Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/296

264 With shape of faiiy lightness—naked foot,

That shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute—

Through guards and dunnest night how came it there?

Ah! rather ask what will not Woman dare?

Whom Youth and Pity lead like thee, Gulnare!

She could not sleep—and while the Pacha's rest

In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest,

She left his side—his signet-ring she bore,

Which oft in sport adorned her hand before—

And with it, scarcely questioned, won her way

Through drowsy guards that must that sign obey.

Worn out with toil, and tired with changing blows,

Their eyes had envied Conrad his repose;

And chill and nodding at the turret door,

They stretch their listless limbs, and watch no more;

Just raised their heads to hail the signet-ring,

Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring.

XIII.

She gazed in wonder, "Can he calmly sleep,

While other eyes his fall or ravage weep?

And mine in restlessness are wandering here—

What sudden spell hath made this man so dear?

True—'tis to him my life, and more, I owe,

And me and mine he spared from worse than woe:

'Tis late to think—but soft—his slumber breaks—

How heavily he sighs!—he starts—awakes!"

He raised his head, and dazzled with the light,

His eye seemed dubious if it saw aright:

He moved his hand—the grating of his chain

Too harshly told him that he lived again.

"What is that form? if not a shape of air,

Methinks, my jailor's face shows wondrous fair!"