XLVIII.

Not that he was not sometimes rash or so, But never in his real and serious mood; Then calm, concentrated, and still, and slow,

He lay coiled like the boa in the wood; With him it never was a word and blow, His angry word once o'er, he shed no blood, But in his silence there was much to rue, And his one blow left little work for two.

XLIX.

He ask'd no further questions, and proceeded
On to the house, but by a private way,
So that the few who met him hardly heeded,
So little they expected him that day;

If love paternal in his bosom pleaded

For Haidée's sake, is more than I can say, But certainly to one deem'd dead returning, This revel seem'd a curious mode of mourning.

L.

If all the dead could now return to life,

(Which God forbid !) or some, or a great many, For instance, if a husband or his wife

(Nuptial examples are as good as any),

No doubt whate'er might be their former strife,

The present weather would be much more rainy

Tears shed into the grave of the connexion

Would share most probably its resurrection.

LI.

He enter❜d in the house no more his home,

A thing to human feelings the most trying, And harder for the heart to overcome,

Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying; To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb,

And round its once warm precincts palely lying ́ The ashes of our hopes, is a deep grief,

Beyond a single gentleman's belief.

LII.

He enter'd in the house-his home no more,

For without hearts there is no home;-and felt The solitude of passing his own door

Without a welcome; there he long had dwelt, There his few peaceful days Time had swept o'er, There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt Over the innocence of that sweet child,

His only shrine of feelings undefiled.

LIII.

He was a man of a strange temperament,

Of mild demeanour though of savage mood,

Moderate in all his habits, and content

With temperance in pleasure, as in food,

Quick to perceive, and strong to bear, and meant
For something better, if not wholly good;
His country's wrongs and his despair to save her
Had stung him from a slave to an enslaver.

LIV.

The love of power, and rapid gain of gold,

The hardness by long habitude produced,

The dangerous life in which he had grown old,
The mercy he had granted oft abused,

The sights he was accustom'd to behold,

The wild seas, and wild men with whom he cruised, Had cost his enemies a long repentance,

And made him a good friend, but bad acquaintance.

LV.

But something of the spirit of old Greece
Flash'd o'er his soul a few heroic rays,

Such as lit onward to the Golden Fleece

His predecessors in the Colchian days;" 'Tis true he had no ardent love for peace

Alas! his country show'd no path to praise: Hate to the world and war with every nation He waged, in vengeance of her degradation.

LVI.

Still o'er his mind the influence of the clime
Shed its Ionian elegance, which show'd
Its power unconsciously full many a time,-
A taste seen in the choice of his abode,
A love of music and of scenes sublime,
A pleasure in the gentle stream that flow'd
Past him in crystal, and a joy in flowers,
Bedew'd his spirit in his calmer hours.

LVII.

But whatsoe'er he had of love reposed

On that beloved daughter; she had been The only thing which kept his heart unclosed Amidst the savage deeds he had done and seen; A lonely pure affection unopposed:

There wanted but the loss of this to wean

His feelings from all milk of human kindness,

And turn him like the Cyclops mad with blindness.