Sunk he in Contemplation, till the cape | |
455 | Where last he anchor’d rear’d its giant shape. |
Ah! – since that fatal night, though brief the time, | |
Had swept an age of terror, grief, and crime. | |
As its far shadow frown’d above the mast, | |
He veil’d his face, and sorrow’d as he pass’d; | |
460 | He thought of all – Gonsalvo and his band, |
His fleeting triumph and his failing hand; | |
He thought on her afar, his lonely bride: | |
He turn’d and saw – Gulnare, the homicide! | |
XIV | |
She watch’d his features till she could not bear | |
465 | Their freezing aspect and averted air, |
And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye, | |
Fell quench’d in tears, too late to shed or dry. | |
She knelt beside him and his hand she press’d, | |
‘Thou may’st forgive though Allah’s self detest; | |
470 | But for that deed of darkness what wert thou? |
Reproach me – but not yet – Oh! spare me | |
I am not what I seem – this fearful night | |
My brain bewilder’d – do not madden quite! | |
If I had never loved – though less my guilt, | |
475 | Thou hadst not lived to – hate me – if thou wilt.’ |
XV | |
She wrongs his thoughts, they more himself upbraid | |
Than her, though undesign’d, the wretch he made; | |
But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest, | |
They bleed within that silent cell – his breast. | |
480 | Still onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge, |
The blue waves sport around the stern they urge; | |
Far on the horizon’s verge appears a speck, | |
A spot – a mast – a sail – an armed deck! | |
Their little bark her men of watch descry, | |
485 | And ampler canvass woos the wind from high; |
She bears her down majestically near, | |
Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier; | |
A flash is seen – the ball beyond her bow | |
Booms harmless, hissing to the deep below. | |
490 | Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance, |
A long, long absent gladness in his glance; | |
‘ ’Tis mine – my blood-red flag! again – again – | |
I am not all deserted on the main!’ | |
They own the signal, answer to the hail, | |
495 | Hoist out the boat at once, and slacken sail. |
‘ ’Tis Conrad! Conrad!’ shouting from the deck, | |
Command nor duty could their transport check! | |
With light alacrity and gaze of pride, | |
They view him mount once more his vessel’s side; | |
500 | A smile relaxing in each rugged face, |
Their arms can scarce forbear a rough embrace. | |
He, half forgetting danger and defeat, | |
Returns their greeting as a chief may greet, | |
Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo’s hand, | |
505 | And feels he yet can conquer and command! |
XVI | |
These greetings o’er, the feelings that o’erflow, | |
Yet grieve to win him back without a blow; | |
They sail’d prepared for vengeance – had they known | |
A woman’s hand secured that deed her own, | |
510 | She were their queen – less scrupulous are they |
Than haughty Conrad how they win their way. | |
With many an asking smile and wondering stare, | |
They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare; | |
And her, at once above – beneath her sex, | |
515 | Whom blood appall’d not, their regards perplex. |
To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye, | |
She drops her veil, and stands in silence by; | |
Her arms are meekly folded on that breast, | |
Which – Conrad safe – to fate resign’d the rest. | |
520 | Though worse than frenzy could that bosom fill, |
Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill, | |
The worst of crimes had left her woman still! | |
XVII | |
This Conrad mark’d, and felt – ah! could he less? – | |
Hate of that deed – but grief for her distress; | |
525 | What she has done no tears can wash away, |
And Heaven must punish on its angry day: | |
But – it was done: he knew, whate’er her guilt, | |
For him that poniard smote, that blood was spilt; | |
And he was free! – and she for him had given | |
530 | Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven! |
And now he turn’d him to that dark’d-eyed slave | |
Whose brow was bow’d beneath the glance he gave, | |
Who now seem’d changed and humbled: – faint and meek, | |
But varying oft the colour of her cheek | |
535 | To deeper shades of paleness – all its red |
That fearful spot which stain’d it from the dead! | |
He took that hand – it trembled – now too late – | |
So soft in love – so wildly nerved in hate; | |
He clasp’d that hand – it trembled – and his own | |
540 | Had lost its firmness, and his voice its tone. |
‘Gulnare!’ – but she replied not – ‘dear Gulnare!’ | |
She raised her eye – her only answer there – | |
At once she sought and sunk in his embrace: | |
If he had driven her from that resting-place, | |
545 | His had been more or less than mortal heart, |
But – good or ill – it bade her not depart. | |
Perchance, but for the bodings of his breast, | |
His latest virtue then had join’d the rest. | |
Yet even Medora might forgive the kiss | |
550 | That ask’d from form so fair no more than this, |
The first, the last that Frailty stole from Faith – | |
To lips where Love had lavish’d all his breath, | |
To lips – whose broken sighs such fragrance fling, | |
As he had fann’d them freshly with his wing! | |
XVIII | |
555 | They gain by twilight’s hour their lonely isle. |
To them the very rocks appear to smile; | |
The haven hums with many a cheering sound, | |
The beacons blaze their wonted stations round, | |
The boats are darting o’er the curly bay, | |
560 | And sportive dolphins bend them through the spray; |
Even the hoarse sea-bird’s shrill, discordant shriek, | |
Greets like the welcome of his tuneless beak! | |
Beneath each lamp that through its lattice gleams, | |
Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams. | |
565 | Oh! what can sanctify the joys of home, |
Like Hope’s gay glance from Ocean’s troubled foam? | |
XIX | |
The lights are high on beacon and from bower, | |
And ’midst them Conrad seeks Medora’s tower: | |
He looks in vain – ’tis strange – and all remark, | |
570 | Amid so many, hers alone is dark. |
’Tis strange – of yore its welcome never fail’d, | |
Nor now, perchance, extinguish’d, only veil’d. | |
With the first boat descends he for the shore, | |
And looks impatient on the lingering oar. | |
575 | Oh! for a wing beyond the falcon’s flight, |
To bear him like an arrow to that height! | |
With the first pause the resting rowers gave, | |
He waits not – looks not – leaps into the wave, | |
Strives through the surge, bestrides the beach, and high | |
580 | Ascends the path familiar to his eye. |
He reach’d his turret door – he paused – no sound | |
Broke from within; and all was night around. | |
He knock’d, and loudly – footstep nor reply | |
Announced that any heard or deem’d him nigh; | |
585 | He knock’d – but faintly – for his trembling hand |
Refused to aid his heavy heart’s demand. | |
The portal opens – ’tis a well known face – | |
But not the form he panted to embrace. | |
Its lips are silent – twice his own essay’d, | |
590 | And fail’d to frame the question they delay’d; |
He snatch’d the lamp – its light will answer all – | |
It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall. | |
He would not wait for that reviving ray – | |
As soon could he have linger’d there for day; | |
595 | But, glimmering through the dusky corridore, |
Another chequers o’er the shadow’d floor; | |
His steps the chamber gain – his eyes behold | |
All that his heart believed not – yet foretold! | |
XX | |
He turn’d not – spoke not – sunk not – fix’d his look, | |
600 | And set the anxious frame that lately shook: |
He gazed – how long we gaze despite of pain, | |
And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain! | |
In life itself she was so still and fair, | |
That death with gentler aspect wither’d there; |