"And now come Torture when it will, or may—
More need of rest to nerve me for the day!"
This said, with langour to his mat he crept,
And, whatso'er his visions, quickly slept.
'Twas hardly midnight when that fray begun,990
For Conrad's plans matured, at once were done,
And Havoc loathes so much the waste of time,
She scarce had left an uncommitted crime.
One hour beheld him since the tide he stemmed—
Disguised—discovered—conquering—ta'en—condemned—
A Chief on land—an outlaw on the deep—
Destroying—saving—prisoned—and asleep!
XII.
He slept in calmest seeming, for his breath[1]
Was hushed so deep—Ah! happy if in death!
He slept—Who o'er his placid slumber bends?1000
His foes are gone—and here he hath no friends;
Is it some Seraph sent to grant him grace?
No, 'tis an earthly form with heavenly face!
Its white arm raised a lamp—yet gently hid,
Lest the ray flash abruptly on the lid,
Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain,
And once unclosed—but once may close again.
That form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair,
And auburn waves of gemmed and braided hair;
- ↑ [Compare—
"When half the world lay wrapt in sleepless night,
A jarring sound the startled hero wakes.
· · · · · · · He hears a step draw near—in beauty's pride
A female comes—wide floats her glistening gown—
Her hand sustains a lamp. . . ."
Wieland's Oberon, translated by W. Sotheby,
Canto XII. stanza xxxi., et seq.]
