Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/88

74 Oft had he ridden on that winged wave,

And loved its roughness for the speed it gave;

And now its dashing echoed on his ear,

A long known voice—alas! too vainly near!

Loud sung the wind above—and, doubly loud,

Shook o'er his turret cell the thunder-cloud;

And flash'd the lightning by the latticed bar,

To him more genial than the midnight star:

Close to the glimmering grate he dragg'd his chain,

And hoped that peril might not prove in vain.

He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and prayed

One pitying flash to mar the form it made:

His steel and impious prayer attract alike—

The storm roll'd onward and disdain'd to strike;

Its peal waxed fainter—ceased—he felt alone,

As if some faithless friend had spurn'd his groan!

The midnight pass'd—and to the massy door,

A light step came—it paused—it moved once more;

Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key—

'Tis as his heart foreboded—that fair she!