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Not thus was Hassan wont to fly When Leila dwelt in bis Serai. Doth Leila there no longer dwell? That tale can only Hassan tell : Strange rumours in our city say Upon that eve she fled away When Rhamazan's last sun was set, And flashing from cach minaret Millions of lamps proclaimed the feast Of Bairam through the boundless East. 'Twas then she went as to the ball, Which Hassan vainly searched in wrath; For she was flown her master's rage In likeness of a Georgian page, And far beyond the Moslem's power Had wronged him with the faithless Giaour. Somewhat of this hail Hassan deemed; But still so fond, so fair she seemed, Too well he trusted to the slave Whose treachery deserved a grave : And on that eve had
gone to mosque, And thence to feast in his kiosk. Such is the tale his Nubians tell, Who did not watch their charge too well; But others say, that on that night, By pale Phingari's ng trembling tight, The Giaour upon his jet black steed Was seen, but seen alone to speed With bloody spur along the shore, Nor maid nor
behind him bore.
Her eye's dark charm 'twere vaia to tell, But gaze on that of the Gazelle,
It will assist thy fancy well;
it birth It fell, and caught one stain of earth. The cygnet nobly walks the water; So moved on earth Circassia's daughter, The loveliest bird of Franguestan! 25 As rears her crest the ruffled swan,
And spurns the wave with wings of pride, When
the steps of stranger man
Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en With twenty vassals in his train. Each armed, as best becomes a man, With arquebuss and ataghan; The chief before, as decked for war, Bears in his belt the scimitar Stained with the best of Arnaut blood, When in the pass the rebels stood, And few returned to tell the tale Of what befell in Parne's vale. The pistols which his girdle bore Were those that once a pasha wore, Which still, though gemmed and bossed with gold, Even robbers tremble to behold. 'Tis said he goes to woo a bride More true than her who left his side ; The faithless slave that broke her bower, And, worse than faithless, Giaour!
The sun's last rays are on the hill, And sparkle in the fountain rill,
Whose welcome waters, cool and clear,
'twere vain to seek
he rest where none can see,
The foremost Tartar's in the
gap, Conspicuous by his yellow cap; The rest in lengthening line the while Wind slowly through the long defile: Above, the mountain rears a peak, Where vultures whet the thirsty beak, And theirs inay be a feast to-night, Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light; Beneath, a river's wintry stream Has shrunk before the summer beam, And left a channel bleak and bare, Save shrubs that spring to perish there : Each side the midway path there lay Small broken crags of granite gray, By time, or mountain lightning, riven From summits clad in mists of heaven; For where is he that hath beheld The peak of Liakura unveiled ?
They reach the grove of pine at last :
« For yonder view the opening plain, « And there we'll prick our steeds'amain : » The Chiaus spake, and as he said, A bullet whistled o'er his head; The foremost Tartar bites the ground!
Scarce had they time to check the rein, Swift from their steeds the riders bound;
But three shall never mount again :
The dying ask revenge in vain.
Half sheltered by the steed;
Nor tamely stand to bleed
Though far and near the bullets hiss,