GULNARE AND CONRADE. BY BYRON. SHE gazed in wonder, "Can he calmly sleep, 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 wondrous fair!'' "Pirate! thou know'st me not-but I am one, Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done; Look on me and remember her, thy hand Snatch'd 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. "Corsair! thy doom is named-but I have power To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour. Thee I would 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. I find a pious gratitude disperse Within my soul; and every thought of him Shirley. What can I pay thee for this noble usage, Rowe, When gratitude o'erflows the swelling heart, AN OLD SERVANT'S GRATITUDE. BY SHAKSPEARE. I HAVE five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under your father, Master, go on, and I will follow thee, HONOUR. Fonour's a sacred tie-the law of kings, The noble mind's distinguishing perfection, That aids and strengthens virtue where it meets her, It is not to be sported with. Addison |