Without even savage virtue blest, 155 Without one free or valiant breast. Still to the neighbouring ports they waft Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft; In this the subtle Greek is found, 160 And they who listen may believe, Who heard it first had cause to grieve. Far, dark, along the blue sea glancing, And fearful for his light caique, He shuns the near but doubtful creek: That best becomes an Eastern night. 170 175 Who thundering comes on blackest steed, And though to-morrow's tempest lower, 180 185 "Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour! (7) 190 I know thee not, I loathe thy race, But in thy lineaments I trace What time shall strengthen, not efface: As meteor like thou glidest by, Right well I view and deem thee one On-on he hasten'd, and he drew My gaze of wonder as he flew: Though like a demon of the night He pass'd and vanish'd from my sight, His aspect and his air impress'd Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear. 195 200 205 He spurs his steed; he nears the steep, Why looks he o'er the olive wood? 210 215 220 The crescent glimmers on the hill, The Mosque's high lamps are quivering still: The flashes of each joyous peal 225 230 235 It rose not with the reddening flush Of transient Anger's darkening blush, But pale as marble o'er the tomb, As doubting to return or fly : Impatient of his flight delay'd, Here loud his raven charger neigh'd— Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd his blade; As Slumber starts at owlet's scream. 240 245 250 Swift as the hurl'd on high jerreed (9) Springs to the touch his startled steed; "Twas but a moment that he stood, Then sped as if by death pursued; 260 But in that instant o'er his soul A life of pain, an age of crime. O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears, 265 What felt he then, at once opprest For infinite as boundless space The thought that Conscience must embrace, 270 275 Wo without name, or hope, or end. The hour is past, the Giaour is gone; And did he fly or fall alone? Wo that hour he came or went! The curse for Hassan's sin was sent 280 To turn a palace to a tomb: He came, he went, like the Simoom, (10) That harbinger of fate and gloom, Beneath whose widely-wasting breath The very cypress droops to death 285 Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled, The only constant mourner o'er the dead! The steed is vanish'd from the stall; 290 |