Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/264

232 Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst;

From crag to cliff they mount—Near yonder cave,

What lonely straggler looks along the wave?

In pensive posture leaning on the brand,

Not oft a resting-staff to that red hand?

"'Tis he—'tis Conrad—here—as wont—alone;

On—Juan!—on—and make our purpose known.

The bark he views—and tell him we would greet

His ear with tidings he must quickly meet:

We dare not yet approach—thou know'st his mood,

When strange or uninvited steps intrude."

Him Juan sought, and told of their intent;—

He spake not, but a sign expressed assent,

These Juan calls—they come—to their salute

He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute.

"These letters, Chief, are from the Greek—the spy,

Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:

Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,

Much that"—"Peace, peace!"—he cuts their prating short.

Wondering they turn, abashed, while each to each

Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech:

They watch his glance with many a stealing look,

To gather how that eye the tidings took;

But, this as if he guessed, with head aside,

Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,

He read the scroll—"My tablets, Juan, hark—

Where is Gonsalvo?"

"In the anchored bark."

"There let him stay—to him this order bear—

Back to your duty—for my course prepare:

Myself this enterprise to-night will share."