One sad and sole relief she knows, 430 So do the dark in soul expire, Or live like Scorpion girt by fire ; (17) So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven, 435 Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven, Not thus was Hassan wont to fly 445 That tale can only Hassan tell : Strange rumours in our city say When Rhamazan's (18) last sun was set, And flashing from each minaret Millions of lamps proclaim'd the feast Of Bairam through the boundless East. "Twas then she went as to the bath, Which Hassan vainly search'd in wrath; 450 For she was flown her master's rage 455 In likeness of a Georgian page, And far beyond the Moslem's power Had wrong'd him with the faithless Giaour. But still so fond, so fair she seem'd, 460 470 Was seen, but seen alone to speed Nor maid nor page behind him bore. Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell, But gaze on that of the Gazelle, It will assist thy fancy well; As large, as languishingly dark, 475 But Soul beam'd forth in every spark 480 That form was nought but breathing clay, By Alla! I would answer nay; Though on Al-Sirat's (21) arch I stood, Which totters o'er the fiery flood, With Paradise within my view, 485 And all his Houris beckoning through. 490 That through her eye the Immortal shone; The young pomegranate's (23) blossoms strew 495 Her hair in hyacinthine (24) flow, When left to roll its folds below, Gleam'd whiter than the mountain sleet 500 505 And spurns the wave with wings of pride, When pass the steps of stranger man Along the banks that bound her tide; 510 Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck: Thus arm'd with beauty would she check Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise. Thus high and graceful was her gait; Her heart as tender to her mate; Her mate-stern Hassan, who was he? Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en 515 520 Stain'd with the best of Arnaut blood, 525 When in the pass the rebels stood, And few return'd to tell the tale Of what befell in Parne's vale. The pistols which his girdle bore Were those that once a pasha wore, 580 Which still, though gemm'd and boss'd 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, 585 The sun's last rays are on the hill, And sparkle in the fountain rill, Whose welcome waters cool and clear, 540 Draw blessings from the mountaineer: 545 The foremost Tartar's in the gap, 550 Where vultures whet the thirsty beak, And theirs may be a feast to-night, 555 Each side the midway path there lay |