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XXVI. Morn slowly rolls the clouds away; Few trophies of the fight are there: The shouts that shook the midnight bay Are silent; but some signs of fray That strand of strife may bear, And fragments of each shiver'd brand; Steps stamp'd ; and dash'd into the sand The print of many a struggling hand May there be mark'd; nor far remote A broken torch, an oarless boat; And tangled on the weeds that heap The beach where shelving to the deep There lies a white capote! "Tis rent in twain—one dark red stain The wave yet ripples o'er in vain: But where is he who wore ? Ye! who would o'er his relics weep, Go, seek them where the surges sweep Their burden round Sigaeum's steep, And cast on Lemnos' shore: The sea-birds shriek above the prey, O'er which their hungry beaks delay, As shaken on his restless pillow, His head heaves with the heaving billow; That hand, whose motion is not life, Yet feebly seems to menace strife, Flung by the tossing tide on high, Then levell'd with the wave– What recks it, though that corse shall lie Within a living grave 2 1 he bird that tears that prostrate form Hath only robb'd the meaner worm ; The only heart, the only eye Had bled or wept to see him die, Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed, And mourned above his turban-stone,” That heart hath burst—that eye was closedYea—closed before his own |
XXVII. By Hellc's stream there is a voice of wail! And woman's eye is wet—man's cheek is pale: Zulieka last of Giaffir's race, Thy destined lord is come too late; He sees not—ne'er shall see thy face Can he not hear The loud Wul-wulleh ‘l warn his distant ear? Thy handmaids weeping at the gate, The Koran-chaunters of the hymn of fate, The silent slaves with folded arms that wait, Sighs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale, Tell him thy tale ! Thou didst not view thy Selim fall ! That fearful moment when he left the cave Thy heart grew chill: He was thy hope—thy joy—thy love—thine all— And that last thought on him thou couldstnot save Sufficed to kill; Burst forth in one wild cry—and all was still. Peace to thy broken heart, and virgin grave! Ah! happy' but of life to lose the worst That gries—though deep—though fatal—was thy first Thrice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the force Of absence, shame, pride, hate, revenge, remorse ! And, oh! that pang where more than madness lies! The worm that will not sleep—and never dies;
Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night, That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light, That winds around and tears the quivering heart Ah! wherefore not consume it—and depart | Wo to thee, rash and unrelenting chief! Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head, Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs doth spread By that same hand Abdallah—Selim bled. Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief; Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed, She, whom thy sultan had but seen to wed, Thy daughter's dead Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam, The star hath set that shone on Helle's stream. What quench'd its ray ?—the blood that thou hass shed : Hark! to the hurried question of despair: “Where is my child 2 " — an echo answers— “Where?” 42 XXVIII. Within the place of thousand tombs That shine beneath, while dark above The sad but living cypress glooms, And withers not, though branch and leaf Are stamp'd with an eternal grief, Like early unrequited love, One spot exists, which ever blooms, Even in that deadly grove— A single rose is shedding there lus lonely lustre, meek and pale. It looks as planted by despair— So white—so faint—the slightest gale Might whirl the leaves on high ; And yet, though storms and blight assail, And hands more rude than winter sky May wring it from the stem—in vainTo-morrow sees it bloom again The stalk some spirit gently rears, And waters with celestial tears; For well may maids of Helle deem That this can be no earthly flower, Which mocks the tempest's withering hour, And buds unshelter'd by a bower; Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower, Not woos the summer beam : To it the livelong night there sings A bird unseen—but not remote: Invisible his airy wings, But soft as harp that Houri strings His long entrancing notes It were the bulbul; but his throat, Though mournful, pours not such a strain: For they who listen cannot leave The spot, but linger there and grieve, As if they loved in vain And yet so sweet the tears they shed, "Tis sorrow so unmix'd with dread, They scarce can bear the morn to break That melancholy spell, And longer yet would weep and wake, He sings so wild and well ! But when the day-blush bursts from high Expires that magic melody. And some have been who could believe (So fondly youthful dreams deceive, And harsh be they that blame) That note so piercing and profound Will shape and syllable its sou:id Into Zuleika's name *
7. But yet the line of Carasman. Page 124, line 24. Carasman Oglou, or Cara Osman Oglou, is the
Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the principal landholder in Turkey; he governs Mag
East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia.
The mind, the music breathing from her face.
Page 124, line 2. This expression has met with objections. I will not refer to “ him who hath not music in his soul,” but merely request the reader to recollect, for ten seconds, the features of the woman whom he believes to be the most beautiful; and if he then does not comprehend fully what is feebly expressed in the above line, I shall be sorry for us both. For an eloquent passage in the latest work of the first female writer of this, perhaps of any age, on the analogy o the immediate comparison excited by that analogy), between “painting and music,” see vol. iii. cap. 10. DE L'ALLEMAGNE. And is not this connexion still stronger with the original than the copy With the coloring of nature than of art :
nesia: those who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess land on condition of service, are called Timariots: they serve as Spahis, according to the extent of territory, and bring a certain number into the field, generally cavalry.
And teach the messenger what fate.
When a Pacha is sufficiently strong to resist, the single messenger, who is always the first bearer of the order for his death, is strangled instead, and sometimes five or six, one after the other, on the same errand, by command of the refractory patient; if, on the contrary, he is weak or loyal, he bows, kisses the Sultan's respectable signature, and is bowstrung with great complacency. In 1810, several of these presents were exhibited in the niche ot the Seraglio gate; among others, the head of the Pacha of Bagdat, a brave young man, cut of ow treachery, after a desperate resistance.
chibouque, the Turkish pipe, of which the amber mouth-piece and sometimes the ball which contains the leaf, is adorned with precious stones, if in possession of the wealthier orders.
ll. With Maugrabee and Mamaluke. Page 124, line 58. Maugrabee, Moorish mercenaries.
12. His way amid his Delis took. Page 124, line 59. Deli, bravos who form the forlorn hope of the cavalry, and always begin the action.
13. Careering cleave the folded felt. rty so: line 71. A twisted fold of felt is used for scimitar practice *... Turks, and few but Mussulman arms can cut through it at a single stroke: sometimes a tough turban is used for the same purpose. The jerreed is a game of blunt javelins, animated and graceful.
14. Nor heard their Ollahs wild and loud. Page 124, line 74.
Ollahs,” Alla il Allah, the “Leilies,” as the 8panish poets call them, the sound is Ollah; a cry of which the Turks, for a silent people, are somewhat profuse, particularly during the jerreed, or in the chase, but mostly in battle. Their animation in the field, and gravity in the chamber, with their pipes and comboloios form an amusing contrast.
15. The Persian Atar-gul's perfume. Page 124, line 93. “Atar-gul,” ottar of roses. The Persian is the t. 16. The pictured roof and marble floor.
Page (24, line 95. The ceiling and wainscots, or rather walls, of the Mussulman apartments are generally painted, in great houses, Tith one eternal and highly colored view of Constantinople, wherein the principal feature is a noble contempt of perspective; below: arms, scimitars, &c., are in general fancifully and
not inelegantly disposed.
Page 124, line 111. It has been much doubted whether the notes of this “Lover of the rose,” are sad or merry; and Mr. Fox's remarks on the subject have provoked some learned controversy as to the opinions of the ancients on the subject. I dare not venture a conlore on the point, though a little inclined to the
'errare mallem,” &c., if Mr. Fox was mistaken.
18. Even Azrael, from his deadly (... Page 125, line 19. * Azrael”—the angel of death.
19. Within the cares of Istakar. Page 125, line 54. The treasures co the Pre-Adamite Sultans. See D'HERBELot, article Iskatar.
20. Holds not a Musselim's control. Page 125, line 70.
Pacha; a Waywode is the third; and then come the Agas. 2 1.
Was he not bred in Egripof Page 125, line 71. Egripo-the Negropont,<According to the proverb the Turks of Egripo, the Jews of Salonica, and the Greeks of Athens, are the worst of their respective races. 22. Ah! yonder see the Tchocadar. Page 126, line 13. “Tchocadar"—one of the attendants who precedes a man of authority.”
23. Thine own “broad Hellespont" still dashes. Page 126, line 83.
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 o, conclusion to the controversy, amused inyself with swimming across it in the mean. time, and probably 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 “are opus:” 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, sim ply specifies three weeks.
24. Which Ammon's son ran proudly round. Page 126, line 94.
Before his Persian invasion, and crowned the al. tar with laurel, &c. 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 Æsietes and Antilochus the first is in the centre of the plain.
25. O'er which her fairy fingers ran. Page 126, line 113. When rubbed, the amber is susceptible of a perfume, which is slight but not disagreeable.
26. Her mother's sainted amulet. Page 126, line 116.
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 esteem". ed and sublime of all sentences.
27. And by her Comboloio lies. Page 126, line 119 “Comboloio"—a Turkish rosary. The MSS. par ticularly those of the Persians, are richly adorned and illuminated. The Greek females are kept ir, 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.
28. In him was some woung Galionqee Page 127, line 77.
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 incoy. Their legs, however, are generally naked. The buskins described in the text as sheathed behind with silver, are those of an Arnaut robber, who was my host, §. 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.
29. So may the Koran verse display'd. Page §. line 116. The characters on all Turkish scimitars contain sometimes the name of the place of their manufacture, but more o a text from the Koran, in letters of gold. Among 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 ossible use such a figure could add : he said, in talian, 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.” l did not much admire the reason, but bought it for its peculiarity. 30
But like the nephew of a Cain.
It is to be observed, that every allusion to anything or personage in the Old Testament, such as the Ark, or Cain, is equally the privilege of Mussulman and Jew: indeed, §. former profess to be much better acquainted with the lives, true and fabulous, of the patriarchs, than is warranted by our nwn sacred writ, and not content with Adam, they have a biography of Pre-Adamites. Solomon is the monarch of o '...". and Moses a prophet inferior only to Christ and Mahomet. Zuleika is the Persian name of Potiphar's wife, and her amour with Joseph constitutes one of the finest poems in the language. It is therefore no violation of costume to put the names of Cain, or Noah, into "he mouth of a Moslem.
42. “Where is my child?”—an echo answers—“Where?" Page 131, line 81. “I came to the place of my birth and cried, "the friends of my youth, where are they and an Echo yered, ‘Where are they '"—From an Arabic S. The above quotation (from which the idea in the text is taken) must be already familiar to every reader—it is given in the first annotation, page to: of “The Pleasures of Memory " a poem so well known as to render a reference almost superfluous; but to whose pages all will be delighted to recur.
43. Into Zuleika's name. Page 131, line 129 “And alry wongues that syllable men's names."
For a belief that the souls of the dead in habit the form of birds, we need not travel to the east.
Lyttleton's ghost story, the belief of the Dutchess o Kendal i. George I. flew into her window in the shape of a raven, (see Orford's Reminiscence--) and many other instances, bring this superstition nearer home. The most singular was the whim of a Worcester lady, who, believing her daughter to exist in the shape of a singing bird, literally fur. nished her pew in the Cathedral with cages-full of the kind; and as she was rich, and a benefactres." in beautifying the church, no objection was made to her harmless folly. For this anecdote see Orioru"
Lambro Canzani, a Greek, famous for his efforts
A TAL F.
*-1 suo pensieri in lui dormir non ponno.” TASSO, Canto decimo, Gerusalemme Liberata.
To THU)MAS MOORE, ESQ.
MY DEAR MooRE,I dedicate to you the last production with which I shall trespass on public patience, and your indulgence, for some years; and I own that I feel anxious to avail myself of this latest and only opportunity of adorning my pages with a name, consecrated by unshaken public principle, and the most undoubted and various talents. While Ireland ranks you among the firmest of her patriots; while you stand alone the first of her bards in her estimation, and Britain repeats and ratifies the decree, permit one, whose only regret, since our first acquaintance, has been the years he had lost before it commenced, to add the humble but sincere suffrage of friendship, to the voice of more than one nation. It will at least prove to you, that I have neither forgotten the gratification derived from your society, nor abandoned the prospect of its renewal, whenever your leisure or inclination allows you to atone to your friends for too long an absence. It is said, among those friends, I trust truly, that you are engaged in the composition of a poem whose scene will be laid in the East; none can do those scenes so much justice. The wrongs of your own country, the magnificent and fiery spirit of her sons, the beauty and feeling of her daughters, may there be found; and Collins, when he denominated his Oriental his Irish Eclogues, was not aware how true, at least, was a part of his parallel. Your imagination will create a warmer sun, and less clouded sky; but wildness, tenderness, and originality are part of your national claim of oriental descent, to which you have already thus far proved your title more clearly than the most zealous of your country's antiquarians. May I add a few words on a subject on which all men are supposed to be fluent, and none agree ble : -Self. I have written much, and published more than enough to demand a longer silence than I now meditate; but for some years to come, it is my in
tention to tempt no further the award of “gods, men, nor columns.” In the present composition I have attempted not the most difficult, but, perhaps, the best adapted measure to our language, the good old and now neglected heroic couplet. The stanza of Spenser is, perhaps, too slow and dignified for narrative; though, I confess, it is the measure most after my own heart; Scott alone, of the present generation, has hitherto completely triumphed over the fatal facility of the octo-syllabic verse; and this is not the least victory of his fertile and mighty genius: in blank verse, Milton, Thomson, and our dramatists, are the beacons that shine along the deep, but warn us from the rough and barren rock on which they are kindled. The heroic couplet is not the most popular measure certainly ; but as I did not deviate into the other from a wish to flatter what is called public opinion, I shall quit it without further apology, and take my chance once more with that versification, in which I have hitherto published nothing but compositions whose former circulation is part of my present, and will be of my future regret.
With regard to my story, and stories in general, I should have been glad to have rendered my personages more perfect and amiable, if possible, inasmuch as I have been sometimes criticised, and considered no less responsible for their deeds and qualities than if all had been personal. Be it so—if I have deviated into the gloomy vanity of “drawing from self,” the pictures are probably like, since they are unfavorable; and if not, those who know me are undeceived, and those who do not, I have little interest in undeceiving. I have no particular desire that any but my acquaintance should think the author better than the beings of his imagining; but I cannot help a little surprise, and perhaps amusement, at some odd critical exceptions in the present instance, when I see several bards, (far more deserving, I allow,) in very reputable plight, and quite exempted from all participation in the faults of those heroes, who, nevertheless, might be found with little more morality than “The Giaour,” and perhaps —but no—I must admit Childe Harold to