Canto III: Canto III XXIV

His heart was formed for softness--warped to wrong,Betrayed too early, and beguiled too long;Each feeling pure--as falls the dropping dewWithin the grot--like that had hardened too;Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials passed,But sunk, and chilled, and petrified at last.Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock;If such his heart, so shattered it the shock.There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow,Though dark the shade--it sheltered--saved till now.The thunder came--that bolt hath blasted both,The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth:The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tellIts tale, but shrunk and withered where it fell;And of its cold protector, blacken roundBut shivered fragments on the barren ground!

'Tis morn--to venture on his lonely hourFew dare; though now Anselmo sought his tower.He was not there, nor seen along the shore;Ere night, alarmed, their isle is traversed o'er:Another morn--another bids them seek,And shout his name till Echo waxeth weak;Mount--grotto--cavern--valley searched in vain,They find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain:Their hope revives--they follow o'er the main.'Tis idle all--moons roll on moons away,And Conrad comes not, came not since that day:Nor trace nor tidings of his doom declareWhere lives his grief, or perished his despair!Long mourned his band whom none could mourn beside;And fair the monument they gave his Bride:For him they raise not the recording stone--His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known;He left a Corsair's name to other times,Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.