The works of Lord Byron A new, revised and enlarged edition, with illustrations. Edited by Ernest Hartley Coleridge and R. E. Prothero |
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 | The works of Lord Byron |  |
VII.
Him Juan sought, and told of their intent;—
He spake not, but a sign expressed assent,
These Juan calls—they come—to their salute
He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute.
“These letters, Chief, are from the Greek—the spy,
Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:
Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,
Much that”—“Peace, peace!”—he cuts their prating short.
Wondering they turn, abashed, while each to each
Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech:
They watch his glance with many a stealing look,
To gather how that eye the tidings took;
But, this as if he guessed, with head aside,
Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,
He read the scroll—“My tablets, Juan, hark—
Where is Gonsalvo?”
He spake not, but a sign expressed assent,
These Juan calls—they come—to their salute
He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute.
“These letters, Chief, are from the Greek—the spy,
Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:
Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,
Much that”—“Peace, peace!”—he cuts their prating short.
Wondering they turn, abashed, while each to each
Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech:
They watch his glance with many a stealing look,
To gather how that eye the tidings took;
But, this as if he guessed, with head aside,
Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,
He read the scroll—“My tablets, Juan, hark—
Where is Gonsalvo?”
“In the anchored bark.”
“There let him stay—to him this order bear—
Back to your duty—for my course prepare:
Myself this enterprise to-night will share.”
“To-night, Lord Conrad?”
“There let him stay—to him this order bear—
Back to your duty—for my course prepare:
Myself this enterprise to-night will share.”
233
“Aye! at set of sun:
The breeze will freshen when the day is done.
My corslet—cloak—one hour and we are gone.
Sling on thy bugle—see that free from rust
My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust;
Be the edge sharpened of my boarding-brand,
And give its guard more room to fit my hand.
This let the Armourer with speed dispose;
Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes;
Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired,
To tell us when the hour of stay's expired.”
The breeze will freshen when the day is done.
My corslet—cloak—one hour and we are gone.
Sling on thy bugle—see that free from rust
My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust;
Be the edge sharpened of my boarding-brand,
And give its guard more room to fit my hand.
This let the Armourer with speed dispose;
Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes;
Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired,
To tell us when the hour of stay's expired.”
| The works of Lord Byron | |