"I come from my rest to him I love best,

That I may be happy, and he may be blessed.

I have passed the guards, the gate, the wall;

Sought thee in safety through foes and all.

'Tis said the lion will turn and flee[368]

From a maid in the pride of her purity;

And the Power on high, that can shield the good

Thus from the tyrant of the wood, 570

Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well

From the hands of the leaguering Infidel.

I come—and if I come in vain,

Never, oh never, we meet again!

Thou hast done a fearful deed

In falling away from thy fathers' creed:

But dash that turban to earth, and sign

The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine;

Wring the black drop from thy heart,

And to-morrow unites us no more to part." 580

"And where should our bridal couch be spread?

In the midst of the dying and the dead?

For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame

The sons and the shrines of the Christian name.

None, save thou and thine, I've sworn,

Shall be left upon the morn:

But thee will I bear to a lovely spot,

Where our hands shall be joined, and our sorrow forgot.

There thou yet shall be my bride,

When once again I've quelled the pride 590

Of Venice; and her hated race

Have felt the arm they would debase

Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those

Whom Vice and Envy made my foes."

Upon his hand she laid her own—

Light was the touch, but it thrilled to the bone,

And shot a chillness to his heart,[px]

Which fixed him beyond the power to start.

Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold,

He could not loose him from its hold; 600

But never did clasp of one so dear

Strike on the pulse with such feeling of fear,

As those thin fingers, long and white,

Froze through his blood by their touch that night.

The feverish glow of his brow was gone,

And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone,

As he looked on the face, and beheld its hue,[py]

So deeply changed from what he knew:

Fair but faint—without the ray

Of mind, that made each feature play 610

Like sparkling waves on a sunny day;

And her motionless lips lay still as death,

And her words came forth without her breath,

And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell,[pz]

And there seemed not a pulse in her veins to dwell.

Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fixed,[369]

And the glance that it gave was wild and unmixed

With aught of change, as the eyes may seem

Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream;

Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare, 620

Stirred by the breath of the wintry air[qa]

So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light,[qb]

Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight;

As they seem, through the dimness, about to come down

From the shadowy wall where their images frown;

Fearfully flitting to and fro,

As the gusts on the tapestry come and go.[370]

"If not for love of me be given

Thus much, then, for the love of Heaven,—

Again I say—that turban tear 630

From off thy faithless brow, and swear

Thine injured country's sons to spare,

Or thou art lost; and never shalt see—

Not earth—that's past—but Heaven or me.

If this thou dost accord, albeit

A heavy doom' tis thine to meet,

That doom shall half absolve thy sin,

And Mercy's gate may receive thee within:[371]

But pause one moment more, and take

The curse of Him thou didst forsake; 640

And look once more to Heaven, and see

Its love for ever shut from thee.

There is a light cloud by the moon—[372]

'Tis passing, and will pass full soon—

If, by the time its vapoury sail

Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil,

Thy heart within thee is not changed,

Then God and man are both avenged;

Dark will thy doom be, darker still

Thine immortality of ill." 650

Alp looked to heaven, and saw on high

The sign she spake of in the sky;

But his heart was swollen, and turned aside,

By deep interminable pride.[qc]

This first false passion of his breast

Rolled like a torrent o'er the rest.

He sue for mercy! He dismayed

By wild words of a timid maid!

He, wronged by Venice, vow to save

Her sons, devoted to the grave! 660

No—though that cloud were thunder's worst,

And charged to crush him—let it burst!

He looked upon it earnestly,

Without an accent of reply;

He watched it passing; it is flown:

Full on his eye the clear moon shone,

And thus he spake—"Whate'er my fate,

I am no changeling—'tis too late:

The reed in storms may bow and quiver,

Then rise again; the tree must shiver. 670

What Venice made me, I must be,

Her foe in all, save love to thee:

But thou art safe: oh, fly with me!"

He turned, but she is gone!

Nothing is there but the column stone.

Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air?

He saw not—he knew not—but nothing is there.