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And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song!
In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand,
They game-carouse-converse-or whet
the brand;

Select the arms-to each his blade assign, And careless eye the blood that dims its shine;

Repair the boat, replace the helm or oar, While others straggling muse along the shore ;

For the wild bird the busy springes set,
Or spread beneath the sun the dripping net;
Gaze where some distant sail a speck

With all the thirsting eye of Enterprise;
Tell o'er the tales of many a night of toil,
And marvel where they next shall seize a

No matter where-their chief's allotment this;

Theirs, to believe no prey nor plan amiss. But who that CHIEF? his name on every


Is famed and fear'd-they ask and know no


With these he mingles not but to command; Few are his words, but keen his eye and hand.

Ne'er seasons he with mirth their jovial


But they forgive his silence for success.
Ne'er for his lip the purpling cup they fill,
That goblet passes him untasted still-
And for his fare-the rudest of his crew
Would that, in turn, have pass'd untasted too;
Earth's coarsest bread, the garden's home-
liest roots,

And scarce the summer-luxury of fruits, His short repast in humbleness supply With all a hermit's board would scarce deny. But while he shuns the grosser joys of sense, His mind seems nourish'd by that abstinence. "Steer to that shore!"-they sail. "Do this!"-'tis done: "Now form and follow me!"-the spoil is


Thus prompt his accents and his actions still,

And all obey and few inquire his will;
To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye
Convey reproof, nor further deign reply.

“A sail!—a sail!"-a promised prize to
Her nation-flag-how speaks the telescope?
No prize, alas!-but yet a welcome sail :
The blood-red signal glitters in the gale.
Yes-she is ours – a home-returning bark—
Blow fair, thou breeze?—she anchors ere
the dark.

Already doubled is the cape-our bay
Receives that prow which proudly spurns
the spray.
How gloriously her gallant course she goes!

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ing art That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.

What lonely straggler looks along the wave? Still sways their souls with that commandIn pensive posture leaning on the brand, Not oft a resting-staff to that red hand? "Tis he 'tis Conrad-here-as wontalone;


On-Juan! on-and make our purpose known.
The bark he views — and tell him we would

His ear with tidings he must quickly meet:
We dare not yet approach-thou know'st his


When strange or uninvited steps intrude."

What is that spell, that thus his lawless

Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain?
What should it be? that thus their faith
can bind?
The power of Thought-the magic of the

Link'd with success, assumed and kept with


That moulds another's weakness to its will; Him Juan sought, and told of their intent-Wields with their hands, but, still to these He spake not-but a sign express'd assent. TheseJuan calls-they come to their salute He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute. "These letters, Chief, are from the Greek-the spy,

Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:
Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,
Much that"-"Peace, peace!"-He cuts their
prating short.

Wondering they turn, abash'd, while each

to each

Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech:
They watch his glance with many a steal-
ing look,

To gather how that eye the tidings took;
But, this as if he guess'd, with head aside,
Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or

He read the scroll-"My tablets, Juan,

Where is Gonsalvo?"

"In the anchor'd bark." "There let him stay-to him this order bear. Back to your duty-for my course prepare: Myself this enterprize to-night will share." "To-night, Lord Conrad?"

"Ay! at set of sun: The breeze will freshen when the day is


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Makes even their mightiest deeds appear

his own.

Such hath it been-shall be-beneath the sun
The many still must labour for the one!
"Tis Nature's doom-but let the wretch who

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They gaze and marvel how- and still confess
That thus it is, but why they cannot guess.
Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and

The sable curls in wild profusion veil,
And oft perforce his rising lip reveals
The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce


Though smooth his voice, and calm his
Still seems there something he would not
general mien,
have seen:

His features' deepening lines and varying hue
As if within that murkiness of mind
At times attracted, yet perplex'd the view,
Work'd feelings fearful, and yet undefined;
Such might it be that none could truly
Too close inquiry his stern glance would

There breathe but few whose aspect might defy

The full encounter of his searching eye; He had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek

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His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven

Him forth to war with man and forfeit heaven.

Warp'd by the world in Disappointment's school,

In words too wise, in conduct there a fool;
Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop,
Doom'd by his very virtues for a dupe,
He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill,
And not the traitors who betray'd him still;
Nor deem'd that gifts bestow'd on better men
Had left him joy, and means to give again.
Fear'd shunn'd beliedere youth had
lost her force,

He hated man too much to feel remorse,
And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call,
To pay the injuries of some on all.
He knew himself a villain- but he deem'd
The rest no better than the thing he seem'd;
And scorn'd the best as hypocrites who hid
Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.
He knew himself detested, but he knew
The hearts that loathed him, crouch'd and
dreaded too.

Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt

From all affection and from all contempt: His name could sadden, and his acts surprise; But they that fear'd him dared not to despise : Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake The slumbering venom of the folded snake: The first may turn-but not avenge the


The last expires-but leaves no living foe; Fast to the doom'd offender's form it clings, And he may crush-not conquer-still it stings!

None are all evil - quickening round his heart,

One softer feeling would not yet depart;
Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled
By passions worthy of a fool or child;
Yet 'gainst that passion vainly still he strove,
And even in him it asks the name of Love!
Yes, it was love-unchangeable-unchanged,
Felt but for one from whom he never ranged;
Though fairest captives daily met his eye,
He shunn'd, nor sought, but coldly pass'd
them by;

Though many a beauty droop'd in prison'd


None ever soothed his most unguarded hour.
Yes it was Love if thoughts of tenderness,
Tried in temptation, strengthen'd by distress,
Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime,
And yet - Oh more than all!-untired by
Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile

Could render sullen were she near to smile,
Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent
On her one murmur of his discontent;
Which still would meet with joy, with
calmness part,
Lest that his look of grief should reach
her heart;
Which nought removed, nor menaced to

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This common courage which with brutes we share,

That owes its deadliest efforts to despair,
Small merit claims-but 'twas my nobler

To teach my few with numbers still to cope;
Long have I led them-not to vainly bleed:
No medium now- we perish or succeed!
So let it be-it irks not me to die;
But thus to urge them whence they cannot

My lot hath long had little of my care,
But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare:
Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last
Hope, power, and life upon a single cast?
Oh, Fate!-accuse thy folly, not thy fate-
She may redeem thee still-nor yet too late."

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thy sail

The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale; Though soft, it seem'd the low prophetic dirge,

That mourn'd thee floating on the savage

surge: Still would I rise to rouse the beacon-fire,

Thus with himself communion held he, Lest spies less true should let the blaze


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expire; many a restless hour outwatch'd each


And morning came-and still thou wert


Oh! how the chill blast on my bosom blew,
And day broke dreary on my troubled view,
Was granted to my tears-my truth-my
And still I gazed and gazed—and not a prow


At length-'twas noon-I hail'd and blest
the mast
That met my sight - it near'd-Alas! it past!
Another came Oh God! 'twas thine at last!

Would that those days were over! wilt

thou ne'er,
My Conrad! learn the joys of peace to
Sure thou hast more than wealth, and many
a home

As bright as this invites us not to roam :
Thou knowst it is not peril that I fear,
I only tremble when thou art not here;

Then not for mine, but that far dearer life, | We'll turn the tale, by Ariosto told, Which flies from love and languishes for Of fair Olympia loved and left of old. strifeWhy-thou wert worse than he who broke How strange that heart, to me so tender still, his vow Should war with nature and its better will!"

"Yea, strange indeed-that heart hath long been changed; Worm-like 'twas trampled adder-like avenged,

Without one hope on earth beyond thy love,
And scarce a glimpse of mercy from above.
Yet the same feeling which thou dost

My very love to thee is hate to them,
So closely mingling here, that disentwined,
I cease to love thee when I love mankind.

Yet dread not this-the proof of all the past
Assures the future that my love will last;
But Oh, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart,
This hour again-but not for long-we

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The feast these hands delighted to prepare;
Light toil! to cull and dress thy frugal fare!
See, I have pluck'd the fruit that promised

And where not sure, perplex'd, but pleased,
I guess'd
At such as seem'd the fairest: thrice the hill

My steps have wound to try the coolest rill;
Yes! thy Sherbet to-night will sweetly flow,
See how it sparkles in its vase of snow!
The grapes' gay juice thy bosom never

Thou more than Moslem when the cup appears:

To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me now ; Or even that traitor-chief-I've seen thee

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If there be life below and hope above, "Again-again--and oft again -my love! He will return—but now, the moments bring The time of parting with redoubled wing: The why-the where what boots it now to tell?

Since all must end in that wild wordfarewell! Yet would I fain-did time allow-disclose

Fear not-these are no formidable foes; And here shall watch a more than wonted guard,

For sudden siege and long defence prepared: Nor be thou lonely-though thy lord's away, Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay;

And this thy comfort-that, when next we meet, Security shall make repose more sweet: One kissList!-'tis the bugle-Juan shrilly blew-one more-another-Oh! Adieu!"

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In all the wildness of dishevell'd charms; Scarce beat that bosom where his image dwelt

Think not I mean to chide- for I rejoice So full-that feeling seem'd almost unfelt! What others deem a penance is thy choice. Hark-peals the thunder of the signal-gun! But come, the board is spread; our silver-It told 'twas sunset and he cursed that sun.


Is trimm'd, and heeds not the Sirocco's

damp: Then shall my handmaids while the time


And join me in the dance, or wake the song; Or my guitar, which still thou lovest to

hear, Shall soothe or lull-or, should it vex thine


Again-again-that form he madly press'd; Which mutely clasp'd, imploringly caress'd! And tottering to the couch his bride he bore, One moment gazed as if to gaze no more;

Felt that for him earth held but her alone, Kiss'd her cold forehead-turn'd-is Conrad gone?

"And is he gone?"-on sudden solitude How oft that fearful question will intrude?

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