The grapes gay juice thy bosom never cheers; Of fair Olympia loved and left of old.(1) Why-thou wert worse than he who broke his vow To that lost damsel, should'st thou leave me now; Or ev'n that traitor chief-I've seen thee smile, When the clear sky show'd Ariadne's Isle, Which I have pointed from these cliffs the while: Lest Time should raise that doubt to more than dread, "Again-again--and oft again—my love! The why- the where - what boots it now to tell? Since all must end in that wild word -- farewell! Yet would I fain-did time allow disclose Fear not- these are no formidable foes; And here shall watch a more than wonted guard, Nor be thou lonely-though thy lord's away, Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay; And this thy comfort-that, when next we meet, Security shall make repose more sweet. List!--t is the bugle --Juan shrilly blew One kiss She rose one more-another-Oh! Adieu!" she sprung-she clung to his embrace, Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face. He dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye, Which downcast droop'd in tearless agony. Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms, In all the wildness of dishevel'd charms; Scarce beat that bosom where his image dwelt So full-that feeling seem'd almost unfelt! Hark-peals the thunder of the signal-gun! It told 'twas sunset - and he cursed that sun. Again--again-that form he madly press'd, Which mutely clasp'd, imploringly caress'd! And tottering to the couch his bride he bore, One moment gazed-as if to gaze no more; Felt that for him earth held but her alone, Kiss'd her cold forehead-turn'd-is Conrad gone? XV. "And is he gone?" on sudden solitude How oft that fearful question will intrude! "Twas but an instant past—and here he stood! And now"-without the portal's porch she rush'd, And then at length her tears in freedom gush'd; Big-bright--and fast, unknown to her they fell; But still her lips refused to send —“ Farewell!”’ 66 For in that word-that fatal word-howe'er We promise-hope-believe- there breathes despair. O'er every feature of that still, pale face, Had sorrow fix'd what time can ne'er erase: The tender blue of that large loving eye Till-Oh, how far!-it caught a glimpse of him, "He's gone!"-against her heart that hand is driven, But turn'd with sickening soul within the gate- XVI. From crag to crag descending-swiftly sped Stern Conrad down, nor once he turn'd his head; His lone, but lovely dwelling on the steep, Whose ray of beauty reach'd him from afar, On her he must not gaze, he must not think, There he might rest-but on Destruction's brink; - a worthy chief May melt, but not betray to woman's grief. He sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind, Fire in his glance, and wildness in his breast, He bounds-he flies until his footsteps reach Than there his wonted statelier step renew: XVII. Around him mustering ranged his ready guard. "They are-nay more-embark'd: the latest boat Waits but my chief "My sword, and my capote." |