They should have lived together deep in | Where waves might wash, and seals might woods, breed and lurk; Unseen as sings the nightingale; they were Her hair was dripping, and the very balls Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes Of her black eyes seem'd turn'd to tears, Called social, where all vice and hatred are; and murk How lonely every freeborn creature broods! The sweetest song-birds nestle in a pair; The eagle soars alone; the gull and crow Flock o'er their carrion, just as mortals do.

Now pillow'd,cheek to cheek,in loving sleep,
Haidee and Juan their siesta took,
A gentle slumber, but it was not deep,
For ever and anon a something shook
Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would
creep;
And Haidee's sweet lips murmur'd like a
brook

A vordless music, and her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream as rose-leaves with
the air;

Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream
Within an Alpine-hollow, when the wind
Walks over it, was she shaken by the dream,
The mystical usurper of the mind-
C'erpowering us to be whate'er may seem
Good to the soul which we no more can bind;
Strange state of being! (for 'tis still to be)
Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to see.

She dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore,
Chain'd to a rock; she knew not how, but stir
She could not from the spot, and the loud roar
Grew, and each wave rose roughly, threat-
ening her;

The sharp rocks look'd below each drop they caught,

Which froze to marble as it fell,she thought.

Then shrieking,she arose, and shrieking fell,
With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see
Him whom she deem'd a habitant where
dwell

And o'er her upper-lip they seem'd to pour,
Letil she sobb'd for breath, and soon they The ocean-buried, risen from death, to be

were

Foaning o'er her lone head, so fierce and high

Each broke to drown her, yet she could not

die.

Anon-she was released, and then she stray'd
Ver the sharp shingles with her bleeding

feet,

Perchance the death of one she loved too
well:

Dear as her father had been to Haidee,
It was a moment of that awful kind-

I have seen such but must not call to mind.

Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek,
And caught her falling, and from off the wall
Snatch'd down his sabre, in het haste to wreak
Vengeance on him who was the cause of all:
Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak,
Smiled scornfully, and, said, "Within my

And stumbled almost every step she made;
And something roll'd before her in a sheet,
Which she must still pursue howe'er afraid;
Twas white and indistinct, nor stopp'd
Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed Put up, young man,put up your silly sword."

to meet

and grasp❜d,

And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp'd.

call

A thousand scimitars await the word,

And Haidee clung around him; "Juan, 'tis'Tis Lambro-'tis my father! Kneel with

me

He will forgive us- -yes-it must be-yes.
Oh! dearest father, in this agony
Of pleasure and of pain-even while I kiss

Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be | She drew up to her height, as if to show That doubt should mingle with my filial joy? A fairer mark; and with a fix'd eye scann'd Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this Her father's face - but never stopp'd his boy."

-The second had his cheek lald open; but | She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe, And then give way, subdued because surrounded:

The third, a wary, cool, old sworder, took
The blows upon his cutlass, and then put
fisown well in; so well, ere you could look,
His man was floor'd, and helpless at his foot,
With the blood running like a little brook
From two smart sabre-gashes,deep and red-
One on the arm, the other on the head.

The last sight which she saw wasJuan's gore,
And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down;
His blood was running on the very floor
Where late he trod, her beautiful,her own;
Thus much she view'd an instant and no

more,

Unless when qualified with thee, Cogniac!
Sweet Naiad of the Phlegethontic rill!
Ah! why the liver wilt thou thus attack,
And make, like other nymphs, thy lovers ill?
I would take refuge in weak punch, but rack
In each sense of the word), whene'er I fill
My mild and midnight beakers to the brim, Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd.
Wakes me next morning with its synonym.

Her struggles ceased with one convulsive
groan;
On her sire's arm, which until now scarce

held

A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure
dyes

I leave Don Juan for the present safe-
Not sound, poor fellow, but severely Were dabbled with the deep blood which

wounded;

ran o'er;

Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half And her head droop'd as when the lily lies Of those with which his Haidee's bosom O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd hand

bounded?

maids bore

Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes; | Gentle, but without memory, she lay; Of herbs and cordials they produced their And yet those eyes, which they would fail be weaning

store, But she defied all means they could employ, Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy.

Back to old thoughts, seem'd full of fearfu meaning.

Glazed o'er her eyes-the beautiful, the black

Oh! to possess such lustre-and then lack!

She died, but not alone; she held within
A second principle of life, which might
Have dawn'd a fair and sinless child of sin;
But closed its little being without light,
And went down to the grave unborn, wherein
Blossom and bough lie wither'd with one
blight;

Could altogether call the past to mind;
And when he did, he found himself at sea,
Sailing six knots an hour before the wind;
The shores of Ilion lay beneath their lee--
Another time he might have liked to see'em,
But now was not much pleased with Cape
Sigaeum.

There, on the green and village-cotted hill, is (Flank'd by the Hellespont and by the sea) Entomb'd the bravest of the brave, Achilles; In vain the dews of Heaven descend above They say so (Bryant says the contrary) The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love. | And further downward, tall and towering

Thus lived-thus died she; never more on her

Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made

Through years or moons the inner weight
to bear,

Which colder hearts endure till they are laid
By are in earth; her days and pleasures were
Brief but delightful-such as had not stay'd
Leng with her destiny; but she sleeps well
By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell.

still, is The tumulus- of whom? Heaven knows; 't may be Patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilaus,All heroes who if living still would slay us.

High barrows, without marble, or a name,
A vast, untill'd, and mountain-skirted plain,
And Ida in the distance, still the same,
And old Scamander (if 'tis he), remain;
The situation seems still form'd for fame-
A hundred thousand men might fight again
With ease; but where I sought for Ilion's
walls,

That isle is now all desolate and bare,
dwelling down, its tenants pass'd away;
Jane but her own and father's grave is there,
And nothing outward tells of human clay; Troops of untended horses; here and there
Lecould not know where lies a thing so fair, Some little hamlets with new names
Ja stone is there to show, no tongue to say
uncouth;
What was; no
dirge, except the hollow sea's,
Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.

The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls;

Some shepherds (unlike Paris), led to stare
A moment at the European youth
Whom to the spot their schoolboy-feelings
A Turk, with beads in hand and pipe in
mouth,

bear;

Extremely taken with his own religion,
Are what I found there-but the devil a
Phrygian.

Don Juan, here permitted to emerge
From his dull cabin, found himself a slave;

Forlorn, and gazing on the deep blue surge,
O'ershadow'd there by many a hero's grave:
Weak still with loss of blood, he scarce
could urge

A few brief questions; and the answers gave
No very satisfactory information
About his past or present situation.

He saw some fellow-captives, who appear'd
To be Italians-as they were, in fact:
From them, at least, their destiny he heard,
Which was an odd one; a troop going to act
In Sicily- all singers, duly rear'd

In their vocation, had not been attack'd,
In sailing from Livorno, by the pirate,
But sold by the impresario at no high rate.