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He wander'd on, along the beach,

Till within the range of a carbine's reach

Of the leaguer'd wall; but they saw him not,
Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot?
Did traitors lurk in the Christians' hold?

Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts wax'd cold?
I know not, in sooth; but from yonder wall

There flash'd no fire, and there hiss'd no ball,
Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown,
That flank'd the sea-ward gate of the town;
Though he heard the sound, and could almost tell
The sullen words of the sentinel,

As his measured step on the stone below
Clank'd, as he paced it to and fro;

And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall
Hold o'er the dead their carnival,

Gorging and growling o'er carcass and limb;

They were too busy to bark at him!

From a Tartar's skull they had stripp'd the flesh,

As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh ;

And their white tusks crunch'd o'er the whiter skull,(4) As it slipp'd through their jaws, when their edge grew dull, As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead,

When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed; So well had they broken a lingering fast

With those who had fallen for that night's repast.

And Alp knew, by the turbans that roll'd on the sand,
The foremost of these were the best of his band:
Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear,
And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair,(5)
All the rest was shaven and bare.

The scalps were in the wild dog's maw,
The hair was tangled round his jaw.

But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf,
There sat a vulture flapping a wolf,

Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away,
Scared by the dogs, from the human prey;
But he seized on his share of a steed that lay,
Pick'd by the birds, on the sands of the bay.

XVII.

Alp turn'd him from the sickening sight:
Never had shaken his nerves in fight;

But he better could brook to behold the dying,
Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying,
Scorch'd with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain,
Than the perishing dead who are past all pain.
There is something of pride in the perilous hour,
Whate'er be the shape in which death may lower;
For Fame is there to say who bleeds,

And Honour's eye on daring deeds!

But when all is past, it is humbling to tread
O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead,

And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air,
Beasts of the forest, all gathering there;

All regarding man as their prey,

All rejoicing in his decay.

XVIII.

There is a temple in ruin stands,
Fashion'd by long-forgotten hands ;

Two or three columns, and many a stone,
Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown!

Out upon Time! it will leave no more

Of the things to come than the things before!
Out upon Time! who for ever will leave

But enough of the past for the future to grieve

O'er that which hath been, and o'er that which must be:
What we have seen, our sons shall see ;

Remnants of things that have pass'd away,
Fragments of stone, rear'd by creatures of clay!

XIX.

He sate him down at a pillar's base,
And pass'd his hand athwart his face;
Like one in dreary musing mood,
Declining was his attitude;

His head was drooping on his breast,
Fever'd, throbbing, and opprest;

And o'er his brow, so downward bent,
Oft his beating fingers went,

Hurriedly, as you may see

Your own run over the ivory key,
Ere the measured tone is taken

By the chords you would awaken.
There he sate all heavily,

As he heard the night-wind sigh.

Was it the wind, through some hollow stone,(6)

Sent that soft and tender moan?

He lifted his head, and he look'd on the sea,

But it was unrippled as glass may be;

He look'd on the long grass-it waved not a blade;

How was that gentle sound convey'd?

He look'd to the banners—each flag lay still,

So did the leaves on Citharon's hill,

And he felt not a breath come over his cheek;
What did that sudden sound bespeak?

He turn'd to the left-is he sure of sight?
There sate a lady, youthful and bright!

XX.

He started up with more of fear
Than if an armed foe were near.
"God of my fathers! what is here?
Who art thou, and wherefore sent
So near a hostile armament?"
His trembling hands refused to sign
The cross he deem'd no more divine:
He had resumed it in that hour,
But conscience wrung away the power.
He gazed, he saw : he knew the face
Of beauty, and the form of grace;
It was Francesca by his side,

The maid who might have been his bride!
The rose was yet upon her cheek,
But mellow'd with a tenderer streak:

Where was the play of her soft lips fled?
Gone was the smile that enliven'd their red.
The ocean's calm within their view,
Beside her eye had less of blue;
But like that cold wave it stood still,
And its glance, though clear, was chill.
Around her form a thin robe twining,
Nought conceal'd her bosom shining;
Through the parting of her hair,
Floating darkly downward there,

nded arm show'd white and bare:

And ere yet she made reply,
Once she raised her hand on high;

It was so wan, and transparent of hue,

You might have seen the moon shine through.

XXI.

"I come from my rest to him I love best, That I may be happy, and he may be blest. I have pass'd the guards, the gate, the wall; Sought thee in safety through foes and all. "Tis said the lion will turn and flee

From a maid in the pride of her purity;

And the Power on high, that can shield the good
Thus from the tyrant of the wood,

Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well
From the hands of the leaguering infidel.
I come-and if I come in vain,

Never, oh never, we meet again!

Thou hast done a fearful deed

In falling away from thy father's creed:
But dash that turban to earth, and sign
The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine;
Wring the black drop from thy heart,

And to-morrow unites us no more to part."
"And where should our bridal couch be spread?
In the midst of the dying and the dead?
For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame
The sons and the shrines of the Christian name.
None, save thou and thine, I've sworn,

Shall be left upon the morn:

But thee will I bear to a lovely spot,

Where our hands shall be join'd, and our sorrow forgot.

VOL. III.

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