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Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. A Tale of the Free: Corsair The Free 0. Yulan is a newcomer to their ranks, keen to An action-packed novella from acclaimed fantasy author Brian Ruckley, following the adventures of the Free - the most feared mercenary company the world has ever seen. Kindle Edition , 70 pages. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about A Tale of the Free , please sign up.

Lists with This Book. This book is not yet featured on Listopia. I found this very diverting, and I'm looking forward to reading more by Brian Ruckley. You could pick this up without having read The Free and still enjoy it. Nov 15, Rudi Opperman rated it really liked it Shelves: Well worth reading if you enjoyed the novel, The Free.

Apr 07, Jason M Waltz rated it it was ok Shelves: It's good to learn more of Yulan, but not much more is gained. Dan Stinton rated it really liked it Mar 24, Alecs rated it really liked it Oct 10, James rated it really liked it May 01, Kelly Roach rated it really liked it May 08, Ed Howland rated it liked it May 06, Torpor rated it it was ok Mar 20, Jared rated it liked it Nov 02, Jonathan rated it liked it Sep 08, James rated it liked it Jun 14, Oman rated it really liked it Jan 27, Danny Richardson rated it really liked it Mar 31, Witold rated it really liked it May 14, David Welsh rated it it was amazing Mar 19, Lucas rated it it was amazing Jul 22, Martin Mcgrath rated it liked it Mar 04, Craig Grimes rated it it was amazing Sep 30, Dakeyras rated it really liked it Apr 14, The Dan Bilzerian of Books rated it really liked it Mar 14, Thad Jostandt rated it really liked it Oct 28, Corey Gaskill rated it it was amazing Sep 10, Kris Davidson rated it it was amazing Jul 06, Joe rated it really liked it Mar 04, Pool rated it it was ok May 20, Iliyan Iliev rated it really liked it Dec 31, Winston Blakey rated it really liked it Oct 09, Nick Guido marked it as to-read Jan 06, Tyler marked it as to-read Feb 02, David marked it as to-read Feb 02, Jeff Coe marked it as to-read Mar 05, Jeff marked it as to-read Mar 15, Jack marked it as to-read Mar 25, Phil marked it as to-read Apr 16, She gazed in wonder, " can he calmly sleep, " While other eyes his fall or ravage weep?

He moved his hand — the grating of his chain Too harshly told him that he liv'd again. Till even the scaffold '" echoes with their jest! Yet not the joy to which it seems akin — It may deceive all hearts, save that within. Yet 'gainst his nature — for through that short life. Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife. I envy those " Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, " Who never feel the void — the wandering thought 11 00 " That sighs o'er visions — such as mine hath wrought.

And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone. And was she here? What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er his chaui? The tear most sacred — shed for others' pain — That starts at once — bright — pure — from Pity's mine. Already polish'd by the hand divine! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save — subdue — at once her spear and shield — Avoid it — Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs, Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers! What lost a world, and bade a hero fly?

The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye. Yet be the soft triumvir's fault forgiven. By this — how many lose not earth — but heaven! Consign their souls to man's eternal foe. And seal their own to spare some wanton's woel XVI. By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt, While sets that sun, and dews of evening melt. Chill — wet — and misty round each stiffened limb. Refreshing earth — reviving all but him! Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun ; Not as in Northern climes obscurely bright, 1 But one unclouded blaze of living light!

On old iEgina'a rock, and Idra's isle. The god of gladness sheds his parting smile ; O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine, Tliough there his altars are no more divine. Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss Thy glorious gulph, unconquer'd Salamis! Their azure arches through the long expanse 1 1 80 More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance, And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, Mark his gay course and own the hues of heaven j Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep.

Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.

The Corsair (Byron, ) - Wikisource, the free online library

On such an eve, his palest beam he cast, When — Athens! How watched thy better sons his farewell ray, That closed their murder'd sage's " latest day! Not yet — not yet — Sol pauses on the hill — 1 The precious hour of parting lingers still ; But sad his light to agonizing eyes. And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes: And bright around with quivering beams beset Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret: The groves of olive scattered dark and wide Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide.

So much its magic must o'er all prevail? Who that beheld that Sun upon thee set, Fair Athens! Though wild, as now, far different were the tale Had Conrad waited for that single sail. She saw not — felt not this — nor dared depart. Nor deemed it cold — her chill was at her heart ; Till grew such certainty from that suspense — His very Sight had shock'd from life or sense!

It came at last — a sad and shattered boat, Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought — Some bleeding — all most wretched — these the few — Scarce knew they how escaped — this all they knew. In silence darkling each appeared to wait His fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate.

Something they would have said ; but seemed to fear To trust their accents to Medora's ear. She saw at once, yet sunk not — trembled not — G Beneath that grief — that loneliness of lot — Within that meek fair form were feelings high, That deem'd not till they found their energy. Dash o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew. Raise — fan — sustain — till life returns anew ; Awake her handmaids — with the matrons leave That fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve ; Then seek Anselmo's cavern to report The tale too tedious — when the triumph short.

In that wild council words wax'd warm and strange, 1 With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge ; All, save repose or flight — still lingering there Breathed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair ; Whatever his fate — the breasts he form'd and led, Will save him living, or appease him dead. Woe to his foes! Rage in his eye and threats in his adieu: Again she ventured on the dangerous path, Again his rage repelFd — until arose That strife of thought — the source of woman's woes! The heat of fight, the hurry of the gale. With not a friend to animate and tell To other ears that death became thee well ; Around thee foes to forge the ready lie, And blot life's latest scene with calumny: Such were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain, And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain: And those sustained he — boots it well or ill?

Since not to sink beneath, is something still! The first day pass'd — he saw not her — Gulnare — The second — third — and still she came not there ; But what her words avouched, her charms had done, Or else he had not seen another sun. The fourth day roH'd along — and with the night Came storm and darkness in their mingling might: Housed by the roar of his own element! Oft had he ridden on that winged wave, And loved its roughness for the speed it gave ; And now its dashing echoed on his ear, A long known voice — alas! Loud sung the wind above — and, doubly loud, Shook o'er his turret cell the thunder-cloud ; And flash'd the lightning by the latticed bar, To him more genial than the midnight star: Close to the glimmering grate he dragg'd his chain, And hoped that peril might not prove in vain.

His steel and impious prayer attract alike — The storm rolFd onward and disdain'd to strike ; Its peal waxed fainter — ceased — he felt alone. As if some faithless friend had spurn'd his groan! The midnight pass'd — and to the massy door, A light step came — it paused — it, moved once more ; Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key — Tis as his heart foreboded — that fair she! On him she cast her dark and hurried eye, Which spoke before her accents — " thou must die! She turn'd, 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. 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 Gleam'd the last star of night — the clearing sky — Yet scarcely heeded these — another light From a lone chamber struck upon his sight. No poignard in that hand — nor sign of ill — " Thanks to that softening heart — she could not kill! She stopped — threw back her dark far-floating hair, That nearly veil'd her faCe and bosom fair: As if she late had bent her leaning head Above some object of her doubt or dread.

But ne'er from strife — captivity — remorse — From all his feelings in their inmost force — So thrill'd — so shuddered every creeping vein As now they froze before that purple stain. Blood he had viewed — could view unmoved — but theii It flow'd in combat, or was shed by men! But on his heavy heart such sadness sate, As if they there transferred that iron weight — No words are uttered — at her sign, a door Reveals the secret passage to the shore ; The city lies behind — they speed, they reach The glad waves dancing on the yellow beach ; And Conrad following, at her beck, obey'd, Nor cared he now if rescued or betray'd ; Resistance were as useless as if Seyd Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed.

Embark'd, the sail unfurl' d, the light breeze blew — How much had Conrad's memory to review! As its far shadow frown'd above the mast, He vcird his face, and sorrowed as he past ; He thought of all — Gonsalvo and his band. He thought on her afar, his lonely bride — He turned and saw — Gulnare, the homicide! She watch'd his features till she could not bear Their freezing aspect and averted air, And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye. Fell quench'd in tears, too late to shed or dry. She knelt beside him and his hand she prest, " Thou may'st forgive though Allans self detest ; " But for that deed of darkness what wert thou?

Hoist out the boat at once, and slacken sail. 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, Returns their greeting as a chief may greet, Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand, And feels he yet can conquer and command! These greetings o'er, the feelings that overflow, Yet grieve to win him back without a blow ; They sail'd 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, They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnarc; And her, at once above — beneath her sex. Whom blood appall'd not, their regards perplex. 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 resign'd the rest. Though worse than phrenzy could that bosom fill, Extreme in love or hate — in good or ill.

The worst of crimes had left her woman still! This Conrad mark'd, and felt — ah!

The Corsair (Byron, 1814)

But — it was done — he knew, whatever her guilt, For him that poignard smote — that blood was spilt — And he was free! He took that hand — it trembled — now too late — So soft in love — so wildly nerved in hate ; He clasp'd that hand — it trembled — and his own Had lost it's firmness, and his voice it's tone. His had been more or less than mortal hearty But — good or ill — it bade her not depart. Perchance, but for the bodings of his breast, His latest virtue then had joined the rest. The first — the last that Frailty stole from Faith — To lips where Love had lavished all his breath To lips — whose broken sighs such fragrance fling, As he had fann'd them freshly with his wing!

They gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle. To them the very rocks appear to smile, The haven hums with many a cheering sound. The beacons blaze their wonted stations round, The boats are darting o'er the curly bay.


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And sportive dolphins bend them through the spray ; Even the hoarse sea-bird's shrill discordant shriek, Greets like the welcome of his tuneless beak! Beneath each lamp that through its lattice gleams, 1 Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams. The lights are high on beacon and from bower, And midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower: He looks in vain — 'tis strange — and all remark, Amid so many, her's alone is dark.

With the first boat descends he for the shore, 1 And looks impatient on the lingering oar. With the first pause the resting rowers gave. He knocked — but faintly — for his trembling hand Refus'd to aid his heavy heart's demand. The portal opens — 'tis a well known face — But not the form he panted to embrace. He turn'd not — spoke not — sunk not — fix'd his look, And set the anxious frame that lately shook: And know — but dare not own we gaze in vain! The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow — And veil'd — thought shrinks from all that lurk'd below — Oh!

Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse, 17S0 But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips — Yet — yet they seem as they forbore to smile. And wish'd repose — but only for a while ; But the white shroud, and each extended tress, Long — fair — but spread in utter lifelessness. Which, late the sport of every summer wind. Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind ; These — and the pale pure cheek, became the bier — But she is nothing — wherefore is he here? It was enough — ehe died — what reck'd it how? The love of youth, the hope of better years, The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears.

The only living thing he could not hate. Was reft at once — and he deserv'd his fate. But did not feel it less ; — the good explore. For peace, those realms where guilt can never soar: The proud — the wayward — who have fixed below Their joy — and find this earth enough for woe, Lose in that one their all — perchance a mite — But who in patience parts with all delight? Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern Mask hearts where grief hath little left to learn ; And many a withering thought lies hid — not lost — In smiles that least befit who wear them most.

By those, that deepest feel, are ill exprest The indistinctness of the suffering breast; Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, Which seeks from all the refuge found in none; No words suffice the secret soul to show. And Truth denies all eloquence to Woe. It was the very weakness of his brain, Which thus confessed without relieving pain. None saw his trickling tears — perchance, if seen, That useless flood of grief had never been: The sun goes forth — but Conrad's day is dim — And the night cometh — ne'er to pass from him — There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, On Griefs vain eye — the blindest of the blind!

Which may not — dare not see — but turns aside To blackest shade — nor will endure a guide! Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials pass'd, But sunk, and chill'd, and petrified at last. Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock; If such his heart, so shatter'd it the shock. There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, Though dark the shade — it sheltered, — saved till now. The thunder came — that bolt hath blasted both. The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth: And of its cold protector, blacken round But shiver'd fragments on the barren ground!

He was not there — nor seen along the shore ; Ere night, alarm'd, their isle is traversed o'er: Another morn — another bids them seek, And shout his name till echo waxeth weak ; ! Mount — grotto — cavern — valley search'd in vain, They find on shore a sea- boat's broken chain — Their hope revives — they follow o'er the main. Long moum'd his band whom none could mourn beside ; And fair the monument they gave his bride: Note 1, page 23, line 2. Note 2, page 29, line Around the waves' phosphoric brightness broke; By night, particularly in a warm latitude, every stroke of the oar, every motion of the boat or ship, is followed by a jilight flash like sheet lightning from the water.

Note 3, page 33, line 1. While dance the Almas to wild minstrelsy: Note to Canto II. I find something not unlike it in history. Vandals, Majorian ventured, after disguising the colour of his hair, to visit Carthage in the character of his own ambassador ; and Genseric was afterwards mortified by the discovery, that he had entertained and dismissed the Emperor of the Ro- mans. Such an anecdote may be rejected as an improbable fiction ; but it is a fiction which would not have been imagined unless in the life of a hero.

That Conrad is a character not altogether out of nature I shall attempt to prove by some historical coincidences which I have met with since writing " The Corsair. Jornandes de Rebus Getiusy c. I beg leave to quote these gloomy realities to keep iu countenance my Giaour and Corsair.

Note 7, page 39, line 9. They seize that Dervise! Note 8, page 40, line 8. He tore his beard, and foaming fied thefight, A common and not very novel effect of Mussulman anger. See Prince Eugene's Memoirs, page Brief time had Conrad mm to greet Gulnare, Gulnare, a female name ; it means, literally, the flower of the Pomegranate. Note 10, page 53, line Till even the scaffold echoes with their jest! Note 11, page 62, line That closed their murder' d sage's latest day!

Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sun: Note 12, page 63, line 4. The queen of night asserts her silent reign. The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country; the days in winter are longer, but in summer of shofter duration. Note 13, page 63, line The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk, The Kiosk is a Turkish summer-house ; the palm is without the present walls of Athens, not far from the temple of The- seus, between which and the tree the wall intervenes. Note 14, page 64, line 4.

The opening lines as far as section II. Note 15, page 68, line p. His only bends in seeming o'er his beads, The Comboloio, or Mahometan rosary ; the beads are in number ninety-nine. Note l6, page 91, line l. And the coldjiowers her colder hand contained. In the Levant it is the custom to strew flowers on the bo- dies of the dead, and in the hands of young persons to place. To a littdy weeping.

Weep, daughter of a royal line, A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay ; Ah, happy! Trom the Turkiih, 1. These gifts were charm'd by secret spell Thy truth in absence to divine ; And they have done their duty well, Alas! That chain was firm in every link. But not to bear a stranger's touch ; That lute was sweet — till thou could'st think In other hands ts notes were such. Let him, who from thy neck unbound The chain which shiver'd in his grasp, Who saw that lute refuse to sound, Restring the chords, renew the clasp.

When thou wert chang'd, they alter'd too ; The cjiain is broke, the music mute: To Genevru, Thine eyes blue tenderness, thy long fair hair, And the wan lustre of thy features — caught From contemplation — where serenely wrought, Seems Sorrow's softness charm'd from its despair— Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air, That — but I know thy blessed bosom fraught With mines of unalloyed and stainless thought — I should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care.

With such an aspect by his colours blent, When from his beauty-breathing pencil born, Except that thou hast nothing to repent The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn — Such seem'st thou — but how much more excellent! With nought Remorse can claim — nor Virtue scorn. To Genevra, Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush. My heart would wish away that ruder glow: While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush.

And into mine my mother's weakness rush, Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow ; For, through thy long dark lashes low depending, The soul of melancholy Gentleness Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending, Above all pain, yet pitying all distress; At once such majesty with sweetness blending, I worship more, but cannot love tliee less. Inscription on the Momiment of a Nezcfoundlancl Dog, When some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, And storied urns record who rests below ; When all is done, upon the tomb is seen.

Not what he was, but what he should have been: But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend. Whose honest heart is still his master's own.

Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnotic'd all his worth. Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: While man, vain insect!

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And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. Degraded mass of animated dust! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye I who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on — it honours none you wish to mourn: To mark a friend's remains these stones arise, I never knew but one, and here he lies.