Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/97

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83
THE CORSAIR.


Silent but quick they stoop, his chains unbind;
Once more his limbs are free as mountain wind!
But on his heavy heart such sadness sate,
As if they there transferr'd that iron weight— 1610
No words are uttered—at her sign, a door
Reveals the secret passage to the shore;
The city lies behind—they speed, they reach
The glad waves dancing on the yellow beach;
And Conrad following, at her beck, obey'd,
Nor cared he now if rescued or betray'd;
Resistance were as useless as if Seyd
Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed.


XIII.

Embark'd, the sail unfurl' d, the light breeze blew—
How much had Conrad's memory to review! 1620
Sunk he in contemplation—till the cape
Where last he anchor'd rear'd its giant shape.
Ah!—since that fatal night, though brief the time,
Had swept an age of terror, grief, and crime.
As its far shadow frown'd above the mast,
He veil'd his face, and sorrowed as he past;
He thought of all—Gonsalvo and his band.
His fleeting triumph and his failing hand;