Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/315

CANTO III.] I was a slave unmurmuring; he hath said,

But for his rescue I with thee had fled.

'Twas false thou know'st—but let such Augurs rue,

Their words are omens Insult renders true.

Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer;

This fleeting grace was only to prepare

New torments for thy life, and my despair.

Mine too he threatens; but his dotage still

Would fain reserve me for his lordly will:

When wearier of these fleeting charms and me,

There yawns the sack—and yonder rolls the sea!

What, am I then a toy for dotard's play,

To wear but till the gilding frets away?

I saw thee—loved thee—owe thee all—would save,

If but to show how grateful is a slave.

But had he not thus menaced fame and life,—

And well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife—

I still had saved thee—but the Pacha spared:

Now I am all thine own—for all prepared:

Thou lov'st me not—nor know'st—or but the worst.

Alas! this love—that hatred—are the first—

Oh! could'st thou prove my truth, thou would'st not start,

Nor fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart;

'Tis now the beacon of thy safety—now

It points within the port a Mainote prow:

But in one chamber, where our path must lead,

There sleeps—he must not wake—the oppressor Seyd!"

"Gulnare—Gulnare—I never felt till now

My abject fortune, withered fame so low:

Seyd is mine enemy; had swept my band

From earth with ruthless but with open hand,

And therefore came I, in my bark of war,