But ne'er from strife—captivity—remorse—
From all his feelings in their inmost force—1590
So thrill'd—so shuddered every creeping vein
As now they froze before that purple stain.
That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,
Had banish'd all the beauty from her cheek!
Blood he had viewed—could view unmoved—but then
It flow'd in combat, or was shed by men!
XI.
" 'Tis done—he nearly waked—but it is done—
"Corsair! he perish'd—thou art dearly won.
"All words would now be vain—away—away!
"Our bark is tossing—'tis already day—1600
"The few gain'd over, now are wholly mine,
"And these thy yet surviving band shall join:
"Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand,
"When once our sail forsakes this hated strand."
XII.
She clapp'd her hands—and through the gallery pour,
