And felt that all which Freedom's bosom cheers,
Must break my chain before it dried my tears.
This may'st thou judge, at least, from my escape,
They little deem of aught in peril's shape;
Else vainly had I pray'd or sought the chance
That leads me here-if eyed with vigilance:
The careless guard that did not see me fly,
May watch as idly when thy power is nigh.
Pacha! my limbs are faint, and nature craves
Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves:
Permit my absence-peace be with thee! Peace
With all around!-now grant repose-release."
"Stay, Dervise! I have more to question-stay,
I do command thee-sit-dost hear?-obey!
More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring;
Thou shalt not pine where all are banqueting:
The supper done-prepare thee to reply,
Clearly and full-I love not mystery."
"Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man,
Who look'd not lovingly on that Divan ;
Nor show'd high relish for the banquet prest,
And less respect for every fellow guest.
'Twas but a moment's peevish hectic past
Along his cheek, and tranquillised as fast:
He sate him down in silence, and his look
Resumed the calmness which before forsook :
The feast was usher'd in, but sumptuous fare
He shunn'd as if some poison mingled there.
For one so long condemn'd to toil and fast,
Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast.
"What ails thee, Dervise? eat-dost thou suppose This feast a Christian's? or my friends thy foes?
Why dost thou shun the salt? that sacred pledge,
Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,
Makes ev'n contending tribes in peace unite,
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight! "
"Salt seasons dainties-and my food is still
The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill;
And my stern vow and order's laws oppose
To break or mingle bread with friends or foes;
It may seem strange-if there be aught to dread
That peril rests upon my single head;
But for thy sway-nay more-thy Sultan's throne,
I taste nor bread nor banquet-save alone;
Infringed our order's rule, the Prophet's rage
To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage."
"Well-as thou wilt-ascetic as thou art-
One question answer; then in peace depart.
How many?-Ha! it cannot sure be day?
What star-what sun is bursting on the bay?
It shines a lake of fire !-away-away!
Ho! treachery! my guards! my scimitar!
The galleys feed the flames-and I afar !
Accursed Dervise !-these thy tidings-thou
Some villain spy-seize-cleave him-slay him now!"
Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light,
Nor less his change of form appall'd the sight :
Up rose that Dervise-not in saintly garb,
But like a warrior bounding on his barb,
Dash'd his high cap, and tore his robe away—
Shone his mail'd breast, and flash'd his sabre's ray!
His close but glittering casque, and sable plume,
More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom,
Glared on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit sprite,
Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight.
The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow
Of flames on high, and torches from below;
The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell-
For swords began to clash, and shouts to swell—
Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of hell!
Distracted, to and fro, the flying slaves
Behold but bloody shore and fiery waves;
Nought heeded they the Pacha's angry cry,
They seize that Dervise !-seize on Zatanai !
He saw their terror-check'd the first despair
That urged him but to stand and perish there,
Since far too early and too well obey'd,
The flame was kindled ere the signal made;
He saw their terror-from his baldric drew
His bugle-brief the blast-but shrilly blew ;
"Tis answer'd-" Well ye speed, my gallant crew!
Why did I doubt their quickness of career?
And deem design had left me single here?"
Sweeps his long arm-that sabre's whirling sway
Sheds fast atonement for its first delay;
Completes his fury what their fear begun,
And makes the many basely quail to one.
The cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread,
And scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head:
Even Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelm'd, with rage, surprise,
Retreats before him, though he still defies.
No craven he-and yet he dreads the blow,
So much confusion magnifies his foe !
His blazing galleys still distract his sight,
He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight;
For now the pirates pass'd the Haram gate,
And burst within-and it were death to wait;
Where wild Amazement shrieking-kneeling throws
The sword aside-in vain-the blood o'erflows!
The Corsairs pouring, haste to where within
Invited Conrad's bugle, and the din
Of groaning victims, and wild cries for life,
Proclaim'd how well he did the work of strife.
They shout to find him grim and lonely there,
A glutted tiger mangling in his lair!
But short their greeting, shorter his reply-
""Tis well-but Seyd escapes, and he must die—
Much hath been done, but more remains to do-
Their galleys blaze-why not their city too?"
Quick at the word they seized him each a torch,
And fire the dome from minaret to porch.
A stern delight was fix'd in Conrad's eye,
But sudden sunk-for on his ear the cry
Of women struck, and like a deadly knell
Knock'd at that heart unmoved by battle's yell.
"Oh! burst the Haram-wrong not on your lives
One female form-remember-we have wives.
On them such outrage Vengeance will repay;
Man is our foe, and such 'tis ours to slay :
But still we spared-must spare the weaker prey."
But who is she? whom Conrad's arms convey
From wreaking pile and combat's wreck-away—
Who but the love of him he dooms to bleed ?
The Haram queen-but still the slave of Seyd!
And when that dark-eyed lady, young Gulnare, Recall'd those thoughts late wandering in despair, Much did she marvel o'er the courtesy
That smooth'd his accents; soften'd in his eye : "Twas strange-that robber thus with gore bedew'd, Seem'd gentler then than Seyd in fondest mood.
The Pacha woo'd as if he deem'd the slave
Must seem delighted with the heart he gave;
The Corsair vow'd protection, soothed affright,
As if his homage were a woman's right.
THERE is a war, a chaos of the mind,
When all its elements convulsed-combined--
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.
No single passion, and no ruling thought
That leaves the rest as once unseen, unsought;
But the wild prospect when the soul reviews-
All rushing through their thousand avenues.
Ambition's dreams expiring, love's regret,
Endanger'd glory, life itself beset;
The joy untasted, the contempt or hate
'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;
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-
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