Yet not the joy to which it seems akin—
It may deceive all hearts, save that within.
Whate'er it was that flash'd 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,
Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife.

XIV.

« 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 e'en 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 appear'd, Gulnare!
Mine
eye ne'er ask'd if others were as fair?»

« Thou lov'st another then! but what to me
Is this?'t is 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 redeem'd thee from a fiery tomb.>>

"

« My love stern Seyd's! Oh-No-No-not my loveYet 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 favour'd 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 check'd—nor quicken'd—calmly cold :
And when resign'd, it drops a lifeless weight
From one I never loved enough to hate.
No warmth these lips return by his imprest,
And chill'd 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 unmourn'd-returns unsought—
And oft when present-absent from my thought.
Or when reflection comes, and come it must-
I fear that henceforth 't will but bring disgust;
I am his slave-but, in despite of pride,

'T were worse than bondage to become his bride.

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! 't is to break thy chain;
Repay the life that to thy hand I owe;
To give thee back to all endear'd 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!»

XV.

She pressed his fetter'd fingers to her heart,
And bow'd her head, and turn'd her to depart,
And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.

And was she here? and is he now alone?

VOL. VI.

16

What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
That starts at once-bright-pure-from pity's mine,
Already polish'd 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!
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!

XVI.

'Tis morn-and o'er his alter'd 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 stiffen❜d limb,
Refreshing earth—reviving all but him!—

NOTES TO CANTO II.

Note 1, page 224, line 21.
Though to the rest the sober berry's juice, etc.
Coffee.

Note 2, page 224, line 23.

The long chibouque's dissolving clouds supply, etc.
Pipe.

Note 3, page 224, line 24.

While dance the almas to wild minstrelsy.
Dancing-girls.

Note 4, page 225, line 9.

« A captive dervise, from the pirate's nest
Escaped, is here-himself would tell the rest. »

It has been objected that Conrad's entering disguised as a spy is out of nature.—Perhaps so. I find something not unlike it in history. « Anxious to explore with his own eyes the state of the Vandals, Majorian ventured, after disguising the colour of his hair, to visit Carthage in the character of his own ambassador; and Genseric was afterwards mortified by the discovery, that he had entertained and dismissed the Emperor of the Romans. Such an anecdote may be