Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/292

260 Must he alone of all retain his breath,

Who more than all had striven and struck for death?

He deeply felt—what mortal hearts must feel,

When thus reversed on faithless Fortune's wheel,

For crimes committed, and the victor's threat

Of lingering tortures to repay the debt—

He deeply, darkly felt; but evil Pride

That led to perpetrate—now serves to hide.

Still in his stern and self-collected mien

A conqueror's more than captive's air is seen,

Though faint with wasting toil and stiffening wound,

But few that saw—so calmly gazed around:

Though the far shouting of the distant crowd,

Their tremors o'er, rose insolently loud,

The better warriors who beheld him near,

Insulted not the foe who taught them fear;

And the grim guards that to his durance led,

In silence eyed him with a secret dread.

IX.

The Leech was sent—but not in mercy—there,

To note how much the life yet left could bear;

He found enough to load with heaviest chain,

And promise feeling for the wrench of Pain;

To-morrow—yea—to-morrow's evening Sun

Will, sinking, see Impalement's pangs begun,

And rising with the wonted blush of morn

Behold how well or ill those pangs are borne.

Of torments this the longest and the worst,

Which adds all other agony to thirst,

That day by day Death still forbears to slake,

While famished vultures flit around the stake.

"Oh! water—water!"—smiling Hate denies

The victim's prayer, for if he drinks he dies.