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30 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?

Mean time, 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 leaned their leader o'er the fretting flood,

And calmly talk'd—and yet he talk'd of blood!

END OF CANTO I.