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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 :
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!



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:



The sea-birds shriek above the prey,

1085 O’er which their hungry beaks delay, As shaken on his restless pillow, His head heaves with the heaving biilow; That hand, whose motion is not life, Yet feebly seems to menace strife,

1090 Flung by the tossing tide on high,

Then leveli'd with the wave-
What recks it, though that corse shall lie

Within a living grave ?
The bird that tears that prostrate form 1095
Hath only robb’d the meaner worm;
The only heart, the only eye
Had bled or wept to see him die,
Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed,

And mourn'd above his turban-stone, (40) That heart hath burst--that eye was closed

Yea--closed before his own!



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,

1105 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,

1110 The Koran-chanters of the hymn of fate,

lent slaves with folded arms that wait,

Sighs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale,

Tell him thy tale!
Thou didst not view thy Selim fall!

1115 That fearful moment when he left the cave Thy heart


chill : He was thy hope—thy joy—thy love-thine allAnd that last thought on him thou could'st not save Sufficed to kill :

1120 Burst forth in one wild cry—and all was still.

Peace to thy broken heart, and virgin grave! Ah! happy! but of life to lose the worst ! That grief-though deep-though fatal-was thy first! Thrice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the force 1125 Of absence, shame, pride, hate, revenge, remorse! And oh! that pang where more than Madness lies! The worm that will not sleep-and never dies ; Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night, 1129 That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light, That winds around, and tears the quivering heart! Ah! wherefore not consume it-and depart!

Wo to thee, rash and unrelenting chief!

Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head, Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread :

By that same hand Abdallah-Selim bled. 1136 Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief: Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed, She, whom thy sultan had but seen to wed,


Thy Daughter's dead!

1140 Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,

The Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream. What quench'd its ray ?—the blood that thou hast shed! Hark! to the hurried question of Despair 1144 Where is my child ?" an Echo answers“ –Where?” (42)




Within the place of thousand tombs

That shine beneath, while dark above The sad but living cypress glooms

And withers not, though branch and leaf
Are stamp'd with an eternal grief,

Like early unrequited love,
One spot exists, which ever blooms,

Ev'n in that deadly grove-
A single rose is shedding there

Its lonely lustre, meek and pale: It looks as planted by Despair

So white-so faint-the slightest gale Might whirl the leaves on high;

And yet, though storms and blight assail, And hands more rude than wintry sky May wring it from the stem-in vain

-morrow sees it bloom again! The stalk some spirit gently rears, And waters with celestial tears ;

For well may maids of Helle deem



That this can be no earthly flower,
Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,
And buds unshelter'd by a bower;
Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower,
Nor woos the summer beam:

1170 To it the livelong night there sings

A bird unseen- --but not remote:
Invisible his airy wings,
But soft as harp that Houri strings
His long entrancing note!

1175 It were the Bulbul ; but his throat,

Though mournful, pours not such a strain :
For they who listen cannot leave
The spot, but linger there and grieve
As if they loved in vain!

1180 And yet so sweet the tears they shed, 'Tis sorrow so unmix'd with dread, They scarce can bear the morn to break

That melancholy spell,
And longer yet would weep and wake, 1185

He sings so wild and well!
But when the day-blush bursts from high
Expires that magic melody.
And some have been who could believe,
(So fondly youthful dreams deceive,

Yet harsh be they that blame)
That note so piercing and profound
Will shape and syllable its sound

Into Zuleika's name. (43)

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