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And like the soil beneath it, will bring forth :

Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower ; But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source. Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,

Like summer clouds, all silvery, smooth, and fair, Till slowly charged with thunder they display

Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, Had held till now her soft and milky way;

But overwrought with passion and despair, The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins, Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains. The last sight which she saw was Juan'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 viewed an instant and no more

Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan; On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell’d. A vein had burst—and her sweet lips' pure dyes

Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er; And her head droop'd as when the lily lies

O’ercharged with rain ; her summond handmaids Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes ; [bore

Of herbs and cordials they produced their store, But she defied all means they could employ, Like one life could not hold—nor death destroy ! Days lay she in that state, unchanged, though chill,

With nothing livid, still her lips were red; She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still ;

No hideous sign proclaimed her surely dead;

Corruption came not, in each mind to kill

All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul, She had so much, earth could not claim the whole. The ruling passion, such as marble shows

When exquisitely chiselled, still lay there, But fixed as marble's unchanged aspect throws

O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair ;
O'er the Laocoon's all-eternal throes,

And never-dying Gladiator's air,
Their energy like life forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.
She woke at length but not as sleepers wake-

Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new, A strange sensation which she must partake

Perforce, since whatsoever met her view
Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache

Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true,
Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,
For, for a while, the furies made a pause.
She looked on many a face with vacant eye,

On many a token without knowing what;
She saw them watch her, without asking why,

And reck'd not who around her pillow sat.
Not speechless, though she spoke not : not a sigh

Relieved her thoughts ; dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by those who served--she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.
Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not ;

Her father watch'd_she turn’d her eyes awayShe recognized no being, and no spot,

However dear or cherish'd in their day ;

They changed from room to room, but all forgot,

Gentle, but without memory, she lay: And yet those eyes, which they would fain be weaning Back to old thoughts, seem'd full of fearful meaning, At last a slave bethought her of a harp :

The harper came, and tuned his instrument; At the first notes — irregular and sharp

On him her flashing eyes a moment bent ; Then to the wall she turn’d, as if to warp

Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent, And he began a long low island song, Of ancient days_ere tyranny grew strong. Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall

In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, And sung of love; the fierce name struck through all

Her recollection; on her flashed the dream Of what she was, and is, if ye could call

To be so, being, in a gushing stream The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain, Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain. Short solace !_vain relief !_thought came too quick,

And whirled her brain to madness: she arose As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,

And flew at all she met, as on her foes ;
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek,

Although her paroxysm drew towards its close :
Hers was a phrensy which disdain'd to rave,
Even when they smote her—in the hope to save.
Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense ;

Nothing could make her meet her father's face,
Though on all other things with looks intense

She gazed, but none she ever could retrace ;

Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence

Availed for either; neither change of place, Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her Senses to sleep—the power seem'd gone for ever. Twelve days and nights she wither'd thus; at last,

Without a groan, a sigh, or glance, to show A parting pang, the spirit from her past :

And they who watch'd her nearest could not know The very instant, till the change that cast

Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glaz'd 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; In vain the dews of Heaven descend above

The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love. 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 age in earth; her days and pleasures were
Brief, but delightful

such as had not staid
Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well
By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell.
That isle is now all desolate and bare,

Its dwellings down—its tenants passed away;
None but her own and father's grave is there,

And nothing outward tells of human clay;

Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair

No stone is there to show no tongue to say
What was ; no dirge, except the hollow seas,
Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.
But many a Greek maid, in a loving song,

Sighs o'er her name: and many an islander With her sire's story makes the night less long;

Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her : If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrong

A heavy price must all pay who thus err, In some shape; let none think to fly the danger, For soon or late Love is his own avenger.


She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes :
Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,

And half-impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure-how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent !

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