Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/295

CANTO II.] "And now come Torture when it will, or may—

More need of rest to nerve me for the day!"

This said, with langour to his mat he crept,

And, whatso'er his visions, quickly slept.

'Twas hardly midnight when that fray begun,

For Conrad's plans matured, at once were done,

And Havoc loathes so much the waste of time,

She scarce had left an uncommitted crime.

One hour beheld him since the tide he stemmed—

Disguised—discovered—conquering—ta'en—condemned—

A Chief on land—an outlaw on the deep—

Destroying—saving—prisoned—and asleep!

XII.

He slept in calmest seeming, for his breath

Was hushed so deep—Ah! happy if in death!

He slept—Who o'er his placid slumber bends?

His foes are gone—and here he hath no friends;

Is it some Seraph sent to grant him grace?

No, 'tis an earthly form with heavenly face!

Its white arm raised a lamp—yet gently hid,

Lest the ray flash abruptly on the lid,

Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain,

And once unclosed—but once may close again.

That form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair,

And auburn waves of gemmed and braided hair;