Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/314

282 If that thy heart to hers were truly dear,

Were I thine own—thou wert not lonely here:

An outlaw's spouse—and leave her Lord to roam!

What hath such gentle dame to do with home?

But speak not now—o'er thine and o'er my head

Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread;

If thou hast courage still, and would'st be free,

Receive this poniard—rise and follow me!"

"Aye—in my chains! my steps will gently tread,

With these adornments, o'er such slumbering head!

Thou hast forgot—is this a garb for flight?

Or is that instrument more fit for fight?"

"Misdoubting Corsair! I have gained the guard,

Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward.

A single word of mine removes that chain:

Without some aid how here could I remain?

Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time,

If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime:

The crime—'tis none to punish those of Seyd.

That hated tyrant, Conrad—he must bleed!

I see thee shudder, but my soul is changed—

Wronged—spurned—reviled—and it shall be avenged—

Accused of what till now my heart disdained—

Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chained.

Yes, smile!—but he had little cause to sneer,

I was not treacherous then, nor thou too dear:

But he has said it—and the jealous well,—

Those tyrants—teasing—tempting to rebel,—

Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell.

I never loved—he bought me—somewhat high—

Since with me came a heart he could not buy.