That led to perpetrate – now serves to hide. | |
300 | 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, | |
305 | Their tremors o’er, rose insolently loud, |
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 | |
310 | 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 | |
315 | 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, | |
320 | That day by day death still forbears to slake, |
While famish’d 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, | |
325 | And left proud Conrad fetter’d and alone. |
X | |
‘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 – | |
330 | Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force, |
And gnashing with impenitent Remorse; | |
That juggling fiend – who never spake before – | |
But cries ‘I warn’d thee!’ when the deed is o’er. | |
Vain voice! the spirit burning but unbent, | |
335 | 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; | |
340 | But the wild prospect 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 | |
345 | ’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 remember’d not | |
So keenly till that hour, but ne’er forgot; | |
350 | Things light or lovely in their acted time, |
But now to stern reflection each a crime; | |
The withering sense of evil unreveal’d, | |
Not cankering less because the more conceal’d – | |
All, in a word, from which all eyes must start, | |
355 | 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. | |
360 | Each has 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, | |
365 | He half-way meets him should he menace near! |
XI | |
In the high chamber of his highest tower | |
Sate Conrad, fetter’d in the Pacha’s power. | |
His palace perish’d in the flame – this fort | |
Contain’d at once his captive and his court. | |
370 | Not much could Conrad of his sentence blame, |
His foe, if vanquish’d, had but shared the same:– | |
Alone he sate – in solitude had scann’d | |
His guilty bosom, but that breast he mann’d: | |
One thought alone he could not – dared not meet - | |
375 | ‘Oh, how these tidings will Medora greet?’ |
Then – only then – his clanking hands he raised, | |
And strain’d with rage the chain on which he gazed: | |
But soon he found – or feign’d – or dream’d relief, | |
And smiled in self-derision of his grief, | |
380 | ‘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, | |
385 | For Conrad’s plans matured, at once were done: |
And Havoc loathes so much the waste of time, | |
She scarce had left an uncommitted crime. | |
One hour beheld him since the tide he stemm’d – | |
Disguised – discover’d – conquering – ta’en - condemn’d – | |
390 | A chief on land – an outlaw on the deep – |
Destroying – saving – prison’d – and asleep! | |
XII | |
He slept in calmest seeming – for his breath | |
Was hush’d so deep – Ah! happy if in death! | |
He slept – Who o’er his placid slumber bends? | |
395 | 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 | |
400 | 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 gemm’d and braided hair; | |
With shape of fairy lightness – naked foot, | |
405 | 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 | |
410 | In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest, |
She left his side – his signet-ring she bore, | |
Which oft in sport adorn’d her hand before – | |
And with it, scarcely question’d, won her way | |
Through drowsy guards that must that sign obey. | |
415 | 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, | |
420 | Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring. |
XIII | |
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? | |
425 | 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, | |
430 | His eye seem’d 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!’ | |
435 | ‘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 – | |
440 | 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, | |
445 | That would confess me at so fair a shrine!’ |
Strange though it seem – yet with extremest grief | |
Is link’d a mirth – it doth not bring relief – | |
That playfulness of Sorrow ne’er beguiles, | |
And smiles in bitterness – but still it smiles; | |
450 | And sometimes with the wisest and the best, |