Closing o'er one we sought to save,
And yet my glance, too much opprest,
Had almost need of such a rest.

It might be months, or years, or days,
I kept no count, I took no note,
I had no hope my eyes to raise,

And clear them of their dreary mote;
At last men came to set me free,

I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where, It was at length the same to me Fetter'd or fetterless to be,

I learn'd to love despair.

And thus when they appear'd at last,
And all my bonds aside were cast,
These heavy walls to me had grown
A hermitage and all my own!
And half I felt as they were come
To tear me from a second home:
With spiders I had friendship made,
And watch'd them in their sullen trade,
Had seen the mice by moonlight play,
And why should I feel less than they?
We were all inmates of one place,
And I, the monarch of each race,
Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell!
In quiet we had learn'd to dwell.
My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are; even I

Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.

THE EAST.

(BRIDE OF ABYDOS, Canto i. Stanza 1.)

KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime? Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,

Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; Where the light wings of Zephyr, opprest with per

fume,

Wax faint o'er the Gardens of Gúl in her bloom;

Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
And the voice of the nightingale never is mute:

Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,
In color though varied, in beauty may vie,

And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye;
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?

--

'T is the clime of the East; 't is the land of the Sun Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.

JOURNEY AND DEATH OF HASSAN.

(From THE GIAOUR.)

STERN Hassan hath a journey ta'en

With twenty vassals in his train,

Each arm'd, as best becomes a man,
With arquebus and ataghan;

The chief before, as deck'd for war,
Bears in his belt the scimitar

Stain'd with the best of Arnaut blood,
When in the pass the rebels stood,
And few return'd to tell the tale

Of what befell in Parne's vale.
The pistols which his girdle bore
Were those that once a pacha wore,

Which still, though gemm'd and boss'd with gold,
Even robbers tremble to behold.

'T is said he goes to woo a bride

More true than her who left his side;

The faithless slave that broke her bower,
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 't were 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 courser's 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 curl'd 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 ! 1
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?
""T is he! 't is he! I know him now;

1 Quarter, pardon.