Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/305

CANTO III. Nor seems this homage foreign to its strain,

His Corsair's isle was once thine own domain—

Would that with freedom it were thine again!

III.

The Sun hath sunk—and, darker than the night,

Sinks with its beam upon the beacon height

Medora's heart—the third day's come and gone—

With it he comes not—sends not—faithless one!

The wind was fair though light! and storms were none.

Last eve Anselmo's bark returned, and yet

His only tidings that they had not met!

Though wild, as now, far different were the tale

Had Conrad waited for that single sail.

The night-breeze freshens—she that day had passed

In watching all that Hope proclaimed a mast;

Sadly she sate on high—Impatience bore

At last her footsteps to the midnight shore,

And there she wandered, heedless of the spray

That dashed her garments oft, and warned away:

She saw not, felt not this—nor dared depart,

Nor deemed it cold—her chill was at her heart;

Till grew such certainty from that suspense—

His very Sight had shocked from life or sense!

It came at last—a sad and shattered boat,

Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought;

Some bleeding—all most wretched—these the few—

Scarce knew they how escaped—this all they knew.

In silence, darkling, each appeared to wait

His fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate: