She turned, and vanished ere he could reply, But his glance followed far with eager eye; And gathering, as he could, the links that bound His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound, Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude, He, fast as fettered limbs allow, pursued. 'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where 1560 That passage led; nor lamp nor guard was there: He sees a dusky glimmering--shall he seek Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak? Chance guides his steps--a freshness seems to bear Full on his brow as if from morning air; He reached an open gallery--on his eye Gleamed the last star of night, the clearing sky: Yet scarcely heeded these--another light From a lone chamber struck upon his sight. Towards it he moved; a scarcely closing door 1570 Revealed the ray within, but nothing more. With hasty step a figure outward passed, Then paused, and turned--and paused--'tis She at last! No poniard in that hand, nor sign of ill-- "Thanks to that softening heart--she could not kill!" Again he looked, the wildness of her eye Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully. She stopped--threw back her dark far-floating hair, That nearly veiled her face and bosom fair, As if she late had bent her leaning head 1580 Above some object of her doubt or dread. They meet--upon her brow--unknown--forgot-- Her hurrying hand had left--'twas but a spot-- Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood-- Oh! slight but certain pledge of crime--'tis Blood! X. He had seen battle--he had brooded lone O'er promised pangs to sentenced Guilt foreshown; He had been tempted--chastened--and the chain Yet on his arms might ever there remain: But ne'er from strife--captivity--remorse-- 1590 From all his feelings in their inmost force-- So thrilled, so shuddered every creeping vein, As now they froze before that purple stain. That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak, Had banished all the beauty from her cheek! Blood he had viewed--could view unmoved--but then It flowed in combat, or was shed by men![id] XI. "'Tis done--he nearly waked--but it is done. Corsair! he perished--thou art dearly won. All words would now be vain--away--away! 1600 Our bark is tossing--'tis already day. The few gained over, now are wholly mine, And these thy yet surviving band shall join: Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand, When once our sail forsakes this hated strand." XII.