This fearful interval of doubt and dread,
When every hour might doom him worse than
dead,

When every step that echo'd by the gate
Might entering lead where axe and stake await:
When every voice that grated on his ear
Might be the last that he could ever hear;
Could terror tame that spirit stern and high
Had proved unwilling as unfit to die;
'Twas worn-perhaps decay'd-yet silent bore
That conflict deadlier far than all before:
The heat of fight, the hurry of the gale,
Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail;

But bound and fix'd in fetter'd solitude,
To pine, the prey of every changing mood;
To gaze on thine own heart; and meditate
Irrevocable faults, and coming fate-
Too late the last to shun-the first to mend
To count the hours that struggle to thine end,
With not a friend to animate, and tell
To other ears that death became thee well;
Around thee foes to forge the ready lie,
And blot life's latest scene with calumny;
Before thee tortures, which the soul can dare,
Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may
bear;

But deeply feels a single cry would shame,
To valour's praise thy last and dearest claim;
The life thou leav'st below, denied above
By kind monopolists of heavenly love;
And more than doubtful paradise-thy heaven
Of earthly hope-thy loved one from thee riven.
Such were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain,
And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain:

And those sustain'd he--boots it well or ill?
Since not to sink beneath, is something still!

VII.

The first day pass'd-he saw not her-Gulnare-
The second-third-and still she came not there;
But what her words avouch'd, her charms had
done,

Or else he had not seen another sun.
The fourth day roll'd along, and with the night
Came storm and darkness in their mingling
might:

Oh! how he listen'd to the rushing deep,
That ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep;
And his wild spirit wilder wishes sent,
Roused by the roar of his own element !
Oft had he ridden on that winged wave,

And loved its roughness for the speed it gave;
And now its dashing echo'd on his ear,
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 him 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.
He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and pray'd
One pitying flash to mar the form it made:
His steel and impious prayer attract alike-
The storm roll'd onward, and disdain'd to strike;
Its peal wax'd fainter-ceased-he felt alone,
As if some faithless friend had spurn'd his groan.

VIII.

The midnight pass'd, and to the massy door A light step came-it paused-it moved once

more;

Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key:
Tis as his heart foreboded-that fair she!
Whate'er her sins, to him a guardian saint,
And beauteous still as hermit's hope can paint;
Yet changed since last within that cell she came,
More pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame:
On him she cast her dark and hurried eye,
Which spoke before her accents-"Thou must
die!

Yes, thou must die there is but one resource,
The last-the worst-if torture were not worse."
"Lady! I look to none-my lips proclaim
What last proclaim'd they-Conrad still the

-loved.

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

"Ay, in my chains! my steps will gently tread, With these adornments, o'er each slumbering head!

Thou hast forgot-is this a garb for flight?
Or is that instrument more fit for fight?"
"Misdoubting Corsair! I have gain'd the guard,
Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward.

A single word of mine removes that chain:
Without some aid how here could I remain ?
Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time,
If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime:
The crime-'tis none to punish those of Seyd.
That hated tyrant, Conrad-he must bleed!
I see thee shudder-but my soul is changed-
Wrong'd-spurn'd-reviled-and it shall be
aveng'd-

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.

Without it flight were idle-how evade
His sure pursuit? my wrongs too unrepaid,
My youth disgraced-the long, long wasted

years,

One blow shall cancel with our future fears; But since the dagger suits thee less than brand, I'll try the firmness of a female hand.

The guards are gain'd-one moment all were

o'er

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

IX.

She turn'd, and vanish'd ere he could reply, But his glance follow'd far with eager eye: And gathering, as he could, the links that bound

sound,

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

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, wither'd fame so low:
Seyd is mine enemy; had swept my band
From earth with ruthless but with open hand;
And therefore came I, in my bark of war,
To smite the smiter with the scimitar;
Such is my weapon-not the secret knife
Who spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life.
Thine saved I gladly, Lady, not for this--
Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss.
Now fare thee well-more peace be with thy
breast!

Night wears apace-my last of earthly rest!"
Rest! rest! by sunrise must thy sinews shake,
And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake.
I heard the order-saw-I will not see-
If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.
My life, my love, my hatred-all below
Are on this cast-Corsair ! 'tis but a blow!

Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude,
"Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where
He, fast as fetter'd limbs allow, pursued.
That passage led; nor lamp nor guard was there:
He sees a dusky glimmering -shall he seek
Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak?
Chance guides his steps-a freshness seems to

bear

Full on his brow, as if from morning air;
He reach'd an open gallery-on his eye
Gleam'd the last star of night, the clearing sky:
Yet scarcely heeded these-another light
From a lone chamber struck upon his sight.
Reveal'd the ray within, but nothing more.
Towards it he moved; a scarcely closing door
With hasty step a figure outward pass'd,
Then paused--and turn'd--and paused-'tis She
at last!
No poniard in that hand, nor sign of ill-
"Thanks to that softening heart, she could not
kill!"

Again he look'd, the wildness of her eye
Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully.
She stopp'd-threw back her dark far-floating
That nearly veil'd her face and bosom fair;
hair,
As if she late had bent her leaning head
Above some object of her doubt or dread.
They meet-upon her brow-unknown-
forgot-

Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood-
Her hurrying hand had left-'twas but a spot-
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; and the

He had been tempted,-chasten'd,
chain

Yet on his arms might ever there remain;
But ne'er from strife, captivity, remorse-
From all his feelings in their inmost force-
So thrill'd, so shudder'd every creeping vein,
As now they froze before that purple stain.
That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,
Had banish'd all the beauty from her cheek!

Blood he had view'd-could view unmoved-

but then

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

XI.

""Tis done-he nearly waked-but it is done.

pour,

Equipp'd 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,
As if they there transferr'd that iron weight.
No words are utter'd-at her sign, a door
Reveals the secret passage to the shore;
The city lies behind-they speed, they reach
The glad waves dancing on the yellow beach :
And Conrad following, at her beck, obey'd,
Nor cared he now if rescued or betray'd;
Resistance were as useless as if Seyd
Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed.

XIII.

Embark'd, the sail unfurl'd, the light breeze blew

How much had Conrad's memory to review!
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 sorrow'd as he pass'd;
He thought of all-Gonsalvo and his band,
His fleeting triumph and his failing hand;
He thought on her afar, his lonely bride:
He turn'd and saw-Gulnare, the homicide!

XIV.

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 press'd,
"Thou may'st forgive though Allah's self detest;
But for that deed of darkness, what wert thou?
Reproach me-but not yet-O! spare me now!
I am not what I seem-this fearful night
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 undesign'd, 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,
A spot-a mast-a sail-an armed deck!
Their little bark her men of watch descry,
And ampler canvas woos the wind from high;
She bears her down majestically near,
Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier;
A flash is seen-the ball beyond their bow
Booms harmless, hissing to the deep below.
Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance,

A long, long absent gladness in his glance :-
""Tis mine--my blood-red flag! again-again-
I am not all deserted on the main !"
They own the signal, answer to the 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,
Returns their greeting as a chief may greet,
Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand,
And feels he yet can conquer and command!

XVI.

These greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow, Yet grieve to win him back without a blow; They sail'd prepared for vengeance-had they known

A woman's hand secured that deed her own, She were their queen-less scrupulous are they Than haughty Conrad how they win their way. With many an asking smile, and wondering

stare,

They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare :
And her, at once above-beneath her sex,
Whom blood appall'd not, their regards perplex.
To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye,
She drops her veil, and stands in silence by;
Her arms are meekly folded on that breast,
Which Conrad safe-to fate resign'd the rest.
Though worse than frenzy could that bosom fill,
Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill,
The worst of crimes had left her woman still.
XVII.

This Conrad mark'd, and felt-ah! could he less?

Hate of that deed-but grief for her distress; What she has done no tears can wash away, And Heaven must punish on its angry day: But it was done: he knew, whate'er her guilt, For him that poniard smote, that blood was spilt; And he was free!-and she for him had given Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven! And now he turn'd him to that dark-eyed slave, Whose brow was bow'd beneath the glance he gave,

Who now seem'd changed and humbled, faint and meek,

But varying oft the colour of her cheek
To deeper shades of paleness-all its red
That fearful spot which stain'd it from the dead!
He took that hand-it trembled-now too late-
So soft in love, so wildly nerved in hate;
He clasp'd that hand-it trembled-and his own
Had lost its firmness, and his voice its tone.
"Gulnare!"- but she replied not-" dear Gul-
nare!"

She raised her eye-her only answer there-
At once she sought and sunk in his embrace:
If he had driven her from that resting-place,
His had been more or less than mortal heart,
But-good or ill-it bade her not depart.
Perchance, but for the bodings of his breast,
His latest virtue then had join'd the rest.
Yet even Medora might forgive the kiss
That ask'd from form so fair no more than this,

There grew one flower beneath its rugged 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:
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; 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. '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 -
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.