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THE winds are high on Helle's wave,

As on that night of stormy water
When Love, who sent, forgot to save
The young, the beautiful, the brave,

The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
Oh! when alone along the sky
Her turret-torch was blazing high,
Though rising gale, and breaking foam,
And shrieking sea-birds warn'd him home;
And clouds aloft and tides below,
With signs and sounds, forbade to go,
He could not see, he would not hear
Or sound or sign foreboding fear;
His eye but saw that light of love,
The only star it hail'd above;
His ear but rang with Hero's song,
“ Ye waves, divide not lovers long!"-
That tale is old, but love anew
May nerve young hearts to prove as true.






The winds are high, and Helle's tide

Rolls darkly heaving to the main ; And Night's descending shadows hide

That field with blood bedew'd in vain,
The desert of old Priam's pride;

The tombs, sole relics of his reign,
All—save immortal dreams that could beguile
The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle!


Oh! yet--for there my steps have been; 510

These feet have press'd the sacred shore, These limbs that buoyant wave hath borneMinstrel ! with thee to muse, to mourn,

To trace again those fields of yore, Believing every hillock green

515 Contains no fabled hero's ashes, And that around the undoubted scene

Thine own“ broad Hellesport" (29) still dashes, Be long my lot! and cold were he Who there could gaze denying thee! 520

The night hath closed on Helle's stream,

Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill
That moon, which shone on his high theme:

arrior chides her peaceful beam,

onscious shepherds bless it still,

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Their flocks are grazing on the mound

Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow:
That mighty heap of gather'd ground
Which Ammon's (24) son ran proudly round,
By nations raised, by monarchs crown'd,

Is now a lone and nameless barrow !
Within-thy dwelling-place how narrow!
Without-can only strangers breathe
The name of him that was beneath:
Dust long outlasts the storied stone;
But Thou-thy very dust is gone!

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Late, late to-night will Dian cheer
The swain, and chase the boatman's fear;
Till then--no beacon on the cliff
May shape the course of struggling skiff;
The scatter'd lights that skirt the bay,
All, one by one, have died away;
The only lamp of this lone hour
Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower.

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Yes! there is light in that lone chamber,

And o'er her silken Ottoman
Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber,

O'er which her fairy fingers ran; (25)
Near these, with emerald rays beset,
(How could she thus that gem forget?)
Her mother's sainted amulet, (26)

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Whereon engraved the Koorsee text,
Could smooth this life, and win the next; .
And by her Comboloio (27) lies
A Koran of illumined dyes;

And many a bright emblazon'd rhyme
By Persian scribes redeem'd from time;
And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,
Reclines her now neglected lute;
And round her lamp of fretted gold
Bloom flowers in urns of China's mould ;
The richest work of Iran's loom,
And Sheeraz' tribute of perfume;
All that can eye or sense delight

Are gather'd in that gorgeous room: 565

But yet it hath an air of gloom.
She, of this Peri cell the sprite,
What doth she hence, and on so rude a night?


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VI. Wrapt in the darkest sable vest,

Which none save noblest Moslem wear,
To guard from winds of heaven the breast

As heaven itself to Selim dear,
With cautious steps the thicket threading,

And starting oft, as through the glade

The gust its hollow moanings made, Till on the smoother pathway treading,

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