Something they would have said; but seemed 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,
Within that meek fair form, were feelings high,
That deem'd not till they found their energy.
While yet was Hope-they soften'd-flutter'd-wept-
All lost-that softness died not-but it slept;
And o'er its slumber rose that Strength which said,
"With nothing left to love-there's nought to dread."
'Tis more than nature's; like the burning might
Delirium gathers from the fever's height.
"Silent you stand-nor would I hear you tell
What-speak not-breathe not-for I know it well-
Yet would I ask-almost my lip denies
The quick your answer-tell me where he lies."
Lady! we know not-scarce with life we fled;
But here is one denies that he is dead:
He saw him bound; and bleeding-but alive."
She heard no further-'twas in vain to strive
So throbb'd each vein-each thought-till then withstood;
Her own dark soul-these words at once subdued.
She totters-falls-and senseless had the wave
Perchance but snatch'd her from another grave;
But that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes,
They yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies:
Dash o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew,
Raise-fan-sustain-till life returns anew;
Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave
That fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve;
Then seek Anselmo's cavern, to report
The tale too tedious-when the triumph short.
In that wild council words wax'd warm and strange,
With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge;
All, save repose or flight: still lingering there
Breathed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair;
Whate'er his fate-the breasts he form'd and led,
Will save him living or appease him dead.
Woe to his foes! there yet survive a few,
Whose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true.
Within the Haram's secret chamber sate
Stern Seyd, still pondering o'er his captive's fate;
His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell,
Now with Gulnare, and now in Conrad's cell;
Here at his feet the lovely slave reclined
Surveys his brow-would soothe his gloom of mind;
While many an anxious glance her large dark eye
Sends in its idle search for sympathy,
His only bends in seeming o'er his beads,*
But inly views his victim as he bleeds.
The comboloio, or Mahometan rosary; the beads are in number ninety-nine, -B.
"Pacha! the day is thine; and on thy crest
Sits Triumph-Conrad taken-fall'n the rest!
His doom is fix'd-he dies and well his fate
Was earn'd-yet much too worthless for thy hate:
Methinks, a short release, for ransom told
With all his treasure, not unwisely sold;
Report speaks largely of his pirate-hoard-
Would that of this my Pacha were the lord!
While baffled, weaken'd by this fatal fray-
Watch'd-follow'd-he were then an easier prey;
But once cut off-the remnant of his band
Embark their wealth, and seek a safer strand."
"Gulnare-if for each drop of blood a gein
Were offer'd rich as Stamboul's diadem;
If for each hair of his a massy mine
Of virgin ore should supplicating shine;
If all our Arab tales divulge or dream
Of wealth were here-that gold should not redeem!
It had not now redeem'd a single hour;
But that I know him fetter'd, in my power;
And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still
On pangs that longest rack, and latest kill."
"Nay, Seyd!-I seek not to restrain thy rage,
Too justly moved for mercy to assuage;
My thoughts were only to secure for thee
His riches-thus released, he were not free:
Disabled, shorn of half his might and band,
His capture could but wait thy first command."
"His capture could-and shall I then resign
One day to him-the wretch already mine?
Release my foe!-at whose remonstrance ?-thine!
Fair suitor!-to thy virtuous gratitude,
That thus repays this Giaour's relenting mood,
Which thee and thine alone of all could spare,
No doubt-regardless if the prize were fair,
My thanks and praise alike are due-now hear!
I have a counsel for thy gentler ear:
I do mistrust thee, woman! and each word
Of thine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard.
Borne in his arms through fire from yon Serai-
Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly?
Thou need'st not answer-thy confession speaks,
Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks;
Then, lovely dame, bethink thee! and beware:
'Tis not his life alone may claim such care!
Another word and-nay-I need no more.
Accursed was the moment when he bore
Thee from the flames, which better far--but-no-
I then had mourn'd thee with a lover's woe-
Now 'tis thy lord that warns-deceitful thing!
Know'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing?
In words alone I am not wont to chafe:
Look to thyself-nor deem thy falsehood safe!"
He rose-and slowly, sternly thence withdrew,
Rage in his eye and threats in his adieu :
Ah! little reck'd that chief of womanhood-
Which frowns ne'er quell'd, nor menaces subdued ;
And little deem'd he what thy heart, Gulnare!
When soft could feel, and when incensed could dare.
His doubts appear'd to wrong-nor yet she knew
How deep the root from whence compassion grew-
She was a slave-from such may captives claim
A fellow-feeling, differing but in name;
Still half unconscious-heedless of his wrath,
Again she ventured on the dangerous path,
Again his rage repell'd-until arose
That strife of thought, the source of woman's woes!
Meanwhile-long anxious-weary-still-the same Roll'd day and night-his soul could never tameThis 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 val ur'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!
The first day pass'd-he saw not her-GulnareThe 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!
Long 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 disdained 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:
"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 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--loved,
Reply not, tell not now thy tale again,
Thou lov'st another-and I love in vain;
Though fond as mine her bosom, forin 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 ?
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 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 hath said,
But for his rescue I with thee 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 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-
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