650

With half the fervour Hate bestows
Upon the last embrace of foes,
When grappling in the fight they fold
Those arms that ne'er shall lose their hold:
Friends meet to part; Love laughs at faith ;
True foes, once met, are join'd till death!

655

680

With sabre shiver'd to the hilt,
Yet dripping with the blood he spilt;
Yet strain'd within the sever'd hand
Which quivers round that faithless brand;
His turban far behind him rollid
And cleft in twain its firmest fold;
His flowing robe by falchion torn,
And crimson as those clouds of morn
That, streak'd with dusky red, portend
The day shall have a stormy end;
A stain on every bush that bore
A fragrant of his palampore, (30)
His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven,
His back to earth, his face to heaven,
Fall’n Hassan lies—his unclosed eye
Yet lowering on his enemy,
As if the hour that seal'd his fate
Surviving left his quenchless hate;
And o'er him bends that foe with brow
As dark as his that bled below.-

* *

665

670

*

675

680

“ Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave, " But his shall be a redder grave ; “ Her spirit pointed well the steel “ Which taught that felon heart to feel. “ He call’d the Prophet, but his power “ Was vain against the vengeful Giaour : “ He call'd on Alla-but the word 66 Arose unheeded or unheard. “ Thou Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer “ Be pass'd, and thine accorded there? “ I watch'd my time, I leagued with these, 6 The traitor in his turn to seize; “ My wrath is wreak’d, the deed is done, “ And now I go-but go alone."

685

The browsing camels' bells are tinkling : His Mother look'd from her lattice high- 690

She saw the dews of eve besprinkling The pasture green beneath her eye,

She saw the planets faintly twinkling: “ 'Tis twilight-sure his train is nigh." She could not rest in the garden-bower,

695 But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower:

Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet, “ Nor shrink they from the summer heat; “Why sends not the Bridegroom his promised gift? “ Is bis heart more cold, or his barb less swift? 700

705

710

“ Oh, false reproach! yon Tartar now
“ Has gain'd our nearest mountain's brow,
“ And warily the steep descends,
" And now within the valley bends ;
" And he bears the gift at his saddle bow-
“ How could I deem his courser slow?

Right well my largess shall repay
“ His welcome speed, and weary way.”
The Tartar lighted at the gate,
But scarce upheld his fainting weight:
His swarthy visage spake distress,
But this might be from weariness;
His garb with sanguine spots was dyed,
But these might be from his courser's side ;
He drew the token from his vest-
Angel of Death! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest!
His calpac (31) rent—his caftan red-
“ Lady, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed:

Me, not from mercy, did they spare,
“ But this empurpled pledge to bear.
6 Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt:
6 Wo to the Giaour! for his the guilt.”

715

720

*

*

725

A turban (32) carved in coarsest stone,
A pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown,
Whereon can now be scarcely read
The Koran verse that mourns the dead,
Point out the spot where Hassan fell
A victim in that lonely dell.