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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!
* * * * * * * *

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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,
Falln Hassan lies—his unclosed eye
Yet lowering on his enemy,
As if the hour that seald his fate
Surviving left his quenchless hate ;
And o'er him bends that foe with brow
As dark as his that bled below.-.

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“ 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 6 Arose unheeded or unheard. 6 Thou Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer “ Be pass'd, and thine accorded there? “ I watch'd my time, I leagued with these, “ The traitor in his turn to seize; “My wrath is wreak'd, the deed is done, 6 And now I go-but go alone.” * * * * * * * * *

* * * *

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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, But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower: 56 Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet, “ Nor shrink they from the summer heat; 66 Why sends not the Bridegroom his promised gift? “ Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift? 700

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“ Oh, false reproach! yon Tartar now
“ Has gain'd our nearest mountain's brow,
6 And warily the steep descends,
66 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.
“ Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt:
6 Wo to the Giaour! for his the guilt.”
* * * * * * * *

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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.


There sleeps as true an Osmanlie
As e'er at Mecca bent the knee;
As ever scorn'd forbidden wine,
Or pray'd with face towards the shrine,
In orisons resumed anew
At solemn sound of “ Alla Hu!” (33)
Yet died he by a stranger's hand,

And stranger in his native land;
Yet died he as in arms he stood,
And unavenged, at least in blood.
But him the maids of Paradise
Impatient to their halls invite,

740 And the dark Heaven of Houri's eyes

On him shall glance for ever bright; They come—their kerchiefs green they wave, (34) And welcome with a kiss the brave! Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour

745 Is worthiest an immortal bower. * * * * * * *

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But thou, false Infidel! shalt writhe
Beneath avenging Monkir's (35) scythe;
And from its torment ’scape alone
To wander round lost Eblis' (36) throne;
And fire unquench'd, unquenchable,
Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;
Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell
The tortures of that inward hell !
But first, on earth as Vampire (37) sent,
Thy corse sball from its tomb be rent:

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Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race;
There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life ;
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce
Must feed thy livid living corse :
Thy victims ere they yet expire
Shall know the dæmon for their sire,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are wither'd on the stem.
But one that for thy crime must fall,
The youngest, most beloved of all,
Shall bless thee with a father's name-
That word shall wrap thy heart in flame!
Yet must thou end thy task, and mark
Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,
And the last glassy glance must view
Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue;
Then with unhallow'd hand shalt tear
The tresses of her yellow hair,
Of which in life a lock when shorn
Affection's fondest pledge was worn;
But now is borne away by thee,
Memorial of thine agony!
Wet with thine own best blood shall drip (38)
Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip;
Then stalking to thy sullen grave,
Go-and with Gouls and Afrits rave;

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