Who thundering comes on blackest steed,
With slacken'd bit and hoof of speed?
Beneath the clattering iron's sound
The cavern'd echoes wake around
In lash for lash, and bound for bound;
The foam that streaks the courser's side
Seems gather'd from the ocean-tide :
Though weary waves are sunk to rest,
There's none within his rider's breast;
And though to-morrow's tempest lower,
Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour!
I know thee not, I loathe thy race,
But in thy lineaments I trace
What time shall strengthen, not efface:
Though young and pale, that sallow front
le scathed by fiery passion's brunt;
Though bent on earth thine evil eye,
As meteor-like thou glidest by,
Right well I view and deem thee one
Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun.
On-on he hasten'd, and he drew
My gaze of wonder as he flew :
Though like a demon of the night
He pass'd and vanish'd from my sight,
aspect and his air impress'd
Atabled memory on my breast,
lng upon my startled ear
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| As doubting to return or fly: Impatient of his flight delay'd, Here loud his raven charger neigh'd-Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd his blade;
ng his dark courser's hoofs of fear. purs his steed; he nears the steep, at jutting, shadows o'er the deep; Hinds around; he hurries by; The rock relieves him from mine eye; For well I ween unwelcome he Whose glance is fix'd on those that flee, And not a star but shines too bright On him who takes such timeless flight. He wound along; but ere he pass'd Oglance he snatch'd, as if his last, Aument check'd his wheeling steed, Ament breathed him from his speed, Anment on his stirrup stood— Why looks he o'er the olive-wood? The crescent glimmers on the hill, The Mosque's high lamps are quivering
ugh too remote for sound to wake shoes of the far tophaike, The lashes of each joyous peal seen to prove the Moslem's zeal. Tonight, set Rhamazani's sun; T-night, the Bairam-feast's begun; sight-but who and what art thou foreign garb and fearful brow? And what are these to thine or thee,
He good-some dread was on his face,
Hatred settled in its place:
e not with the reddening flush
O transient Anger's darkening blush,
pale as marble o'er the tomb,
That sound had burst his waking dream,
As Slumber starts at owlet's scream.
The spur hath lanced his courser's sides;
Away, away, for life he rides :
Swift as the hurl'd on high jerreed
Springs to the touch his startled steed;
The rock is doubled, and the shore
Shakes with the clattering tramp no more;
The crag is won, no more is seen
His Christian crest and haughty mien.
"Twas but an instant he restrain'd
That fiery barb so sternly rein'd;
"Twas but a moment that he stood,
Then sped as if by death pursued;
But in that instant o'er his soul
Winters of Memory seem'd to roll,
And gather in that drop of time
A life of pain, an age of crime.
O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears,
Such moment pours the grief of years:
What felt he then, at once opprest
By all that most distracts the breast?
That pause, which ponder'd o'er his fate,
Oh, who its dreary length shall date!
Though in Time's record nearly nought,
It was Eternity to Thought!
For infinite as boundless space
The thought that Conscience must embrace,
Which in itself can comprehend
Woe without name, or hope, or end.
Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom.
He raised his arm, and fiercely raised,
His brow was bent, his eye was glazed;
And sternly shook his hand on high,
The hour is past, the Giaour is gone;
And did he fly or fall alone?
Woe to that hour he came or went!
The curse for Hassan's sin was sent
To turn a palace to a tomb :
He came, he went, like the Simoom,
That harbinger of fate and gloom,
The very cypress droops to death-
Beneath whose widely-wasting breath
Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is
fled,
The only constant mourner o'er the dead!
The steed is vanish'd from the stall;
No serf is seen in Hassan's hall;
The lonely Spider's thin grey pall
Waves slowly widening o'er the wall;
The Bat builds in his Haram-bower;
And in the fortress of his power
The Owl usurps the beacon-tower;
The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim,
With baffled thirst, and famine, grim;
For the stream has shrunk from its marble
Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread. "Twas sweet of yore to see it play And chase the sultriness of day,
As springing high the silver-dew
In whirls fantastically flew,
And flung luxurious coolness round
The air, and verdure o'er the ground.
'Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were
bright.
To view the waves of watery light,
And hear its melody by night.
And oft had Hassan's Childhood play'd
Around the verge of that cascade;
And oft upon his mother's breast
That sound had harmonized his rest;
And oft had Hassan's Youth along
Its bank been soothed by Beauty's song;
And softer seem'd each melting tone
Of Music mingled with its own.
But ne'er shall Hassan's Age repose
Along the brink at Twilight's close:
The stream that fill'd that font is fled-
The blood that warm'd his heart is shed!
And here no more shall human voice
Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice.
The last sad note that swell'd the gale
Was woman's wildest funeral wail:
That quenched in silence, all is still,
But the lattice that flaps when the wind
The burthen ye so gently bear,
Seems one that claims your utmost car
And, doubtless, holds some precious freig
My humble bark would gladly wait."
"Thou speakest sooth, thy skiff unmo And waft us from the silent shore; Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply The nearest oar that's scatter'd by, And midway to those rocks where sleep The channel'd waters dark and deep. Rest from your task-so-bravely done, Our course has been right swiftly run; Yet 'tis the longest voyage, I trow, That one of-
Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank,
The calm wave rippled to the bank;
I watch'd it as it sank, methought
Some motion from the current caught
Bestirred it more,-'twas but the beam
That chequered o'er the living stream:
I gazed, till vanishing from view,
Like lessening pebble it withdrew;
Still less and less, a speck of white
That gemm'd the tide, then mock'd
sight;
And all its hidden secrets sleep,
Known but to Genii of the deep,
Which, trembling in their coral caves,
They dare not whisper to the waves.
As rising on its purple wing
The insect-queen of eastern spring,
O'er emerald-meadows of Kashmeer
way-Invites the young pursuer near,
Though raves the gust, and floods the rain,
No hand shall close its clasp again.
On desert sands 'twere joy to scan
The rudest steps of fellow-man:
So here the very voice of Grief
Might wake an Echo like relief—
At least 'twould say, "all are not gone;
There lingers Life, though but in one-
For many a gilded chamber's there,
Which Solitude might well forbear;
Within that dome as yet Decay
Hath slowly work'd her cankering
But gloom is gather'd o'er the gate,
Nor there the Fakir's self will wait,
Nor there will wandering Dervise stay,
For Bounty cheers not his delay;
Nor there will weary stranger halt
To bless the sacred "bread and salt."
Alike must Wealth and Poverty
Pass heedless and unheeded by,
For Courtesy and Pity died
With Hassan on the mountain-side.
His roof, that refuge unto men,
Is desolation's hungry den.
The guest flies the hall, and the vassal
from labour,
Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's
sabre!
1 hear the sound of coming feet,
But not a voice mine ear to greet;
More near-each turban I can scan,
And silver-sheathed ataghan ;
The foremost of the band is seen,
An Emir by his garb of green :
"Ho! who art thou ?-this low salam
Replies of Moslem faith I am.
And leads him on from flower to flower
A weary chase and wasted hour,
Then leaves him, as it soars on high,
With panting heart and tearful eye:
So Beauty lures the full-grown child.
With hue as bright, and wing as wild
A chase of idle hopes and fears,
Begun in folly, closed in tears.
If won, to equal ills betray'd,
Woe waits the insect and the maid;
A life of pain, the loss of peace,
From infant's play, and man's caprice:
The lovely toy so fiercely sought
Hath lost its charm by being caught.
For every touch that wooed its stay
Hath brush'd its brightest hues away,
Till charm, and hue, and beauty gone,
'Tis left to fly or fall alone.
With wounded wing, or bleeding breast
Ah! where shall either victim rest?
Can this with faded pinion soar
From rose to tulip as before?
Or Beauty, blighted in an hour.
Find joy within her broken bower?
No: gayer insects fluttering by
Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die
And lovelier things have mercy shown
To every failing but their own,
And every woe a tear can claim,
Except an erring sister's shame.
The Mind, that broods o'er guilty woes,
I like the Scorpion girt by fire,
la circle narrowing as it glows,
The flames around their captive close,
Till inly search'd by thousand throes,
And maddening in her ire,
One sad and sole relief she knows,
The sting she nourish'd for her foes,
Whose venom never yet was vain,
Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,
And darts into her desperate brain:
So do the dark in soul expire,
Or live like Scorpion girt by fire;
So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven,
Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven,
Darkness above, despair beneath,
Around it flame, within it death!
Black Hassan from the Haram flies,
Sar bends on woman's form his eyes:
Inwonted chase each hour employs,
hares he not the hunter's joys.
At thus was Hassan wont to fly
When Leila dwelt in his Serai.
Dth Leila there no longer dwell?
That tale can only Hassan tell:
Strange rumours in our city say
As large, as languishingly dark,
But Soul beam'd forth in every spark
That darted from beneath the lid,
Bright as the jewel of Giamschid.
Yea, Soul, and should our prophet say
That form has nought but breathing clay,
By Alla! I would answer nay;
Though on Al-Sirat's arch I stood,
Which totters o'er the fiery flood,
With Paradise within my view,
And all his Houris beckoning through.
Oh! who young Leila's glance could read
And keep that portion of his creed
Which saith that woman is but dust,
A soulless toy for tyrant's lust?
On her might Muftis gaze, and own
That through her eye the Immortal shone;
On her fair cheek's unfading hue
The young pomegranate's blossoms strew
Their bloom in blushes ever new;
Her hair in hyacinthine-flow,
When left to roll its folds below,
As midst her handmaids in the hall
She stood superior to them all,
Hath swept the marble where her feet
Gleam'd whiter than the mountain-sleet
Ere from the cloud that gave it birth
It fell, and caught one stain of earth.
The cygnet nobly walks the water;
So moved on earth Circassia's daughter,
The loveliest bird of Franguestan!
As rears her crest the ruffled Swan,
And spurns the wave with wings of pride,
When pass the steps of stranger man
Along the banks that bound her tide:
Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck ;-
Thus arm'd with beauty would she check
Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze
Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise.
Thus high and graceful was her gait;
Her heart as tender to her mate;
Her mate-stern Hassan, who was he?
Alas! that name was not for thee!
that eve she fled away
When Rhamazan's last sun was set,
And flashing from each minaret
Milions of lamps proclaim'd the feast
Bairam through the boundless East.
I then she went as to the bath,
Which Hassan vainly search'd in wrath ;
For he was flown her master's rage
I likeness of a Georgian page,
A far beyond the Moslem's power
ad wrong'd him with the faithless Giaour.
what of this had Hassan deem'd ;
Bill so fond, so fair she seem'd,
To vell he trusted to the slave
We treachery deserved a grave:
And on that eve had gone to mosque,
And thence to feast in his kiosk.
ach is the tale his Nubians tell,
We did not watch their charge too well;
But others say, that on that night,
le Phingari's trembling light,
Giaour upon his jet-black steed
Haseen, but seen alone to speed
Wa bloody spur along the shore,
Vermaid nor page behind him borc.
Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en
With twenty vassals in his train,
Each arm'd, as best becomes a man,
With arquebuss and ataghan ;
The chief before, as deck'd for war,
Bears in his belt the scimitar
Stain'd with the best of Arnaut blood,
And few return'd to tell the tale
When in the pass the rebels stood,
Of what befell in Parne's vale.
The pistols which his girdle bore
Were those that once a pasha wore,
Which still, though gemm'd and boss'd
with gold,
Even robbers tremble to behold.
'Tis said he goes to woo a bride
More true than her who left his side:
Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell. The faithless slave that broke her bower,
Bat gaze on that of the Gazelle,
It will assist thy fancy well;
And, worse than faithless, for a Giaour!
The sun's last rays are on the hill, And sparkle in the fountain-rill, Whose welcome waters, cool and clear, Draw blessings from the mountaineer : Here may the loitering merchant Greek Find that repose 'twere vain to seek In cities lodged too near his lord, And trembling for his secret hoard--Here may he rest where none can see, In crowds a slave, in deserts free; And with forbidden wine may stain The bowl a Moslem must not drain.
The foremost Tartar's in the gap, Conspicuous by his yellow cap; The rest in lengthening line the while Wind slowly through the long defile: Above, the mountain rears a peak, Where vultures whet the thirsty beak, And theirs may be a feast to-night, Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light; Beneath, a river's wintry stream Has shrunk before the summer-beam, And left a channel bleak and bare, Save shrubs that spring to perish there: Each side the midway-path there lay Small broken crags of granite gray, By time, or mountain-lightning, riven From summits clad in mists of heaven; For where is he that hath beheld The peak of Liakura unveil'd?
They reach the grove of pine at last:
"Bismillah! now the peril's past;
For yonder view the opening plain,
And there we'll prick our steeds amain:"
The Chiaus spake, and as he said,
A bullet whistled o'er his head;
The foremost Tartar bites the ground!
Scarce had they time to check the rein,
Swift from their steeds the riders bound;
But three shall never mount again:
Unseen the foes that gave the wound,
The dying ask revenge in vain.
With steel unsheath'd and carbine bent,
Some o'er their coursers' harness leant,
Half shelter'd by the steed;
Some fly behind the nearest rock,
And there await the coming shock
Nor tamely stand to bleed
Beneath the shaft of foes unseen,
Who dare not quit their craggy screen.
Stern Hassan only from his horse
Disdains to light, and keeps his course,
Till fiery flashes in the van
Proclaim too sure the robber-clan
Have well secured the only way
Could now avail the promised prey;
Then curled his very beard with ire,
And glared his eye with fiercer fire:
"Though far and near the bullets hiss,
I've scaped a bloodier hour than this.",
And now the foe their covert quit,
And call his vassals to submit;
But Hassan's frown and furious word
Are dreaded more than hostile sword,
Nor of his little band a man
Resign'd carbine or ataghan,
Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun!
In fuller sight, more near and near,
The lately ambush'd foes appear,
And, issuing from the grove, advance
Some who on battle-charger prance.
Who leads them on with foreign brand,
Far flashing in his red right hand?
""Tis he! 'tis he! I know him now;
I know him by his pallid brow;
I know him by the evil eye
That aids his envious treachery;
I know him by his jet-black barb:
Though now array'd in Arnaut garb,
Apostate from his own vile faith,
It shall not save him from the death:
Lost Leila's love, accursed Giaour!"
'Tis he! well met in any hour!
As rolls the river into ocean,
In sable torrent wildly streaming;
As the sea-tide's opposing motion,
In azure column proudly gleaming,
Beats back the current many a rood,
In curling foam and mingling flood,
While eddying whirl, and breaking wa
Roused by the blast of winter, rave;
Through sparkling spray, in thunderi
clash,
The lightnings of the waters flash
In awful whiteness o'er the shore,
That shines and shakes beneath the ro
Thus as the stream and ocean greet,
With waves that madden as they meet
Thus join the bands, whom mutual wro
And fate, and fury, drive along.
The bickering sabres' shivering jar;
And pealing wide or ringing near
Its echoes on the throbbing ear,
The deathshot hissing from afar;
The shock, the shout, the groan of wa
Reverberate along that vale,
More suited to the shepherd's tale:
Though few the numbers-theirs the str
That neither spares nor speaks for life!
Ah! fondly youthful hearts can press,
To seize and share the dear caress;
But Love itself could never pant
For all that Beauty sighs to grant
With half the fervour Hate bestows
Upon the last embrace of foes,
When grappling in the fight they fold
Those arms that ne'er shall lose their ho
Friends meet to part; Love laughs at fai
True foes, once met, are join'd till dea
With sabre shiver'd to the hilt. Yet dripping with the blood he spilt;
Yet strain'd within the sever'd hand
Which quivers round that faithless brand;
His turban far behind him roll'd,
And cleft in twain its firmest fold;
His towing robe by falchion torn,
And crimson as those clouds of morn
That, streak'd with dusky red portend
The day shall have a stormy end;
A stain on every bush that bore
A fragment of his palampore,
His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven,
His back to earth, his face to heaven,
Fall'n Hassan lies-his unclosed eye
Yet lowering on his enemy,
As if the hour that seal'd his fate
Surviving left his quenchless hate;
And er him bends that foe with brow
A dark as his that bled below.
Tes. Leila sleeps beneath the wave, Br his shall be a redder grave;
pirit pointed well the steel
h taught that felon heart to feel. Faild the Prophet, but his power vain against the vengeful Giaour: all'd on Alla-but the word unheeded or unheard.
a Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer
'd, and thine accorded there?
vachd my time, I leagued with these,
raitor in his turn to seize;
wrath is wreak'd, the deed is done,
ww I go-but go alone."
browzing camels' bells are tinkling: E other look'd from her lattice high❤ the dews of eve besprinkling ptures green beneath her eye, ww the planets faintly twinkling: twilight-sure his train is nigh.' uld not rest in the garden - bower, bezed through the grate of his steepest
The comes he not? his steeds are fleet,
rink they from the summer-heat;
ends not the Bridegroom his promised
gift?
heart more cold, or his barb less swift?
false reproach! yon Tartar now
raind our nearest mountain's brow,
varily the steep descends,
ow within the valley bends;
But these might be from his courser's side;
He drew the token from his vest-
Angel of Death! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest!
His calpac rent-his caftan red—
"Lady, a fearful bride thy son hath wed:
Me, not from mercy, did they spare,
But this empurpled pledge to bear.
Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt:
Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt."
A turban carved in coarsest stone,
A pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown,
Whereon can now be scarcely read
The Koran-verse that mourns the dead,
Point out the spot where Hassan fell
A victim in that lonely dell.
There sleeps as true an Osmanlie
As e'er at Mecca bent the knee;
As ever scorn'd forbidden wine,
Or pray'd with face towards the shrine,
In orisons resumed anew
At solemn sound of "Alla Hu!"
Yet died he by a stranger's hand,
And stranger in his native land;
Yet died he as in arms he stood,
And unavenged, at least in blood.
But him the maids of Paradise
Impatient to their halls invite,
And the dark Heaven of Houri's eyes
On him shall glance for ever bright;
They come their kerchiefs green they
And welcome with a kiss the brave!
Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour
Is worthiest an immortal bower.
But thou, false Infidel! shalt writhe
Beneath avenging Monkir's scythe;
And from its torment 'scape alone
To wander round lost Eblis' throne;
And fire unquench'd, unquenchable,
Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;
Vor ear can hear nor tongue can tell
The tortures of that inward hell!
But first, on earth as Vampire sent,
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race;
There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life;
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce
Must feed thy livid living corse;
Thy victims ere they yet expire
de bears the gift at his saddle-bow--Shall know the dæmon for their sire,
flow rould I deem his courser slow?
well my largess shall repay welcome speed, and weary way." Tartar lighted at the gate,
arce upheld his fainting weight: warthy visage spake distress,
Bat this might be from weariness;
His garb with sanguine spots was dyed,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are wither'd on the stem.
But one that for thy crime must fall,
The youngest, most beloved of all,
Shall bless thee with a father's name
That word shall wrap thy heart in flame!
Yet must thon end thy task, and mark
Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,
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