"Corsair! thy doom is named--but I have power
To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour.
Thee would I spare-nay more-would save thee now,
But this-Time-Hope-nor even thy strength allow;
But all I can, I will-at least delay
The sentence that remits thee scarce a day.
More now were ruin-even thyself were loth
The vain attempt should bring but doom to both."
"Yes!--loth indeed :-my soul is nerved to all,
Or fall'n too low to fear a further fall:
Tempt not thyself with peril-me with hope
Of flight from foes with whom I could not cope:
Unfit to vanquish-shall I meanly fly,
The one of all my band that would not die?
Yet there is one-to whom my Memory clings,
Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs.
My sole resources in the path I trod
Were these-my bark-my sword-my love-my God! The last I left in youth !—He leaves me now—
And Man but works his will to lay me low.
I have no thought to mock his throne with prayer
Wrung from the coward crouching of Despair;
It is enough I breathe-and I can bear.
My sword is shaken from the worthless hand
That might have better kept so true a brand;
My bark is sunk or captive—but my Love—
For her in sooth my voice would mount above:
Oh! she is all that still to earth can bind—
And this will break a heart so more than kind,
And blight a form-till thine appeared, Gulnare!
Mine eye ne'er asked if others were as fair."
"Thou lov'st another then ?-but what to me
Is this 'tis nothing-nothing e'er can be:
But yet-thou lov'st-and-Oh! I envy those
Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose,
Who never feel the void-the wandering thought
That sighs o'er visions-such as mine hath wrought."
Lady-methought thy love was his, for whom
This arm redeemed thee from a fiery tomb."
My love stern Seyd's! Oh-No-No-not my love— Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once strove
To meet his passion—but it would not be.
I felt I feel-Love dwells with-with the free.
I am a slave, a favoured slave at best,
To share his splendour, and seem very blest!
Oft must my soul the question undergo,
Of-' Dost thou love?' and burn to answer, 'No!'
Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain,
And struggle not to feel averse in vain ;
But harder still the heart's recoil to bear,
And hide from one-perhaps another there.
He takes the hand I give not—nor withhold-
Its pulse nor checked-nor quickened-calmly cold:
And when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight
From one I never loved enough to hate.
No warmth these lips return by his imprest,
And chilled Remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
Yes-had I ever proved that Passion's zeal,
The change to hatred were at least to feel:
But still he goes unmourned-returns unsought-
And oft when present-absent from my thought.
Or when Reflection comes-and come it must-
I fear that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust;
I am his slave-but, in despite of pride,
"Twere worse than bondage to become his bride. 1130
Oh! that this dotage of his breast would cease!
Or seek another and give mine release,
But yesterday-I could have said, to peace!
Yes, if unwonted fondness now I feign,"
Remember Captive! 'tis to break thy chain;
Repay the life that to thy hand I owe ;
To give thee back to all endeared below,
Who share such love as I can never know.
Farewell-Morn breaks-and I must now away: "Twill cost me dear-but dread no death to-day!" 1140
She pressed his fettered fingers to her heart,
And bowed her head, and turned her to depart,
And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.
And was she here? and is he now alone?
What gem hath dropped and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for others' pain,
That starts at once-bright-pure-from Pity's mine,
Already polished by the hand divine!
Oh! too convincing-dangerously dear-
In Woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness she can wield,
To save, subdue at once her spear and shield:
Avoid it-Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs,
Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers
i. I breathe but in the hope-his altered breast
May seek another—and leave mine at rest.
Or if unwonted fondness now I feign.'-[MS.]
1. [The alteration was sent to the publishers on a separate quarto sheet, with a memorandum, "In Canto first-nearly the end," etc.—a rare instance of inaccuracy on the part of the author.]
What lost a world, and bade a hero fly?
The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye.
Yet be the soft Triumvir's fault forgiven;
By this-how many lose not earth-but Heaven!
Consign their souls to Man's eternal foe,
And seal their own to spare some Wanton's woe! 1160
'Tis Morn-and o'er his altered features play
The beams-without the Hope of yesterday.
What shall he be ere night? perchance a thing
O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing,
By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt;
While sets that Sun, and dews of Evening melt,
Chill, wet, and misty round each stiffened limb,
Refreshing earth-reviving all but him!
"Come vedi-ancor non m'abbandona."
DANTE, Inferno, v. 105.
SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,1
Along Morea's hills the setting Sun;
Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light!
O'er the hushed 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, unconquered Salamis !
Their azure arches through the long expanse
More deeply purpled met his mellowing glance,
1. The opening lines, as far as section ii., have, perhaps, little business here, and were annexed to an unpublished (though printed) poem [The Curse of Minerva]; 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 letter to Murray, October 23, 1812.]
2. [See Curse of Minerva, line 7, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 457. For Hydra, see A. L. Castellan's Lettres sur la Morte, 1820, i. 155176. He gives (p. 174) a striking description of a sunrise off the Cape of Sunium.]
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