Fair, as the first that fell of womankind,
When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling,
Whose image then was stamp'd upon her mind-
But once beguiled-and ever more beguiling;
Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision

To sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given, When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian, And paints the lost on earth revived in heaven; Soft, as the memory of buried love;

Pure, as the prayer which childhood wafts above;
Was she-the daughter of that rude old chief,
Who met the maid with tears-but not of grief.

Who hath not proved how feebly words essay
To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray?
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess
The might-the majesty of loveliness?
Such was Zuleika-such around her shone
The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone;
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart 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'
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-finnan,
Which others tremble but to scan,
And teach the messenger 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:
"I was 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 winger 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,
Resign'd his gem-adorn'd Chibouke, 10
And mounting featly for the mead,
With Maugrabee 11 and Mamaluke,
His way amid his Delis took, 12
To witness many an active deed
With sabre keen, or 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 loudHe 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 odours 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? i 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 " 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, Seim 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 nightingale.

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
Perhaps 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 clusters 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, 't was 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 loast 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 Musseliris 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 need so much of mystery? The cause I cannot dream nor tell, But be it, since thou say'st 't is 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: