Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/297

CANTO II.] "Pirate! thou know'st me not, but I am one,

Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done;

Look on me—and remember her, thy hand

Snatched from the flames, and thy more fearful band.

I come through darkness—and I scarce know why—

Yet not to hurt—I would not see thee die."

"If so, kind lady! thine the only eye

That would not here in that gay hope delight:

Theirs is the chance—and let them use their right.

But still I thank their courtesy or thine,

That would confess me at so fair a shrine!"

Strange though it seem—yet with extremest grief

Is linked a mirth—it doth not bring relief—

That playfulness of Sorrow ne'er beguiles,

And smiles in bitterness—but still it smiles;

And sometimes with the wisest and the best,

Till even the scaffold echoes with their jest!

Yet not the joy to which it seems akin—

It may deceive all hearts, save that within.

Whate'er it was that flashed on Conrad, now

A laughing wildness half unbent his brow:

And these his accents had a sound of mirth,

As if the last he could enjoy on earth;

Yet 'gainst his nature—for through that short life,

Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife.