"Yes!--loth indeed:--my soul is nerved to all, Or fall'n too low to fear a further fall: Tempt not thyself with peril--me with hope Of flight from foes with whom I could not cope: Unfit to vanquish--shall I meanly fly, The one of all my band that would not die? Yet there is one--to whom my Memory clings, 1080 Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs. My sole resources in the path I trod Were these--my bark--my sword--my love--my God! The last I left in youth!--He leaves me now-- And Man but works his will to lay me low. I have no thought to mock his throne with prayer Wrung from the coward crouching of Despair; It is enough--I breathe--and I can bear. My sword is shaken from the worthless hand That might have better kept so true a brand; 1090 My bark is sunk or captive--but my Love-- For her in sooth my voice would mount above: Oh! she is all that still to earth can bind-- And this will break a heart so more than kind, And blight a form--till thine appeared, Gulnare! Mine eye ne'er asked if others were as fair." "Thou lov'st another then?--but what to me Is this--'tis nothing--nothing e'er can be: But yet--thou lov'st--and--Oh! I envy those Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, 1100 Who never feel the void--the wandering thought That sighs o'er visions--such as mine hath wrought." "Lady--methought thy love was his, for whom This arm redeemed thee from a fiery tomb."