What recks it, though that corse shall lie
Within a living grave?

The bird that tears that prostrate form

Hath only robbed the meaner worm;

The only heart, the only eye

Had bled or wept to see him die,

Had seen those scattered limbs composed,

And mourned above his turban-stone,"

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 destined lord is come too late :

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

The loud Wul-wulleh 3 warn his distant ear?

Thy handmaids weeping at the gate,

i. And that changed hand whose only life
Is motion-seems to menace strife.--[MS.]

IIIO

1. ["While the Salsette lay off the Dardanelles, Lord Byron saw the body of a man who had been executed by being cast into the sea, floating on the stream, moving to and fro with the tumbling of the water, which gave to his arms the effect of scaring away several sea-fowl that were hovering to devour. This incident he has strikingly depicted in the Bride of Abydos."-Life of Lord Byron, by John Galt, 1830, p. 144.]

2. A turban is carved in stone above the graves of men only. 3. The death-song of the Turkish women. The "silent slaves are the men, whose notions of decorum forbid complaint in public.

i.

The Koran-chanters of the Hymn of Fate, 1

The silent 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!

That fearful moment when he left the cave

He was thy hope-thy joy-thy love-thine all,

And that last thought on him thou could'st not save

Sufficed to kill;

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!

1120

That grief-though deep-though fatal-was thy first
Thrice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the force

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,
That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light, 1130
That winds around, and tears the quivering heart!
Ah! wherefore not consume it-and depart!

i. The Koran-chapter chaunts thy fate.—[MS.]

1. [At a Turkish funeral, after the interment has taken place, the Imâm "assis sur les genoux à côté de la tombe," offers the prayer Telkin, and at the conclusion of the prayer recites the Fathah, or "opening chapter" of the Korân. ("In the name of the merciful and compassionate God. Praise belongs to God, the Lord of the worlds, the Merciful, the Compassionate, the Ruler of the day of judgment. Thee we serve, and Thee we ask for aid. Guide us in the right path, the path of those Thou art gracious to; not of those Thou art wroth with; nor of those who err."-The Qur'ân, p. I, translated by E. H. Palmer, Oxford, 1880): Tableau Générale de l'Empire Ottoman, par Mouradja D'Ohsson, Paris, 1787, i. 235-248. Writing to Murray, November 14, 1813, Byron instances the funeral (in the Bride of Abydos) as proof of his correctness with regard to local colouring.-Letters, 1898, ii. 283.]

Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting Chief!

Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head,

Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread:1
By that same hand Abdallah-Selim bled.
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!

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

1140

The Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream. What quenched its ray ?-the blood that thou hast shed! Hark! to the hurried question of Despair:

2

"Where is my child?"-an Echo answers-" Where ?" 3

XXVIII.

Within the place of thousand tombs

That shine beneath, while dark above

The sad but living cypress glooms

ii.

And withers not, though branch and leaf
Are stamped with an eternal grief,

Like early unrequited Love,

i. She whom thy Sultan had been fain to wed.—[MS.]
ii. There the sad cypress ever glooms.—[MS.]

1150

1. ["I one evening witnessed a funeral in the vast cemetery of Scutari. An old man, with a venerable beard, threw himself by the side of the narrow grave, and strewing the earth on his head, cried aloud, 'He was my son! my only son!'"-Constantinople in 1828, by Charles Macfarlane, 1829, p. 233, note.]

2. [The body of a Moslemin is ordered to be carried to the grave in haste, with hurried steps."-Ibid., p. 233, note.]

3. "I came to the place of my birth, and cried, "The friends of my Youth, where are they?' and an Echo answered, Where are they?'"-From an Arabic MS. The above quotation (from which the idea in the text is taken) must be already familiar to every reader it is given in the second annotation, p. 67, of The Pleasures of Memory [note to Part I. line 103]; a poem so well known as to render a reference almost superfluous: but to whose pages all will be delighted to recur [Poems, by Samuel Rogers, 1852, i. 48].

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—
To-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,

1160

Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,
And buds unsheltered by a bower;

Nor droops, though Spring refuse her shower,

Nor woos the Summer beam :
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 !

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 !

1170

1180

And yet so sweet the tears they shed, 'Tis sorrow so unmixed with dread,

They scarce can bear the morn to break

That melancholy spell,

And longer yet would weep and wake,

I.

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 1 its sound
Into Zuleika's name.

'Tis from her cypress summit heard,
That melts in air the liquid word:
"Tis from her lowly virgin earth
That white rose takes its tender birth.

i. But with the day blush of the sky.—[MS.]
ii. And some there be who could believe.-[MS.]

1190

"And airy tongues that syllable men's names." MILTON, Comus, line 208.

For a belief that the souls of the dead inhabit the form of birds, we need not travel to the East. Lord Lyttleton's ghost story, the belief of the Duchess of Kendal, that George I. flew into her window in the shape of a raven (see Orford's Reminiscences, Lord Orford's Works, 1798, iv. 283), and many other instances, bring this superstition nearer home. The most singular was the whim of a Worcester lady, who, believing her daughter to exist in the shape of a singing bird, literally furnished her pew in the cathedral with cages full of the kind; and as she was rich, and a benefactress in beautifying the church, no objection was made to her harmless folly. For this anecdote, see Orford's Letters.

["But here (at Gloucester) is a modernity, which beats all antiquities for curiosity. Just by the high altar is a small pew hung with green damask, with curtains of the same; a small corner-cupboard, painted, carved, and gilt, for books, in one corner, and two troughs of a bird-cage, with seeds and water. If any mayoress on earth was small enough to inclose herself in this tabernacle, or abstemious enough to feed on rape and canary, I should have sworn that it was the shrine of the queen of the aldermen. It belongs to a Mrs. Cotton, who, having lost a favourite daughter, is convinced her soul is transmigrated into a robin redbreast, for which reason she passes her life in making an aviary of the cathedral of Gloucester."-Letter to Richard Bentley, September, 1753 (Lord Orford's Works, 1798, v. 279).]

VOL. III,

P