No More Learning

Oh were there none, of all the many given,
To send his soul--he scarcely asked to Heaven? [219]
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, 900
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, 910
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;
To-morrow--yea--to-morrow's evening Sun 920
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 famished 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, 930
And left proud Conrad fettered 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,[220]
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 warned thee! " when the deed is o'er.
Vain voice! the spirit burning but unbent, 940
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,
Endangered Glory, Life itself beset;
The joy untasted, the contempt or hate 950
'Gainst those who fain would triumph in our fate;
The hopeless past, the hasting future driven
Too quickly on to guess if Hell or Heaven;
Deeds--thoughts--and words, perhaps remembered 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 unrevealed,
Not cankering less because the more concealed;
All, in a word, from which all eyes must start, 960
That opening sepulchre, the naked heart[221]
Bares with its buried woes--till Pride awake,
To snatch the mirror from the soul, and break.
Aye, 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, steeled by pondering o'er his far career, 970
He half-way meets Him should He menace near!

XI.

In the high chamber of his highest tower
Sate Conrad, fettered in the Pacha's power.
His palace perished in the flame--this fort
Contained at once his captive and his court.
Not much could Conrad of his sentence blame,
His foe, if vanquished, had but shared the same:--
Alone he sate--in solitude had scanned
His guilty bosom, but that breast he manned:
One thought alone he could not--dared not meet-- 980
"Oh, how these tidings will Medora greet? "
Then--only then--his clanking hands he raised,
And strained with rage the chain on which he gazed;
But soon he found, or feigned, or dreamed 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 langour to his mat he crept,
And, whatso'er his visions, quickly slept.

'Twas hardly midnight when that fray begun, 990
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 stemmed--
Disguised--discovered--conquering--ta'en--condemned--
A Chief on land--an outlaw on the deep--
Destroying--saving--prisoned--and asleep!

XII.

He slept in calmest seeming, for his breath[222]
Was hushed so deep--Ah! happy if in death!
He slept--Who o'er his placid slumber bends? 1000
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 gemmed and braided hair;
With shape of fairy lightness--naked foot, 1010
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 adorned her hand before--
And with it, scarcely questioned, won her way
Through drowsy guards that must that sign obey. 1020
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? 1030
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 seemed 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! " 1040
"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
Snatched 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, 1050
That would confess me at so fair a shrine! "

Strange though it seem--yet with extremest grief
Is linked 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[223] 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 flashed on Conrad, now 1060
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 1070
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, 1080
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; 1090
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 appeared, Gulnare!
Mine eye ne'er asked 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, 1100
Who never feel the void--the wandering thought
That sighs o'er visions--such as mine hath wrought. "

"Lady--methought thy love was his, for whom
This arm redeemed 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 favoured slave at best,
To share his splendour, and seem very blest! 1110
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 checked--nor quickened--calmly cold:
And when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight
From one I never loved enough to hate. 1120
No warmth these lips return by his imprest,
And chilled Remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
Yes--had I ever proved that Passion's zeal,
The change to hatred were at least to feel:
But still--he goes unmourned--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. 1130
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,[hv]
Remember--Captive! 'tis to break thy chain;
Repay the life that to thy hand I owe;
To give thee back to all endeared 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! " 1140

XV.

She pressed his fettered fingers to her heart,
And bowed her head, and turned her to depart,
And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.
And was she here? and is he now alone?
What gem hath dropped 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 polished by the hand divine!
Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear--
In Woman's eye the unanswerable tear! 1150
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! 1160

XVI.

'Tis Morn--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;
While sets that Sun, and dews of Evening melt,
Chill, wet, and misty round each stiffened limb,
Refreshing earth--reviving all but him!



CANTO THE THIRD.

"Come vedi--ancor non m'abbandona"
Dante, _Inferno_, v. 105.

I.

Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,[224]
Along Morea's hills the setting Sun; 1170
Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light!
O'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws,
Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows.
On old AEgina's rock, and Idra's isle,[225]
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, unconquered Salamis! 1180
Their azure arches through the long expanse
More deeply purpled met his mellowing glance,
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of Heaven;
Till, 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 looked his last.
How watched thy better sons his farewell ray,
That closed their murdered Sage's[226] latest day! 1190
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 seemed to pour,
The land, where Phoebus never frowned before:
But ere he sunk below Cithaeron's head,
The cup of woe was quaffed--the Spirit fled;
The Soul of him who scorned to fear or fly--
Who lived and died, as none can live or die! 1200

But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain,
The Queen of night asserts her silent reign. [227]
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 scattered dark and wide
Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide; 1210
The cypress saddening by the sacred Mosque,
The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk;[228]
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 passed him heedless by.

Again the AEgean, 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, 1220
Mixed 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 forget?
Not he--whose heart nor time nor distance frees,
Spell-bound within the clustering Cyclades! 1230
Nor seems this homage foreign to its strain,
His Corsair's isle was once thine own domain--[229]
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.
Last eve Anselmo's bark returned, and yet
His only tidings that they had not met! 1240
Though wild, as now, far different were the tale
Had Conrad waited for that single sail.
The night-breeze freshens--she that day had passed
In watching all that Hope proclaimed a mast;
Sadly she sate on high--Impatience bore
At last her footsteps to the midnight shore,
And there she wandered, heedless of the spray
That dashed her garments oft, and warned away:
She saw not, felt not this--nor dared depart,
Nor deemed it cold--her chill was at her heart; 1250
Till grew such certainty from that suspense--
His very Sight had shocked from life or sense!

It came at last--a sad and shattered 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 appeared to wait
His fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate:
Something they would have said; but seemed to fear
To trust their accents to Medora's ear. 1260
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 deemed not till they found their energy.
While yet was Hope they softened, fluttered, wept--
All lost--that Softness died not--but it slept;
And o'er its slumber rose that Strength which said,
"With nothing left to love, there's nought to dread. "
'Tis more than Nature's--like the burning might
Delirium gathers from the fever's height. 1270

"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 throbbed each vein--each thought--till then withstood;
Her own dark soul--these words at once subdued: 1280
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:[hw]
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. 1290

IV.

In that wild council words waxed warm and strange,[hx]
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 formed 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[230]
Stern Seyd, still pondering o'er his Captive's fate; 1300
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,[231]
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! 1310
His doom is fixed--he dies; and well his fate
Was earned--yet much too worthless for thy hate:
Methinks, a short release, for ransom told[hy]
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, weakened by this fatal fray--
Watched--followed--he were then an easier prey;
But once cut off--the remnant of his band
Embark their wealth, and seek a safer strand. " 1320

"Gulnare! --if for each drop of blood a gem
Where offered 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 redeemed a single hour,
But that I know him fettered, in my power;
And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still
On pangs that longest rack--and latest kill. " 1330

"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, 1340
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. [hz]
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, 1350
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 mourned 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: 1360
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 recked that Chief of womanhood--
Which frowns ne'er quelled, nor menaces subdued;
And little deemed he what thy heart, Gulnare!
When soft could feel--and when incensed could dare!
His doubts appeared to wrong--nor yet she knew
How deep the root from whence Compassion grew--
She was a slave--from such may captives claim 1370
A fellow-feeling, differing but in name;
Still half unconscious--heedless of his wrath,
Again she ventured on the dangerous path,
Again his rage repelled--until arose
That strife of thought, the source of Woman's woes!

VI.

Meanwhile--long--anxious--weary--still the same
Rolled day and night: his soul could Terror tame--
This fearful interval of doubt and dread,
When every hour might doom him worse than dead;[ia]
When every step that echoed by the gate, 1380
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 decayed--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 fixed in fettered solitude, 1390
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, 1400
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 sustained he--boots it well or ill? 1410
Since not to sink beneath, is something still!

VII.

The first day passed--he saw not her--Gulnare--
The second, third--and still she came not there;
But what her words avouched, her charms had done,
Or else he had not seen another Sun.
The fourth day rolled along, and with the night
Came storm and darkness in their mingling might.
Oh! how he listened to the rushing deep,
That ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep;
And his wild Spirit wilder wishes sent, 1420
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 echoed on his ear,
A long known voice--alas! too vainly near!
Loud sung the wind above; and, doubly loud,
Shook o'er his turret cell the thunder-cloud;[232]
And flashed the lightning by the latticed bar,
To him more genial than the Midnight Star:
Close to the glimmering grate he dragged his chain, 1430
And hoped _that_ peril might not prove in vain.
He rais'd his iron hand to Heaven, and prayed
One pitying flash to mar the form it made:
His steel and impious prayer attract alike--
The storm rolled onward, and disdained to strike;
Its peal waxed fainter--ceased--he felt alone,
As if some faithless friend had spurned his groan!

VIII.

The midnight passed, and to the massy door
A light step came--it paused--it moved once more;
Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key: 1440
'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 1450
What last proclaimed 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 I earned--nor here alone--the meed
Of Seyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed. "

"Why should I seek? because--Oh! did'st 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 1460
With all that Woman feels, but should not tell--
Because--despite thy crimes--that heart is moved:
It feared thee--thanked thee--pitied--maddened--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! 1470
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;[ib]
If thou hast courage still, and would'st be free,
Receive this poniard--rise and follow me! "

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

"Misdoubting Corsair! I have gained the guard, 1480
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 hatred tyrant, Conrad--he must bleed!
I see thee shudder, but my soul is changed--
Wronged--spurned--reviled--and it shall be avenged--
Accused of what till now my heart disdained-- 1490
Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chained.
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. 1500
'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, 1510
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! could'st thou prove my truth, thou would'st not start, 1520
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! "

"Gulnare--Gulnare--I never felt till now
My abject fortune, withered 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, 1530
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! "[ic]

"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-- 1540
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 gained--one moment all were o'er-- 1550
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 turned, and vanished 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 and bolt no more his steps preclude,
He, fast as fettered limbs allow, pursued.
'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where 1560
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 reached an open gallery--on his eye
Gleamed 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 1570
Revealed the ray within, but nothing more.
With hasty step a figure outward passed,
Then paused, and turned--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 looked, the wildness of her eye
Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully.
She stopped--threw back her dark far-floating hair,
That nearly veiled her face and bosom fair,
As if she late had bent her leaning head 1580
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--chastened--and the chain
Yet on his arms might ever there remain:
But ne'er from strife--captivity--remorse-- 1590
From all his feelings in their inmost force--
So thrilled, so shuddered every creeping vein,
As now they froze before that purple stain.
That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,
Had banished all the beauty from her cheek!
Blood he had viewed--could view unmoved--but then
It flowed in combat, or was shed by men! [id]

XI.

"'Tis done--he nearly waked--but it is done.
Corsair! he perished--thou art dearly won.
All words would now be vain--away--away! 1600
Our bark is tossing--'tis already day.
The few gained 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 clapped her hands, and through the gallery pour,
Equipped for flight, her vassals--Greek and Moor;
Silent but quick they stoop, his chains unbind;
Once more his limbs are free as mountain wind!
But on his heavy heart such sadness sate, 1610
As if they there transferred that iron weight.
No words are uttered--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, obeyed,
Nor cared he now if rescued or betrayed;
Resistance were as useless as if Seyd
Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed.

XIII.

Embarked--the sail unfurled--the light breeze blew-- 1620
How much had Conrad's memory to review! [ie]
Sunk he in contemplation, till the Cape
Where last he anchored reared 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 frowned above the mast,
He veiled his face, and sorrowed as he passed;
He thought of all--Gonsalvo and his band,
His fleeting triumph and his failing hand;
He thought on her afar, his lonely bride: 1630
He turned and saw--Gulnare, the Homicide!

XIV.

She watched his features till she could not bear
Their freezing aspect and averted air;
And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye
Fell quenched in tears, too late to shed or dry. [if]
She knelt beside him and his hand she pressed,
"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 1640
My brain bewildered--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 undesigned--the wretch he made;
But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest,
They bleed within that silent cell--his breast.
Still onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge,
The blue waves sport around the stern they urge;
Far on the Horizon's verge appears a speck, 1650
A spot--a mast--a sail--an armed deck!
Their little bark her men of watch descry,
And ampler canvass woos the wind from high;
She bears her down majestically near,
Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier;[ig][233]
A flash is seen--the ball beyond her bow
Booms harmless, hissing to the deep below.
Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance,
A long, long absent gladness in his glance;
"'Tis mine--my blood-rag flag! again--again-- 1660
I am not all deserted on the main! "
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, 1670
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 sailed 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, 1680
They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare;
And her, at once above--beneath her sex,
Whom blood appalled not, their regards perplex. [ih]
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 resigned 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! 1690

XVII.

This Conrad marked, 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! [234]
And now he turned him to that dark-eyed slave
Whose brow was bowed beneath the glance he gave, 1700
Who now seemed 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 stained it from the dead!
He took that hand--it trembled--now too late--
So soft in love--so wildly nerved in hate;
He clasped that hand--it trembled--and his own
Had lost its firmness, and his voice its tone.
"Gulnare! "--but she replied not--"dear Gulnare! "[ii]
She raised her eye--her only answer there-- 1710
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 joined the rest.
Yet even Medora might forgive the kiss[ij]
That asked from form so fair no more than this,
The first, the last that Frailty stole from Faith--
To lips where Love had lavished all his breath, 1720
To lips--whose broken sighs such fragrance fling,
As he had fanned them freshly with his wing! [ik]

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 blaze 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! 1730
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? [il]

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 failed,
Nor now, perchance, extinguished--only veiled. 1740
With the first 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!
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 reached his turret door--he paused--no sound
Broke from within; and all was night around. 1750
He knocked, and loudly--footstep nor reply
Announced that any heard or deemed him nigh:
He knocked, 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 essayed,
And failed to frame the question they delayed;
He snatched the lamp--its light will answer all--
It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall. 1760
He would not wait for that reviving ray--
As soon could he have lingered there for day;
But, glimmering through the dusky corridor,
Another chequers o'er the shadowed floor;
His steps the chamber gain--his eyes behold
All that his heart believed not--yet foretold!

XX.

He turned not--spoke not--sunk not--fixed 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! 1770
In life itself she was so still and fair,
That Death with gentler aspect withered there;
And the cold flowers[235] her colder hand contained,
In that last grasp as tenderly were strained
As if she scarcely felt, but feigned a sleep--
And made it almost mockery yet to weep:
The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow,
And veiled--Thought shrinks from all that lurked below--Oh!
o'er the eye Death most exerts his might,[236]
And hurls the Spirit from her throne of light; 1780
Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse,
But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips--
Yet, yet they seem as they forebore to smile,
And wished 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;[im]
These--and the pale pure cheek, became the bier--
But She is nothing--wherefore is he here? 1790

XXI.

He asked no question--all were answered now
By the first glance on that still, marble brow. [in]
It was enough--she died--what recked 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 fixed below 1800
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 suffering breast;
Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, 1810
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 lulled 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 confessed without relieving pain.
None saw his trickling tears--perchance, if seen, 1820
That useless flood of grief had never been:
Nor long they flowed--he dried them to depart,
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. [io]
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. [237]

His heart was formed for softness--warped to wrong, 1830
Betrayed too early, and beguiled too long;
Each feeling pure--as falls the dropping dew
Within the grot--like that had hardened too;
Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials passed,
But sunk, and chilled, and petrified at last. [238]
Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock;
If such his heart, so shattered it the shock.
There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow,
Though dark the shade--it sheltered--saved till now.
The thunder came--that bolt hath blasted both, 1840
The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth:
The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell
Its tale, but shrunk and withered where it fell;
And of its cold protector, blacken round
But shivered fragments on the barren ground!

XXIV.

'Tis morn--to venture on his lonely hour
Few dare; though now Anselmo sought his tower.
He was not there, nor seen along the shore;
Ere night, alarmed, their isle is traversed o'er:
Another morn--another bids them seek, 1850
And shout his name till Echo waxeth weak;
Mount--grotto--cavern--valley searched in vain,
They find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain:
Their hope revives--they follow o'er the main.
'Tis idle 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 grief, or perished his despair!
Long mourned his band whom none could mourn beside;
And fair the monument they gave his Bride: 1860
For him they raise not the recording stone--
His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known;
He left a Corsair's name to other times,
Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes. [239]





ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.

I.

'Tis done--but yesterday a King!
And armed with Kings to strive--
And now thou art a nameless thing:
So abject--yet alive!
Is this the man of thousand thrones,
Who strewed our earth with hostile bones,
And can he thus survive? [243]
Since he, miscalled the Morning Star,[244]
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.

II. [245]

Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind
Who bowed so low the knee?
By gazing on thyself grown blind,
Thou taught'st the rest to see.
With might unquestioned,--power to save,--
Thine only gift hath been the grave
To those that worshipped thee;
Nor till thy fall could mortals guess
Ambition's less than littleness!

III.

Thanks for that lesson--it will teach
To after-warriors more
Than high Philosophy can preach,
And vainly preached before.
That spell upon the minds of men[246]
Breaks never to unite again,
That led them to adore
Those Pagod things of sabre-sway,
With fronts of brass, and feet of clay.

IV.

The triumph, and the vanity,
The rapture of the strife--[247]
The earthquake-voice of Victory,
To thee the breath of life;
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway
Which man seemed made but to obey,
Wherewith renown was rife--
All quelled! --Dark Spirit! what must be
The madness of thy memory!

V. [248]

The Desolator desolate! [249]
The Victor overthrown!
The Arbiter of others' fate
A Suppliant for his own!
Is it some yet imperial hope
That with such change can calmly cope?
Or dread of death alone?
To die a Prince--or live a slave--
Thy choice is most ignobly brave!

VI.

He who of old would rend the oak,
Dreamed not of the rebound;[250]
Chained by the trunk he vainly broke--
Alone--how looked he round?
Thou, in the sternness of thy strength,
An equal deed hast done at length.
And darker fate hast found:
He fell, the forest prowlers' prey;
But thou must eat thy heart away!

VII.

The Roman,[251] when his burning heart
Was slaked with blood of Rome,
Threw down the dagger--dared depart,
In savage grandeur, home. --
He dared depart in utter scorn
Of men that such a yoke had borne,
Yet left him such a doom!
His only glory was that hour
Of self-upheld abandoned power.

VIII.

The Spaniard, when the lust of sway
Had lost its quickening spell,[252]
Cast crowns for rosaries away,
An empire for a cell;
A strict accountant of his beads,
A subtle disputant on creeds,
His dotage trifled well:[253]
Yet better had he neither known
A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne.