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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,* 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!'

XIL

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, betrayed: '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 inore heads than one: But blench not thou-thy simplest tress Claims more from me than tenderness; I would not wrong the slenderest hair That clusters round thy forehead fair, For all the treasures buried far Within the caves of Istakar.t This morning clouds upon me lower'd. Reproaches on my head were shower'd, And Giaffir almost call'd me coward! Now I have motive to be brave; The son of his neglected slaveNay, start not 'twas the term he gaveMay 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.

'Azrael,' the angel of death.

The treasures of the Pre-Adamite Sultans. D'Herbelot, article Istakar

I know the wretch who dares demand
From Giaffir thy reluctant hand;
More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul,
Holds not a Musselim's control:*
Was he not bred in Egripo?t

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.'

XIIL

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, Allah! 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 soothe 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 need 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?

'Musselim,'a governor, the next in rank after a Pacha; a Waywode is the third; and then come the Agas.

'Egripo'-the Negropont. According to the proverb, the Turks of Egripo, the Jews of Salonica, and See the Greeks of Athens, are the worst of their respec tive races.

102

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 wai.dering 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,* My father leaves the mimic war; I tremble now to meet his eyeSay, Selim, canst thou tell me why?'

Tchocadar,' one of the attendants who precedes a man of authority.

1.

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 banks,
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 THE SECOND.

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 the 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
The 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 borne--
Minstrel 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' 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.

The wrangling about this epithet, 'the broad Hellespont,' or the 'boundless Hellespont,' whether it means one or the other, or what it means at all, has been beyond all possibility of detail. I have even heard it disputed on the spot; and not foreseeing a speedy conclusion to the controversy, amused myself with swimming across it in the meantime, and probably

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 son ran proudly round,
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 :t
Near these, with emerald rays beset,
(How could she thus that gem forget?)
Her mother's sainted amulet,
Whereon engraved the Koorsee text,
Could smooth this life, and win the next :
And by her comboloio 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;

may again, before the point is settled. Indeed, the question as to the truth of the tale of Troy divine' still continues, much of it resting upon the talismanic word anЄipos. Probably Homer had the same notion of distance that a coquette has of time; and when he talks of boundless, means half a mile; as the latter, by a like figure, when she says eternal attachment, simply specifies three weeks.

Before his Persian invasion, and crowned the altar with laurel, etc. He was afterwards imitated by Caracalla in his race. It is believed that the last also poisoned a friend, named Festus, for the sake of new Patroclan games. I have seen the sheep feeding on the tombs of sietes and Antilochus: the first is in the centre of the plain.

When rubbed, the amber is susceptible of a perfume, which is slight, but not disagrecable.

The belief in amulets engraved on gems, or enclosed in gold boxes, containing scraps from the Koran, worn round the neck, wrist, or arm, is still universal in the East. The Koorsee (throne) verse in the second chapter of the Koran describes the attributes of the Most High, and is engraved in this manner, and worn by the pious, as the most esteemed and sublime of all sentences.

'Comboloio,' a Turkish rosary. The MSS., particularly those of the Persians, are richly adorned and illuminated. The Greek females are kept in utter ignorance; but many of the Turkish girls are highly accomplished, though not actually qualified for a Christian coterie. Perhaps some of our own 'blues' might not be the worse for bleaching,

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 does 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 disdain'd to show; But Selm'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 soothe 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:
The 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 worę; That dagger, on whose hilt the gem Were worthy of a diadem,

H

194

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.*

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 hast 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 l'

XII.

'My slave, Zuleika 1-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 verse display'd
Upon its steel direct iny 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.
My father was to Giaffir all

That Selim late was deem'd to thee;
That brother wrought a brother's fall,
But spared at least my infancy,
And lull'd me with a vain deceit
That yet a like return may meet.
He rear'd me, not with tender help,
But like the nephew of a Cain ;t
He watch'd me like a lion's whelp.
That gnaws and yet may break his chain.
My father's blood in every vein

Is boiling; but for thy dear sake
No present vengeance will I take,
Though here I must no more remain.
But first, beloved Zuleika ! hear
How Giaffir wrought this deed of fear.

XIII.

'How first their strife to rancour grew,
If love or envy made them foes,
It matters little if I knew;
In fiery spirits, slights, though few

And thoughtless, will disturb repose.
In war Abdallah's arm was strong,
Remember'd yet in Bosniac song,
And Paswan's rebel hordes attest t
How little love they bore such guest:
His death is all I need relate,

The stern effect of Giaffir's hate;

with silver are those of an Arnaut robber, who was my host (he had quitted the profession) at his Pyrgo, near Gastouni in the Morea: they were plated in scales one over the other, like the back of an armadillo.

The characters on all Turkish scimitars contain sometimes the name of the place of their manufacture, but more generally a text from the Koran, in letters of gold. Amongst those in my possession is one with a blade of singular construction; it is very broad, and the edge notched into serpentine curves like the ripple of water, or the wavering of flame. I asked the Armenian who sold it what possible use such a figure could add. He said, in Italian, that he did not know; but the Mussulmans had an idea that those of this form gave a severer wound, and liked it because it was piu feroce. I did not much admire the reason, but bought it for its peculiarity.

It is to be observed that every allusion to any thing or personage in the Old Testament, such as the Ark or Cain, is equally the privilege of Mussulman and Jew: indeed, the former profess to be much better acquainted with the lives, true and fabulous, of the patri archs, than is warranted by our own sacred writ; and not content with Adam, they have a biography of PreAdamites. Solomon is the monarch of all necromancy, and Moses a prophet inferior only to Christ and Ma homet. Zuleika is the Persian name of Potiphar's wifer, and her amour with Joseph constitutes one of the finest poems in their language. It is therefore no violation of costume to put the names of Cain or Noah into the mouth of a Moslem.

Galiongée, or Galiongi, a sailor, that is, a Turkish sailor: the Greeks navigate, the Turks work the guns. Their dress is picturesque; and I have seen the Capitan Pacha more than once wearing it as a kind of I Paswan Oglou, the rebel of Widdin; who, for the incog. Their legs, however, are generally naked. last years of his life, set the whole power of the Porte The buskins described in the text as sheathed behind at defiance.

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And how my birth disclosed to me
Whate'er beside it makes, hath made me free.

XIV.

'When Paswan, after years of strife,
At last for power, but first for life,
In Widdin'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 horse-tails to the wind,*
And mustering in Sophia's plain

Their tents were pitch'd, their posts 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, 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 Pachalic was gain'd:-
Thou know'st not what in our Divan
Can wealth procure for worse than man-
Abdallah's honours were obtain'd
By him a brother's murder stain'd:
'Tis true, the purchase nearly drain'd
His ill-got treasure, soon replaced.
Wouldst 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.

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• Horse-tail,' the standard of a Pacha.

Giaffir. Pacha of Argyro Castro, or Scutari, I am not sure which, was actually taken off by the Albanian Ali in the manner described in the text. Ali Pacha, while I was in the country, married the daughter of his victim, some years after the event had taken place at a bath in Sophia, or Adrianople. The poison was mixed in the cup of coffee, which is presented before the sherbet by the bath-keeper, after dressing.

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 ensured.
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 stil! to guilt just Allah 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 seest 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;
And listless left-for Giaffir's fear
Denied the courser and the spear-
Though oft-oh, Mahomet, how oft!-
In full Divan the despot scoff'd,
As if my weak, unwilling hand
Refused the bridle or the brand:
He ever went to war alone,
And pent me here untried, unknown;
To Haroun's care with women left,
By hope unblest, of fame bereft.
While thou-whose softness long endear'd,
Though it unmann'd me, still had cheer'd→→→

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