A husband so blessed in marriage, might exclaim with the lover in one of Terence's comedies, "I protest solemnly that I will never forsake her; no, not if I was sure to contract the enmity of mankind by this resolution. Her I made the object of my wishes, and have obtained her; our dispositions suit; and I will shake hands with them that would sow dissension betwixt us; for death, and only death, shall take her from me." The eulogies of the poets in regard to this amiable trait in the female character, are sublime and beautiful; but none, I think, have surpassed in vivid fancy and depth of feeling, that of Lord Byron, in his elegant poem of the _Corsair_. The following passage describing the grief of Medora on the departure of Conrad, the pirate, is sketched with the pencil of a poet who was transcendently gifted with a knowledge of the inmost recesses of the human heart:-- "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 refus'd to send--"Farewell!" "He's gone!"--against her heart that hand is driven, Convuls'd and quick--then gently rais'd to heav'n; She look'd and saw the heaving of the main: The white sail set--she dared not look again; But turn'd with sickening soul within the gate-- "It is no dream--and I am desolate!" CANTO I. The description of Conrad's return from his piratical cruise, the agony of his mind when he finds that his lovely Medora had fallen a sacrifice to her affectionate regard for him, and his sudden departure in a boat, through despair, is equally grand and powerful, and exhibits a fine specimen of the influence of female constancy even on the mind of a man like Conrad, who, from the nature of his pursuits, was inured to the infliction of wrongs on his fellow-creatures.