There checks his speed; but pauses less to breathe
The breezy freshness of the deep beneath,
Than there his wonted statelier step renew;
Nor rush, disturb'd by haste, to vulgar view:
For well had Conrad learn'd to curb the crowd,
By arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud;
His was the lofty port, the distant mien,
That seems to shun the sight-and awes if seen:
The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye,
That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy;
All these he wielded to command assent:
But where he wish'd to win, so well unbent,
That kindness cancell'd fear in those who heard,
And others' gifts show'd mean beside his word,
When echo'd to the heart as from his own
His deep yet tender melody of tone:
But such was foreign to his wonted mood,
He cared not what he soften'd, but subdued;
The evil passions of his youth had made
Him value less who loved-than what obey'd.
Around him mustering ranged his ready guard.
Before him Juan stands-" Are all prepared ?"
"They are-nay more embark'd: the latest boat "Waits but my chief
My sword, and my capote."
Soon firmly girded on, and lightly slung,
His belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung: "Call Pedro here!" He comes-and Conrad bends,
With all the courtesy he deign'd his friends;
"Receive these tablets, and peruse with care, "Words of high trust and truth are graven there; “Double the guard, and when Anselmo's bark 66 Arrives, let him alike these orders mark: "In three days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shine "On our return-till then all peace be thine!" This said, his brother Pirate's hand he wrung, Then to his boat with haughty gesture sprung. Flash'd the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke, Around the waves' phosphoric (2) brightness broke; They gain the vessel-on the deck he stands, Shrieks the shrill whistle-ply the busy handsHe marks how well the ship her helm obeys, How gallant all her crew-and deigns to praise. His eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turn— Why doth he start, and inly seem to mourn? Alas! those eyes beheld his rocky tower, And live a moment o'er the parting hour; She his Medora-did she mark the prow? Ah! never loved he half so much as now! But much must yet be done ere dawn of day— Again he mans himself and turns away;
Down to the cabin with Gonsalvo bends,
And there unfolds his plan-his means—and ends;
Before them burns the lamp, and spreads the chart,
And all that speaks and aids the naval art;
They to the midnight watch protract debate;
To anxious eyes what hour is ever late?
Meantime, the steady breeze serenely blew,
And fast and falcon-like the vessel flew;
Pass'd the high headlands of each clustering isle
To gain their port-long-long ere morning smile :
And soon the night-glass through the narrow bay
Discovers where the Pacha's galleys lay.
Count they each sail—and mark how there supine
The lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine.
Secure, unnoted, Conrad's prow pass'd by,
And anchor'd where his ambush meant to lie;
Screen'd from espial by the jutting cape,
That rears on high its rude fantastic shape.
Then rose his band to duty-not from sleep-
Equipp'd for deeds alike on land or deep;
While lean'd their leader o'er the fretting flood,
And calmly talk'd and yet he talk'd of blood!
"Conosceste i dubiosi desiri?"
IN Coron's bay floats many a galley light,
Through Coron's lattices the lamps are bright,
For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night:
A feast for promised triumph yet to come,
When he shall drag the fetter'd Rovers home
This hath he sworn by Alla and his sword,
And faithful to his firman and his word,
His summon'd prows collect along the coast,
And great the gathering crews, and loud the boast;
Already shared the captives and the prize,
Though far the distant foe they thus despise;
'Tis but to sail no doubt to-morrow's Sun
Will see the Pirates bound-their haven won!
Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will,
Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill.
Though all, who can, disperse on shore and seek
To flesh their glowing valour on the Greek;
How well such deed becomes the turban'd brave-
To bare the sabre's edge before a slave!
Infest his dwelling-but forbear to slay,
Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day,
And do not deign to smite because they may!
Unless some gay caprice suggests the blow,
To keep in practice for the coming foe.
Revel and rout the evening hours beguile,
And they who wish to wear a head must smile;
For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer,
And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear.
High in his hall reclines the turban'd Seyd;
Around the bearded chiefs he came to lead.
Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff—
Forbidden draughts, 'tis said, he dared to quaff,
Though to the rest the sober berry's juice (3)
The slaves bear round for rigid Moslems' use;
The long Chibouque's (4) dissolving cloud supply,
While dance the Almas (5) to wild minstrelsy.
The rising morn will view the chiefs embark;
But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark:
And revellers may more securely sleep
On silken couch than o'er the rugged deep;
Feast there who can-nor combat till they must,
And less to conquest than to Korans trust;
And yet the numbers crowded in his host
Might warrant more than even the Pacha's boast,
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