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George Gordon Byron - The Corsair
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To-morrow - yea - tomorrow`s evening gun 
Will sinking see impalement`s pangs begun` 
And rising with the wonted blush of morn 
Behold how well or ill those pangs are borne. 
Of torments 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 gone, 
And left proud Conrad fetter`d and alone. 
  
X.
`Twere vain to paint to what his feelings grew - 
It even were doubtful if their victim knew. 
There is a war, a chaos of the mind, 
When all its elements convulsed, combined, 
Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force, 
And gnashing with impenitent Remorse - 
That juggling fiend, who never spake before 
But cries `I warn`d thee!` when the deed is o`er. 
Vain 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, love`s regret, 
Endanger`d glory, life itself beset; 
The joy untasted, the contempt or hate 
`Gainst those who fain would triumph in our fate 
The hopeless` past, the hasting future driven 
Too quickly on to guess of 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 the more con ceal`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 hath 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, 
He half-way meets him should he menace near! 
  
XI.
In the high chamber of his highest tower 
Sate Conrad, fetter`d in the Pacha`s power. 
His palace perish`d in the flame - this fort 
Contain`d at once his captive and his court. 
Not much could Conrad of his sentence blame, 
His foe, if vanquish`d, had but shared the same:- 
Alone he sate-in solitude had scann`d 
His guilty bosom, but that breast he mann`d: 
One thought alone he could not - dared not meet - 
`Oh, how these tidings will Medora greet?` 
Then - only then - his clanking hands he raised, 
And strain`d with rage the chain on which he gazed 
But soon he found, or feign`d, or dream`d relief, 
And smiled in self-derision of his grief, 
`And now come torture when it will - or may, 
More need of rest to nerve me for the day!` 
This said, with languor to his mat he crept, 
And, whatsoe`er his visions, quickly slept 

`Twas hardly midnight when that fray begun, 
For Conrad`s plans matured, at once were done: 
And Havoc loathes so much the waste of time, 
She scarce had left an uncommitted crime. 
One hour beheld him since the tide he stemm`d - 
Disguised, discover`d, conquering, ta`en, condemn`d - 
A chief on land, an outlaw on the deep 
Destroying, saving, prison`d, and asleep! 

XII.
He slept in calmest seeming, for his breath 
Was hush`d so deep - Ah! happy if in death! 
He slept - Who o`er his placid slumber bends? 
His foes are gone, and here he hath no friends; 
Is it some seraph sent to grant him grace? 
No, `tis an earthly form with heavenly face! 
Its white arm raised a lamp - yet gently hid, 
Lest the ray flash abruptly on the lid 
Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain, 
And once unclosed - but once may close again 
That form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair, 
And auburn waves of gemm`d and braided hair; 
With shape of fairy lightness - naked foot, 
That shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute - 
Through guards and dunnest night how came it there? 
Ah! rather ask what will not woman dare? 
Whom youth and pity lead like thee, Gulnare! 
She could not sleep - and while the Pacha`s rest 
In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest 
She left his side - his signet-ring she bore 
Which oft in sport adorn`d her hand before - 
And with it, scarcely question`d, won her way 
Through drowsy guards that must that sign obey. 
Worn out with toil, and tired with changing blows 
Their eyes had` envied Conrad his repose; 
And chill and nodding at the turret door, 
They stretch their listless limbs, and watch no more; 
Just raised their heads to hail the signet-ring, 
Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring. 
  
XIII.
She gazed in wonder, `Can he calmly sleep, 
While other eyes his fall or ravage weep? 
And mine in restlessness are wandering here - 
What sudden spell hath made this man so dear? 
True-`tis to him my life, and more, I owe, 
And me and mine he spared from worse than woe: 
`Tis late to think - but soft, his slumber breaks - 
How heavily he sighs! - he starts - awakes!` 
He raised his head, and dazzled with the light, 
His eye seem`d dubious if it saw aright: 
He moved his hand - the grating of his chain 
Too harshly told him that he lived again. 
`What is that form? if not a shape of air, 
Methinks, my jailor`s face shows wondrous fair!` 
`Pirate! thou know`st me not-but I am one, 
Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done; 
Look on me - and remember her, thy hand 
Snatch`d from the flames, and thy more fearful band. 
I come through darkness and I scarce know why - 
Yet not to hurt - I would not see thee die` 

`If so, kind lady! thine the only eye 
That would not here in that gay hope delight: 
Theirs is the chance - and let them use their right. 
But still I thank their courtesy or thine, 
That would confess me at so fair a shrine!` 

Strange though it seem - yet with extremest 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 the joy to which it seems akin - 
It may deceive all hearts, save that within. 
Whate`er it was that flash`d on Conrad, now 
A laughing wildness half unbent his brow 
And these his accents had a sound of mirth, 
As if the last he could enjoy on earth; 
Yet `gainst his nature - for through that short life, 
Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife. 
  
XIV.
`Corsair! thy doom is named - but I have power 
To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour. 
Thee would I spare - nay more - would save thee now, 
But this - time - hope - nor even thy strength allow; 
But all I can, I will: at least, delay 
The sentence that remits thee scarce a day. 
More now were ruin - even thyself were loth 
The vain attempt should bring but doom to both.` 

`Yes! loth indeed:- my soul is nerved to all, 
Or fall`n too low to fear a further fall: 
Tempt not thyself with peril - me with hope 
Of flight from foes with whom I could not cope: 
Unfit to vanquish, shall I meanly fly, 
The one of all my band that would not die? 
Yet there is one to whom my memory clings, 
Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs. 
My sole resources in the path I trod 
Were these - my bark, my sword, my love, my God! 
The last I left in youth! - he leaves me now - 
And Man but works his will to lay me low. 
I have no thought to mock his throne with prayer 
Wrung from the coward crouching of despair; 
It is enough - I breathe, and I can bear. 
My sword is shaken from the worthless hand 
That might have better kept so true a brand; 
My 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 more than kind, 
And blight a form - till thine appear`d, Gulnare! 
Mine eye ne`er ask`d if others were as 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! I envy those 
Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, 
Who never feel the void-the wandering thought 
That sighs o`er vision~such as mine hath 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 - No - 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 at 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!` 
Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain, 
And struggle not to feel averse in vain; 
But harder still the heart`s recoil to bear, 
And hide from one - perhaps another there. 
He takes the hand I give not, nor withhold - 
Its pulse nor check`d, nor quicken`d-calmly cold: 
And when resign`d, it drops a lifeless weight 
From one I never loved enough to hate. 
No warmth these lips return by his imprest, 
And chill`d remembrance shudders o`er the rest. 
Yes - had lever proved that passion`s zeal, 
The change to hatred were at least to feel: 
But still he goes unmourn`d, returns unsought, 
And oft when present - absent from my thought. 
Or when reflection comes - and come it must - 
I fear that henceforth `twill but bring disgust; 
I am his slave - but, in despite of pride, 
`Twere worse than bondage to become his bride. 
Oh! that this dotage of his breast would cease: 
Or seek another and give mine release, 
But yesterday - I could have said, to peace! 
Yes, if unwonted fondness now I feign, 
Remember captive! `tis to break thy chain; 
Repay the life that to thy hand I owe 
To give thee back to all endear`d below, 
Who share such love as I can never know. 
Farewell, morn breaks, and I must now away: 
`Twill cost me dear - but dread no death to-day!` 
  
XV.
She press`d his fetter`d fingers to her heart, 
And bow`d her head, and turn`d her to de part, 
And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone. 
And was she here? and is he now alone? 
What gem hath dropp`d and sparkles o`er his chain? 
The tear most sacred, shed for others` pain, 
That starts at once - bright - pure - from Pity`s mine 
Already polish`d by the hand divine! 
Oh! too convincing - deangerously dear - 
In woman`s eye the unanswerable tear 
That 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 fault forgiven; 
By this - how many lose not earth - but heaven! 
Consign their souls to man`s eternal foe, 
And seal their own to spare some wanton`s woe! 
  
XVI.
`Tis morn, and o`er his alter`d features play 
The beams - without the hope of yester-day. 
What shall he be ere night? perchance a thing 
O`er which the raven flaps her funeral wing 
By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt; 
While sets that sun, and dews of evening melt, 
Chin wet, and misty round each stiffen`d limb, 
Refreshing earth - reviving all but him!

CANTO THE THIRD 

`Come vedi - ancor non m`abbandona`~Dante 

I.
Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, 
Along Morea`s hills the setting sun; 
Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright, 
But one unclouded blaze of living light! 
O`er the hush`d deep the yellow beam he throws, 
Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows. 
On old Ægina`s rock and Idra`s isle, 
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile; 
O`er his own regions lingering, loves to shine, 
Though there his altars are no more divine. 
Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss 
Thy glorious gulf; unconquer`d Salamis! 
Their azure arches through the long expanse 
More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance, 
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, 
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven; 
Tm, darkly shaded from the land and deep, 
Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep. 

On such an eve, his palest beam he cast, 
When - Athens! here thy Wisest look`d his last. 
How watch`d thy better sons his farewell ray, 
That closed their murder`d sage`s latest day! 
Not yet - not yet - Sol pauses on the hill - 
The precious hour of parting lingers still; 
But sad his light to agonising eyes, 
And dark the mountain`s once delightful dyes: 
Gloom o`er the lovely land he seem`d to pour, 
The land, where Phoebus never frown`d before; 
But ere he sank below Cithæron`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! 

But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain, 
The queen of night asserts her silent reign. 
No murky vapour, herald of the storm, 
Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form: 
With cornice glimmering as the moon-beams play, 
There the white column greets her grateful ray, 
And, bright around with quivering beams beset, 
Her emblem sparkles o`er the minaret: 
The groves of olive scatter`d dark and wide 
Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide, 
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque, 
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk, 
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 by. 

Again the Ægean, heard no more afar, 
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war; 
Again his waves in milder tints unfold 
Their long array of sapphire and of gold, 
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 thee? 
Oh! who can look along thy native sea. 
Nor dwell upon thy name, whate`er the tale 
So much its magic must o`er all prevail? 
Who that beheld that Sun upon thee set, 
Fair Athens! could thine evening face for get? 
Not he - whose heart nor time nor distance frees, 
Spell-bound within the clustering Cyclades! 
Nor seems this homage foreign to its strain, 
His Corsair`s isle was once thine own domain - 
Would that with freedom it were thine again! 
  
III.
The Sun hath sunk - and, darker than the night, 
Sinks with its beam upon the beacon height 
Medora`s heart - the third day`s come and gone - 
With it he comes not - sends not - faithless one! 
The wind was fair though light; and storms were none. 70 
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! 

It came at last - a sad and shatter`d boat, 
Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought; 
Some bleeding - all most wretched - these the few - 
Scarce knew they how escaped - this all they knew. 
In silence, darkling, each appear`d to wait 
His fellow`s mournful guess at Conrad`s fate: 
Something they would have said; but seem`d to fear 
To trust their accents to Medora`s ear. 
She saw at once, yet sunk not - trembled not - 
Beneath that grief, that loneliness of lot; 
Within that meek fair form were feelings high, 
That deem`d not, till they found, their energy 
While yet was Hope they soften`d, flutter`d wept - 
All lost - that softness died not - but it slept; 
And o`er its slumber rose that Strength which said, 
`With nothing left to love, there`s nought to dread.` 
`Tis more than nature`s; like the burning `night 
Delirium gathers from the fever`s height. 

`Silent you stand - nor would I hear you tell 
What - speak not - breathe not - for I know it well - 
Yet would I ask - almost my lip denies 
The -quick your answer - tell me where he lies.` 

`Lady! 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 withstood; 
Her own dark soul - these words at once subdued: 
She totters - falls - and senseless had the wave 
Perchance but snatched her from another grave, 
But that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes, 
They yield such aid as Pity`s haste supplies: 
Dash o`er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew, 
Raise, fan, sustain-till life returns anew; 
Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave 
That fainting form o`er which they gaze and grieve; 
Then seek Anselmo`s cavern, to report 
The tale too tedious - when the triumph short. 
  
IV.
In that wild council words wax`d warm and strange 
With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge; 
All, save repose or flight: still lingering there 
Breathed Conrad`s spirit, and forbade despair 
Whate`er  his fate - the breasts he form`d and led 
Will save him living, or appease him dead 
Woe to his foes! there yet survive a few 
Whose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true. 
  
V.
Within the Haram`s Secret chamber sate 
Stern Seyd, still pondering o`er his Captive`s fate; 
His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell, 
Now with Gulnare, and now in Conrad`s cell; 
Here at his feet the lovely slave reclined 
Surveys his brow - would soothe his gloom of mind; 
While many an anxious glance her large dark eye 
Sends in its idle search for sympathy, 
His only bends in seeming o`er his beads, 
But inly views his victim as he bleeds. 
`Pacha! the day is time; and on thy crest 
Sits Triumph - Conrad taken - fall`n the rest! 
His doom is fix`d - he dies; and well his fate 
Was earn`d - yet much too worthless for thy hate: 
Methinks, a short release, for ransom told 
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, I ponder still 
On pangs that longest rack, and latest kill.` 

`Nay, Seyd! I seek not to restrain thy rage, 
Too justly moved for mercy to assuage; 
My thoughts were only to secure for thee 
His riches - thus released, he were not free: 
Disabled, shorn of half his might and band, 
His capture could but wait thy first command.` 
His capture could! shall I then resign 
One day to him - the wretch already mine? 
Release my foe!-at whose remonstrance? - thine! 
Fair suitor! - to thy virtuous gratitude, 
That thus repays this Giaour`s relenting mood, 
Which thee and thine alone of all could spare, 
No doubt - regardless if the prize were fair, 
My thanks and praise alike are due - now hear! 
I have a counsel for thy gentler ear: 
I do mistrust thee, woman! and each word 
Of thine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard. 
Borne in his arms through fire from yon Serai - 
Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly? 
Thou need`st not answer - thy confession speaks 
Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks; 
Then, lovely dame, bethink thee! and beware: 
`Tis not his: life alone may claim such care! 
Another word and - nay - I need no more. 
Accursed was the moment when he bore 
Thee from the flames, which better far - but no - 
I then had mourn`d thee 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 his eye and threats in his adieu: 
Ah! little reck`d that chief of womanhood - 
Which frowns ne`er quell`d, nor menaces subdued 
And little deem`d he what thy heart, Gulnare! 
When soft could feel, and when incensed could dare. 
His doubts appear`d to wrong - nor yet she knew 
How deep the root from whence 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 terror tame - 
This fearful interval of doubt and dread, 
When every hour might doom him worse than dead, 
When every step that echo`d by the gate, 
Might entering lead where axe and stake await; 
When every voice that grated on his ear 
Might be the last that he could ever hear; 
Could terror tame - that spirit stern and high 
Had proved unwilling as unfit to die; 
`Twas worn - perhaps decay`d - yet silent bore 
That conflict, deadlier far than all before: 
The heat of fight, the hurry of the gale, 
Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail; 
But bound and fix`d in fetter`d solitude, 
To pine, the prey of every changing mood; 
To gaze on thine own heart; and meditate 
Irrevocable faults, and coming fate - 
Too late the last to shun - the first to mend - 
To count the hours that struggle to thine end, 
With not a friend to animate, and tell 
To other ears that death became thee well; 
Around thee foes to forge the ready lie, 
And blot life`s latest scene with calumny; 
Before thee tortures, which the soul can dare, 
Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear 
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 pain: 
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; 
And now its dashing echo`d on his ear, 
Along known voice - alas! too vainly near! 
Loud sung the wind above; and, doubly 
Shook o`er his turret cell the thunder-cloud; 
And flash`d the lightning by the latticed bar, 
To him more genial thanthe midnight star: 
Close to the glimmering grate he dragg`d his chain 
And hoped that peril might not prove in vain. 
He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and pray`d 
One pitying flash to mar the form it made: 
His steel and impious prayer attract alike - 
The storm roll`d onward, and disdain`d to strike; 
Its peal wax`d fainter - eased - he felt alone, 
As if some faithless friend had spurn`d his groan! 
  
VIII.
The midnight pass`d, and to the massy door 
A light step came - it paused - it moved once more; 
Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key: 
`Tis as his heart foreboded - that fair she! 
Whate`er her sins, to him a guardian saint, 
And beauteous still as hermit`s hope can paint; 
Yet changed since last within that cell she came, 
More pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame: 
On him she cast her dark and hurried eye, 
Which spoke before her accents - `Thou must die! 
Yes, thou must die - there is but one resource 
The last - the worst - if torture were not worse.` 

`Lady! I look to none; my lips proclaim 
What last proclaim`d they - Conrad still the same: 
Why shouldst thou seek an outlaw`s life to spare, 
And change the sentence I deserve to bear? 
Well have I earn`d - nor here alone - the meed 
of Seyd`s revenge, by many a lawless deed.` 

`Why should I seek? Because - Oh! didst thou not 
Redeem my life from worse than slavery`s lot? 
Why should I seek? - hath misery made thee blind 
To the fond workings of a woman`s mind? 
And must I say? - albeit my heart rebel 
With all that woman feels, but should not tell - 
Because, despite thy crimes, that heart is moved: 
It fear`d thee, thank`d thee, pitied, madden`d, loved. 
Reply not, tell not now thy tale again, 
Thou lov`st another, and I love in vain: 
Though fond as mine her bosom, form more fair, 
I rush through peril which she would not dare. 
If that thy heart to hers were truly dear, 
Were I thine own thou wert not lonely here: 
An outlaw`s spouse and leave her lord to roam! 
What hath such gentle dame to do with home? 
But speak not now - o`er thine and o`er my head 
Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread; 
If thou hast courage still, and wouldst be free, 
Receive this poniard - rise and follow me!` 

Ay - in my chains! my steps will gently tread, 
With these adornments, o`er each slumbering head! 
Thou hast forgot - is this a garb for flight? 
Or is that instrument more fit for fight?` 

`Misdoubting Corsair! I have gain`d the guard, 
Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward. 
A single word of mine removes that chain: 
Without some aid how here could I remain? 
Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time, 
If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime: 
The crime - `tis none to punish those of Seyd. 
That hated tyrant, Conrad - he must bleed! 
I see thee shudder, but my soul is changed - 
Wrong`d, spurn`d, reviled, and it shall be avenged - 
Accused of what till now my heart ` disdain`d - 
Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chain`d. 
Yes, smile! - but he had little cause to sneer, 
I was not treacherous then, nor thou too dear: 
But he has said it - and the jealous well - 
Those tyrants, teasing, tempting to rebel - 
Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell. 
I never loved - he bought me - somewhat high - 
Since with me came a heart he could not buy. 
I was a slave unmurmuring; he hath said, 
But for his rescue I with thee had fled. 
`Twas false thou know`st - but let such augurs rue, 
Their words are omens insult renders true. 
Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer; 
This fleeting grace was only to prepare 
New torments for thy life, and my despair. 
Mine too he threatens; but his dotage still 
Would fain reserve me for his lordly will: 
When wearier of these fleeting charms and me, 
There yawns the sack, and yonder rolls the sea! 
What, am I then a toy for dotard`s play, 
To wear but till the gilding frets away? 
I saw thee - loved thee - owe thee all - would save, 
If but to show how grateful is a slave. 
But had he not thus menaced fame and life - 
(And well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife) - 
I still had saved thee, but the Pacha spared. 
Now I am all thine own, for all prepared: 
Thou lov`st me not, nor know`st - or but the worst. 
Alas! this love - that hatred - are the first - 
Oh! couldst thou prove my truth, thou wouldst not start, 
Nor fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart; 
`Tis now the beacon of thy safety - now 
It points within the port a Mainote prow: 
But in one chamber, where our path must lead, 
There sleeps - he must not wake - the oppressor Seyd!` 

`Gulnar~Gulnare-I never felt till now 
My abject fortune, wither`d fame so low: 
Seyd is mine enemy; had swept my band 
From earth with ruthless but with open hand, 
And therefore came I, in my bark of war, 
To smite the smiter with the scimitar; 
Such is my weapon - not the secret knife; 
Who spares a woman`s seeks not slumber`s life. 
Thine saved I gladly, Lady - not for this; 
Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss. 
Now fare thee well - more peace be with thy breast! 
Night wears apace, my last of earthly rest!` 

`Rest! rest! by sunrise must thy sinews shake, 
And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake. 
I heard the order - saw - I will not see - 
If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee. 
My life, my love, my hatred - all below 
Are on this cast - Corsair! `tis but a blow! 
Without it flight were idle - how evade 
His sure pursuit? - my wrongs too unrepaid, 
My youth disgraced, the long, long wasted years, 
One blow shall cancel with our future fears; 
But since the dagger suits thee less than brand, 
I`ll try the firmness of a female hand. 
The guards, are gain`d - one moment all were  o`er - 
Corsair! we meet in safety or no more; 
If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud 
Will hover o`er thy scaffold, and my shroud 

IX.
She turn`d, and vanish`d ere he could reply, 
But his glance follow`d far with eager eye; 
And gathering, as he could, the links that bound 
His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound, 
Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude, 
He, fast as fetter`d limbs allow, pursued. 
`Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where 
That passage led; nor lamp nor guard was there: 
He sees a dusky glimmering-shall he seek 
Or shun that ray so indistinct 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 outward pass`d, 
Then paused, and turn`d - and paused - `tis she at last! 
No poniard in that hand, nor sign of ill - 
`Thanks to that softening heart - she could not kill!` 
Again he look`d, the wildness of her eye 
Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully. 
She stopp`d - threw back her dark far-floating hair, 
That nearly veil`d her face and bosom fair, 
As if she late had bent her leaning head 
Above some object of her doubt or dread. 
They meet - upon her brow - unknown, forgot - 
Her hurrying hand had left - `twas but a spot 
Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood - 
Oh! slight but certain pledge of crime - `tis blood! 
  
X.
He had seen battle - he had brooded lone 
O`er promised pangs to sentenced guilt foreshown; 
He had been tempted, chasten`d, 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! 
  
XI.
"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 strand.` 
  
XII.
She clapp`d her hands, and through the gallery pour, 
Equipp`d for flight, her vassa1s - Greek and Moor; 
Silent but quick they stoop, his chains un bind; 
Once more his limbs are free as mountain wind! 
But on his heavy heart such sadness sate, 
As if they there transfer`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 blew - 
How much had Conrad`s memory to re-view! 
Sunk be 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; 
He thought on her afar, his lonely bride: 
He turn`d and saw - Gulnare, the homicide! 
  
XIV.
Sbe 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 Allah`s self detest; 
But for that deed of darkness what wert thou? 
Reproach me - but not yet - Oh! spare me now! 
I am not what I seem - this fearful night 
My brain bewilder`d - do not madden quite 
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 
Than her, though undesign`d` the wretch be made; 
But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest, 
They bleed within that silent cell - his breast 
Still onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge, 
The blue waves sport around the stern they urge; 
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 
Booms harmless, hissing to the deep below. 
Uprose keen 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 main!` 
They own the signal, answer to the ball, 
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 for bear 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`er, the feelings that o`erflow, 
Yet grieve to win him back without a blow; 
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 their way. 
With many an asking smile, and wondering stare, 
They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare; 
And her - at once above - beneath her sex 
Whom blood appall`d not, their regards perplex. 
To Conrad turns her faint 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 guilt, 
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 - now too late - 
So soft in love, so wildly nerved in hate; 
He clasp`d that hand - it trembled - and his own 
Had lost its firmness, and his voice its tone. 540 
`Gulnare! ` -but she replied not - `dear Gulnare!` 
She raised her eye - her only answer there - 
At once she sought and sunk in his embrace: 
If he had driven her from that resting-place, 
His had been more or less than mortal heart, 
But - good or ill - it bade her not depart. 
Perchance, but for the bodings of his breast, 
His latest virtue then had join`d the rest. 
Yet even Medora might forgive the kiss 
That ask`d from form so fair no more than this, 
The first, the last that Frailty stole from Faith - 
To lips where Love had lavish`d all his breath 
To lips - whose broken sighs such fragrance fling, 
As he had fann`d them freshly with his wing! 
  
XVIII.
They gain by twilight`s hour their lonely isle 
To them the very rocks appear to smile; 
The haven hums with many a cheering sound, 
The beacons him their wonted stations round, 
The boats are darting o`er the curly bay, 
And sportive dolphins bend them through the spray; 
Even the hoarse sea-bird`s shrill, discordant shriek 
Greets like the welcome of his tuneless beak! 
Beneath each lamp that through its lattice gleams, 
Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams 
Oh! what can sanctify the joys of home, 
Like Hope`s gay glance from Ocean`s troubled foam? 
  
XIX.
The lights are high on beacon and from bower, 
And `midst them Conrad seeks Medora`s tower: 
He looks in vain - `tis strange - and all remark, 
Amid so many, hers alone is dark 
`Tis strange of yore its welcome never fall`d, 
Nor now, perchance, extinguish`d, only veil`d. 
With the first boat descends he for the shore, 573 
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! 
With the first pause the resting rowers gave, 
He waits not, looks not - leaps into the wave, 
Strives 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 around 
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 
Refused to aid his heavy heart`s demand. 
The portal opens - tis a well-known face, 
But not the form he panted to embrace. 
Its lips are silent - twice his own essay`d, 
And fail`d to frame the question they delay`d; 
It quits his grasp expiring in the fall. 
He would not wait for that reviving ray - 
As soon could he have linger`d there for day; 
But, 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 fortold! 
  
XX.
He turn`d not - spoke not - sunk not - fix`d his look, 
And set the anxious frame that lately shook: 
He gazed - how long we gaze despite of pain, 
And  know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain! 
In life it self she was so still and fair, 
That death with gender aspect wither`d there; 
And the cold flowers her colder hand contain`d, 
In that last grasp as tenderly were strain`d 
As if she scarcely felt, but feign`d asleep, 
And made it almost mockery yet to weep: 
The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow 
And veil`d - thought shrinks from all that 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 awhile; 
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 cheek, became the bier - 
But she is nothing -wherefore is he here? 
  
XXI.
He ask`d no question-all 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: 
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 tha`t least befit who wear them most. 
  
XXII.
By those, that deepest feel, Is ill exprest 
The indistinctness of the suffering 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 lull`d it into rest; 
So feeble now - his mother`s softness crept 
To those wild eyes, which like an infant`s wept: 
It was the very weakness of his brain, 
Which thus confess`d 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 
In helpless -hopeless - brokenness of heart: 
The sun goes forth, but Conrad`s day is dim; 
And the night cometh - ne`er to pass from him. 
There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, 
On  Grief`s vain eye - the blindest of the blind! 
Which may not - dare not see but turns aside 
To blackest shade - nor will endure a guide! 
  
XXIII.
His heart was form`d for softness - warp`d to wrong; 
Betray`d too early, and beguiled too long; 
Each feeling pure - as falls the dropping dew 
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