by Lord Byron
Will save him living, or appease him dead.
Woe to his foes! there yet survive a few,
Whose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true.
V.
Within the Haram’s secret chamber sate
Stern Seyd, still pondering o’er his Captive’s fate; 1300
His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell,
Now with Gulnare, and now in Conrad’s cell;
Here at his feet the lovely slave reclined
Surveys his brow — would soothe his gloom of mind;
While many an anxious glance her large dark eye
Sends in its idle search for sympathy,
His only bends in seeming o’er his beads,
But inly views his victim as he bleeds.
“Pacha! the day is thine; and on thy crest
Sits Triumph — Conrad taken — fall’n the rest! 1310
His doom is fixed — he dies; and well his fate
Was earned — yet much too worthless for thy hate:
Methinks, a short release, for ransom told
With all his treasure, not unwisely sold;
Report speaks largely of his pirate-hoard —
Would that of this my Pacha were the lord!
While baffled, weakened by this fatal fray —
Watched — followed — he were then an easier prey;
But once cut off — the remnant of his band
Embark their wealth, and seek a safer strand.” 1320
“Gulnare! — if for each drop of blood a gem
Where offered rich as Stamboul’s diadem;
If for each hair of his a massy mine
Of virgin ore should supplicating shine;
If all our Arab tales divulge or dream
Of wealth were here — that gold should not redeem!
It had not now redeemed a single hour,
But that I know him fettered, in my power;
And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still
On pangs that longest rack — and latest kill.” 1330
“Nay, Seyd! I seek not to restrain thy rage,
Too justly moved for Mercy to assuage;
My thoughts were only to secure for thee
His riches — thus released, he were not free:
Disabled — shorn of half his might and band,
His capture could but wait thy first command.”
“His capture could! — and shall I then resign
One day to him — the wretch already mine?
Release my foe! — at whose remonstrance? — thine!
Fair suitor! — to thy virtuous gratitude, 1340
That thus repays this Giaour’s relenting mood,
Which thee and thine alone of all could spare —
No doubt, regardless — if the prize were fair —
My thanks and praise alike are due — now hear!
I have a counsel for thy gentler ear:
I do mistrust thee, Woman! and each word
Of thine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard.
Borne in his arms through fire from yon Serai —
Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly?
Thou need’st not answer — thy confession speaks, 1350
Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks:
Then — lovely Dame — bethink thee! and beware:
‘Tis not his life alone may claim such care!
Another word and — nay — I need no more.
Accursed was the moment when he bore
Thee from the flames, which better far — but no —
I then had mourned thee with a lover’s woe —
Now ‘tis thy lord that warns — deceitful thing!
Know’st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing?
In words alone I am not wont to chafe: 1360
Look to thyself — nor deem thy falsehood safe!”
He rose — and slowly, sternly thence withdrew,
Rage in his eye, and threats in his adieu:
Ah! little recked that Chief of womanhood —
Which frowns ne’er quelled, nor menaces subdued;
And little deemed he what thy heart, Gulnare!
When soft could feel — and when incensed could dare!
His doubts appeared to wrong — nor yet she knew
How deep the root from whence Compassion grew —
She was a slave — from such may captives claim 1370
A fellow-feeling, differing but in name;
Still half unconscious — heedless of his wrath,
Again she ventured on the dangerous path,
Again his rage repelled — until arose
That strife of thought, the source of Woman’s woes!
VI.
Meanwhile — long — anxious — weary — still the same
Rolled day and night: his soul could Terror tame —
This fearful interval of doubt and dread,
When every hour might doom him worse than dead;
When every step that echoed by the gate, 1380
Might entering lead where axe and stake await;
When every voice that grated on his ear
Might be the last that he could ever hear;
Could Terror tame — that Spirit stern and high
Had proved unwilling as unfit to die;
‘Twas worn — perhaps decayed — yet silent bore
That conflict, deadlier far than all before:
The heat of fight, the hurry of the gale,
Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail:
But bound and fixed in fettered solitude, 1390
To pine, the prey of every changing mood;
To gaze on thine own heart — and meditate
Irrevocable faults, and coming fate —
Too late the last to shun — the first to mend —
To count the hours that struggle to thine end,
With not a friend to animate and tell
To other ears that Death became thee well;
Around thee foes to forge the ready lie,
And blot Life’s latest scene with calumny;
Before thee tortures, which the Soul can dare, 1400
Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear;
But deeply feels a single cry would shame,
To Valour’s praise thy last and dearest claim;
The life thou leav’st below, denied above
By kind monopolists of heavenly love;
And more than doubtful Paradise — thy Heaven
Of earthly hope — thy loved one from thee riven.
Such were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain,
And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain:
And those sustained he — boots it well or ill? 1410
Since not to sink beneath, is something still!
VII.
The first day passed — he saw not her — Gulnare —
The second, third — and still she came not there;
But what her words avouched, her charms had done,
Or else he had not seen another Sun.
The fourth day rolled along, and with the night
Came storm and darkness in their mingling might.
Oh! how he listened to the rushing deep,
That ne’er till now so broke upon his sleep;
And his wild Spirit wilder wishes sent, 1420
Roused by the roar of his own element!
Oft had he ridden on that wingéd wave,
And loved its roughness for the speed it gave;
And now its dashing echoed on his ear,
A long known voice — alas! too vainly near!
Loud sung the wind above; and, doubly loud,
Shook o’er his turret cell the thunder-cloud;
And flashed the lightning by the latticed bar,
To him more genial than the Midnight Star:
&n
bsp; Close to the glimmering grate he dragged his chain, 1430
And hoped that peril might not prove in vain.
He rais’d his iron hand to Heaven, and prayed
One pitying flash to mar the form it made:
His steel and impious prayer attract alike —
The storm rolled onward, and disdained to strike;
Its peal waxed fainter — ceased — he felt alone,
As if some faithless friend had spurned his groan!
VIII.
The midnight passed, and to the massy door
A light step came — it paused — it moved once more;
Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key: 1440
‘Tis as his heart foreboded — that fair She!
Whate’er her sins, to him a Guardian Saint,
And beauteous still as hermit’s hope can paint;
Yet changed since last within that cell she came,
More pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame:
On him she cast her dark and hurried eye,
Which spoke before her accents — “Thou must die!
Yes, thou must die — there is but one resource,
The last — the worst — if torture were not worse.”
“Lady! I look to none; my lips proclaim 1450
What last proclaimed they — Conrad still the same:
Why should’st thou seek an outlaw’s life to spare,
And change the sentence I deserve to bear?
Well have I earned — nor here alone — the meed
Of Seyd’s revenge, by many a lawless deed.”
“Why should I seek? because — Oh! did’st thou not
Redeem my life from worse than Slavery’s lot?
Why should I seek? — hath Misery made thee blind
To the fond workings of a woman’s mind?
And must I say? — albeit my heart rebel 1460
With all that Woman feels, but should not tell —
Because — despite thy crimes — that heart is moved:
It feared thee — thanked thee — pitied — maddened — loved.
Reply not, tell not now thy tale again,
Thou lov’st another — and I love in vain:
Though fond as mine her bosom, form more fair,
I rush through peril which she would not dare.
If that thy heart to hers were truly dear,
Were I thine own — thou wert not lonely here:
An outlaw’s spouse — and leave her Lord to roam! 1470
What hath such gentle dame to do with home?
But speak not now — o’er thine and o’er my head
Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread;
If thou hast courage still, and would’st be free,
Receive this poniard — rise and follow me!”
“Aye — in my chains! my steps will gently tread,
With these adornments, o’er such slumbering head!
Thou hast forgot — is this a garb for flight?
Or is that instrument more fit for fight?”
“Misdoubting Corsair! I have gained the guard, 1480
Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward.
A single word of mine removes that chain:
Without some aid how here could I remain?
Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time,
If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime:
The crime — ‘tis none to punish those of Seyd.
That hatred tyrant, Conrad — he must bleed!
I see thee shudder, but my soul is changed —
Wronged — spurned — reviled — and it shall be avenged —
Accused of what till now my heart disdained — 1490
Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chained.
Yes, smile! — but he had little cause to sneer,
I was not treacherous then, nor thou too dear:
But he has said it — and the jealous well, —
Those tyrants — teasing — tempting to rebel, —
Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell.
I never loved — he bought me — somewhat high —
Since with me came a heart he could not buy.
I was a slave unmurmuring; he hath said,
But for his rescue I with thee had fled. 1500
‘Twas false thou know’st — but let such Augurs rue,
Their words are omens Insult renders true.
Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer;
This fleeting grace was only to prepare
New torments for thy life, and my despair.
Mine too he threatens; but his dotage still
Would fain reserve me for his lordly will:
When wearier of these fleeting charms and me,
There yawns the sack — and yonder rolls the sea!
What, am I then a toy for dotard’s play, 1510
To wear but till the gilding frets away?
I saw thee — loved thee — owe thee all — would save,
If but to show how grateful is a slave.
But had he not thus menaced fame and life, —
And well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife —
I still had saved thee — but the Pacha spared:
Now I am all thine own — for all prepared:
Thou lov’st me not — nor know’st — or but the worst.
Alas! this love — that hatred — are the first —
Oh! could’st thou prove my truth, thou would’st not start, 1520
Nor fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart;
‘Tis now the beacon of thy safety — now
It points within the port a Mainote prow:
But in one chamber, where our path must lead,
There sleeps — he must not wake — the oppressor Seyd!”
“Gulnare — Gulnare — I never felt till now
My abject fortune, withered fame so low:
Seyd is mine enemy; had swept my band
From earth with ruthless but with open hand,
And therefore came I, in my bark of war, 1530
To smite the smiter with the scimitar;
Such is my weapon — not the secret knife;
Who spares a Woman’s seeks not Slumber’s life.
Thine saved I gladly, Lady — not for this;
Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss.
Now fare thee well — more peace be with thy breast!
Night wears apace, my last of earthly rest!”
“Rest! rest! by sunrise must thy sinews shake,
And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake,
I heard the order — saw — I will not see — 1540
If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.
My life — my love — my hatred — all below
Are on this cast — Corsair! ‘tis but a blow!
Without it flight were idle — how evade
His sure pursuit? — my wrongs too unrepaid,
My youth disgraced — the long, long wasted years,
One blow shall cancel with our future fears;
But since the dagger suits thee less than brand,
I’ll try the firmness of a female hand.
The guards are gained — one moment all were o’er — 1550
Corsair! we meet in safety or no more;
If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud
Will hover o’er thy scaffold, and my shroud.”
IX.
She turned, and vanished ere he could reply,
But his glance followed far with eager eye;
And gathering, as he could, the links that bound
His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound,
Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude,
He, fast as fettered limbs allow, pursued.
‘Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where 1560
That
passage led; nor lamp nor guard was there:
He sees a dusky glimmering — shall he seek
Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak?
Chance guides his steps — a freshness seems to bear
Full on his brow as if from morning air;
He reached an open gallery — on his eye
Gleamed the last star of night, the clearing sky:
Yet scarcely heeded these — another light
From a lone chamber struck upon his sight.
Towards it he moved; a scarcely closing door 1570
Revealed the ray within, but nothing more.
With hasty step a figure outward passed,
Then paused, and turned — and paused — ‘tis She at last!
No poniard in that hand, nor sign of ill —
“Thanks to that softening heart — she could not kill!”
Again he looked, the wildness of her eye
Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully.
She stopped — threw back her dark far-floating hair,
That nearly veiled her face and bosom fair,
As if she late had bent her leaning head 1580
Above some object of her doubt or dread.
They meet — upon her brow — unknown — forgot —
Her hurrying hand had left — ‘twas but a spot —
Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood —
Oh! slight but certain pledge of crime — ‘tis Blood!
X.
He had seen battle — he had brooded lone
O’er promised pangs to sentenced Guilt foreshown;
He had been tempted — chastened — and the chain
Yet on his arms might ever there remain:
But ne’er from strife — captivity — remorse — 1590
From all his feelings in their inmost force —
So thrilled, so shuddered every creeping vein,
As now they froze before that purple stain.
That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,
Had banished all the beauty from her cheek!
Blood he had viewed — could view unmoved — but then
It flowed in combat, or was shed by men!
XI.
“‘Tis done — he nearly waked — but it is done.
Corsair! he perished — thou art dearly won.
All words would now be vain — away — away! 1600
Our bark is tossing — ‘tis already day.
The few gained over, now are wholly mine,
And these thy yet surviving band shall join:
Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand,
When once our sail forsakes this hated strand.”
XII.
She clapped her hands, and through the gallery pour,
Equipped for flight, her vassals — Greek and Moor;