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And the last glassy glance must view Dark and unearthly is the scowl
Reveals too much of times gone by; Of which in life a lock when shorn Though varying, indistinct its hue, Affection's fondest pledge was worn ;
Oft will his glance the gazer rue. But now is borne away by thee,
For in it lorks that nameless spell Memorial of thine agony !
Which speaks, itself unspeakable, Wet with thine own best blood shall drip A spirit yet unquelld and high, Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip; That claims and keeps ascendancy; Then stalking to thy sullen grave, And like the bird whose pinions quak Go—and with Gouls and Afrits rave; But cannot fly the gazing snake, Till these in horror shriuk away
Will others quail beneath his look, From spectre more accursed than they! Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can bu
From him the half-affrighted Friar
When met alone would fain retire, “llow name ye yon lone Caloyer ?
As if that eye and bitter smile His features I have scann'd before
'Transferr’d to others fear and guile: In mine own land : 'tis many a year,
Not oft to smile descendeth he, Since, dashing by the lonely shore,
And when he doth 'tis sad to see I saw him urge as fleet a steed
That he but mocks at Misery. As ever served a horseman's need.
Ilow that pale lip will curl and qui But once I saw that face, yet then
Then fix once more as if for ever ; It was 80 mark’d with inward pain,
As if his sorrow or disdain I could not pass it by again;
Forbade him e'er to smile again. It breathes the same dark spirit now,
Well were it so—such ghasily mirth As death were stamp'd upon his brow."
From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth
What once were feelings in that face “'Tis twice three years at summer-tide Time hath not yet the features fird, Since first among our freres he came ; But brighter traits with evil mix'd ; And here it soothes him to abide
And there are hues not always faded, For some dark deed he will not name. Which speak a mind not all degraded But never at our vesper-prayer,
Even by the crimes through which it wi Nor e'er before confession-chair
The common crowd but see the gloo kneels he, nor recks he when arise of wayward deeds, and fitting doom Incense or anthem to the skies,
The close observer can espy But broods within his cell alone,
A noble soul, and lineage high: His faith and race alike unknown.
Alas! though both bestow'd in vain, The sea from Paynim-land he crost, Which Grief could change, and Guilte And here ascended from the coast;
stain, Yet seems he not of Othman race,
It was no vulgar tenement But only Christian in his face:
To which such lofty gifts were lent. I'd judge him some stray renegade, And still with little less than drcad Repentant of the change he made. On such the sight is riveted. Save that he shuns our holy shrine, The roofless cot, decay'd and rent, Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine. Will scarce delay the passer by; Great largess to these walls he brought, The tower by war or tempest bent, And thus our Abbot's favour bonght; While yet may frown one battlement But were 1 Prior, not a day
Demands and daunts the stranger's ry Should brook such stranger's further stay, Each ivied arch and pillar lone, Or pent within our penance-cell
Pleads haughtily for glories gone! Should doom him there for aye to dwell. Much in his visions mutters he
“ His floating robe around him foli Of maiden 'whelm'd beneath the sea; Slow sweeps he through the column'da Of sabres clashing, foemen flying With dread beheld, with gloom behol Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying; The rites that sanctify the pile. On cliff he hath been known to stand, But when the anthem shakes the choi And rave as to some bloody hand And kneel the monks, his steps retire Fresh sever'd from its parent limb, By yonder lone and wavering torch Invisible to all but him,
His aspect glares within the porch; Which beckons onward to his grave, There will he panse till all is done And lures to leap into the wave." And hear the prayer, but utter none.
See-by the half-illumined wall
Are rapture to the dreary void,
The waste of feelings unemploy'd.
A sky without a cloud or sun ?
Less hideous far the tempest's roar Gires wealth to walls that never heard Than ne'er to brave the billows more Of his one holy vow nor word.
Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er, Lal-mark ye, as the harmony
A lonely wreck on fortune's shore, Peals loader praises to the sky,
'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay, That livid cheek, that stony air
Unseen to drop by dull decay ;Of mid degance and despair!
Better to sink beneath the shock Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine ! Than moulder piecemeal on the rock! Else may we dread the wrath divine Made manifest by awful sign. If ever evil angel bore
“ Father! thy days have pass'd in peace, The form of mortal, such he wore: Mid counted beads, and countless prayer; Br all my hope of sins forgiven,
To bid the sins of others cease,
Save transient ills that all must bear,
Has been thy lot from youth to age;
And thou wilt bless thee from the rage It such can ne'er be all his own; in timid in his woes to share,
Of passions fierce and uncontrollid,
Such as thy penitents unfold, To neek to meet, or brave despair;
Whose secret sins and sorrows rest Wsterner hearts alone may feel
Within thy pure and pitying breast. The round that time can never heal.
My days, though few, have pass'd below le rugged metal of the mine
In much of joy, but more of woe; Wat barn before its surface shine, Yet still in hours of love or strise, het planged within the furnace-flame,
I've 'scaped the weariness of life : i beads and melts—though still the same; Now leagued with friends, now girt by foos, Na imper'd to thy want, or will, I loathed the languor of repose. Twill serve thee to defend or kill;
Now nothing left to love or hate, breast-plate for thine hour of need,
No more with hope or pride elate, & blade to bid thy foeman bleed;
I'd rather be the thing that crawls il a dagger's form it bear,
Most noxious v'er a dungeon's walls,
Than pass my dull, unvarying days,
Yet, lurks a wish within my breast
For rest—but not to feel 'tis rest.
Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil;
Dark as to thee my deeds may seem : #elitude succeed to grief,
My memory now is but the tomb bolene from pain is slight relief;
Of joys long dead; my hope, their doom: Te vacant bosom's wilderness
Though better to have died with those Misha thank the pang that made it less. Than bear a life of lingering woes. Welsathe what none are left to share : My spirits shrunk not to sustain Iran bliss,'twere woe alone to bear;
The searching throes of ceaseless pain; De heart once left thus desolate Nor sought the self-accorded grave Meatfly at last for ease-to hate.
Of ancient fool and modern knave: kia if the dead conld feel
Yet death I have not fear'd to meet; The iry worm around them steal,
And in the field it had been sweet, skadder, as the reptiles creep
Had danger woo'd me on to move In revel o'er their rotting sleep,
The slave of glory, not of love. Toant the power to scare away.
I've braved it not for honour's boast: The onld consumers of their clay!
I smile at laurels won or lost;
To such let others carve their way,
Aught that I deem a worthy prize:
The maid I love, the man I hate,
It is as if the desert-bird,
And I will hunt the steps of fate,
A time that heeds nor pain nor toil; To,save or slay, as these require,
One cry to Mahomet for aid, Through rending steel, and rolling fire; One prayer to Alla all he made: Nor need'st thou doubt this speech from one He knew and cross'd me in the frayWho would but do-what he hath done. I gazed upon him where he lay, Death is but what the haughty brave,
And watch'd his spirit ebb away: The weak must bear, the wretch must crave; Though pierced like Pard by hunters' ste Then let Life go to him who gave:
He felt not half that now I feel. I have not quail'd to danger's brow I search’d, but vainly search'd, to find When high and happy-need I now? The workings of a wounded mind;
Each feature of that sullen corse
Betray'd his rage, but no remorse. “I loved her, friar! nay, adored – Oh, what had Vengeance given to trace But these are words that all can use Despair upon his dying face! I proved it more in deed than word; The late repentance of that hour, There's blood upon that dinted sword,
When Penitence hath lost her power A stain its steel can never lose:
To tear one terror from the grave, 'Twas shed for her, who died for me, And will not soothe, and can not save. It warm'd the heart of one abhorr'd : Nay, start not-no--nor bend thy knee, Nor midst my sins such act record ;
“ The cold in clime are cold in blood, Thou wilt absolve me from the deed, Their love can scarce deserve the name; For he was hostile to thy creed !
But mine was like the lava-flood The very name of Nazarene
That boils in Aetna's breast of flame. Was wormwood to his Paynim spleen. I cannot prate in puling strain Ungrateful fool! since but for brands Of ladye-love, and beauty's chain: Well wielded in some hardy hands, If changing cheek, and scorching vein, And wounds by Galileans given, Lips taught to writhe, but not complain The surest pass to Turkish heaven, If bursting heart, and mad'ning brain, For him his Houris still might wait And daring deed, and vengeful steel, Impatient at the prophet's gate.
And all that I have felt, and feel, I loved her--love will find its way
Betoken love that love was mine, Through paths where wolves would fear And shown by many a bitter sign.
'Tis true I could not whine nor sigh, And if it dares enough, 'twere hard I knew but to obtain or die. If passion met not some reward
I die—but first I have possessid, No matter how, or where, or why, And come what may, I have been blest. I did not vainly seek, nor sigh:
Shall I the doom I sought upbraid ? Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain No-reft of all, yet undismay'd I wish she had not loved again.
But for the thought of Leila slain, She died-1 dare not tell thee how; Give me the pleasure with the pain, But look-'tis written on my brow! So would I live and love again. There read of Cain the curse and crime, I grieve, but not, my holy guide! In characters unworn by time :
For him who dies, but her who died : Still, ere thou dost condemn me, pause ; She sleeps beneath the wandering waveNot mine the act, though I the cause. Ah! had she but an earthly grave, Yet did he but what I had done
This breaking heart and throbbing head Had she been false to more than one. Should seek and share her narrow bed. Faithless to him, he gave the blow; She was a form of life and light, But true to me, I laid him low :
That, seen, became a part of sight; Howe'er deserved her doon might be, And rose where'er I turn'd mine eye, Her treachery was truth to me ;
The Morning-star of Memory! To me she gave her heart, that all Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven ; Which tyranny can ne'er enthrall; A spark of that immortal fire And I, alas! too late to save!
With angels shared, by Alla given, Yet all I then could give, I gave,
To lift from earth our low desire. 'Twas some relief, our foe a grave.
Devotion wafts the mind above, His death sits lightly; but her fate But Heaven itself descends in love; Has made me--what ihou well may’st hate. A feeling from the Godhead caught, His doom was seal'd-- he knew it well, To wean from self each sordid thought; Warn'd by the voice of stern 'Taheer, A Ray of him who formd the whole; Deep in whose darkly boding ear A Glory circling round the soul! The deathshot peal’d of murder near, I grant my love imperfect, all As filed the troop to where they fell! That mortals by the name miscall ; He died too in the battle-broil.
| Then deem it evil, what thou wilt,
but say, oh say, hers was not guilt! Looks not to priesthood for relief. ihe was my life's unerring light: My soul's estate in secret guess : That quench’d, what beam shall break my But wouldst thou pity more, say less. night?
When thou canst bid my Leila live, Ok! would it shone to lead me still, Then will I sue thee to forgive; Altheagh to death or deadliest ill! Then plead my cause in that high place Why marvel ye, if they who lose
Where purchased masses proffer grace. This present joy, this future hope, Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung le more with sorrow meekly cope;
From forest-cave her shrieking young, a phrensy then their fate accuse:
And calm the lonely lioness : a madnes do those fearful deeds
But soothe not-mock not my distress ! That seen to add but guilt to woe? Ales! the breast that inly bleeds
“In earlier days, and calmer hours, Hath nonght to dread from outward blow; When heart with heart delights to blend, Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
Where bloom my native valley's bowers Cares little into what abyss.
I had—Ah! have I now?-a friend! Fierce as the gloomy vulture's now To him this pledge I charge thee send, To thee, old man, my deeds appear: Memorial of a youthful vow; read abborrence on thy brow,
I would remind him of my end : Ind this too was I born to bear!
Though souls absorb'd like mine allow Tis tree, that, like that bird of prey,
Brief thought to distant friendship’s claim, Tith havock have I mark'd my way: Yet dear to him my blighted name. ut this was taught me by the dove,
'Tis strange—he prophesied my doom, le die-and know no second love.
And I have smiled-I then could smilebe lesson yet hath man to learn,
When Prudence would his voice assume, sught by the thing he dares to spurn: And warn-I reck'd not what-the while: Le bird that sings within the brake,
But now remembrance whispers o'er le ran that swims upon the lake,
Those accents scar
carcely mark'd before. mate, and one alone, will take.
Say—that his bodings came to pass, bit let the fool still prone to range, And he will start to hear their truth, We meer on all who cannot change, And wish his words had not been sooth: brake his jest with boasting boys; Tell him, unheeding as I was, any not his varied joys,
Through many a busy bitter scene at deem such feeble, heartless man, Of all our golden youth had been, es than yon solitary swan;
In pain, my faltering tongue had tried 1. far beneath the shallow maid
To bless his memory ere I died ; be left believing and betray'd.
But heaven in wrath would turn away, ch shame at least was never mine
If Guilt should for the guiltless pray. da ! cach thought was only thine!
I do not ask him not to blame, pod, my guilt, my weal, my woe,
Too gentle he to wound my name; hape on high-my all below,
And what have I to do with fame? art holds no other like to thee,
I do not ask him not to mourn, Til it doth, in vain for me:
Such cold request might sound like scorn; värld: I dare not view the dame
And what than friendship’s manly
tear sabling thee, yet not the same. fue very crimes that mar my youth,
May better grace a brother's bier ?
But bear this ring, his own of old, liv bed of death-attest my truth! And tell him - what thou dost behold! To all too late-thou wert, thou art The wither'd frame, the ruin'd mind, Ple cherish'd madness of my heart !
The wrack by passion left behind,
A shrivell’d scroll, a scatter'd leaf, "And she was lost, and yet I breathed, Seared by the autumn-blast of grief! et not the breath of human life: serpent round my heart was wreathed, stung my very thought to strife. like all time, abhorr'd all place,
“Tell me no more of fancy's gleam, badering I shrunk from Nature's face, No, father, no, 'twas not a dream ; Where every hue that charın'd before Alas! the dreamer first must sleep. The blackness of my bosom wore.
I only watch’d, and wish'd to weep; De rest thou dost already know, But could not, for my burning brow And all my sins, and half my woe. Throbb’d to the very brain as now: Bat talk no more of penitence;
I wish'd but for a single tear, Then seest I soon shall part from hence : As something welcome, new, and dear: led if thy holy tale were true,
I wish'd it then, I wish it still, The deed that's done canst thou undo? Despair is stronger than my will. Think me not thankless--but this grief Waste not thine orison, despair
Is mightier than thy pious prayer :
I saw him buried where he fell; I would not, if I might, be blest; He comes not, for he cannot break I want no paradise, but rest.
From earth; why then art thou awak Twas then, I tell thee, father! then They told me wild waves rollid above I saw her; yes, she lived again ;
The face I view, the form I love; And shining in her white symar,
They told me 'twas a hideous tale! As through yon pale gray cloud the star I'd tell it, but my tongue would fail: Which now I gaze on, as on her, If true, and from thine ocean-cave Who look'd and looks far lovelier; Thou com'st to claim a calmer grave Dimly I view its trembling spark; Oh! pass thy dewy fingers o'er To-morrow's night shall be more dark ; This brow that then will burn nom And I, before its rays appear,
Or place them on my hopeless heart: That lifeless thing the living fear. But, shape or shade! whate'er thou a I wander, father; for my soul
In mercy ne'er again depart! ls fleeting towards the final goal.
Or farther with thee bear my soul, I saw her, friar! and I rose
Than winds can waft or waters roll! Forgetful of our former woes ; And rushing from my couch, I dart, And clasp her to my desperate heart; I clasp- what is it that I clasp?
“Such is my name, and such my ta No breathing form within my grasp,
Confessor! to thy secret ear, No heart that beats reply to mine,
I breathe the sorrows I bewail, Yet, Leila! yet the form is thine! And thank thee for the generous tear And art thou, dearest, changed so much, This glazing eye could never shed. As meet my eye, yet mock my touch ? Then lay me with the humblest dead Ah! were thy beauties e’er so cold, And, save the cross above my head, I care not; so my arms enfold
Be neither name nor emblem spread, The all they ever wish'd to hold.
By prying stranger to be read Alas! around a shadow prest,
Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread." They shrink upon my lonely breast; He pass'd—nor of his name and race Yet still 'tis there! In silence stands, Hath left a token or a trace, And beckons with beseeching hands! Save what the father must not say With braided hair, and bright black eye- Who shrived him on his dying day : I knew 'twas false- she could not die! This broken tale was all we knew But he is dead! within the dell
Of her he loved, or him he slew.
THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS,
A TURKISH TAL E.
Had we never loved so kindly,
TO THE RIGHT NOROURABLE
YILLY OBLIGED AND SINCERK FRIEND,
Where the rage of the vulture, the los LORD HOLLAND,
the turtle, TNIS TALE IS INSCRIBED, WITH EVERY SENTI- Now melt into sorrow, now madden to eri MENT OF REGARD AND RESPECT, BY HIS GRATE- know ye the land of the cedar and vi
Where the flowers ever blossom, the be BYRON.
ever shine; Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppre
with perfume CANTO I.
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in
bloom; Know ye the land where the cypress and where the citron and olive are faires myrtle
fruit, Are emblems of deeds that are done in their And the voice of the nightingale neve clime?