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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.


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)


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

560 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?



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,


More free her timid bosom beat,

The maid pursued her silent guide;
And though her terror urged retreat,

How could she quit her Selim's side ?
How teach her tender lips to chide ?




They reach'd at length a grotto, hewn

By nature, but enlarged by art,
Where oft her lute she wont to tune,

And oft her Koran conn'd apart;
And oft in youthful reverie
She dream'd what Paradise might be:
Where woman's parted soul shall go
Her Prophet had disdain'd to show;
But Selim's mansion was secure,
Nor deem'd she, could he long endure
His bower in other worlds of bliss,
Without her, most beloved in this!
Oh! who so dear with him could dwell?
What Houri soothe him half so well ?




Since last she visited the spot
Some changé seem'd wrought within the grot:
It might be only that the night
Disguised things seen by better light:
That brazen lamp but dimly threw

600 A ray of no celestial hue;


But in a nook within the cell
Her eye on stranger objects fell.
There arms were piled, not such as wield
The turban'd Delis in the field;
But brands of foreign blade and hilt,
And one was red-perchance with guilt!
Ah! how without can blood be spilt?
A cup too on the board was set
That did not seem to hold sherbet.

this mean? she turn'd to see Her Selim_" Oh! can this be he?"





His robe of pride was thrown aside,

His brow no high-crown'd turban bore,
But in its stead a shawl of red,

Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore:
That dagger, on whose hilt the gem
Were worthy of a diadem,
No longer glitter'd at his waist,
Where pistols unadorn'd were braced;
And from his belt a sabre swung,
And from his shoulder loosely hung
The cloak of white, the thin capote
That decks the wandering Candiote:
Beneath-his golden plated vest
Clung like a cuirass to his breast;
The greaves below his knee that wound
With silvery scales were sheathed and bound.



But were it not that high command
Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand,
All that a careless eye could see
In him was some young Galiongée. (28)


" I said I was not what I seem'd;

“ And now thou seest my words were true: I have a tale thou hast not dream'd,

635 “ If sooth-its truth must others rue. My story now 'twere vain to hide, " I must not see thee Osman's bride: “ But had not thine own lips declared “ How much of that young heart I shared, 640 “I could not, must not, yet have shown • The darker secret of my own. “ In this I speak not now of love; “ That, let time, truth, and peril prove: “ But first-Oh! never wed another

645 “ Zuleika! I am not thy brother !"



“ Oh! not my brother!-yet unsay

6 God! am I left alone on earth “ To mourn I dare not curse- -the day

" That saw my solitary birth? " Oh! thou wilt love me now no more!

“ My sinking heart foreboded ill; “But know me all I was before,

“ Thy sister-friend--Zuleika still.

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