As ifhis homage were a woman's right.

The wish is wrong - nay worse for female - vain :
Yet much I long to view that chief again;
If but to thank for,

what

my

fear forgot,

The life my loving lord remembered not! >>

VIII.

And him she saw, where thickest carnage spread,
But gathered breathing from the happier dead;
Far from his band, and battling with a host
That deem right dearly won the field he lost,
Felled - bleeding - baffled of the death he sought,
And snatched to expiate all the ills he wrought;
Preserved to linger and to live in vain,

While Vengeance Pondered o'er new plans of pain,
And stanched the blood she saves to shed again-
But drop by drop, for Seyd's unglutted eye
Would doom him ever dying-ne'er to die!
Can this be he? triumphant late she saw,
When his red hand's wild gesture waved, a law!
'Tis he indeed-disarmed but undeprest,
His sole regret the life he still possest;

His wounds too slight, though taken with that will,
Which would have kissed the hand that then could kill.

Oh were there none, of all the many given,

To send his soul-he scarcely asked to heaven?

Must he alone of all retain his breath,

Who more than all had striven and struck for death?

He deeply felt what mortal hearts must feel,
When thus reversed on faithless fortune's wheel,
For crimes committed, and the victor's threat
Of lingering tortures to repay the debt-
He deeply, darkly felt; but evil pride
That led to perpetrate-now serves to hide.
Still in his stern and self- collected mien
A conqueror's more than captive's air is seen,
Though faint with wasting toil and stiffening wound,
But few that saw-so calmly gazed around:
Though the far shouting of the distant crowd,
Their tremors o'er, rose insolently loud,

1

The better warriors who beheld him near,
Insulted not the foe who taught them fear;
And the grim guards that to his durance led,
In silence eyed him with a secret dread.

IX.

The leech was sent-but not in mercy-there
To note how much the life yet left could bear;
He found enough to load with heaviest chain,
And promise feeling for the wrench of pain
To-morrow-yea-to-morrow's evening sun
Will sinking see impalement's pangs begun,
And rising with the wonted blush of morn
Behold how well or ill those pangs are borne.
Of torments this the longest and the worst,
Which adds all other agony to thirst,
That day by day death still forbears to slake,
While famished vultures flit around the stake.

Oh! water-water ! »—smiling Hate denies The victim's prayer-for if he drinks-he dies.

This was his doom.-The leech, the guard were gone, And left proud Conrad fettered and alone.

X.

"Twere vain to paint to what his feelings grewIt even were doubtful if their victim knew.

There is a war, a chaos of the mind,

When all its elements convulsed-combined-
Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force,
And gnashing with impenitent Remorse;

That juggling fiend-who never spake before-
But cries, I warned thee! » when the deed is o'er.
Vain voice! the spirit burning but unbent,
May writhe-rebel—the weak alone repent !
Even in that lonely hour when most it feels,
And, to itself, all-all that self reveals.
No single passion, and no ruling thought,
That leaves the rest as once unseen, unsought;
But the wild prospect when the soul reviews-
All rushing through their thousand avenues.
Ambition's dreams expiring, love's regret,

Endanger'd glory, life itself beset;
The joy untasted, the contempt or hate

Gainst those who fain would triumph in our fate;
The hopeless past, the hasting future driven

Too quickly on to guess if hell or heaven;

Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps remembered not
So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot;
Things light or lovely in their acted time,
But now to stern reflection each a crime;
The withering sense of evil unrevealed,
Not cankering less because the more concealed-
All, in a word, from which all eyes must start,
That opening sepulchre-the naked heart
Bares with its buried woes, till Pride awake,
To snatch the mirror from the soul-and break.
Ay-Pride can veil, and Courage brave it all,
All-all-before-beyond-the deadliest fall.
Each hath some fear, and he who least betrays,
The only hypocrite deserving praise:

Not the loud recreant wretch who boasts and flies;
But he who looks on death-and silent dies,
So steel'd by pondering o'er his far career
He halfway meets him should he menace near!

XI.

In the high chamber of his highest tower,
Sate Conrad, fettered in the Pacha's power.
His palace perished in the flame-this fort
Contained at once his captive and his court.
Not much could Conrad of his sentence blame :
His foe, if vanquished, had but shared the same :-
Alone he sate-in solitude had scanned

«

His guilty bosom, but that breast he manned:
One thought alone he could not-dared not meet-
Oh, how these tidings will Medora greet?
Then-only then-his clanking hands he raised,
And strained with rage the chain on which he gazed;
But soon he found-or feigned-or dreamed relief,
And smiled in self-derision of his grief,

« And now come torture when it will-or may,

More need of rest to nerve me for the day!»>
This said, with languor to his mat he crept,
And, whatsoe'er his visions, quickly slept.
'Twas hardly midnight when that fray begun,
For Conrad's plans matured, at once were done;
And Havos loathes so much the waste of time,
She scarce had left an uncommitted crime.
One hour beheld him since the tide he stemmed-
Disguised-discovered --conquering--ta'en--condemned—
A chief on land-an outlaw on the deep-
Destroying-saving-prisoned-and asleep!
He slept in calmest seeming-for his breath
Was hushed so deep-Ah! happy if in death!
He slept-Who o'er his placid slumber bends?
His foes are gone-and here he hath no friends;
Is it some seraph sent to grant him grace?
No,'tis an earthly form with heavenly face!
Its white arm raised a lamp-yet gently hid,
Lest the ray flash abruptly on the lid
Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain,
And once unclosed-but once may close again.
That form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair,
And auburn waves of gemmed and braided hair ;
With shape of fairy lightness-naked foot,

That shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute-
Through guards and dunnest night how came it there?
Ah! rather ask what will not woman dare?
Whom youth and pity lead like thee, Gulnare!
She could not sleep-and while the Pacha's rest
In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest,
She left his side-his signet-ring she bore,
Which oft in sport adorned her hand before-
And with it, scarcely questioned, won her way
Through drowsy guards that must that sign obey.
Worn out with toil, and tired with changing blows,
Their eyes had envied Conrad his repose;
And chill and nodding at the turret door,

They stretch their listless limbs, and watch no more:
Just raised their heads to hail the signet-ring,

Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring.
She gazed in wonder, « Can he calmly sleep,
While other eyes his fall or ravage weep?

« And mine in restlessness are wandering here-
<< What sudden spell hath made this man so dear?
True-'tis to him my life, and more, I owe,

«And me and mine he spared from worse than woe:
<< 'Tis late to think-but soft-his slumber breaks-
«How heavily he sighs!-he starts-awakes! »
He raised his head-and dazzled with the light,
His eye seemed dubious if it saw aright:
He moved his hand-the grating of his chain
Too harshly told him that he lived again.
<< What is that form? if not a shape of air,
«Methinks, my jailor's face shows wond'rous fair!
<< Pirate! thou know'st me not-but I am one,
«Grateful for deed thou hast too rarely done;

<< Look on me and remember her, thy hand

<< Snatched from the flames, and thy more fearful band. << I come through darkness—and I scarce know why<< Yet not to hurt-I would not see thee die.»

« If so, kind lady! thine the only eye

<<That would not here in that gay hope delight:

Theirs is the chance-and let them use their right.
But still I thank their courtesy or thine,

That would confess me at so fair a shrine ! »
Strange though it seem-yet with extremest grief
Is linked a mirth-it doth not bring relief—
That playfulness of sorrow ne'er beguiles,
And smiles in bitterness-but still it smiles;
And sometimes with the wisest and the best,
Till even the scaffold echoes with their jest!
Yet not the joy to which it seems akin—

It

may déceive all hearts, save that within.
Whate'er it was that flashed on Conrad, now
A laughing wildness half unbent his brow:
And these his accents had a sound of mirth,
As if the last he could enjoy on earth;
Yet'gainst his nature-for through that short life,