Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/27

Rh The lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown

Along the govern'd aspect, speak alone

Of deeper passions; and to judge their mien,

He, who would see, must be himself unseen.

Then—with the hurried tread, the upward eye,

The clenched hand, the pause of agony,

That listens, starting, lest the step too near

Approach intrusive on that mood of fear:

Then—with each feature working from the heart,

With feelings loosed to strengthen—not depart—

That rise—convulse—contend—that freeze, or glow,

Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow,

Then—Stranger! if thou canst, and tremblest not,

Behold his soul—the rest that soothes his lot!

Mark—how that lone and blighted bosom sears

The scathing thought of execrated years!

Behold—but who hath seen, or e'er shall see,

Man as himself—the secret spirit free?

Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent

To lead the guilty—guilt's worst instrument—