Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/81

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67
THE CORSAIR.


So throbb'd each vein—each thought—till then withstood;
Her own dark soul—these words at once subdued—
She totters—falls—and senseless had the wave 1280
Perchance but snatch'd her from another grave;
But that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes,
They yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies:
Dash o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew,
Raise—fan—sustain—till life returns anew;
Awake her handmaids—with the matrons leave
That fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve;
Then seek Anselmo's cavern to report
The tale too tedious—when the triumph short.


IV.

In that wild council words wax'd warm and strange, 1290
With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge;
All, save repose or flight—still lingering there
Breathed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair;
Whate'er his fate—the breasts he form'd and led,
Will save him living, or appease him dead.
Woe to his foes! there yet survive a few,
Whose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true.