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And sometimes with the wisest and the best,

Oh ! hard it is that fondness to sustain, Till even the scaffold 1 echoes with their jest ! And struggle not to feel averse in vain; Yet not the joy to which it seems akin

But harder still the heart's recoil to bear, It may deceive all hearts, save that within.

And hide from one – perhaps another there. Whate'er it was that flash'd on Conrad, now

He takes the hand I give not — nor withhold A laughing wildness half unbent his brow:

Its pulse nor check'd — nor quicken'd- calmly cold : And these his accents had a sound of mirth,

And when resign'd, it drops a lifeless weight As if the last he could enjoy on earth;

From one I never loved enough to hate.
Yet 'gainst his nature — for through that short life, No warmth these lips return by his imprest,
Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife. And chill'd remembrance shudders o'er the rest.

Yes – had I ever proved that passion's zeal,

The change to hatred were at least to feel : “ Corsair! thy doom is named — but I have power But still — he goes unmourn'd— returns unsoughtTo soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour.

And oft when present — absent from my thought. Thee would I spare - nay more-would save thee now, Or when reflection comes — and come it must But this—time — hope—nor even thy strength allow; I fear that henceforth 't will but bring disgust; But all I can, I will: at least, delay

I am his slave — but, in despite of pride, The sentence that remits thee scarce a day.

'T were worse than bondage to become his bride. More now were ruin - even thyself were loth Oh! that this dotage of his breast would cease ! The vain attempt should bring but doom to both." Or seek another and give mine release,

But yesterday — I could have said, to peace !
“ Yes !- loth indeed : — my soul is nerved to all, Yes — if unwonted fondness now I feign,
Or fall’n too low to fear a further fall :

Remember — captive! 't is to break thy chain;
Tempt not thyself with peril ; me with hope, Repay the life that to thy hand I owe;
Of flight from foes with whom I could not cope : To give thee back to all endear'd below,
Unfit to vanquish — shall I meanly fly,

Who share such love as I can never know.
The one of all my band that would not die ?

Farewell — morn breaks — and I must now away:
Yet there is one — to whom my memory clings, 'T will cost me dear — but dread no death to-day!"
Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs.
My sole resources in the path I trod (God !

Were these — my bark — my sword — my love — my She press'd his fetter'd fingers to her heart,
The last I left in youth — he leaves me now - And bow'd her head, and turn d her to depart,
And Man but works his will to lay me low.

And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.
I have no thought to mock his throne with prayer

And was she here? and is he now alone ? Wrung from the coward crouching of despair;

What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er his chain ? It is enough - I breathe — and I can bear.

The tear most sacred, shed for others' pain,
My sword is shaken from the worthless hand
That might have better kept so true a brand;

That starts at once — bright — pure — from Pity's

My bark is sunk or captive — but my love -
For her in sooth my voice would mount above :

Already polish'd by the hand divine !
Oh! she is all that still to earth can bind -
And this will break a heart so more than kind,

Oh! too convincing — dangerously dear -
And blight a form — till thine appear'd, Gulnare ! In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
Mine eye ne'er ask'd if others were as fair."

That weapon of her weakness she can wield,

To save, subdue — at once her spear and shield: “ Thou lov'st another then ? - but what to me Avoid it - Virtue ebbs and Wisdom erts, Is this — 't is nothing — nothing e'er can be :

Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers ! But yet — thou lov’st — and — Oh! I envy those

What lost a world, and bade a hero fly? Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose,

The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye. Who never feel the void — the wandering thought Yet be the soft triumvir's fault forgiven ; That sighs o'er visions — such as mine hath wrought.” By this — how many lose not earth – Lut heaven!

Consign their souls to man's eternal foe, “ Lady — methought thy love was his, for whom And seal their own to spare some wanton's woe. This arm redeem'd thee from a fiery tomb."

“ My love stern Seyd's! Oh-No-No—not my love-- | 'Tis morn — and o'er his alter'd features play
Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once strove The beams — without the hope of yesterday.
To meet his passion — but it would not be.

What shall he be ere night ? perchance a thing,
I felt - I feel — love dwells with — with the free. O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing,
I am a slave, a favour'd slave at best,

By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt; To share his splendour, and seem very blest !

While sets that sun, and dews of evening melt, Oft must my soul the question undergo,

Chill — wet — and misty round each stiffen'd limb, Of — Dost thou love ?' and burn to answer, No!' Refreshing earth – reviving all but him !

1 In Sir Thomas More, for instance, on the scaffold, and a fashion to leare some "mot " as a legacy; and the quantity Anne Boleyn, in the Tower, when, grasping her neck, she of facetious last words spoken during that period would form remarked, that it " was too slender to trouble the headsman

a melancholy jest book of a considerable size. much." During one part of the French Revolution, it became

The Corsair.


And, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calm,
Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,
All tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye -
And dull were his that pass'd them heedless by.
Again the Ægean, heard no more afar,
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war ;
Again his waves in milder tints unfold
Their long array of sapphire and of gold,
Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle,
T'hat frown - where gentler ocean seems to smile. 5

"Come vedi - ancor non m'abbandona." _ DANTE.


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

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 !
Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain,
His Corsair's isle was once thine own domain
Would that with freedom it were thine again !

On such an eve, his palest beam he cast,
When — Athens ! here thy Wisest look'd his last.
How watch'd thy better sons bis farewell ray,
That closed their murder'd sage's 2 latest day!
Not yet — not yet — Sol pauses on the hill.
The precious hour of parting lingers still;
But sad his light to agonising eyes,
And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes :
Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour,
The land, where Phæbus never frown'd before ;
But ere he sank below Cithæron's head,
The cup of woe was quaff'd — the spirit fled;
The soul of him who scorn'd to fear or fly
Who lived and died, as none can live or die !

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 Last eve Anselmo's bark return'd, and yet (none. His only tidings that they had not met ! Though wild, as now, far different were the tale Had Conrad waited for that single sail. The night-breeze freshens she that day had pass'd In watching all that Hope proclaim'd a mast; Sadly she sate - on high - Impatience bore At last her footsteps to the midnight shore, And there she wander'd, heedless of the spray That dash'd her garinents oft, and warn'd away : She saw not — felt not this - nor dared depart, Nor deem'd it cold - her chill was at her heart; Till grew such certainty from that suspense His very sight had shock'd from life or sense ! It came at last - a sad and sbatter'd boat, Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought; Some bleeding-all most wretched - these the few Scarce knew they how escaped this all they knew. In silence, darkling, each appear'd to wait His fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate : Something they would have said ; but seem'd to fear To trust their accents to Medora's ear. She saw at once, yet sunk not – trembled not Beneath that grief, that loneliness of lot,

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

• 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. (See post, Curse of Minerva")

• Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset the hour of execution), not withstanding the entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went down.

3 The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country: the days in winter are longer, but in summer of sborter duration.

• The kiosk is a Turkish summer-house: the palm is without the present walls of Athens, not far from the temple

of Theseus, between which and the tree the wall intervenes.

- Cephisus' stream is indeed scanty, and Ilissus has no stream at all.

scor the brilliant skies and variegated landscapes of Greece every onc has formed to himself a general notion, from having contemplated them through the hazy atmosphere of some prose narration ; but, in Lord Byron's poetry, every image is distinct and glowing, as if it were illuminated by its native sunshine ; and, in the figures which people the landscape, we behold cot only the general form and costume, but the countenance, and the attitude, and the play of features and of gesture accompanying, and indicating, the sudden impulses of momentary feelings. The magic of colouring by which this is effected is, perhaps, the most striking evidence of Lord Byron's talent. - GEORGE Ellis.]


Within that meek fair form, were feelings high, While baffled, weaken'd by this fatal fray -
That deem'd not till they found their energy.

Watch'd — follow'd - he were then an easier prey; While yet was Hope — they soften'd - Autter'd But once cut off - the remnant of his band wept

Embark their wealth, and seek a safer strand."
All lost that softness died not - but it slept ;
And o'er its slumber rose that Strength which said,

“ Gulnare ! - if for each drop of blood a gem “ With nothing left to love there's nougbt to

Were offer'd rich as Stamboul's diadem; dread."

If for each hair of his a massy mine 'Tis more than nature's; like the burning might

Of virgin ore should supplicating shine; Delirium gathers from the fever's height.

If all our Arab tales divulge or dream

Of wealth were here - that gold should not redeem ! “ Silent you stand — nor would I hear you tell

It had not now redeem'd a single hour; What — speak not breathe not for I know it

But that I know him fetter'd, in my power; Yet would I ask almost my lip denies (well

And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still The - quick your answer — tell me where he lies.”

On pangs that longest rack, and latest kill.” “ Lady! we know not — scarce with life we fled; But here is one denies that he is dead:

" Nay, Seyd! - I seek not to restrain thy rage, He saw him bound; and bleeding - but alive." Too justly moved for mercy to assuage ;

My thoughts were only to secure for thee
She heard no further - 't was in vain to strive – His riches — thus released, he were not free :
So throbb'd each vein – each thought - till then Disabled, shorn of half his might and band,

His capture could but wait thy first command."
Her own dark soul – these words at once subdued :
She totters

and senseless had the wave Perchance but snatch'd her from another grave;

“ His capture could ! and shall I then resign

One day to him the wretch already mine? But that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes,

Release my foe ! — at whose remonstrance ? — thine ! They yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies :

Fair suitor! — to thy virtuous gratitude, Dash o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew,

That thus repays this Giaour's relenting mood, Raise – fan sustain till life returns anew;

Which thee and thine alone of all could spare, Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave

No doubt - regardless if the prize were fair, That fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve;

My thanks and praise alike are due - now hear ! Then seek Anselmo's cavern, to report

I have a counsel for thy gentler ear : The tale too tedious — when the triumph short.

I do mistrust thee, woman ! and each word

Of thine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard.

Borne in his arms through fire from yon Serai In that wild council words wax'd warm and strange,

Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly? With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge ;

Thou need'st not answer — thy confession speaks, All, save repose or flight : still lingering there

Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks ; Breathed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair ;

Then, lovely dame, bethink thee! and beware : Whate'er his fate – the breasts he form'd and led,

'Tis not his life alone may claim such care ! Will save him living, or appease him dead.

Another word and - nay — I need no more. Woe to his foes ! there yet survive a few,

Accursed was the moment when he bore Whose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true.

Thee from the flames, which better far — but-no

I then had mourn'd thee with a lover's woe -

Now 't is thy lord that warns — deceitful thing ! Within the Haram's secret chamber sate !

Know'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing ? Stern Seyd, still pondering o'er his Captive's fate; In words alone I am not wont to chafe : His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell,

Look to thyself - nor deem thy falsehood safe ! ” 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; He rose — and slowly, sternly thence withdrew, While many an anxious glance her large dark eye Rage in his eye and threats in his adieu : Sends in its idle search for sympathy,

Ah! little reck'd that chief of womanhood His only bends in seeming o'er his beads, ?

Which frowns ne'er quell'd, nor menaces subdued ; But inly views his victim as he bleeds.

And little deem'd he what thy heart, Gulnare !

When soft could feel, and when incensed could dare. " Pacha! the day is thine ; and on thy crest

His doubts appear'd to wrong - nor yet she knew Sits Triumph Conrad taken — fall’n the rest ! How deep the root from whence compassion grew His doom is fix'd - he dies : and well his fate

She was a slave — from such may captives claim Was earn'd — yet much too worthless for thy hate : A fellow-feeling, differing but in name; Methinks, a short release, for ransom told

Still half unconscious — heedless of his wrath, With all his treasure, not unwisely sold;

Again she ventured on the dangerous path, Report speaks largely of his pirate-hoard

Again his rage repellid — until arose Would that of this my Pacha were the lord !

That strife of thought, the source of woman's woes !

Ir The whole of this section was added in the course of printing.)

? The comboloio, or Mahometan rosary; the beads are ia number ninety-nine.

VI. Meanwhile-long anxious -weary-still-the same Rou'd day and night - his soul could never tame This fearful interval of doubt and dread, When every hour might dooin him worse than dead, When every step that echo'd by the gate Might entering lead where axe and stake await; When every voice that grated on his ear Might be the last that he could ever hear; Could terror tame- that spirit stern and high Had proved unwilling as unfit to die; *T was worn - perhaps decay'd — yet silent bore That conflict, deadlier far than all before: The heat of tight, the hurry of the gale, Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail ; But bound and fix'd in fetter'd solitude, To pine, the prey of every changing mood; To gize 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, Aad blot life's latest scene with calumny; Before thee tortures, which the soul can dare, Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear; But dezply 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 bope - thy loved one from thee riven. Such were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain, And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain : And those sustaind he - boots it well or ill ? Since not to sink beneath, is something still !

VII. The first day passid — he saw not her Gulnare The second third - and still she came not there; But what her words arouch'd, her charms had done, Or else he had not seen another sun. The fourth day roll'd along, and with the night Came storm and darkness in their mingling might: Oh! how he listend to the rushing deep, That ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep; And his wild spirit wilder wishes sent, Roused by the roar of his own element ! Oft bad he ridden on that winged wave, And loved its roughness for the speed it gave; And now its dashing echo'd 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; And flash'd the lightning by the latticed bar, To himn more genial than the midnight star: Close to the glimmering grate he dragg'd his chain, And hoped that peril might not prove in vain.

("By the way - I have a charge against you. As the great Mr. Dennis roared out on a similar occasion, ‘By God, iaal is my thunder !' - so do I exclaim, . This is my lightning! I allude to a speech of Ivan's, in the scene with Pe. trogna and the Empress, where the thought, and almost expression, are similar to Conrad's in the third canto of the *Corsair.' 1, however, do not say this to accuse you, but to except nsuels from auspicion ; as there is a priority of six months publication, on my part, between the appearance of that composition and of your tragedies." - Lord Byron to

He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and pray'd
One pitying flash to mar the form it made : 1
His steel and impious prayer attract alike -
The storm rollid onward, and disdain'd to strike;
Its peal wax'd fainter - ceased - he felt alone,
As if some faithless friend had spurn'd his groan!

The midnight pass'd - and to the massy door
A light step came – it paused — it moved once more;
Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key :
"T is as his heart foreboded - that fair she !
Whate'er her sins, to him a guardian saint,
And beauteous still as hermit's hope can paint;
Yet changed since last within that cell she came,
More pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame :
On him she cast her dark and hurried eye,
Which spoke before her accents —" Thou must die !
Yes, thou must die — there is but one resource,
The last the worst - - if torture were not worse.”

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

" Why should I seek ? because — Oh! didst thou not
Redeem my life from worse than slavery's lot ?
Why should I seek ? — hath misery made thee blind
To the fond workings of a woman's mind ?
And must I say? albeit my heart rebel
With all that woman feels, but should not tell
Because — despite thy crimes — that heart is moved :
It fear'd thee - thank'd thee — pitied — madden'd-

Reply not, tell not now thy tale again,
Thou lov'st another - and I love in vain ;
Though fund as mine her bosom, form more fair,
I rush through peril which she would not dare.
If that thy heart to hers were truly dear,
Were I thine own — thou wert not lonely here :
An outlaw's spouse - and leave her lord to roam !
What hath such gentle dame to do with home ?
But speak not now — o'er thine and o'er my head
Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread ;
If thou hast courage still, and wouldst be free,
Receive this poniard -rise-and follow me!”

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

“ Misdoubting Corsair ! I have gain'd the guard,
Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward.
A single word of mine removes that chain :
Without some aid how here could I remain ?

Mr. Sotheby, Sept. 25. 1815. — The following are the lines in
Mr. Sotheby's tragedy :-

" And have leant
In transport from my finty couch, to welcome
The thunder as it burst upon my roof;
And beckond to the lightning, as it flash'd

And sparkled on these letters. Notwithstanding Lord Byron's precaution, the coincidence in question was cited against him, some years after, in a periodical journal.]

Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time,
If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime :
The crime — 't is none to punish those of Seyd.
That hated tyrant, Conrad - he must bleed !
I see thee shudder - but my soul is changed
Wrong'd, spurn'd, reviled - and it shall be avenged -
Accused of what till now my heart disdain'd-
Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chain'd.
Yes, smile !-- but he had little cause to sneer,
I was not treacherous then - nor thou too dear :
But he has said it - and the jealous well,
Those tyrants, teasing, tempting to rebel,
Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell.
I never loved — he bought me — somewhat high
Since with me came a heart he could not buy.
I was a slave unmurmuring: he bath said,
But for his rescue I with thce had fled.
'Twas false thou know'st - but let such augurs rue,
Their words are omens Insult renders true.
Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer;
This fleeting grace was only to prepare
New torments for thy life, and my despair.
Mine too he threatens ; but his dotage still
Would fain reserve me for his lordly will:
When wearier of these fleeting charms and me,
There yawns the sack — and yonder rolls the sea !
What, am I then a toy for dotard's play,
To wear but till the gilding frets away ?
I saw thee - loved thee - owe thee all — would save,
If but to show how grateful is a slave.
But had he not thus menaced fame and life,
(And well be keeps his oaths pronounced in strife,)

But since the dagger suits thee less than brand,
I'll try the firmness of a female hand.
The guards are gain'd.

- one moment all were o'er -
Corsair ! we meet in safety or no more;
If erts my feeble hand, the morning cloud
Will hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud."

still had saved thee - but the Pacha spared.
Now I am all thine own — for all prepared :
Thou lov'st me not-nor know'st — or but the worst.
Alas ! this love that hatred are the first
Oh! couldst thou prove my truth, thou would'st not

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!”

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 fetter'd limbs allow, pursued.
'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where
That passage led; nor lamp nor guard were there :
He sees a dusky glimmering - shall he seek
Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak ?
Chance guides his steps — a freshness seems to bear
Full on his brow, as if from morning air —
He reach'd an open gallery - on his eye
Gleam'd the last star of night, the clearing sky:
Yet scarcely heeded these — another light
From a lone chamber struck upon his sight.
Towards it he moved ; a scarcely closing door
Reveal'd the ray within, but nothing more.
With hasty step a figure outward past, [last!
Then paused — and turn'd- and paused — 't is She at
No poniard in that hand - nor sign of ill -
“ Thanks to that softening heart-she could not kill!".
Again he look'd, the wildness of her eye
Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully.
She stopp'd - threw back her dark far-floating hair,
That nearly veil'd her face and bosom fair :
As if she late had bent her leaning head
Above some object of her doubt or dread.
They meet - upon her brow - unknown - forgot-
Her hurrying hand had left - 't was but a spot --
Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood -
Oh! slight but certain pledge of crime - 't is blood !

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

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 —
From all his feelings in their inmost force -
So thrilld- so shudder'd every creeping vein,
As now they froze before that purple stain.
That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,
Had banish'd all the beauty from her cheek!
Blood he had view'd — could view unmoved - but

It flow'd in combat, or was shed by men !

« Rest! rest ! by sunrise must thy sinews shake,
And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake.

heard the order— saw — I will not see-
I thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.
My life — my love -- my hatred - all below
Are on this cast - Corsair ! 't is 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 ;

“ 'T is done – he nearly waked - but it is done.
Corsair ! he perish'd - thou art dearly won.
All words would now be vain — away — away !
Our bark is tossing - 't is already day.
The few gain'd over, now are wholly mine,
And these thy yet surviving band shall join :
Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand,
When once our sail forsakes this hated strand."

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