The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind. the music breathing from her face,6
The hear whose softness harmonized the whole-
And, oh! that eye was in itself a soul!

Her graceful arms in meekness bending
Across her gently budding breast;
At one kind word those arms extending
To clasp the neck of him who blest
His child caressing and carest,
Zuleika came-and Giaffir felt
His purpose half within him melt:
Not that against her fancied weal
His heart though stern could ever feel;
Affection chain'd her to that heart;
Ambition tore the links apart.

VII.

"Zuleika! child of gentleness!
How dear this very day must tell,
When I forget my own distress,
In losing what I love so well,
To bid thee with another dwell:
Another! and a braver man
Was never seen in battle's van.
We Moslem reck not much of blood;
But yet the line of Carasman 7
Unchanged, unchangeable hath stood
First of the bold Timariot bands
That won and well can keep their lands.
Enough that he who comes to woo
Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou :

His years need scarce a thought employ;
I would not have thee wed a boy.
And thou shalt have a noble dower:
And his and my united power
Will laugh to scorn the death-firman,
Which others tremble but to scan.
And teach the messenger 8 what fate
The bearer of such boon may wait.
And now thou know'st thy father's will;
All that thy sex hath need to know:
'Twas mine to teach obedience still-
The way to love thy lord may show."

VIII.

In silence bow'd the virgin's head;
And if her eye was fill'd with tears,
That stifled feeling dare not shed,
And changed her cheek from pale to red,
And red to pale, as through her ears
Those winged words like arrows sped,
What could such be but maiden fears?
So bright the tear in beauty's eye,
Love half regrets to kiss it dry;
So sweet the blush of bashfulness,
Even pity scarce can wish it less!
Whate'er it was the sire forgot;
Or if remember'd, mark'd it not:

Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd his steed,9
Resign'd his gem-adorn'd Chibouke,10

And mounting featly for the mead,
With Maugrabee "1 and Mamaluke,

His way amid his Delis took,12
To witness many an active deed
With sabre keen, and blunt jerreed.
The Kislar only and his Moors
Watch'd well the Haram's massy doors.

IX.

His head was leant upon his hand,

His eye look'd o'er the dark-blue water
That swiftly glides and gently swells
Between the winding Dardanelles;
But yet he saw nor sea nor strand,
Nor even his Pacha's turban'd band

Mix in the game of mimic slaughter,
Careering cleave the folded felt 13
With sabre stroke right sharply dealt;
Nor mark'd the javelin-darting crowd,
Nor heard their Ollahs 14 wild and lond-
He thought but of old Giaffir's daughter.
X.

No word from Selim's bosom broke;
One sigh Zuleika's thought bespoke:
Still gazed he through the lattice grate,
Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate.
To him Zuleika's eye was turn'd,
But little from his aspect learn'd:
Equal her grief, yet not the same;
Her heart confess'd a gentler flame,
But yet that heart alarm'd or weak,
She knew not why, forbade to speak.
Yet speak she must-but when essay?
"How strange he thus should turn away!
Not thus we e'er before have met;
Not thus shall be our parting yet."
Thrice paced she slowly through the room,
And watch'd his eye-it still was fix'd;
She snatch'd the urn wherein was mix'd
The Persian Atar-gul's 15 perfume,
And sprinkled all its odors o'er

The pictured roof 16 and marble floor:
The drops, that through his glittering vest
The playful girl's appeal addrest,
Unheeded o'er his bosom flew,
As if that breast were marble too.
"What, sullen yet? it must not be-
Oh! gentle Selim, this from thee!"
She saw in curious order set

The fairest flowers of Eastern land"He loved them once; may touch them yet, If offer'd by Zuleika's hand."

The childish thought was hardly breath'd
Before the rose was pluck'd and wreathed;
The next fond moment saw her seat
Her fairy form at Selim's feet:
"This rose to calm my brother's cares
A message from the Bulbul 17 bears;
It says to-night he will prolong
For Selim's ear his sweetest song;
And though his note is somewhat sad,
He'll try for once a strain more glad,
With some faint hope his alter'd lay
May sing these gloomy thoughts away.

XI.

"What! not receive my foolish flower? Nay then I am indeed unblest:

On me can thus thy forehead lower ?

And know'st thou not who loves thee best? Oh, Selim dear! oh, more than dearest!

Say, is it me thou hat'st or fearest?

Come, lay thy head upon my breast,

And I will kiss thee into rest,

Since words of mine, and songs must fail,

Even from my fabled nigtingale.

I knew our sire at times was stern,
But this from thee had yet to learn:
Too well I know he loves thee not;
But is Zuleika's love forgot?

Ah! deem I right? the Pacha's plan-
This kinsman Bey of Carasman
I'erhaps may prove some foe of thine.
If so, I swear by Mecca's shrine,
If shrines that ne'er approach allow
To woman's step admit her vow,
Without thy free consent, command,
The Sultan should not have my hand!
Think'st thou that I could bear to part
With thee, and learn to halve my heart?
Ah! were I sever'd from thy side,
Where were thy friend-and who my guide?
Years have not seen, time shall not see
The hour that tears my soul from thee:
Even Azrael 18 from his deadly quiver

When flies that shaft, and fly it must,
That parts all else, shall doom for ever
Our hearts to undivided dust!"

XII.

He lived-he breathed-he moved--he felt; He raised the maid from where she knelt; His trance was gone-his keen eye shone With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt; With thoughts that burn-in rays that melt. As the stream late conceal'd

By the fringe of its willows, When it rushes reveal'd

In the light of its billows; As the bolt bursts on high

From the black cloud that bound it,
Flash'd the soul of that eye

Through the long lashes round it.
A war-horse at the trumpet's sound,
A lion roused by heedless hound,
A tyrant waked to sudden strife
By graze of ill-directed knife,
Starts not to more convulsive life

Than he, who heard that vow, display'd,
And all, before repress'd, betray'd:
"Now thou art mine, for ever mine,

With life to keep, and scarce with life resign;
Now thou art mine, that sacred oath,
Though sworn by one, hath bound us both.
Yes, fondly, wisely hast thou done;

That vow hath saved more heads than one:
But blench not thou-thy simplest tress
Claims more from me than tenderness;
I would not wrong the slenderest hair
That cluster round thy forehead fair,
For all the treasures buried far
Within the caves of Istakar.19
This morning clouds upon me lower'd,
Reproaches on my head were shower'd,
And Giaffir almost called me coward!
Now I have motive to be brave;
The son of his neglected slave,
Nay, start not 'twas the term he gave,
May show, though little apt to vaunt,
A heart his words nor deeds can daunt.
His son, indeed!—yet, thanks to thee,
Perchance I am, at least shall be;
But let our plighted secret vow
Be only known to us as now.

I know the wretch who dares demand
From Giaffir thy reluctant hand;
More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul
Holds not a Musselims 20 control:
Was he not bred in Egripo? 21
A viler race let Israel show!

But let that pass-to none be told
Our oath; the rest shall time unfold.
To me and mine leave Osman Bey;
I've partisans for peril's day:
Think not I am what I appear;

I've arms, and friends, and vengeance near

XIII.

"Think not thou art what thou appearest;
My Selim, thou art sadly changed:
This morn I saw thee gentlest, dearest;
But now thou'rt from thyself estranged.
My love thou surely knew'st before,
It ne'er was less, nor can be more.
To see thee, hear thee, near thee stay,

And hate the night I know not why,
Save that we meet not but by day;

With thee to live, with thee to die, I dare not to my hope deny : Thy cheek, thine eyes, thy lips to kiss, Like this-and this-no more than this; For, Alla! sure thy lips are flame:

What fever in thy veins is flushing? My own have nearly caught the same,

At least I feel my cheek too blushing. To sooth thy sickness, watch thy health, Partake, but never waste thy wealth, Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by, And lighten half thy poverty; Do all but close thy dying eye, For that I could not live to try; To these alone my thoughts aspire: More can I do? or thou require ? But, Selim, thou must answer why We see so much of mystery?

The cause I cannot dream nor tell,

But be it, since thou say'st 'tis well;

Yet what thou mean'st by arms' and 'friends Beyond my weaker sense extends.

I meant that Giaffir should have heard

The very vow I plighted thee;

His wrath would not revoke my word:
But surely he would leave me free.
Can this fond wish seem strange in me,
To be what I have ever been?
What other hath Zuleika seen
From simple childhood's earliest hour?
What other can she seek to see
Than thee, companion of her bower,
The partner of her infancy?
These cherish'd thoughts with life begun,
Say, why must I no more avow?
What change is wrought to make me shun

The truth; my pride, and thine till now?
To meet the gaze of stranger's eyes
Our law, our creed, our God denies;
Nor shall one wandering thought of mine
At such, our Prophet's will repine:
No! happier made by that decree !
He left me all in leaving thee.

Deep were my anguish, thus compell'd
To wed with one I ne'er beheld:"

This wherefore should I not reveal?
Why wilt thou urge me to conceal ?
I know the Pacha's haughty mood
To thee hath never boded good:
And he so often storms at nought,
Allah! forbid that e'er he ought!
And why, I know not, but within
My heart concealment weighs like sin.
If then such secrecy be crime,

And such it feels while lurking here; Oh, Selim! tell me yet in time,

Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear. Ah! yonder see the Tchocadar, 22 My father leaves the mimic war; I tremble now to meet his eye

Say, Selim, canst thou tell me why?"

XIV.

"Zuleika! to thy tower's retreat
Betake thee-Giaffir I can greet;
And now with him I fain must prate
Of firmans, imposts, levies, state.
There's fearful news from Danube's bank,
Our Vizier nobly thins his ranks,

For which the Giaour may give him thanks!
Our Sultan hath a shorter way
Such costly triumph to repay.

But, mark me, when the twilight drum

Hath warn'd the troops to food and sleep, Unto thy cell will Selim come;

Then softly from the Haram creep Where we may wander by the deep: Our garden-battlements are steep; Nor these will rash intruder climb To list our words, or stint our time; And if he doth, I want not steel Which some have felt, and more may feel. Then shalt thou learn of Selim more Than thou hast heard or thought before: Trust me, Zuleika-fear not me! Thou know'st I hold a Haram key."

"Fear thee, my Selim! ne'er till now Did word like this-"

"Delay not thou; I keep the key-and Haroun's guard Have some, and hope of more reward. To-night, Zuleika, thou shalt hear My tale, my purpose, and my fear: I am not, love! what I appear."

CANTO II.

I.

THE winds are high on Helle's wave,
As on that night of stormy water,
When Love, who sent, forgot to save
The young, the beautiful, the brave,

The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
Oh! when alone along the sky
Her turret-torch was blazing high,
Though rising gale, and breaking foam,
And shrieking sea-birds warn'd him home;
And clouds aloft and tides below,
With signs and sounds, forbade to go,

He could not see, he would not hear
Or sound or sign foreboding fear;
His eye but saw that light of love,
The only star it hail'd above;
His ear but rang with Hero's song,
"Ye waves, divide not lovers long!"-
That tale is old, but love anew

May nerve young hearts to prove as true.
II.

The winds are high, and Helle's tide
Rolls darkly heaving to the main ;
And night's descending shadows hide
That field with blood bedew'd in vain,
The desert of old Priam's pride;

The tombs, sole relics of his reign,
All-save immortal dreams that could beguile
The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle:
III.

Oh! yet for there my steps have been ;

These feet have press'd the sacred shore; These limbs that buoyant wave hath borneMinstrel with thee to muse, to mourn,

To trace again those fields of yore, Believing every hillock green

Contains no fabled hero's ashes,

And that around the undoubted scene

Thine own "broad Hellespont "3 still dashes,

Be long my lot! and cold were he

Who there could gaze denying thee!

IV.

The night hath closed on Helle's stream,
Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill
That moon, which shone on his high theme
No warrior chides her peaceful beam,

But conscious shepherds bless it still.
Their flocks are grazing on the mound

Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow: That mighty heap of gather'd ground Which Ammon's 24 son ran proudly rouna By nations raised, by monarchs crown'd. Is now a lone and nameless barrow! Within-thy dwelling-place how narrow; Without-can only strangers breathe The name of him that was beneath: Dust long outlasts the storied stone, But thou-thy very dust is gone!

V.

Late, late to-night will Dian cheer
The swain, and chase the boatman's fear;
Till then no beacon on the cliff

May shape the course of struggling skiff;
The scatter'd lights that skirt the bay.
All, one by one, have died away;

The only lamp of this lone hour
Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower:
Yes! there is light in that lone chamber,
And o'er her silken ottoman
Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber,
O'er which her fairy fingers ran;25
Near these, with emerald rays beset,
(How could she thus that gem forget?)
Her mother's sainted amulet,26
Whereon engraved the Koorsee text,
Could smooth this life, and win the next;
And by her comboloio 27 lies

A Koran of illumined dyes;

And many a bright emblazon'd rhyme
By Persian scribes redeem'd from time;
And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,
Reclines her now neglected lute;
And round her lamp of fretted gold
Bloom flowers in urns of China's mould;
The richest work of Iran's loom,
And Sheeraz' tribute of perfume;
All that can eye or sense delight

Are gather'd in that gorgeous room:
But yet it hath an air of gloom.
She, of this Peri cell the sprite,

What doth she hence, and on so rude a night?

VI.

Wrapt in the darkest sable vest,

Which none save noblest Moslem wear, To guard from winds of heaven the breast As heaven itself to Selim dear, With cautious steps the thicket threading, And starting oft, as through the glade The gust its hollow moanings made, Till on the smoother pathway treading, More free her timid bosom beat,

The maid pursued her silent guide;
And though her terror urged retreat,

How could she quit her Selim's side?
How teach her tender lips to chide?

VII.

They reach'd at length a grotto, hewn
By nature but enlarged by art,
Where oft her lute she wont to tune,
And oft her Koran conn'd apart;
And oft in youthful reverie
She dream'd what Paradise might be:
Where woman's parted soul shall go
Her prophet had disdained to show;
But Selim's mansion was secure,
Nor deem'd she, could he long endure
His bower in other worlds of bliss,
Without her, most, beloved in this!
Oh! who so dear with him could dwell?
What Houri sooth him half so well?

VIII.

Since last she visited the spot

Some change seem'd wrought within, the grot: It might be only that the night

Disguised things seen by better light:

That brazen lamp but dimly threw

A ray of no celestial hue;

But in a nook within the cell

Her eye on stranger objects fell.

There arms were piled, not such as wield
The turban'd Delis in the field;
But brands of foreign blade and hilt,
And one was red-perchance with guilt!
Ah! how without can blood be spilt?
A cup too on the board was set
That did not seem to hold sherbet.
What may this mean? she turn'd to see
Her Selim-"Oh! can this be he?"

IX.

His robe of pride was thrown aside,

His brow no high-crown'd turban bore,

But in its stead a shawl of red,

Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore :

That dagger, on whose hilt the gem
Were worthy of a diadem,
No longer glitter'd at his waist,
Where pistols unadorn'd were braced;
And from his belt a sabre swung,
And from his shoulder loosely hung
The cloak of white, the thin capote
That decks the wandering Candiote :
Beneath-his golden-plated vest
Clung like a cuirass to his breast;
The greaves below his knee that wound
With silvery scales were sheathed and bound.
But were it not that high command
Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand,
All that a careless eye could see
In him was some young Galiongée.28

X.

"I said I was not what I seem'd:

And now thou seest my words were true
I have a tale thou hast not dream'd,
If sooth-its truth must others rue.
My story now 'twere vain to hide;
I must not see thee Osman's bride;
But had not thine own lips declared
How much of that young heart I shared,
I could not, must not, yet have shown
The darker secret of my own.

In this I speak not now of love;
That, let time, truth, and peril prove :
But first-Oh! never wed another-
Zuleika! I am not thy brother!" '

XI.

"Oh! not my brother!-yet unsay-
God! am I left alone on earth
To mourn-I dare not curse-the day
That saw my solitary birth?
Oh! thou wilt love me now no more!
My sinking heart foreboded ill;
But know me all I was before,

Thy sister-friend-Zuleika still.
Thou led'st me here perchance to kill;
If thou has cause for vengeance, see
My breast is offer'd-take thy fill!
Far better with the dead to be
Than live thus nothing now to thee:
Perhaps far worse, for now I know
Why Giaffir always seem'd thy foe;
And I alas! am Giaffir's child,

For whom thou wert contemn'd, reviled. If not thy sister-wouldst thou save My life, Oh! bid me be thy slave!"

XII.

"My slave, Zuleika!-nay, I'm thine;
But, gentle love, this transport calm:
Thy lot shall yet be link'd with mine;
I swear it by our Prophet's shrine,
And be that thought thy sorrow's balm.
So may the Koran 29 verse display'd
Upon its steel direct my blade,
In danger's hour to guard us both,
As I preserve that awful oath!

The name in which thy heart hath prided
Must change; but, my Zuleika, know,
That tie is widen'd, not divided,

Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe.

"When Paswan, after years of strife,
At last for power, but first for life,
In Widin's walls too proudly sate,
Our Pachas rallied round the state;
Nor last nor least in high command
Each brother led a separate band;
They gave their horsetails 32 to the wind,
And, mustering in Sophia's plain,
Their tents were pitch'd, their post assign'd;
To one, alas! assign'd in vain!
What need of words? the deadly bowl,

By Giaffir's order drugg'd and given,
With venom subtle as his soul,

Dismiss'd Abdallah's hence to heaven. Reclined and feverish in the bath,

He, when the hunter's sport was up, But little deem'd a brother's wrath

To quench his thirst had such a cup: The bowl a bribed attendant bore; He drank one draught, 3 nor needed more! If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt, Call Haroun he can tell it out.

XV.

"The deed once done, and Paswan's feud
In part suppress'd, though ne'er subdued,
Abdallah's Pachalick was gain'd:-
Thou know'st not what in our Divan
Can wealth procure for worse than man-
Abdallah's honors were obtain'd

By him a brother's murder stain'd;

"Tis true, the purchase nearly drain'd

His ill-got treasure, soon replaced.

Would'st question whence? Survey the waste, And ask the squalid peasant how

His gains repay his broiling brow!

Why me the stern usurper spared, Why thus with me his palace shared, I know not. Shame, regret, remorse, And little fear from infant's force; Besides, adoption as a son

By him whom Heaven accorded none Or some unknown cabal, caprice, Preserved me thus; but not in peace He cannot curb his haughty mood, Nor I forgive a father's blood.

XVI.

"Within thy father's house are foes;
Not all who break his bread are true
To these should I my birth disclose,
His days, his very hours were few:
They only want a heart to lead,
A hand to point them to the deed.
But Haroun only knows, or knew
This tale, whose close is almost nigh:
He in Abdallah's palace grew,

And held that post in his Serai
Which holds he here-he saw him die :
But what could single slavery do?
Avenge his lord? alas! too late;
Or save his son from such a fate?
He chose the last, and when elate
With foes subdued, or friends betray'd,
Proud Giaffir in high triumph sate,
He led me helpless to his gate,

And not in vain it seems essay'd To save the life for which he pray'd. The knowledge of my birth secured From all and each, but most from me; Thus Giaffir's safety was insured.

Removed he too from Roumelie

To this our Asiatic side,

Far from our seats by Danube's tide,
With none but Haroun, who retains
Such knowledge-and that Nubian feels
A tyrant's secrets are but chains,
From which the captive gladly steals,
And this and more to me reveals:
Such still to guilt just Alla sends-
Slaves, tools, accomplices-no friends!

XVII.

"All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds;
But harsher still my tale must be :
Howe'er, my tongue thy softness wounds,
Yet I must prove all truth to thee.
I saw thee start this garb to see,

Yet is it one I oft have worn,

And long must wear: this Galiongée,
To whom thy plighted vow is sworn,
Is leader of those pirate hordes,

Whose laws and lives are on their swords;
To hear whose desolating tale
Would make thy waning cheek more pale;
Those arms thou see'st my band have brought;
The hands that wield are not remote;
This cup too for the rugged knaves

Is fill'd-once quaff'd, they ne'er repine; Our Prophet might forgive the slaves; They're only infidels in wine.

XVIII.

"What could I be? Proscribed at home, And taunted to a wish to roam;