ADVERTISEMENT.

THE tale which these disjointed fragments present is founded upon circumstances now less common in the East than formerly; either because the ladies are more circumspect than in the "olden time," or because the Christians have better fortune, or less enterprise. The story, when entire, contained the adventures of a female slave, who was thrown, in the Mussulman manner, into the sea for infidelity, and avenged by a young Venetian, her lover, at the time the Seven Islands were possessed by the Republic of

[The Giaour was begun in May, 1813. The first edition (685 lines) was published, June 5. the seventh edition which presented the poem in its final shape (1344 lines) was published December 27, 1813.]

II

Benignant o'er those blesséd isles,
Which, seen from far Colonna's height,
Make glad the heart that hails the sight,
And lend to loneliness delight.
There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek
Reflects the tints of many a peak
Caught by the laughing tides that lave
These Edens of the Eastern wave:
And if at times a transient breeze
Break the blue crystal of the seas,
Or sweep one blossom from the trees,
How welcome is each gentle air
That wakes and wafts the odours
there!
For there the Rose, o'er crag or vale,
Sultana of the Nightingale,2

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The maid for whom his melody, His thousand songs are heard on high,

A tomb above the rocks on the promontory, by some supposed the sepulchre of Themistocles.

The attachment of the nightingale to the rose is a well-known Persian fable. If I mistake not, the "Bulbul of a thousand tales" is one of his appellations.

"Come, charming maid! and hear thy poet sing, Thyself the rose and he the bird of spring: Love bids him sing, and Love will be obey'd. Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade."

Blooms blushing to her lover's tale: His queen, the garden queen, his Rose,

Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows, Far from the winters of the west,

By every breeze and season blest,' Returns the sweets by Nature given 30 In softest incense back to Heaven; And grateful yields that smiling sky Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh. And many a summer flower is there, And many a shade that Love might share,

And many a grotto, meant for rest, That holds the pirate for a guest; Whose bark in sheltering cove below Lurks for the passing peaceful prow, Till the gay mariner's guitar1

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Is heard, and seen the Evening Star;
Then stealing with the muffled oar,
Far shaded by the rocky shore,
Rush the night-prowlers on the prey,
And turn to groans his roundelay.
Strange
that where Nature loved to