maSm m Jul ■ ■ ■•: 1 ■■ $jgg '■ >■-■■'•.■'.'•.;. 'V'-'.' - ■>'*■:-.•'•?'.•■■:■■',' ■ •"■•'■- hHHhhH gUe -.•-■■•'>■ ?l98 HnTiSra i H ^m lllBiffiffli •-'■•■ THE CORSAIR. THE CORSAIR, A TALE. BY LORD BYRON. I suoi peasieri in lui dormir non ponno." Tasso, Canto decimo, Gcrusalemme Liberala. SECOND EDITION. LONDON: Printed by Thomas Davison, JVhilefriars, FOR JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. 1814. Th yue TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. MY DEAR MOORE, I dedicate to you the last production with which I shall trespass on public patience, and your indulgence, for some years ; and I own that I feel anxious to avail myself of this latest and only opportunity of adorning my pages with a name, consecrated by unshaken public principle, and the most undoubted and various talents. While Ireland ranks you among the firmest of her patriots — while you stand alone the first of her bards in her esti- mation, and Britain repeats and ratifies the 169723 VI DEDICATION. decree — permit one, whose only regret, since our first acquaintance, has been the years he had lost before it commenced, to add the humble, but sincere suffrage of friendship, to the voice of more than one nation. It will at least prove to you, that I have neither for- gotten the gratification derived from your so- ciety, nor abandoned the prospect of its renewal, whenever your leisure or inclination allows you to atone to your friends for too long an absence. It is said among those friends, I trust truly, that you are engaged in the composition of a poem whose scene will be laid in the East ; none can do those scenes so much justice. The wrongs of your own country, the magnificent and fiery spirit of her sons, the beauty and feeling of her daugh- ters, may there be found ; and Collins, when DEDICATION. Vll he denominated his Oriental, his Irish Eclogues, was not aware how true, at least, was a part of his parallel. Your imagination will create a warmer sun, and less clouded sky; but wildness, tenderness, and originality are part of your national claim of oriental descent, to which you have already thus far proved your title more clearly than the most zealous of your country's antiquarians. May I add a few words on a subject on which all men are supposed to be fluent, and none agreeable ? — Self. I have written much, and published more than enough to demand a longer silence than I now meditate ; but for some years to come it is my intention to tempt no further the award of " Gods, men, nor columns/' In the present composition I have attempted not the most difficult, but, perhaps, the best 169723 Vlll DEDICATION. adapted measure to our language, the good old and now neglected heroic couplet : — the stanza of Spenser is perhaps too slow and dignified for narrative ; though, I confess, it is the measure most after my own heart ; and Scott alone, of the present generation, has hitherto completely triumphed over the fatal facility of the octo-syllabic verse; and this is not the least victory of his fertile and mighty genius. In blank verse, Milton, Thomson, and our dramatists, are the bea- cons that shine along the deep, but warn us from the rough and barren rock on which they are kindled. The heroic couplet is not the most popular measure certainly; but as I did not deviate into the other from a wish to flatter what is called public opinion, I shall quit it without further apology, and DEDICATION. IX take my chance once more with that versifi- cation, in which I have hitherto published nothing but compositions whose former circu- lation is part of my present and will be of my future regret. With regard to my story, and stories in ge- neral, I should have been glad to have ren- dered my personages more perfect and amia- ble, if possible, inasmuch as I have been sometimes criticised, and considered no less responsible for their deeds and qualities than if all had been personal. Be it so — if I have deviated into the gloomy vanity of " drawing from self," the pictures are probably like, since they are unfavourable ; and if not, those who know me are undeceived, and those who do not, I have little interest in undeceiving. X DEDICATION. I have no particular desire that any but my acquaintance should think the author better than the beings of his imagining; but I cannot help a little surprise, and perhaps amusement, at some odd critical exceptions in the present instance, when I see several bards (far more deserving, I allow) in very reputable plight, and quite exempted from all participa- tion in the faults of those heroes, who, never- theless, might be found with little more mora- lity than " The Giaour/' and perhaps — but no — I must admit Childe Harold to be a very repulsive personage ; and as to his identity, those who like it must give him whatever " alias" they please. If, however, it were worth while to remove the impression, it might be of some service to DEDICATION. XI me, that the man who is alike the delight of his readers and his friends — the poet of all cir- cles — and the idol of his own, permits me here and elsewhere to subscribe myself, most truly, and affectionately, his obedient servant, BYRON. January 2, 1814. THE CORSAIR, A TALE. CANTO I; nessun maggior dolore, Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria, " Dante. I. u O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, "Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, " Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, " Survey our empire and behold our home ! " 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; 10 n 2 THE CORSAIR. " 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 danc'd 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, u 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 — 20 " 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 — by disease or strife ? " Let him who crawls enamoured 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, 30 a While gasp by gasp he faulters forth his soul, u Ours with one pang — one bound — 'escapes controul. THE CORSAIR. 3 " His corse may boast it's urn and narrow cave, " And they who loath'd his life may gild his grave : rt 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, 40 " And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow, " How had the brave who fell exulted none!" 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 scattered groupes 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 : 50 Repair the boat — replace the helm or oar, While others straggling muse along the shore; B 2 4 THE CORSAIR. For the wild bird the busy springes set, Or spread beneath the sun the dripping net : Gaze where some distant sail a speck supplies, With all the thirsting eye of Enterprize — 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. 60 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 ; 70 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. THE CORSAIR, 5 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 enquire his will ; SO To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye Convey reproof, nor further deign reply. III. " A sail! — a sail !" — a promised prize to Hope! Her nation — flag — how speaks the telescope ? No prize, alas ! — but yet a welcome sail : The blood-red signal glitters in the gale. Yes — she is our's — 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 ; 90 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 — W THE CORSAIll. Who would not brave the battle-fire — the wreck — To move the monarch of her peopled deck ? IV. Hoarse o'er her side the rustling cable rings ; The sails are furl'd ; and anchoring round she swings : And gathering loiterers on the land discern Her boat descending from the latticed stern. 1 00 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— 109 Friends' — husbands' — lovers' names in each dear word. f Oh ! are they safe ? we ask not of success — " But shall we see them ? will their accents bless ? THE CORSAIR. 7 u From where the battle roars — the billows chafi " They doubtless boldly did — but who are safe ? ** Here let them haste to gladden and surprize, '* And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes ! n 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 j " But, Juan ! instant guide us to our chief: 120 " 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 scattered 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 ? 1 SO In pensive posture leaning on the brand, Not oft a restiug-staff to that red hand ? S THE CORSAIR. " '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 sjeps intrude." VII. Him Juan sought, and told of their intent — lie spake not — but a sign express'd assent. }40 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 — 11 Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh ; f Whate'er his tidings, we can well report, " Much that" — "Peace, peace!" — he cuts their prating short. Wondering they turn— abashed — 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 ; 1 5Q But — this as if he guess' d — with head aside — Perchance from some emotion — doubt, or pride — THE CORSAIR. 9 He read the scroll — " My tablets, Juan, hark — " Where is Gonsalvo ?" " In the anchored bark." f* There let him stay — to him this order bear. f* Back to yoi;r duty — for my course prepare : " Myself this enterprize to-night will share," " To-night,' Lord Conrad ?" " Ay ! at set of sun : 160 " 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 it's 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." 170 10 THE CORSAIR, 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. ISO 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 ! Linked with success — assumed and kept with skill, That moulds another's weakness to it's 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 ; 1 90 Tis Nature's doom — but let the wretch who toils, Accuse not — hate not — him who wears the spoils. THE CORSAIR. li 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 eye-brow shades a glance of fire : Robust but not Herculean — to the sight No giant frame sets forth his common height ; 200 Yet in the whole — -who paused to look again, Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men — They gaze and marvel how — and still confess That thus it is, but why they cannot guess. Sun-burnt his 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: 210 His features' deepening lines and varying hue, At times attracted, yet perplex'd the view, 12 THE CORSAIR. 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 enquiry his stern glance could quell. There breathe but few whose aspect could 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, 220 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 sighed farewell ! X. Slight are the outward signs of evil thought, Within — within — 'twas there the spirit wrought ! 230 Love shows all changes — Hate, Ambition, Guile, Betray no further than the bitter smile ; THE CORSAIR. 13 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 step, 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: 240 Then — with each feature working from the heart, With feelings loosed to strengthen — not depart — That rise — convulse — subside — 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 ? 2j() XL Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent To lead the guilty — guilt's worst instrument— 14 THE CORSAIR. 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 curs'd those virtues as the cause of ill, And not the traitors who betrayed him still ; 260 Nor deem'd that gifts bestowed 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 scom'd the best as hypocrites who hid Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did. 270 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 : THE CORSAIR. 15 His name could sadden, and his acts surprize ; 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. XII. None are all evil — clinging round his heart, One softer feeling would not yet depart; £80 Oft could he sneer at others as beguil'd 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 bovver, None ever sooth'd his most unguarded hour. 2[)0 Yes — it was Love — if thoughts of tenderness, Tried in temptation, strengthen'd by distress, Unmoved by absence, finn in every clime, And yet — Oh more than all ! — untired by time — 16 THE CORSAIR. Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile, Could render sullen were she ne'er to smile, Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent 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 ; S00 Which nought remov'd — nor menaced to remove — If there be love in mortals — this was love ! He was a villain — aye — 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 past, " Nor know I why this next appears the last ! 310 " 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, THE CORSAIR. 17 " 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-night (but blow, thou breeze!) " To warm these slow avengers of the seas. 320 " 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 ! 330 " 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 ? c 18 THE CORSAIR. " Oh, Fate! — accuse thy folly, not thy fate — " She may redeem thee still — nor yet too late." XIV. Thus with himself communion held he — till He reach'd the summit of his tower-crown'd hill : 340 There at the portal paus'd — for wild and soft He heard those accents never heard too oft ; Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung, And these the notes 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; 350 Which not the darkness of despair can damp, Though vain its ray as it had never been. THE CORSAIK. If 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 asked — a tear, The first — last — sole reward of so much love!" 360 He pass'd the portal — cross'd the corridore, And reach' d the chamber as the strain gave o'er: " My own Medora — sure thy song is sad — " > " In Conrad's absence wouldst thou have it glad ? " Without thine ear to listen to my lay, " Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray : " Still must each accent to my bosom suit, " My heart unhush'd — although my lips were mute ! " Oh ! many a night on this lone couch reclin'd, 369 " My dreaming fear with storms hath wing'd the wind, 20 THE CORSAIR " And deem'd the breath that faintly fami'd thy sail — " The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale ; " Though soft — it seem'd the low prophetic dirge, " That moum'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, 380 " And still I gazed and gazed — and not a prow " Was granted to my tears — my truth — my vow ! u At length — 'twas noon — I hail'd and blest the mast " That met my sight — it near'd — Alas ! it past ! . " 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, 390 * 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— THE CORSAIR. 21 " 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, 400 " My very love to thee is hate to them, " So closely mingling here, that disentwin'd, " 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.' 8 " This hour we part ! — my heart foreboded this. ■" Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss — " This hour — it cannot be — this hour away ! 410 " Yon bark hath hardly anchored in the bay. " Her consort still is absent — and her crew " Have need of rest before they toil anew ; 22 THE CORSAIR. " My love! thou mock'st my weakness ; and would'st steel " My breast before the time when it must feel. " But trifle now no more with my distress, " Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness : " Be silent, — Conrad ! — dearest — come and share " The feast these hands delighted to prepare — " Light toil ! to cull and dress thy frugal fare ! 420 " 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 4t My steps have wound to try the coolest rill ; " Yes ! thy Sherbet to-night 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. 430 " 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, THE CORSAIR. 23 " We'll turn the tale, by Ariosto told, " Of fair Olympia lov'd and left of old. 1 " Why — thou wert worse than he who broke his vow " To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me now ; 440 " Or even that traitor chief — I've seen thee smile, " When the clear sky showed Ariadne's Isle, " Which I have pointed from these cliffs the while : " And thus — half sportive — half in fear — I said, " Lest Time should raise that doubt to more than dread, " Thus Conrad, too, will quit me for the main : " And he deceiv'd 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 450 " 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 prepar'd : 24 THE CORSAIR. " 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, 460 ft 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, That downcast droop'd in tearless agony. Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms, In all the wilduess of dishevelled charms ; Scarce beat that bosom — where his image dwelt — 470 So full — that feeling seem'd almost unfelt ! Hark — peals the thunder of the signal-gun ! It told 'twas sunset- — and he curs'd 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 ? THE CORSAIR. 25 XV. " And is he gone ?" — on sudden solitude 480 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 refus'd 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 iix'd what time can ne'er erase : 490 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 phrenzied 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, Convuls'd 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 ; 500 26 THE CORSAIR. 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 hailed him first when homeward from the deep : And she — the dim and melancholy star, Whose ray of beauty reach'd him from afar, 510 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 clang of tumult vibrate on his ears, 520 THE CORSAIR. 27 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 anchor's 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 ; .530 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 awe 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 : 540 The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye, That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy ; 23 THE CORSAIR. All these he wielded to command assent — But where he wished to win, so well unbent, That kindness cancell'd fear in those who heard, And other's gifts shewed mean beside his word — When echoed 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 ; — 550 The evil passions of his youth had made Him value less who loved — than what obeyed. XVII. Around him mustering ranged his ready guard. Before him Juan stands — 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 fiash'd on Conrad, now A laughing wildness half unbent his brow : 1060 And these his accents had a sound of mirth, As if the last he could enjoy on earth ; 5* THE CORSAIR. Yet 'gainst his nature — for tbrough 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. 1070 " More now were ruin — even thyself were loth " The vain attempt should bring but doom to both." " Yes ! — loth indeed : — my soul is nery'd to all, (< Or fall'n too low to fear a further falj : " Tempt not thyself with peril — me with hope, " Of flight from foes with whom I could not cope ; f 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. 1080 THE CORSAIR. 55 ** 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 liave 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 — 1090 " For her in sooth my voice would mount above : 11 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! u Mine eye ne'er ask'd if others were as fair V " 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 1100 " That sighs o'er visions — such as mine hath wrought." S6 THE CORSAIR. " Lady — methought thy love was his, for whom " This arm redeem'd thee from a fiery tomb." '* My love stern Se'yd'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. A I am a slave, a favoured slave at best, " To share his splendour, and seem very blest ! * Oft must my soul the question undergo, 1 1 10 " Of — Dost thou love ?' and burn to answer * No P " Oh ! hard it is that fondness to sustain, " And struggle not to feel averse in vain ; if 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 he quits — it drops a lifeless weight " 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. 78 THE CORSAIR. " 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 ? 1510 " I saw thee — loved thee — owe thee all — would save, "If but to shew 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, " Nor fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart, 1 520 " '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 — Guluare — I never felt till now " My abject fortune — withered fame so low : THE CORSAIR. 79 " 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; 1530 " 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 shewn 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. 1540 " 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 — SO THE CORSAIR. " The guards are gain'd — one moment all were o'er — " Corsair ! we meet in safety or no more; 1550 " 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 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 That passage led — nor lamp nor guard were there : 1560 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 Gleam'd the last star of night — the clearing sky — Yet scarcely heeded these — another light From a lone chamber struck upon his sight. THE CORSAIR. 81 Towards it he moved, a scarcely closing door ReveaPd the ray within, but nothing more. 1570 With hasty step a figure outward past, Then paused — and turn'd— and paused — 'tis She at last ! No poignard 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 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. ISSQ 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 — a S2 THE CORSAIR. But ne'er from strife — captivity — remorse From all his feelings in their inmost force — 1590 So thrill'd — so shuddered 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 viewed — 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. w All words would now be vain — away — away ! " Our bark is tossing — 'tis already day — 1600 " 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 vassals — Greek and Moor; THE CORSAIR. 83 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, As if they there transferr'd that iron weight — 1610 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, 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 review! 162G Sunk he in contemplation — till the cape Where last he anchor'd rear'd its giant shape. Ah! — since that fatal night, though brief the time, Had swept an age of terror, grief, and crime. As its far shadow frown'd above the mast, He veil'd his face, and sorrowed as he past ; He thought of all — Gonsalvo and his band, His fleeting triumph and his failing hand ; U THE CORSAIR. He thought on her afar, his lonely bride — He turned and saw — Gulnare, the homicide ! 1 630 XIV. She watch'd his features till she could not bear Their freezing aspect and averted air, And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye, Fell quench'd in tears, too late to shed or dry. She knelt beside him and his hand she prest, " Thou may'st forgive though Alla's self detest ; " But for that deed of darkness what wert thou ? " Reproach me — but not yet — Oh ! spare me note ! " I am not what I seem — this fearful night " My brain bewilder'd — do not madden quite ! 1640 " If I had never loved — tliough 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 he made ; But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest, They bleed within that silent cell — his breast. THE CORSAIR. 85 Still onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge, The blue waves sport around the stern they urge ; Far on the horizon's verge appeals a speck — A spot — a mast — a sail — an armed deck ! 1650 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 !" 1660 They own the signal, answer to the hail, Hoist out the boat at once, and slacken sail. u '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. 56 THE CORSAIR. He — half forgetting danger and defeat, Returns their greeting as a chief may greet, 1670 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 ; 1680 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 phrenzy could that bosom fill, Extreme in love or hate — in good or ill, The worst of crimes had left her woman still! THE CORSAIR. 87 XVII. This Conrad mark'd, and felt — ah ! could he less: 1690 Hate of that deed — but grief for her distress ; What she had 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 poignard 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 bowed beneath the glance he gave, 1699 Who now seemed changed and humbled : — faint and meek, But varying oft the colour of her cheek To deeper shades of paleness — all it's 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 it's firmness, and his voice it's tone. " Gulnare!" — but she replied not — " dear Gulnare !" She raised her eye — her only answer there — At once she sought and sunk in his embrace : 1710 If he had driven her from that resting place, 08 THE CORSAIR. 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 That asked 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, 1720 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 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 ! Beneath each lamp that through its lattice gleams, J 730 Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams. THE CORSAIR. 89 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, her's alone is dark. ^Tis strange — of yore its welcome never fail'd, Nor now, perchance, extinguish'd, only veil'd. With the first boat descends he for the shore, 1740 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 1750 Announced that any heard or deem'd him nigh ; 90 THE CORSAIR. He knock'd — but faintly — for his trembling hand Refus'd 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 faiFd to frame the question they delay'd ; He snatch'd the lamp — its light will answer all — It quits his grasp — expiring in the fall. He would not wait for that reviving ray — 1760 As soon could he have lingered there for day ; But, glimmering through the dusky corridore, 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 turn'd not — spoke not — sunk not — fix'd his look, And set the anxious frame that lately shook : He gazed — how long we gaze despite of pain, And know — but dare not own we gaze in vain ! In life itself she was so still and fair, 1770 That death with gentler aspect withered there ; THE CORSAIR. 91 And the cold flowers l6 her colder hand contain'd, In that last grasp as tenderly were strain'd As if she scarcely felt, but feign'd a sleep, And made it almost mockery yet to weep : The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow — And veil'd — thought shrinks from all that 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, 1780 But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips — Yet — yet they seem as they forbore to smile, And wish'd repose — but only for a while ; But the white shroud, and each extended tress, Long — fair — but spread in utter lifelessness, Which, late the sport of every summer wind, Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind ; These — and the pale pure cheek, became the bier — But she is nothing — wherefore is he here ? XXI. He ask'd no question — all were answer'd now 1790 By the first glance on that still — marble brow. It was enough — she died — what reck'd it how ? 92 THE CORSAIR. The love of youth, the hope of better years, The source of softest joy and tenderest fears, The only living thing he could not hate, Was reft at once — and he deserv'd 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 Their joy — and find this earth enough for woe, 1800 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 Hide 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, are 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; 1810 No words suffice the secret soul to show, And Truth denies all eloquence to Woe. THE CORSAIR. 93 On Conrad's stricken soul exhaustion presty 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 : 1 820 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 — - 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 beguil'd too long; lSSO Each feeling pure — as falls the dropping dew Withjn the grot; like that had harden'd too; — 94 THE CORSAIR. Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials pass'd, But sunk, and chilPd, and petrified at last. Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock; If such his heart, so shatter'd it the shock. There grew one flower beneath its ragged brow, Though dark the shade — it shelter'd, — saved till now. The thunder came— that bolt hath blasted both, The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth : 184© The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell Its tale, but shrunk and wither'd where it fell, And of its cold protector, blacken round But shiver'd 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, alarm'd, their isle is traversed o'er: Another morn — another bids them seek, And shout his name till echo waxeth weak ; 185§ Mount — grotto — cavern — valley search'd in vain, They find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain — Their hope revives — they follow o'er the main. THE CORSAIR. 95 '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 perish'd his despair! Long mourn'd his band whom none could mourn beside; And fair the monument they gave his bride : For him they raise not the recording stone — IS 60 His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known ; He left a Corsair's name to other times, Link'd with one virtue, and a thousand crimes. NOTES. The time in this poem may seem too short for the occur- rences, but the whole of the JEgean isles are within a few hours sail of the continent, and the reader must be kind enough to take the uiind as I have often found it. Note 1, page 23, line 2. " Of fa* 1 " Olympiu lov'd and left of old, Orlando, Canto 10. Note 2, page 2Q, line 10. Around the waves' phosphoric brightness broke; By night, particularly in a warm latitude, every stroke of the oar, every motion of the boat or ship, is followed by a slight flash like sheet lightning from the water. Note 3, page 33, line 1. Though to the rest the sober berry's juice. Coffee. Note 4, page 33, line 3. The long Chibouque's dissolving cloud supply, Pipe. Note 5, page 33, line 4. While dance the Almas to wild minstrelsy ; Dancing-girls. H 98 NOTES. Note 6, page 37, line 15. " And my stern vow and order's laws oppose The Dervises are in colleges, and of different orders, as the monks. Note 7> page 39, line 9. They seize that Dervise ! — seize on Zatanai ! Satan. Note 8, page 40, line 8. He tore his beard, and foaming jied thejight, A common and not very novel effect of Mussulman anger. See Prince Eugene's Memoirs, page 24. " The Seraskier " received a wound in the thigh ; he plucked up his beard "by the roots, because he was obliged to quit the field." Note 9, page 42, line 11. Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare, Gulnare, a female name ; it means, literally, the flower of the Pomegranate. Note 10, page 53, line 13. Till even the scaffold echoes with their jest! In Sir Thomas More, for instance, on the scaffold, and Anne Boleyn in the Tower, when grasping her neck, she remarked, that it "was too slender to trouble the headsman much." During one part of the French Revolution, it became a fashion to leave some " mot" as a legacy; and the quantity of facetious last words spoken during that period would form a melancholy jest-book of a considerable size. NOTES. 99 Note 11, page 62, line 12. That closed their murder' d sage's latest day ! Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset (the hour of execution ) , notwithstanding the entreaties of his dis- ciples to wait till the sun went down. Note 12, page 63, line 4. The queen of night asserts her silent reign. The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country; the days in winter are longer, but in summer of shorter duration. Note 13, page 63, line 14. The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk, The Kiosk is a Turkish summer-house; the palm is without the present walls of Athens, not far from the temple of The- seus, between which and the tree the wall intervenes. — Ce- phisus' stream is indeed scanty, and Ilissus has no stream at all. Note 14, page 64, line 4. 'That frown — where gentler ocean seems to smile. The opening lines as far as section II. have, perhaps, little business here, and were annexed to an unpublished (though printed) poem; but they were written on the spot in the Spring of 1811, and — I scarce know why — the reader must excuse their appearance here if he can. Note 15, page 68, line 9. His only bends in seeming o'er his beads, The Comboloio, or Mahometan rosary ; the beads are in number ninety-nine. 100 NOTES. Note 16, page 91, line 1. And the cold flowers her colder hand contained, In the Levant it is the custom to strew flowers on the bo- dies of the dead, and in the hands of you»g persons to place a nosegay. THE END, Printed by T. Davison , Lombard-street, Fleet- street. POEMS. To a "Lady weeping. Weep, daughter of a royal line, A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay j Ah, happy ! if each tear of thine Could wash a father's fault away ! Weep — for thy tears are Virtue's tears — Auspicious to these suffering isles ; And be each drop in future years Repaid thee by thy people's smiles ! March, 1312. 102 POEMS From the Turkish. 1. The chain I gave was fair to view, The lute I added sweet in sound, The heart that offered both was true, And ill deserv'd the fate it found. 2. These gifts were charm'd by secret spell Thy truth in absence to divine; And they have done their duty well, Alas ! they could not teach thee thine. S. That chain was firm in every link, But not to bear a strangers touch ; That lute was sweet — till thou could'st think In other hands its notes were such. POEMS. 103 4. Let him, who from thy neck unbound The chain which shiver'd in his grasp, Who saw that lute refuse to sound, Restring the chords, renew the clasp. 5. When thou wert chang'd, they alter'd too; The chain is broke, the music mute : "Tis past — to them and thee adieu — False heart, frail chain, and silent lute. 104 POEMS. SONNET. To Genevra. Thine eyes blue tenderness, thy long fair hair, And the wan lustre of thy features — caught From contemplation — where serenely wrought, Seems Sorrow's softness charm'd from its despair — Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air, That — but I know thy blessed bosom fraught With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thought— - I should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care. With such an aspect by his colours blent, When from his beauty-breathing pencil born, (Except that thou hast nothing to repent) The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn — Such seem'st thou — but how much more excellent! With nought Remorse can claim — nor Virtue scorn. POEMS. 105 SONNET. To Genevra. Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, My heart would wish away that ruder glow : — And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes — but oh ! While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, And into mine my mother's weakness rush, Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow ; For, through thy long dark lashes low depending, The soul of melancholy Gentleness Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending, Above all pain, yet pitying all distress; At once such majesty with sweetness blending, I worship more, but cannot love thee less. 106 POEMS Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog. When some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, And storied urns record who rests below ; When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been : But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnotic'd all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth : While man, vain insect ! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. Oh man ! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debas'd by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust! POEMS. 107 Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypdcrisy, thy words deceit ! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye ! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on — it honours none you wish to mourn : To mark a friend's remains these stones arise, I never knew but one, and here he lies. Newstcad Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808. POEMS. Farewell. Faeewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal availed on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky, 'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh : Oh ! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word — Farewell ! — Farewell I These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ; But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by, The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though grief and passion there rebel ; I only know we loved in vain — I only feel — Farewell ! — Farewell ! THE END. T. DAV ISON, Lombard-street, Whitefriars, London. y i > mBm. m£i tWmm life ■ mm BH <3st&M hi MMe i g aEHBMgBMM - ■ ■ ' - :v ' ' sm IIP ■..*.■■'..•-':■■■: \ff*Jw*i .'.'.../■'.•■•■■ - I 1 1 I'llPiffiSiMiBIIIBr ss3$ii