Selected Poems (56 page)

Would that of this my Pacha were the lord!

While baffled, weaken’d by this fatal fray –

150

Watch’d – follow’d – he were then an easier prey;

But once cut off – the remnant of his band

Embark their wealth, and seek a safer strand.’

‘Gulnare! – if for each drop of blood a gem

Were offer’d rich as Stamboul’s diadem;

155

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 redeem’d a single hour;

160

But that I know him fetter’d, in my power;

And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still

On pangs that longest rack, and latest kill.’

‘Nay, Seyd! – I seek not to restrain thy rage,

Too justly moved for mercy to assuage;

165

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

170

One day to him – the wretch already mine?

Release my foe! – at whose remonstrance? – thine!

Fair suitor! – to thy virtuous gratitude,

That thus repays this Giaour’s relenting mood,

Which thee and thine alone of all could spare,

175

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.

180

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,

Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks;

Then, lovely dame, bethink thee! and beware:

185

’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 mourn’d thee with a lover’s woe –

190

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:

Look to thyself – nor deem thy falsehood safe!’

He rose – and slowly, sternly thence withdrew,

195

Rage in his eye and threats in his adieu:

Ah! little reck’d that chief of womanhood –

Which frowns ne’er quell’d, nor menaces subdued;

And little deem’d he what thy heart, Gulnare!

When soft could feel, and when incensed could dare.

200

His doubts appear’d to wrong – nor yet she knew

How deep the root from whence compassion grew –

She was a slave – from such may captives claim

A fellow-feeling, differing but in name;

Still half unconscious – heedless of his wrath,

205

Again she ventured on the dangerous path,

Again his rage repell’d – until arose

That strife of thought, the source of woman’s woes!

VI

Meanwhile – long anxious – weary – still – the same

Roll’d day and night – his soul could never tame -

210 This fearful interval of doubt and dread,

When every hour might doom him worse than dead,

When every step that echo’d by the gate

Might entering lead where axe and stake await;

When every voice that grated on his ear

215

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 decay’d – yet silent bore

That conflict, deadlier far than all before:

220

The heat of fight, the hurry of the gale,

Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail;

But bound and fix’d in fetter’d solitude,

To pine, the prey of every changing mood;

To gaze on thine own heart; and meditate

225

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:

230

Around thee foes to forge the ready lie,

And blot life’s latest scene with calumny;

Before thee tortures, which the soul can dare,

Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear;

But deeply feels a single cry would shame,

235

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.

240

Such were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain,

And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain:

And those sustain’d he – boots it well or ill?

Since not to sink beneath, is something still!

VII

The first day pass’d – he saw not her – Gulnare –

245

The second – third – and still she came not there;

But what her words avouch’d, her charms had done,

Or else he had not seen another sun.

The fourth day roll’d along, and with the night

Came storm and darkness in their mingling might:

250

Oh! how he listen’d to the rushing deep,

That ne’er till now so broke upon his sleep:

And his wild spirit wilder wishes sent,

Roused by the roar of his own element!

Oft had he ridden on that winged wave,

255

And loved its roughness for the speed it gave;

And now its dashing echo’d 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;

260

And flash’d the lightning by the latticed bar,

To him more genial than the midnight star:

Close to the glimmering grate he dragg’d his chain,

And hoped
that
peril might not prove in vain.

He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and pray’d

265

One pitying flash to mar the form it made:

His steel and impious prayer attract alike –

The storm roll’d onward, and disdain’d to strike;

Its peal wax’d fainter – ceased – he felt alone,

As if some faithless friend had spurn’d his groan!

VIII

270

The midnight pass’d – and to the massy door

A light step came – it paused – it moved once more;

Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key:

’Tis as his heart foreboded – that fair she!

Whate’er her sins, to him a guardian saint,

275

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!

280

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

What last proclaim’d they – Conrad still the same:

Why should’st thou seek an outlaw’s life to spare,

285

And change the sentence I deserve to bear?

Well have I earn’d – nor here alone – the meed

Of Seyd’s revenge, by many a lawless deed.’

‘Why should I seek? because – Oh! didst thou not

Redeem my life from worse than slavery’s lot?

290

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

With all that woman feels, but should not tell –

Because – despite thy crimes – that heart is moved:

295

It fear’d thee – thank’d thee – pitied – madden’d – 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.

300

If that thy heart to hers were truly dear,