Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/311

CANTO III.] Around thee foes to forge the ready lie,

And blot Life's latest scene with calumny;

Before thee tortures, which the Soul can dare,

Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear;

But deeply feels a single cry would shame,

To Valour's praise thy last and dearest claim;

The life thou leav'st below, denied above

By kind monopolists of heavenly love;

And more than doubtful Paradise—thy Heaven

Of earthly hope—thy loved one from thee riven.

Such were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain,

And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain:

And those sustained he—boots it well or ill?

Since not to sink beneath, is something still!

VII.

The first day passed—he saw not her—Gulnare—

The second, third—and still she came not there;

But what her words avouched, her charms had done,

Or else he had not seen another Sun.

The fourth day rolled along, and with the night

Came storm and darkness in their mingling might.

Oh! how he listened to the rushing deep,

That ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep;

And his wild Spirit wilder wishes sent,

Roused by the roar of his own element!

Oft had he ridden on that wingéd wave,

And loved its roughness for the speed it gave;

And now its dashing echoed on his ear,

A long known voice—alas! too vainly near!

Loud sung the wind above; and, doubly loud,

Shook o'er his turret cell the thunder-cloud;