XIV.

"Corsair! thy doom is named--but I have power To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour. Thee would I spare--nay more--would save thee now, But this--Time--Hope--nor even thy strength allow; But all I can,--I will--at least delay 1070 The sentence that remits thee scarce a day. More now were ruin--even thyself were loth The vain attempt should bring but doom to both."

"Yes!--loth indeed:--my soul is nerved to all, Or fall'n too low to fear a further fall: Tempt not thyself with peril--me with hope Of flight from foes with whom I could not cope: Unfit to vanquish--shall I meanly fly, The one of all my band that would not die? Yet there is one--to whom my Memory clings, 1080 Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs. My sole resources in the path I trod Were these--my bark--my sword--my love--my God! The last I left in youth!--He leaves me now-- And Man but works his will to lay me low. I have no thought to mock his throne with prayer Wrung from the coward crouching of Despair; It is enough--I breathe--and I can bear. My sword is shaken from the worthless hand That might have better kept so true a brand; 1090 My bark is sunk or captive--but my Love-- For her in sooth my voice would mount above: Oh! she is all that still to earth can bind-- And this will break a heart so more than kind, And blight a form--till thine appeared, Gulnare! Mine eye ne'er asked if others were as fair."

"Thou lov'st another then?--but what to me Is this--'tis nothing--nothing e'er can be: But yet--thou lov'st--and--Oh! I envy those Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, 1100 Who never feel the void--the wandering thought That sighs o'er visions--such as mine hath wrought."

"Lady--methought thy love was his, for whom This arm redeemed thee from a fiery tomb."

"My love stern Seyd's! Oh--No--No--not my love-- Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once strove To meet his passion--but it would not be. I felt--I feel--Love dwells with--with the free. I am a slave, a favoured slave at best, To share his splendour, and seem very blest! 1110 Oft must my soul the question undergo, Of--'Dost thou love?' and burn to answer, 'No!' Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain, And struggle not to feel averse in vain; But harder still the heart's recoil to bear, And hide from one--perhaps another there. He takes the hand I give not--nor withhold-- Its pulse nor checked--nor quickened--calmly cold: And when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight From one I never loved enough to hate. 1120 No warmth these lips return by his imprest, And chilled Remembrance shudders o'er the rest. Yes--had I ever proved that Passion's zeal, The change to hatred were at least to feel: But still--he goes unmourned--returns unsought-- And oft when present--absent from my thought. Or when Reflection comes--and come it must-- I fear that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust; I am his slave--but, in despite of pride, 'Twere worse than bondage to become his bride. 1130 Oh! that this dotage of his breast would cease! Or seek another and give mine release, But yesterday--I could have said, to peace! Yes, if unwonted fondness now I feign,[hv] Remember--Captive! 'tis to break thy chain; Repay the life that to thy hand I owe; To give thee back to all endeared below, Who share such love as I can never know. Farewell--Morn breaks--and I must now away: 'Twill cost me dear--but dread no death to-day!" 1140