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 fear,

The first-last-sole reward of so much love!»>

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 reclined,

My dreaming fear with storms hath wing'd the wind,
And deem'd the breath that faintly fann'd thy sail
The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale;
Though soft, it seem'd the low prophetic dirge;
That mourn'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,
And still I gazed and gazed-and not a prow
Was granted to my tears-my truth-my vow!
At length-'t was noon-I hail'd and blest the mast
That met my sight-it near'd-Alas! it past!
Another came-Oh God! It was 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,

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--
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 it was 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, My very love to thee is hate to them, So closely mingling here, that disentwined, 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; Bat-Ob, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart, This hour again-but not for long-we part

Her consort still is absent, and her crew
Have need of rest before they toil anew;

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!
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
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 grape's 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.
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 lovest to hear,
Shall soothe or lull-or, should it vex thine ear,
We'll turn the tale, by Ariosto told,

Of fair Olympia loved and left of old.1
Why-thou wert worse than he who broke his vow
To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me now;
Or even that traitor chief—I've seen thee smile,
When the clear sky show'd 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 deceived 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
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 prepared:
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,
Security shall make repose more sweet:
List!-t is 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.
lle dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye,
Which downcast droop'd in tearless agony.
Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms,
In all the wildness of dishevell'd charms;
Scarce beat that bosom where his image dwelt
So full-that feeling seem'd almost unfelt!
Hark-peals the thunder of the signal-gun!
It told 't was sunset-and he cursed 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?
XV.

And is he gone?»-on sudden solitude
How oft that fearful question will intrude!

<< "T was 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 refused 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 fix'd what time can ne'er erase:
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 phrensied seem'd to swim
Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes dewed
With drops of sadness oft to be renew'd.
<«<lle's gone!»-against her heart that hand is driven,
Convulsed 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;
But turn'd with sickening soul within the gate-
« It is no dream-and I am desolate!»

eye

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 what he would not survey,
His lone, but lovely dwelling on the steep,
That hail'd him first when homeward from the deep:
And she-the dim and melancholy star,
Whose ray of beauty reach'd him from afar,
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,
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;
He bounds,-he thes-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 disturbed by haste, to vulgar view

For well had Conrad learn'd to curb 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:
The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye,
That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy;
All these he wielded to command assent:
But where he wish'd to win, so well unbent,
That kindness cancell'd fear in those who heard,
And others' gifts show'd 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;
The evil passions of his youth had made
Him value less who loved-than what obey'd.

My sword, and my capote.»> Soon firmly girded on, and lightly slung, His belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung; « Call Pedro here!» He comes-and Conrad beuds, With all the courtesy he deign'd his friends; « Receive these tablets, and peruse with care, Words of high trust and truth are graven there; Double the guard, and when Anselmo's bark Arrives, let him alike these orders mark:

2

In three days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shine
On our return-till then all peace be thine!»
This said, his brother Pirate's hand he wrung,
Then to his boat with haughty gesture sprung.
Flash'd the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke
Around the waves phosphoric brightness broke;
They gain the vessel-on the deck he stands;
Shrieks the shrill whistle-ply the busy hands-
He marks how well the ship her helm obeys,
How gallant all her crew-and deigns to praise.
His eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turn-
Why doth he start, and inly seem to mourn?
Alas! those eyes beheld his rocky tower,
And live a moment o'er the parting hour;
She-his Medora-did she mark the prow?
Ah! never loved he half so much as now!
But much must yet be done ere dawn of day-
Again he mans himself and turns away;
Down to the cabin with Gonsalvo bends,
And there unfolds his plan-his means-and ends;
Before them burns the lamp, and spreads the chart,
And all that speaks and aids the naval art;
They to the midnight watch protract debate;
To anxious eyes what hour is ever late?
Mean time, the steady breeze serenely blew,
And fast and Falcon-like the vessel flew;
Pass'd the high headlands of each clustering isle,
To gain their port-loug-long ere morning smile.
And soon the night-glass through the narrow bay
Discovers where the Pacha's galleys lay.
Count they each sail-and mark how there supine
The lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine.
Secure, unnoted, Conrad's prow pass'd by,
And anchord where his ambush meant to lie;

Is Coron's bay floats many a galley light,
Through Coron's lattices the lamps are bright,
For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night:
A feast for promised triumph yet to come,
When he shall drag the fetter'd Rovers home;
This hath he sworn by Alla and his sword,
And faithful to his firman and his word,
His summon'd prows collect along the coast,
And great the gathering crews, and loud the boast;
Already shared the captives and the prize,
Though far the distant foe they thus despise;
Tis but to sail-no doubt to-morrow's Sun
Will see the Pirates bound-their haven won!
Mean time the watch may slumber, if they will,
Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill,
Though all, who can, disperse on shore and seek
To flesh their glowing valour on the Greek;
How well such deed becomes the turban'd brave-
To bare the sabre's edge before a slave!
Infest his dwelling-but forbear to slay-
Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day,
And do not deign to smite because they may!
L'aless some gay caprice suggests the blow,
To keep in practice for the coming foe.
Revel and rout the evening hours beguile,
And they who wish to wear a head must smile;
For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer,
And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear.

II.

High in his hall reclines the turban'd Seyd;
Around-the bearded chiefs he came to lead.
Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff-
Forbidden draughts, 'tis said, he dared to quaff,
Though to the rest the sober berry's juice, 3
The slaves bear round for rigid Moslem's use;
The long Chibouque's dissolving cloud supply,
While dance the Almas to wild minstrelsy.
The rising moru will view the chiefs embark;
But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark:
And revellers may more securely sleep
On silken couch than o'er the rugged deep;
Feast there who can-nor combat till they must,
And less to conquest than to Korans trust;
And yet the numbers crowded in his host
Might warrant more than even the Pacha's boast.

III.

With cautious reverence from the outer gate, Slow stalks the slave, whose office there to wait, Eows his bent head-his hand salutes the floor, Ere yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore:

« A captive dervise, from the pirate's nest
Escaped, is here--himself would tell the rest.»>
He took the sign from Seyd's assenting eye,
And led the holy man in silence nigh.
His arms were folded on his dark green vest,
His step was feeble, and his look deprest;
Yet worn he seem'd of hardship more than years,
And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears.
Vow'd to his God-his sable locks he wore,
And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er:
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
And wrapt a breast bestow'd on heaven alone;
Submissive, yet with self-possession mann'd,
He calmly met the curious eyes that scann'd;
And question of his coming fain would seek,
Before the Pacha's will allow'd to speak.

IV.

« Whence com'st thou, dervise !>>

A fugitive->>

From the outlaw's den,

« Thy capture where and when?>< From Scalanovo's port to Scio's isle, The Saick was bound; but Alla did not smile Upon our course-the Moslem merchant's gains The Rovers won: our limbs have worn their chains. I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast, Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost; At length a fisher's humble boat by night Afforded hope, and offer'd chance of flight: I seized the hour, and find my safety hereWith thee-most mighty Pacha! who can fear?»

« How speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared,
Their plunder'd wealth, and robber's rock, to guard?
Dream they of this our preparation, doom'd
To view with fire their scorpion nest consumed?»>

«Pacha! the fetter'd captive's mourning eye That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy;

I only heard the reckless waters roar,

Those waves that would not bear me from the shore;
I only mark'd the glorious sun and sky,
Too bright-too blue-for my captivity;
And felt-that all which Freedom's bosom cheers,
Must break my chain before it dried
my tears.
This may'st thou judge, at least, from my escape,
They little deem of aught in peril's shape;
Else vainly had I pray'd or sought the chance
That leads me here-if eyed with vigilance:
The careless guard that did not see me fly,
May watch as idly when thy power is nigh:
Pacha!-my limbs are faint—and nature craves
Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves;
Permit my absence-peace be with thee! Peace
With all around!-now grant repose-release.»

<< Stay, dervise! I have more to question-stay,
I do command thee-sit-dost hear?-obey!
More I must ask, and food the slaves shail bring;
Thou shalt not pine where all are banqueting:
The supper done--prepare thee to reply,
Clearly and full-I love not mystery.»

"Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man, Who look'd not lovingly on that Divan;

Nor show'd high relish for the banquet prest,
And less respect for every fellow guest.
Twas but a moment's peevish hectic past
Along his cheek, and tranquillized as fast:
Ile sate him down in silence, and his look
Resumed the calmness which before forsook:
The feast was usher'd in-but sumptuous fare
He shunn'd as if some poison mingled there.
For one so long condemn'd to toil and fast,
Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast.
«What ails thee, Dervise? eat-dost thou suppose
This feast a Christian's? or my friends thy foes?
Why dost thou shun the salt? that sacred pledge,
Which once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,
Makes even contending tribes in peace unite,
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight!>>

<< Salt seasons dainties--and my food is still The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill; And my stern vow and order's 6 Jaws oppose To break or mingle bread with friends or foes; 4 It may seem strange-if there be aught to dread, That peril rests upon my single head;

But for thy sway-nay more-thy Sultan's throne,
I taste nor bread, nor banquet-save alone;
Infringed our order's rule, the Prophet's rage
To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage.>>

Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light,
Nor less his change of form appall'd the sight:
Up rose that Dervise-not in saintly garb,
But like a warrior bounding on his barb,
Dash'd his high cap, and tore his robe away-
Shone his mail'd breast, and flash'd his sabre's ray!
Ilis close but glittering casque, and sable plume,
More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom,
Glared on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit sprite,
Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight.
The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow
Of flames on high, and torches from below;
The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell-
For swords began to clash, and shouts to swell,
Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of hell!
Distracted, to and fro, the flying slaves
Behold but bloody shore and fiery waves;
Nought heeded they the Pachia's angry cry,
They seize that Dervise! seize on Zatanai!7
He saw their terror-check'd the first despair
That urged him but to stand and perish there,
Since far too carly and too well obey'd,
The flame was kindled ere the signal made;
lle saw their terror-from his baldric drew
His bugle-brief the blast-but shrilly blew;
'Tis answer'd-« Well ye speed, my gallant crew'
Why did I doubt their quickness of career?
And deem design had left me single here?»>

Sweeps his long arm-that sabre's whirling sway,
Sheds fast atonement for its first delay;
Completes his fury, what their fear begun,
And makes the many basely quail to one.
The cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread,
And scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head:
Even Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelm'd with rage, surprise,
Retreats before him, though he still defies.
No craven he-and yet he dreads the blow,
So much Confusion magnifies his foe!
His blazing galleys still distract his sight,
He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight;8
For now the pirates pass'd the Haram gate,
And burst within-and it were death to wait;
Where wild amazement shrieking-kneeling-throws
The sword aside-in vain-the blood o'erflows!
The Corsairs pouring, haste to where within
Invited Conrad's bugle, and the din

Of groaning victims, and wild cries for life,
Proclaim'd how well he did the work of strife.
They shout to find him grim and lonely there,
A glutted tyger mangling in his lair!
But short their greeting-shorter his reply-
<< "Tis well-but Seyd escapes-and he must die.
Much hath been done-but more remains to do-
Their galleys blaze-why not their city too?»

V.

Quick at the word-they seized him each a torch,
And fire the dome from minaret to porch.
A stern delight was fix'd in Conrad's eye,
But sudden sunk-for on his ear the cry
Of women struck, and like a deadly knell
Knock'd at that heart unmoved by battle's yell.
«Oh! burst the Haram-wrong not on your lives
One female form-remember-we have wives.
On them such outrage vengeance will repay;
Man is our foe, and such 'tis ours to slay :
But still we spared-must spare the weaker prey
Oh! I forgot-but Heaven will not forgive
If at my word the helpless cease to live;
Follow who will-I go-we yet have time
Our souls to lighten of at least a crime.>>
He climbs the crackling stair-he bursts the door,
Nor feels his feet glow scorching with the floor;
His breath choked gasping with the volumed smoke
But still from room to room his way he broke.
They search-they find-they save: with lusty arms
Each bears a prize of unregarded charms:
Calm their loud fears; sustain their sinking frames
With all the care defenceless beauty claims:
So well could Conrad tame their fiercest mood.
And check the very hands with gore imbrued.
But who is she? whom Conrad's arms convey
From reeking pile and combat's wreck-away-
Who but the love of him he dooms to bleed!
The Ilaram queen-but still the slave of Seyd!

VI.

Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare,
Few words to reassure the trembling fair;
For in that pause compassion snatch'd from wa
The foe before retiring fast and far,
With wonder saw their footsteps unpursued,
First slowlier fled-then rallied-then withstood