"In the anchor'd bark." "There let him stay-to him this order bear— Back to your duty- for my course prepare: Myself this enterprise. to-night will share."

"To-night, Lord Conrad ?"

"Ay! at set of sun:
The breeze will freshen when the day is done.
My corslet, cloak-one hour and we are gone.
Sling on thy bugle-see that free from rust
My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust;
Be the edge sharpen'd of my boarding-brand,
And give its guard more room to fit my hand.
This let the armourer with speed dispose ;
Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes:
Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired,
To tell us when the hour of stay 's expired."
VIII.

They make obeisance, and retire in haste,
Too soon to seek again the watery waste:
Yet they repine not-so that Conrad guides;
And who dare question aught that he decides?
That man of loneliness and mystery,
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;
Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew,
And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue;
Still sways their souls with that commanding art
That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
What is that spell, that thus his lawless train
Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain ?
What should it be, that thus their faith can bind?
The power of Thought-the magic of the Mind!
Link'd with success, assumed and kept with skill,
That moulds another's weakness to its will;
Wields with their hands, but, still to these unknown,
Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own.
Such hath it been-shall be- beneath the sun
The many still must labour for the one!
"Tis Nature's doom-but let the wretch who toils
Accuse not, hate not him who wears the spoils.

[In the features of Conrad, those who have looked upon Lord Byron will recognise some likeness; and the ascetic regimen which the noble poet himself observed, was no less marked in the preceding description of Conrad's fare. To what are we to ascribe the singular peculiarity which induced an author of such talent, and so well skilled in tracing the darker impressions which guilt and remorse leave on the human character, so frequently to affix features peculiar to himself to the robbers and corsairs which he sketched with a pencil as forcible as that of Salvator? More than one answer may be returned to this question; nor do we pretend to say which is best warranted by the facts. The practice may arise from a temperament which radical and constitutional melancholy had, as in the case of Hamlet, predisposed to identify its owner with scenes of that deep and amazing interest which arises from the stings of conscience contending with the stubborn energy of pride, and delighting to be placed in supposed situations of guilt and danger, as some men love instinctively to tread the giddy edge of a precipice, or, holding by some frail twig, to stoop forward over the abyss into which the dark torrent discharges itself. Or, it may be that these disguises were assumed capriciously, as a man might choose the cloak, poniard, and dark lantern of a bravo, for his disguise at a masquerade. Or, feeling his own powers in painting the sombre and the horrible, Lord Byron assumed in his fervour the very semblance of the characters he describes; like an actor who presents on the stage at once his own person and the tragic character with which for the time he is invested. Nor, is it altogether incompatible with his character to

Oh! if he knew the weight of splendid chains, How light the balance of his humbler pains!

IX.

Unlike the heroes of each ancient race,
Demons in act, but Gods at least in face,
In Conrad's form seems little to admire,
Though his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire:
Robust but not Herculean-to the sight
No giant frame sets forth his common height;
Yet, in the whole, who paused to look again,
Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men ; 1
They gaze and marvel how-and still confess
That thus it is, but why they cannot guess.
Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale
The sable curls in wild profusion veil;
And oft perforce his rising lip reveals

The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals.
Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien,
Still seems there something he would not have seen:
His features' deepening lines and varying hue
At times attracted, yet perplex'd the view,
As if within that murkiness of mind
Work'd feelings fearful, and yet undefined;
Such might it be-that none could truly tell-
Too close inquiry his stern glance would quell.
There breathe but few whose aspect might defy
The full encounter of his searching eye
He had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek
To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek,
At once the observer's purpose to espy,
And on himself roll back his scrutiny,
Lest he to Conrad rather should betray
Some secret thought, than drag that chief's to day.
There was a laughing Devil in his sneer,
That raised emotions both of rage and fear;
And where his frown of hatred darkly fell,
Hope withering fled and Mercy sigh'd farewell! 2

X.

Slight are the outward signs of evil thought,
Within-within-'t was there the spirit wrought!
Love shows all changes-Hate, Ambition, Guile,
Betray no further than the bitter smile;
The lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown
Along the govern'd aspect, speak alone

believe that, in contempt of the criticisms which, on this account, had attended "Childe Harold," he was determined to show to the public how little he was affected by them, and how effectually it was in his power to compel attention and respect, even when imparting a portion of his own like. ness and his own peculiarities, to pirates and outlaws. — SIR WALTER SCOTT.]

? That Conrad is a character not altogether out of nature, I shall attempt to prove by some historical coincidences which I have met with since writing "The Corsair:".

"Eccelin, prisonnier," dit Rolandini, “s'enfermoit dans un silence menaçant; il fixoit sur la terre son regard féroce, et ne donnoit point d'essor à sa profonde indignation. De toutes partes cependant les soldats et les peuples accouroient; ils vouloient voir cet homme, jadis si puissant, et la joie universelle éclatoit de toutes partes. "Eccelin

étoit d'une petite taille; mais tout l'aspect de sa personne, tous ses mouvemens, indiquoient un soldat. Son langage étoit amer, son déportement superbe-et par son seul regard, il faisoit trembler les plus hardis."-Sismondi, tome iii. p. 219. Again," Gisericus (Genseric, king of the Vandals, the conqueror of both Carthage and Rome), staturâ mediocrís, et equi casu claudicans, animo profundus, sermone rarus, luxuriæ contemptor, irâ turbidus, habendi cupidus, ad solicitandas gentes providentissimus," &c. &c.- Jornandes de Rebus Gelicis, c. 33.

I beg leave to quote these gloomy realities to keep in countenance my Giaour and Corsair.

Of deeper passions; and to judge their mien,
He, who would see, must be himself unseen.
Then-with the hurried tread, the upward eye,
The clenched hand, the pause of agony,
That listens, starting, lest the step too near
Approach intrusive on that mood of fear:
Then-with each feature working from the heart,
With feelings loosed to strengthen-not depart :
That rise-convulse-contend-that freeze or glow,
Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow;
Then-Stranger! if thou canst, and tremblest not,
Behold his soul—the rest that soothes his lot!
Mark-how that lone and blighted bosom sears
The scathing thought of execrated years!
Behold-but who hath seen, or e'er shall see,
Man as himself—the secret spirit free?

XL.

Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent
To lead the guilty-guilt's worst instrument
His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven
Him forth to war with man and forfeit heaven.
Warp'd by the world in Disappointment's school,
In words too wise, in conduct there a fool;
Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop,
Doom'd by his very virtues for a dupe,
He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill,
And not the traitors who betray'd him still;

| Nor deem'd that gifts bestow'd on better men
Had left him joy, and means to give again.
Fear'd-shunn'd belied ―ere youth had lost her
force,

He hated man too much to feel remorse,
And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call,
To pay the injuries of some on all.

The hearts that loath'd him, crouch'd and dreaded Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt

From all affection and from all contempt:

His name could sadden, and his acts surprise;
But they that fear'd him dared not to despise :
Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake
The slumbering venom of the folded snake:
The first may turn - but not avenge the blow;
The last expires- but leaves no living foe;
Fast to the doom'd offender's form it clings,
And he may crush—not conquer

XII.

- still it stings!

None are all evil-quickening round his heart,
One softer feeling would not yet depart;
Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled
By passions worthy of a fool or child;
Yet 'gainst that passion vainly still he strove,
And even in him it asks the name of Love!
Yes, it was love- unchangeable - unchanged,
Felt but for one from whom he never ranged;
Though fairest captives daily met his eye,
He shunn'd, nor sought, but coldly pass'd them by;
Though many a beauty droop'd in prison'd bower,
None ever sooth'd his most unguarded hour.
Yes-it was Love - if thoughts of tenderness,
Tried in temptation, strengthen'd by distress,

untired by time;

Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime,
And yet oh more than all ! —
Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile,
Could render sullen were she near to smile,
Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent
On her one murmur of his discontent;
Which still would meet with joy, with calmness part,
Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart;
Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove-
If there be love in mortals this was love!
He was a villain—ay, reproaches shower
On him- but not the passion, nor its power,
Which only proved, all other virtues gone,
Not guilt itself could quench this loveliest one!
XIII.

He paused a moment- till his hastening men
Pass'd the first winding downward to the glen.
"Strange tidings!-many a peril have I pass'd,
Nor know I why this next appears the last!
Yet so my heart forebodes, but must not fear,
Nor shall my followers find me falter here.
'Tis rash to meet, but surer death to wait
Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate;
And, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smile,
We'll furnish mourners for our funeral pile.
Ay, let them slumber-peaceful be their dreams!
Morn ne'er awoke them with such brilliant beams
As kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze!)
To warm these slow avengers of the seas.
Now to Medora-Oh! my sinking heart,
Long may her own be lighter than thou art !
Yet was I brave-mean boast where all are brave!
Ev'n insects sting for aught they seek to save.
This common courage which with brutes we share,
That owes its deadliest efforts to despair,
Small merit claims - but 't was my nobler hope
To teach my few with numbers still to cope;
Long have I led them not to vainly bleed :
No medium now we perish or succeed;
So let it be it irks not me to die;
But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly.
My lot hath long had little of my care,
But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare:
Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last
Hope, power, and life upon a single cast?
Oh, Fate!-accuse thy folly, not thy fate!
She may redeem thee still, nor yet too late."

3.

"Remember me-Oh! pass not thou my grave
Without one thought whose relics there recline:
The only pang my bosom dare not brave
Must be to find forgetfulness in thine.

4.

"My fondest-faintest - latest accents hearGrief for the dead not virtue can reprove; Then give me all I ever ask`d—a tear,

The first-last-sole reward of so much love!"

He pass'd the portal-cross'd the corridor, And reach'd the chamber as the strain gave o'er : 66 'My own Medora! sure thy song is sad-"

"In Conrad's absence wouldst thou have it glad?
Without thine ear to listen to my lay,
Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray:
Still must each accent to my bosom suit,
My heart unhush'd—although my lips were mute!
Oh! many a night on this lone couch reclined,
My dreaming fear with storms hath wing'd the wind,
And deem'd the breath that faintly fann'd thy sail
The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale;
Though soft, it seem'd the low prophetic dirge,
That mourn'd 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-'t was noon-I hail'd and blest the mast
That met my sight-it near'd- Alas! it passed!
Another came- Oh God! 'twas thine at last!
Would that those days were over! wilt thou ne'er,
My Conrad! learn the joys of peace to share?
Sure thou hast more than wealth, and many a home
As bright as this invites us not to roam :
Thou know'st it is not peril that I fear,
I only tremble when thou art not here;
Then not for mine, but that far dearer life,
Which flies from love and languishes for strife-
How strange that heart, to me so tender still,
Should war with nature and its better will!" 1

Worm-like 't was 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."

[Lord Byron has made a fine use of the gentleness and submission of the females of these regions, as contrasted with the lordly pride and martial ferocity of the men: and though we suspect he has lent them more soul than of right belongs to them, as well as more delicacy and reflection; yet, there is something so true to female nature in general, in his repre

[steel

"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 anchor'd 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 wouldst
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 pluck'd the fruit that promised best,
And where not sure, perplex'd, but pleased, I guess'd
At such as seem'd 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 penance is thy choice.
But come, the board is spread; our silver lamp
Is trimm'd, 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. 2
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 show'd 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!"

He will return-but now, the moments bring
The time of parting with redoubled wing:
The why the wherewhat boots it now to tell?
Since all must end in that wild word-farewell!
Yet would I fain-did time allow disclose
Fear 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 blew -
"One 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,
Which downcast droop'd in tearless agony.

sentations of this sort, and so much of the oriental softness and acquiescence in his particular delineations, that it is scarcely possible to refuse the picture the praise of being characteristic and harmonious, as well as eminently sweet and beautiful in itself. JEFFREY.]

* Orlando Furioso, Canto x.

* 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 rush'd,
And then at length her tears in freedom gush'd;
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 despair.
Ger every feature of that still, pale face,
Had sorrow fix'd what time can ne'er erase:
The tender blue of that large loving eye
Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy,
T-Oh, how far!—it caught a glimpse of him,
And then it flow'd and phrensied seem'd to swim,
Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes dew'd
With drops of sadness oft to be renew'd.

"He's gone!"-against her heart that hand is driven,
Ünvulsed and quick - then gently raised to heaven:
She look'd and saw the heaving of the main;
The white sail set-she dared not look again;
But turn'd with sickening soul within the gate.
It is no dream - and I am desolate!" 1

XVI.

From crag to crag descending, swiftly sped
Stern Conrad down, nor once he turn'd his head;
But shrunk whene'er the windings of his way
Forced on his eye what he would not survey,
His lone but lovely dwelling on the steep,
That hail'd him first when homeward from the deep:
And she-the dim and melancholy star,
Those ray of beauty reach'd him from afar,
On her he must not gaze, he must not think,
There he might rest-but on Destruction's brink:
Tet once almost he stopp'd—and nearly gave
His fate to chance, his projects to the wave:
Bat no-it must not be a worthy chief
May melt, but not betray to woman's grief.
He sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind,
And sternly gathers all his might of mind:
Again he hurries on and as he hears
The clang of tumult vibrate on his ears,
The busy sounds, the bustle of the shore,
The shout, the signal, and the dashing oar;
As marks his eye the seaboy on the mast,
The anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast,
The waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urge
That mute adieu to those who stem the surge;
And more than all, his blood-red flag aloft,

He marvell'd how his heart could seem so soft.

[We do not know any thing in poetry more beautiful or touching than this picture of their parting.- JEFFREY.]

Fire in his glance, and wildness in his breast,
He feels of all his former self possest;

He bounds he flies until his footsteps reach
The verge where ends the cliff, begins the beach,
There checks his speed; but pauses less to breathe
The breezy freshness of the deep beneath,
Than there his wonted statelier step renew;
Nor rush, disturb'd by haste, to vulgar view:
For well had Conrad learn'd to curb the crowd,
By arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud;
His was the lofty port, the distant mien,
That seems to shun the sight-and awes if seen:
The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye,
That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy ;
All these he wielded to command assent:
But where he wished to win, so well unbent,
That kindness cancell'd fear in those who heard,
And others' gifts show'd mean beside his word,
When echo'd to the heart as from his own
His deep yet tender melody of tone:
But such was foreign to his wonted mood,
He cared not what he soften'd, but subdued:
The evil passions of his youth had made
Him value less who loved- than what obey'd.

XVII.

Around him mustering ranged his ready guard. Before him Juan stands-"Are all prepared ?" "They are-nay more- embark'd: the latest boat Waits but my chief

My sword, and my capote."
Soon firmly girded on, and lightly slung,
His belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung:
"Call Pedro here!" He comes-and Conrad bends,
With all the courtesy he deign'd his friends;
"Receive these tablets, and peruse with care,
Words of high trust and truth are graven there;
Double the guard, and when Anselmo's bark
Arrives, let him alike these orders mark:

In three days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shine
On our return- till then all peace be thine!"
This said, his brother Pirate's hand he wrung,
Then to his boat with haughty gesture sprung.
Flash'd the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke,
Around the waves' phosphoric 2 brightness broke;
They gain the vessel -on the deck he stands,
Shrieks the shrill whistle-ply the busy hands-
He marks how well the ship her helm obeys,
How gallant all her crew- and deigns to praise.
His eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turn-
Why doth he start, and inly seem to mourn?
Alas! those eyes beheld his rocky tower,
And live a moment o'er the parting hour;
She his Medora- did she mark the prow?
Ah! never loved he half so much as now!
But much must yet be done ere dawn of day
Again he mans himself and turns away;
Down to the cabin with Gonsalvo bends,
And there unfolds his plan-his means--and ends:
Before them burns the lamp, and spreads the chart,
And all that speaks and aids the naval art;
They to the midnight watch protract debate;
To anxious eyes what hour is ever late?
Meantime, the steady breeze serenely blew,
And fast and falcon-like the vessel flew ;

By night, particularly in a warm latitude, every stroke of the oar, every motion of the boat or ship, is followed by a slight flash like sheet lightning from the water.

Pass'd the high headlands of each clustering isle,
To gain their port-long-long ere morning smile :
And soon the night-glass through the narrow bay
Discovers where the Pacha's galleys lay.

Count they each sail and mark how there supine
The lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine.
Secure, unnoted, Conrad's prow pass'd by,
And anchor'd where his ambush meant to lie;
Screen'd from espial by the jutting cape,
'That rears on high its rude fantastic shape.
Then rose his band to duty-not from sleep –
Equipp'd for deeds alike on land or deep;
While lean'd their leader o'er the fretting flood,
And calmly talk'd—and yet he talk'd of blood!

The Corsair.

CANTO THE SECOND.

"Conosceste i dubiosi desiri?"-DANTE.

I.

IN Coron's bay floats many a galley light,
Through Coron's lattices the lamps are bright,
For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night:
A feast for promised triumph yet to come,
When he shall drag the fetter'd Rovers home;
This hath he sworn by Alla and his sword,
And faithful to his firman and his word,
His summon'd prows collect along the coast,
And great the gathering crews, and loud the boast;
Already shared the captives and the prize,
Though far the distant foe they thus despise ;
'Tis but to sail — no doubt to-morrow's Sun
Will see the Pirates bound - their haven won!
Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will,
Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill.
Though all, who can, disperse on shore and seek
To flesh their glowing valour on the Greek;
How well such deed becomes the turban'd brave
To bare the sabre's edge before a slave!
Infest his dwelling- but forbear to slay,
Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day,
And do not deign to smite because they may!
Unless some gay caprice suggests the blow,
To keep in practice for the coming foe.
Revel and rout the evening hours beguile,
And they who wish to wear a head must smile;
For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer,
And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear.

Though to the rest the sober berry's juice'
The slaves bear round for rigid Moslems' use;
The long chibouque's 2 dissolving cloud supply,
While dance the Almas 3 to wild minstrelsy.
The rising morn will view the chiefs embark;
But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark:
And revellers may more securely sleep

On silken couch than o'er the rugged deep:
Feast there who can - nor combat till they must,
And less to conquest than to Korans trust:
And yet the numbers crowded in his host
Might warrant more than even the Pacha's boast.

"Thy capture where and when?" "From Scalanovo's port to Scio's isle,

The Saick was bound; but Alla did not smile
Upon our course — the Moslem merchant's gains
The Rovers won; our limbs have worn their chains.
I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast,
Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost;
At length a fisher's humble boat by night
Afforded hope, and offer'd chance of flight;
I seized the hour, and find my safety here -
With thee-most mighty Pacha! who can fear?

39

"How speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared, Their plunder'd wealth, and robber's rock, to guard? Dream they of this our preparation, doom'd

To view with fire their scorpion nest consumed?"

"Pacha! the fetter'd captive's mourning eye,
That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy;

I only heard the reckless waters roar,
Those waves that would not bear me from the shore;
I only mark'd the glorious sun and sky,
Too bright-too blue for my captivity;

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 rejected as an improbable fiction; but it is a fiction which would not have been imagined unless in the life of a hero."-See Gibbon's Decline and Fall, vol. vi. p. 180.