"The guards are gain'd—one moment all were o'er—
"Corsair! we meet in safety or no more; 1550
"If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud
"Will hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud."
She turn'd, and vanish'd ere he could reply,
But his glance followed far with eager eye;
And gathering, as he could, the links that bound
His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound,
Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude,
He, fast as fettered limbs allow, pursued.
'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where
That passage led—nor lamp nor guard were there: 1560
He sees a dusky glimmering—shall he seek
Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak?
Chance guides his steps—a freshness seems to bear
Full on his brow, as if from morning air—
He reached an open gallery—on his eye
Gleam'd the last star of night—the clearing sky—
Yet scarcely heeded these—another light
From a lone chamber struck upon his sight.