Yea, Soul, and should our prophet say

That form was nought but breathing clay,

By Alla! I would answer nay;

Though on Al-Sirat's "arch I stood,

480

Ere from the cloud that gave it birth,
It fell, and caught one stain of earth.

Thus armed with beauty would she check
Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze

Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise.

Thus high and graceful was her gait;

Her heart as tender to her mate

Her mate-stern Hassan, who was he?

Alas! that name was not for thee!

Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en

515

With twenty vassals in his train,

520

Each arm'd as best becomes a man
With arquebuss and ataghan;

Which still, though gemm'd and boss'd with gold,

Even robbers tremble to behold.

'Tis said he goes to woo a bride

More true than her who left his side;

The faithless slave that broke her bower,
And, worse than faithless, for a Giaour!-

535

*

The sun's last rays are on the hill, And sparkle in the fountain rill,

Whose welcome waters cool and clear,
Draw blessings from the mountaineer;
Here may the loitering merchant Greek
Find that repose 'twere vain to seek

540

In cities lodg'd too near his lord,
And trembling for his secret hoard-

Here may he rest where none can see,
In crowds a slave, in deserts free;
And with forbidden wine may stain

The bowl a Moslem must not drain.

***

*

*

The foremost Tartar's in the gap,
Conspicuous by his yellow cap,

The rest in lengthening line the while
Wind slowly through the long defile;
Above, the mountain rears a peak,

Where vultures whet the thirsty beak,

And their's may be a feast to-night,

545

550

555

Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light.

Beneath, a river's wintry stream

Has shrunk before the summer beam,

And left a channel bleak and bare,

Save shrubs that spring to perish there,

560

Each side the midway path there lay
Small broken crags of granite gray,

By time or mountain lightning riven,
From summits clad in mists of heaven;

For where is he that hath beheld

The peak of Liakura unveil'd?

They reach the grove of pine at last, "Bismillah! 26 now the peril's past;

565

"For yonder view the opening plain,

"And there we'll prick our steeds amain:"

570

The Chiaus spake, and as he said,

A bullet whistled o'er his head;

The foremost Tartar bites the ground!

Scarce had they time to check the rein Swift from their steeds the riders bound,

But three shall never mount again, Unseen the foes that gave the wound,

The dying ask revenge in vain.

575