The Corsair's misanthropy had not destroyed him. Small creatures alone
are wholly converted into spite and scepticism by disappointment and
repulse. Those who are larger avenge themselves by devotion. Conrad's
love for Medora was intensified and exalted by his hatred of the world.


"Yes, it was Love--unchangeable--unchanged,
Felt but for one from whom he never ranged;"


and she was worthy of him, the woman who could sing -


"Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,
Lonely and lost to light for evermore,
Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,
Then trembles into silence as before.

There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp
Burns the slow flame, eternal--but unseen;
Which not the darkness of despair can damp,
Though vain its ray as it had never been."


He finds Medora dead, and -


"his mother's softness crept
To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept."