Canto III: Canto III VIII

The midnight passed, and to the massy doorA 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,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 proclaimWhat 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 meedOf Seyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed."

"Why should I seek? because--Oh! did'st thou notRedeem my life from worse than Slavery's lot?Why should I seek?--hath Misery made thee blindTo the fond workings of a woman's mind?And must I say?--albeit my heart rebelWith 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!What hath such gentle dame to do with home?But speak not now--o'er thine and o'er my headHangs the keen sabre by a single thread;ibIf 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,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--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.'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 prepareNew torments for thy life, and my despair.Mine too he threatens; but his dotage stillWould 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,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,Nor fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart;'Tis now the beacon of thy safety--nowIt 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 nowMy abject fortune, withered fame so low:Seyd is mine enemy; had swept my bandFrom earth with ruthless but with open hand,And therefore came I, in my bark of war,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!"ic

"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--If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.My life--my love--my hatred--all belowAre on this cast--Corsair! 'tis but a blow!Without it flight were idle--how evadeHis 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--Corsair! we meet in safety or no more;If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloudWill hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud."