« 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
<< 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. »
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 warned 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 hailed 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.
The winds are high, and Helle's tide
Rolls darkly heaving to the main;
And Night's descending shadows hide
That field with blood bedewed in vain,
The desart of old Priam's pri le;
The tombs, sole relics of his reign,
All-save immortal dreams that could beguile
The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle!
Oh! yet-for there my steps have been;
These feet have pressed the sacred shore,
These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne-
Minstrel with thee to muse, to mourn,
To trace again those fields of
Believing every hillock green
Contains no fabled hero's ashes, And that around the undoubted scene
Thine own« broad Hellespont » 23 still dashes,
Be long my lot! and cold were he
Who there could gaze denying thee!
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 gathered ground
Which Ammon's 24 son ran proudly round,
By nations raised, by monarchs crowned,
Is now a lone and nameless barrow !
Within thy dwelling-place how narrow!
Without-
t—can only strangers breathe
The name of him that was beneath :
Dust long outlasts the storied stone;
But Thou-thy very dust is gone!
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 scattered 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;
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 emblazoned rhyme
By Persian scribes redeemed 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 Shecraz' tribute of perfume;
All that can eye or sense delight
Are gathered 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?
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 ?
They reached at length a grotto, hewn
By nature, but enlarged by art,
Where oft her lute she wont to tune,
And oft her Koran conned apart;
And oft in youthful reverie
She dreamed what Paradise might be :
Where woman's parted soul shall go
Her Prophet had disdained to show;
But Selim's mansion was secure,
Nor deemed 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?
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