strife, 
And those who fought for conquest strike for life 
Conrad beheld the danger - he beheld 
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, 
Hemm`d in, cut off, cleft down, and trampled 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! 
  
VII.
But first, ere came the rallying host to blows, 
And rank to rank, and hand to hand oppose, 
Gulnare 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 tears 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 courtesy 
That smooth`d his accents, soften`d in his eye: 
`Twas strange-that robber thus with gore bedew`d 
Seem`d gentler then than Seyd in fondest mood. 
The Pacha woo`d as if he deem`d the 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. 
`The 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 forget, 
The life my loving lord remember`d not!` 
  
VIII.
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 unglutted eye 
Would doom him ever dying - ne`er to die! 
Can this be he? triumphant late she saw 
When his red hand`s wild gesture waved  a law! 
`Tis he indeed - disarm`d but undeprest, 
His sole regret the life he still possest; 
His wounds too slight, though taken with that will, 
Which would have kiss`d the hand that then could kill. 
Oh were there none, of all the many given, 
To send his soul - he scarcely ask`d to heaven? 
Must he alone of all retain his breath, 
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 the victor`s threat 
Of lingering tortures to repay the debt - 
He deeply, darkly felt; but evil pride 
That led to perpetrate, now serves to hide. 
Still in his stern and self-collected mien 
A conqueror`s more than captive`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 them fear; 
And the grim guards that 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 the wrench of pain; 
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