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When, her last hope for ever gone,
The mother harden'd into stone;
All in the maid that eye could see
Was but a younger Niobé.
But ere her lip, or even her eye,
Essay'd to speak, or look reply,

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Beneath the garden's wicket porch

Far flash'd on high a blazing torch!

Another-and another-and another

[ther!"

“Oh! fly—no more—yet now my more than bro

Far, wide, through every thicket spread,

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The fearful lights are gleaming red;

Nor these alone-for each right hand

Is ready with a sheathless brand.
They part, pursue, return, and wheel
With searching flambeau, shining steel;
And last of all, his sabre waving,
Stern Giaffir in his fury raving:

And now almost they touch the cave---
Oh! must that grot be Selim's grave?

XXIII.

Dauntless he stood---""Tis come---soon past-"One kiss, Zuleika---'tis my last:

"But yet my band not far from shore "May hear this signal, see the flash; "Yet now too few---the attempt were rash : "No matter---yet one effort more.'

Forth to the cavern mouth he stept;

His pistol's echo rang on high.

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Zuleika started not, nor wept,

"They hear me not, or if they ply

Despair benumb'd her breast and eye !--

"Their oars, 'tis but to see me die;

"That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh.
"Then forth my father's scimitar,

"Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war!
"Farewell, Zuleika!-Sweet! retire:
"Yet stay within-here linger safe,
"At thee his rage will only chafe.
"Stir not-lest even to thee perchance.
"Some erring blade or ball should glance.
"Fear'st thou for him ?-may I expire

"If in this strife I seek thy sire!
"No-though by him that poison pour'd;
"No-though again he call me coward!
"But tamely shall I meet their steel?
"No-as each crest save his may feel!"

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XXIV.

One bound he made, and gain'd the sand:
Already at his feet hath sunk

The foremost of the prying band;

A gasping head, a quivering trunk:
Another falls-but round him close
A swarming circle of his foes;
From right to left his path he cleft,

And almost met the meeting wave:

His boat appears-not five oars' length

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His comrades strain with desperate strength-1030

Oh! are they yet in time to save?
His feet the foremost breakers lave;
His band are plunging in the bay,
Their sabres glitter through the spray;
Wet-wild-unwearied to the strand
They struggle-now they touch the land!
They come—'tis but to add to slaughter—
His heart's best blood is on the water!

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Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd his chain.

Sad proof, in peril and in pain,

How late will Lover's hope remain !

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His back was to the dashing spray;

Behind, but close, his comrades lay,
When, at the instant, hiss'd the ball-

"So may the foes of Giaffir fall!"

Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang? 1055 Whose bullet through the night-air sang,

Too nearly, deadly aim'd to err? 'Tis thine-Abdallah's Murderer! The father slowly rued thy hate,

The son hath found a quicker fate:

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Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling,

The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling

If aught his lips essay'd to groan,

The rushing billows choak'd the tone!

XXVI.

Morn slowly rolls the clouds away;
Few trophies of the fight are there:
The shouts that shook the midnight-bay
Are silent; but some signs of fray

That strand of strife may bear,

And fragments of each shiver'd brand;
Steps stamp'd; and dash'd into the sand
The print of many a struggling hand

May there be mark'd; nor far remote
A broken torch, an oarless boat;
And tangled on the weeds that heap
The beach where shelving to the deep

There lies a white Capote!

'Tis rent in twain-one dark-red stain

The wave yet ripples o'er in vain :

But where is he who wore ?

Ye! who would o'er his relics weep
Go, seek them where the surges sweep
Their burthen round Sigæum's steep

And cast on Lemnos' shore:

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And mourn'd above his turban-stone, (40)

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That heart hath burst-that eye was closed

Yea--closed before his own!

XXVII.

By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail!

And woman's eye is wet-man's cheek is pale :

Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race,

Thy destin'd lord is come too late;

He sees not-ne'er shall see thy face!

Can he not hear

The loud Wul-wulleh (41) warn his distant ear?
Thy handmaids weeping at the gate,

The Koran-chanters of the hymn of fate,

silent slaves with folded arms that wait,

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