She wrongs his thoughts--they more himself upbraid Than her--though undesigned--the wretch he made; But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest, They bleed within that silent cell--his breast. Still onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge, The blue waves sport around the stern they urge; Far on the Horizon's verge appears a speck, 1650 A spot--a mast--a sail--an arméd deck! Their little bark her men of watch descry, And ampler canvass woos the wind from high; She bears her down majestically near, Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier;[ig][233] A flash is seen--the ball beyond her bow Booms harmless, hissing to the deep below. Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance, A long, long absent gladness in his glance; "'Tis mine--my blood-rag flag! again--again-- 1660 I am not all deserted on the main!" They own the signal, answer to the hail, Hoist out the boat at once, and slacken sail. "'Tis Conrad! Conrad!" shouting from the deck, Command nor Duty could their transport check! With light alacrity and gaze of Pride, They view him mount once more his vessel's side; A smile relaxing in each rugged face, Their arms can scarce forbear a rough embrace. He, half forgetting danger and defeat, 1670 Returns their greeting as a Chief may greet, Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand, And feels he yet can conquer and command! XVI. These greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow, Yet grieve to win him back without a blow; They sailed prepared for vengeance--had they known A woman's hand secured that deed her own, She were their Queen--less scrupulous are they Than haughty Conrad how they win their way. With many an asking smile, and wondering stare, 1680 They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare; And her, at once above--beneath her sex, Whom blood appalled not, their regards perplex.[ih] To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye, She drops her veil, and stands in silence by; Her arms are meekly folded on that breast, Which--Conrad safe--to Fate resigned the rest. Though worse than frenzy could that bosom fill, Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill, The worst of crimes had left her Woman still! 1690 XVII.