When, her last hope for ever gone, 975 980 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, 985 The fearful lights are gleaming red; Nor these alone-for each right hand Is ready with a sheathless brand. And now almost they touch the cave--- 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. 990 995 1000 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. "Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war! "If in this strife I seek thy sire! 1005 1010 1015 1020 XXIV. One bound he made, and gain'd the sand: The foremost of the prying band; A gasping head, a quivering trunk: And almost met the meeting wave: His boat appears-not five oars' length 1025 His comrades strain with desperate strength-1030 Oh! are they yet in time to save? 1035 Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd his chain. Sad proof, in peril and in pain, How late will Lover's hope remain ! 1050 His back was to the dashing spray; Behind, but close, his comrades lay, "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: 1060 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; That strand of strife may bear, And fragments of each shiver'd brand; May there be mark'd; nor far remote 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 And cast on Lemnos' shore: 1065 1070 1075 1080 And mourn'd above his turban-stone, (40) 1100 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? The Koran-chanters of the hymn of fate, silent slaves with folded arms that wait, 1105 1110 |