No More Learning

"
He raised his head, and dazzled with the light,
His eye seemed dubious if it saw aright:
He moved his hand--the grating of his chain
Too harshly told him that he lived again.
"What is that form? if not a shape of air,
Methinks, my jailor's face shows wondrous fair! " 1040
"Pirate! thou know'st me not, but I am one,
Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done;
Look on me--and remember her, thy hand
Snatched from the flames, and thy more fearful band.
I come through darkness--and I scarce know why--
Yet not to hurt--I would not see thee die. "

"If so, kind lady! thine the only eye
That would not here in that gay hope delight:
Theirs is the chance--and let them use their right.
But still I thank their courtesy or thine, 1050
That would confess me at so fair a shrine! "

Strange though it seem--yet with extremest grief
Is linked a mirth--it doth not bring relief--
That playfulness of Sorrow ne'er beguiles,
And smiles in bitterness--but still it smiles;
And sometimes with the wisest and the best,
Till even the scaffold[223] echoes with their jest!
Yet not the joy to which it seems akin--
It may deceive all hearts, save that within.
Whate'er it was that flashed on Conrad, now 1060
A laughing wildness half unbent his brow:
And these his accents had a sound of mirth,
As if the last he could enjoy on earth;
Yet 'gainst his nature--for through that short life,
Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife.

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.