by Byron
380
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!
385
At length – ’twas noon – I hail’d and blest the mast
That met my sight – it near’d – Alas! it past!
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?
390
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,
395
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!’
‘Yea, strange indeed – that heart hath long been changed;
Worm-like ’twas trampled – adder-like avenged,
400
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,
405
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.’
410
‘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
415
Have need of rest before they toil anew:
My love! thou mock’st my weakness; and wouldst 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.
420
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
425
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;
430
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:
435
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,
440
Of fair Olympia loved and left of old.1
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,
445
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!’
450
‘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
455
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:
460
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 –
465
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.
470
Her long fair hair lay floating o’er his arms,
In all the wildness of dishevell’d 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!
475
It told ’twas sunset – and he cursed that sun.
Again – again – that form he madly press’d,
Which mutely clasp’d, imploring caress’d!
And tottering to the couch his bride he bore,
One moment gazed – as if to gaze no more;
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Felt – that for him earth held but her alone,
Kiss’d 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!
485
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
490
We promise – hope – believe – there breathes despair.
O’er 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,
495
Till – 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,
500
Convulsed 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!’
XVI
505
> 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,
510
That hail’d him first when homeward from the deep:
And she - the dim and melancholy star,
Whose 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:
515
Yet once almost he stopp’d – and nearly gave
His fate to chance, his projects to the wave:
But 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,
520
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;
525
As marks his eye the seaboy on the mast,
The anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast,
The wavin kerchiefs of the crowd that ure
That mute adieu to those who stem the surge;
And more than all, his blood-red flag aloft,
530
He marvell’d how his heart could seem so soft.
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,
535
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,
540
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 highborn eye,
That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy;
545
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
550
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
555
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,
560
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;
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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,
570
Then to his boat with haughty gesture sprung.
Flash’d the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke,
Around the waves’ phosphoric1 brightness broke;
They gain the vessel – on the deck he stands, –
Shrieks the shrill whistle – ply the busy hands –
575
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,
580
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;
585
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;
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To anxious eyes what hour is ever late?
Meantime, the steady breeze serenely blew,
And fast and falcon-like the vessel flew;
Pass’d the high headlands of each clustering isle
To gain their port – long – long ere morning smile:
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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,
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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;
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While lean’d their leader o’er the fretting flood,
And calmly talk’d – and yet he talk’d of blood!
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,
5
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;
10
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,
15
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!
20
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.
25
Revel and rout the ev
ening 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.
II
High in his hall reclines the turban’d Seyd;
30
Around – the bearded chiefs he came to lead.
Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff -
Forbidden draughts, ’tis said, he dared to quaff,
Though to the rest the sober berry’s juice1
The slaves bear round for rigid Moslems’ use;
35
The long chibouque’s2 dissolving cloud supply,
While dance the Almas3 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
40
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.
III
45
With cautious reverence from the outer gate
Slow stalks the slave, whose office there to wait,
Bows his bent head – his hand salutes the floor,
Ere yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore:
‘A captive Dervise from the pirate’s nest
50
Escaped, is here – himself would tell the rest.’1
He took the sign from Seyd’s assenting eye,
And led the holy man in silence nigh.
His arms were folded on his dark-green vest,
His step was feeble, and his look deprest;
55
Yet worn he seem’d of hardship more than years,
And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears.
Vow’d to his God – his sable locks he wore,
And these his lofty cap rose proudly o’er:
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
60
And wrapt a breast bestow’d on heaven alone;
Submissive, yet with self-possession mann’d,
He calmly met the curious eyes that scann’d;
And question of his coming fain would seek,
Before the Pacha’s will allow’d to speak.
IV
65
‘Whence com’st thou, Dervise?’
‘From the outlaw’s den,
A fugitive –’
‘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
70
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
