The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale;
Though soft, it seemed the low prophetic dirge,
That mourned 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-twas noon-I hailed and blest the

'Yea, strange indeed-that heart hath long been changed;

Worm-like 'twas 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;
But-Oh, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart,
This hour again--but not for long-we part.'

This hour we part!-my heart foreboded this:
Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss.
This hour-it cannot be-this hour away!
Yon bark hath hardly anchored in the bay:
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 plucked the fruit that promised best
And where not sure, perplexed, but pleased, I
guessed

At such as seemed 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 grapes' 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 pennance is thy choice.
But come, the board is spread; our silver lamp
Is trimmed, 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 lov'st 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.
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 showed 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-discloseFear 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!-'tis the bugle-Juan shrilly blewOne kiss one more-another-Oh! Adieu

She rose-she sprung-she clung to his embrace,
Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face.
He dared not raise to his that deep blue eye,
That downcast drooped in tearless agony.
Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms,
In all the wildness of dishevelled 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 'twas sunset-and he cursed that sun.
Again-again-that form he madly pressed,
Which mutely clasped, imploringly caressed,
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,
Kissed her cold forehead-turn'd-is Conrad
gone?

XV.

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

• 'Twas but an instant past-and here he stood! And now-without the portal's porch she rushed, And then at length her tears in freedom gushed; 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 de

spair

O'er every feature of that still, pale face,
Had sorrow fixed 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 flowed-and phrenzied seemed to
swim

Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes dewed

With drops of sadness oft to be renewed. 'He's gone!'-against her heart that hand is driven,

Convulsed and quick-then gently raised to hea

Thus must it ever breathe, without the joy
Thy presence sparkles o'er its lay-it must,
It will give utt'rance to such thoughts as these.
Oh! many a night, upon my couch reclin'd,
When solitude had set its silent seal

Upon the world, the slightest breath that mov'd
The bosom of the deep, seem'd to my fears
The prelude of a storm-Oh! I have gaz'd
Upon thy element of war and strife,
Till every star had sunk within its wave:
And yet thou cam'st not-still upon the main
Would that these days of tumult were at end-
Sure thou hast wealth enough-yet strange, that

heart

Nay, look not thus-tho' every hope of heaven
Were startled from its cherub seat of smiles,
I hate mankind too much to feel remorse.
My very love to thee, is hate to them-
I cease to love thee, when I love mankind.
Yet dread not this-the love that hath loved on
Thro' years of tried temptation and distress,
Must love as truly to the latest throb

That wakes existence in the soul-'twill last,
And rising o'er the wreck of life's decay,
Shine with the lustre of a light in heaven,
Still will some momentary cloud of gloom,
Its sky of gladness sometimes overcast―
This hour, Medora, once again, we part→
This hour, tho' not for long.

Again-again-and oft again, my love,
If there be life on earth, or hope in heaven,
I will return-be this thy comfort then!
Fear not, these are no formidable foes-
Here, in thine island home, thou wilt be safe.
A more than wonted guard shall watch its peace,
And hover round its shores.

(The signal gun is fired.) Hark! 'twas the thunder of the signal gun That peal'd the hour of departure-Farewell!

MEDORA.

One moment, Conrad!-stay!

(She faints in the arms of Conrad, who bears her to a couch-he gazes for a moment with strong agitation.)

CONRAD.

One kiss-one more-oh! adieu!- (Exit.) (Music soft and plaintive-Medora revives and throws a hurried glance around the apartment.)

MEDORA.

And is he gone?-'twas but an instant past
And here he stood-Oh! solitude of heart,
It is no dream, and I am desolate!"

The sensations of Conrad, when he finds himself a captive and incarcerated, are thus depicted by the poet,

""Twere vain to paint to what his feelings grew→→
It 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 propect when the soul reviews-
All rushing through their thousand avenues.
Ambition's dreams expiring, love's regret,
Endangered 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 steeled by pondering o'er his far career,
He halfway meets him should he menace near!"

In the play, Conrad is made to utter the following soliloquy:

"CONRAD.

A captive! and in chains?--but an hour since
A Chief on land, an Outlaw on the deep,
Free as the breeze that sported on its wave!
'Tis well!-my foe if vanquish'd, had but shar'd
A fate, as dark and terrible as mine!

(He pauses thoughtfully.)

There is a war, a chaos of the mind,
When all its elements convuls'd lie dark
And jarring!-impenitent remorse then
Rushes thro' the thousand avenues of thought,
Sounding the 'larum bell, unheard before--
Vain voice to me!--the weak alone repent!--
E'en in this lonely hour, when most I feel,
Feel to my writhing bosom's inmost core,
Tho' stern reflection doth unscpulchre
Fach buried crime, and scan with with'ring look
The blood-stain'd record of my life-e'en now,

I hear its voice as one who heard it not!--
One thought alone, a madd'ning inage forms,
One image only in the wild prospect
Which my soul reviews, I cannot, dare not
Meet and gaze upon!--Oh!--Medora! how
Will these tidings greet thy widow'd heart!
To-morrow, and thy dream of hope expires!
(Conrad veils his face and appears agitated with
the deepest emotions.)

Tis past-and now come torture when it will,
I've need of rest to nerve me for the day.
(He throws himself upon a sofa, apparently ex-
hausted.)"

The last prison interview between Gulnare and Conrad, where she is instigating him to redeem them both by a single blow, is thus rehearsed by Lord Byron :

"The midnight passed--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 beateous 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.'

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.'

Aye-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 gained the guard,
Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward.
A single word of mine removes that chain:
Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time,
Without some aid how here could I remain?
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-
Wronged spurned-reviled-and it shall be

avenged

Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chained.
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,
But for his rescue I with thee had fled.
I was a slave unmurmuring; he hath said,
'Twas false thou know'st---but let such augurs

Accused of what till now my heart disdained

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

worst.

Alas! this love-that hatred are the first-
Oh! could'st thou prove my truth, thou would'st

not start,

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!'

breast!

'Gulnare---Gulnare---I never felt till now My abject fortune, withered 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 thisLet me not deem that mercy shown amiss. Now fare thee well---more peace be with thy 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! Without it Aight 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 gained---one moment all were

o'er--

CONRAD.

GULNARE.

-Nay, speak not now--

Thou lov'st another, and I love in vain!---
And yet methinks, were I an Outlaw's spouse,
The busiest scenes of danger and of death,
Should find me still partaker of his fate!-
Corsair, thy doom is fix'd !---time flies apace,
Destruction 'round thee close hath wound his
toils !---

If thou hast courage still to hazard life,
And set it on the casting of a die,
Take this poniard,

(She draws a poniard which she had concealed in her bosom.)

-on---and follow me!--

A single word of mine removes those chains.
Think'st thou I stand unaided and alone?
Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward,
The guard are gain'd, and wait the appointed
Well since we met hath sped my busy time!
hour-
If in aught evil, 'twas for thee I sinn'd---
The hated Tyrant---Conrad, he must die!
I see thee shudder, but I am resolv'd;
Wrong'd, spurn'd, revil'd, and not to be aveng'd?
Tis more than meek-ey'd mercy can endure!...
He call'd me treacherous, and curst the hour
In which you bore me trembling thro' the flames.
He told me, Conrad, what thou know'st is false:
But for his rescue, I had fled with thee-..
Nor was thy respite granted to my pray'r:
'Twas giv'n, that cruelty might best contrive
New torments for thy life and mine ?---

Mine too he threatens---but his dotage yet
Would fain preserve me for his tyrant will
"Till weary of these fleeting charms---and then,
There yawns the sack, and yonder rolls the
sea!

What?---am I then a toy for dotard's play
To wear so long as does its gilding last?---
Corsair, I saw thee---piti’d---madden`d---lov'd

thee!

To thee my all of life on earth I owe!
This should have sav'd thee, if 'twere but to show
How grateful is the heart of e'en a slave---
Had he not menac'd with such kindling oaths,
The Pacha had been spar'd---I was his slave,
Had borne unmurmuring the wasting pangs
That bitter bondage planted in my heart,
And yet he basely trampled it in dust,
And crush'd its last, its sole remaining hope---
Compassion is at end---the thought is past
Now I am all thine own, prepar'd for all !---
Oh !---could'st thou see this heart in all its truth,
Thou would'st not start, as if with sudden dread,
Or fear the fire that lightens o'er my brow---
Here!---take the poniard !---on---and follow me!
And in the chamber where our path must lead,
Sleeps the Oppressor---he must not wake!

CONRAD.

Gulnare!---Gulnare !---I never felt till now,
My abject fortune and my wither'd fame
So sunk and blasted!---Seyd is mine enemy,
And with a ruthless and avenging hand,
Hath swept my gallant comrades from the earth--

But, 'twas in fair and honourable fight,
In open combat and in noble daring---
The secret knife?---it suits a coward's hand,
And slumber pleads for safety, with a voice
As sacred to this worn and fretted heart,
As did a woman's cry, when flush'd with hope,
And beating warm in battle and in blood,
It paused to rescue thee from death!-Lady!
Let me not know that mercy shown amiss.
Murder in sleep?---Temptation in an hour
The most unguarded of my guilty life,
Had fled a crime like this---"Tis the curst sin,
That finds forgiveness nor in heaven nor earth.
Now, fare thee well, and gentler thoughts attend
The meditations of thy heart---farewell!
Night wears apace !---my last of earthly rest!---

GULNARE.

Rest?---rest?---by sunrise must thy quivering limbs

Around the stake in torturing anguish writhe---
I heard the order---saw the stake prepared!
If thou wilt die, thou shalt not fall alone!
Corsair, my life---my love---my hate---my all,
Are set upon the hazard of this cast!
"Tis but a blow!---one throb, and all is still;
The wrongs and insults of my wasted years
Aveng'd, and thou, oh God! art free again!-
Yet since thou'st grown fastidious in thy crimes,
I'll try the firmness of a female hand.
We meet in safety, or we meet no more!"

The final, fatal scene of Conrad in the death-chamber of Medora, is pathetically related in the poem.

"He turned not-spoke not--sunk not-fixed his look,

And set the anxious frame that lately shook:
He gazed-how long we gaze despite of pain,
And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain!
In life itself she was so still and fair,

That death with gentler aspect withered there;
And the cold flowers her colder hand contained,
In that last grasp as tenderly were strained
As if she scarcely felt, but feigned a sleep,
And made it almost mockery yet to weep:
The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow,
And veiled---thought shrinks from all that lurked

below--

Oh! o'er the eye death most exerts his might,
And hurls the spirit from her throne of light!
Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse,
But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips---
Yet, yet they seem as they forbore to smile,
And wished repose---but only for a while;
But the white shroud, and each extended tress,
Long-fair---but spread in utter lifelessness,
Which late the sport ofevery summer wind,
Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind;
These---and the pale pure cheek became the
bier---

But she is nothing---wherefore is he here?
XXI.

He asked no question---all were answered now
By the first glance on that still---marble brow
It was enough---she died---what recked it how?
The love of youth, the hope of better years,
The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears,
The only living thing he could not hate,
Was reft at once--and he deserved his fate,
But did not feel it less ;---the good explore,
For peace, those realms where guilt can never

soar:

The proud---the wayward---who have fixed below Their joy--and find this earth enough for wo,

Lose in that one their all---perchance a mite---
But who in patience parts with all delight?
Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern
Mask hearts where grief had little left to learn;
And many a withering thought lies hid, not lost,
In smiles that least befit who wear them most.
XXII.

By those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest
The indistinctness of the suffering breast;
Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one,
Which seeks from all the refuge found in none;
No words suffice the secret soul to show,
And Truth denies all eloquence to Wo.
On Conrad's stricken soul exhaustion prest,
And stupor almost lulled it into rest;
So feeble now---his mother's softness crept
To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept :
It was the very weakness of his brain,
Which thus confessed without relieving pain.
None saw his trickling tears---perchance, if seen,
That useless flood of grief had never been:
Nor long they flowed---he dried them to depart,
In helpless---hopeless---brokenness of heart:
The sun goes forth---but Conrad's day is dim;
And the night cometh---ne'er to pass from him.
There is no darkness like the cloud of mind,
On Grief's vain eye---the blindest of the blind!
Which may not---dare not see---but turns aside
To blackest shade---nor will endure a guide!
XXIII.

His heart was formed for softness---warped to wrong;

Betrayed too early, and beguiled too long;
Each feeling pure---as falls the dropping dew
Within the grot, like that had hardened too;
Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials passed,
But sunk, and chilled, and petrified at last.
Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock;
If such his heart, so shattered it the shock.
There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow,
Though dark the shade---it sheltered---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 withered where it fell,
And of its cold protector, blacken round
But shivered fragments on the barren ground!"
The melo-drama concludes with the
following monologue:

"SCENE 5th.

Music soft and plaintive---a magnificent apartment in the interior of the watch tower---Medora extended in death upon a superb sofa---flowers scattered around her---lamps burning---handmaids kneeling on each side, weeping---Conrad impatiently enters, starts wildly, and after an instant's pause, veils his face and kneels beside Medora--he rises, gazing distractedly upon her.

CONRAD.

Yes, thou art nothing!-wherefore am I here?--
Thro' weal and woe, thou wert th' unerring light
That shone unwav'ring o'er my path of life-
Earth held not, such another spark of heav'n !--
What recks it how that spark were quench'd or
lost?-

The love of youth-the hope of better years---
The soul that spirit'd this mould of clay,
All---all, are reft at once !---God !---it hath wak'd
A feeling until now unfelt!---a tear?---
I knew not that my nature held a drop
So pure and soft as this!-

-Dark tho' the gloom