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Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
To thee, old man, my deeds appear : I read abhorrence on thy brow,
And this too was I born to bear ! 'T is true, that, like that bird of prey, With havock have I mark'd my way : But this was taught me by the dove, To die -- and know no second love. This lesson yet hath man to learn, Taught by the thing he dares to spurn: The bird that sings within the brake, The swan that swims upon the lake, One mate, and one alone, will take. And let the fool still prone to range,' And sneer on all who cannot change, Partake his jest with boasting boys ; I envy not his varied joy's, But deem such feeble, heartless man, Less than yon solitary swan; Far, far beneath the shallow maid He left believing and betray'd. Such shame at least was never mine Leila ! each thought was only thine ! My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe, My hope on high — my all below. Earth holds no other like to thee, Or, if it doth, in vain for me : For worlds I dare not view the dame Resembling thee, yet not the same. The very crimes that mar my youth, This bed of death — attest my truth ! 'Tis all too late — thou wert, thou art The cherish'd madness of my heart !
And calm the lonely lioness :
But soothe not - mock not my distress! • In earlier days, and calmer hours,
When heart with heart delights to blend, Where bloom my native valley's bowers +
I had — Ah ! have I now? — a friend !
Memorial of a youthful vow;
Though souls absorb'd like mine allow
And I have smiled — I then could smile -
And warn— I reck'd not what the while :
And he will start to hear their truth,
And wish his words had not been sooth:
Through many a busy bitter scene
Of all our golden youth had been,
“ And she was lost -- and yet I breathed,
But not the breath of human life :
And stung my every thought to strife.
That sneers his coxcomb ridicule.” – MS.) ? The monk's sermon is omitted. It seems to have had so little effect upon the patient, that it could have no hopes frozu the reader. It may be sufficient to say, that it was of a cus. tomary length (35 may be perceived from the interruptions and uneasiness of the patient), and was delivered in the usual tone of all orthodox preachers.
" Tell me no more of fancy's gleam,
No, father, no, 't was not a dream ;
They told me wild waves roll'd above
Which now I gaze on, as on her,
“ Such is my name, and such my tale.
Confessor! to thy secret ear I breathe the sorrows I bewail,
And thank thee for the generous tear This glazing eye could never shed. Then lay me with the humblest dead, And, save the cross above my head, Be neither name nor emblem spread, By prying stranger to be read, Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread. "?
He passid - nor of his name and race Hath left a token or a trace, Save what the father must not say Who shrived him on his dying day : This broken tale was all we knews Of her he loved, or him be slew. *
1 [" Which now I view with trembling spark."- MS.]
? The circumstance to which the above story relates was not very uncommon in Turkey. A few years ago the wife of Muchtar Pacha complained to his father of his son's supposed infidelity; he asked with whom, and she had the barbarity to give in a list of the twelve handsomest women in Yanina They were seized, fastened up in sacks, and drowned in the lake the same night! One of the guards who was present informed me, that not one of the victims uttered a cry, or showed a symptom of terror at so sudden a "wrench from all we know, from all we love." The fate of Phrosine, the fairest of this sacrifice, is the subject of many a Romaic and Arnaout ditty. The story in the text is one told of a young Venetian many years ago, and now nearly forgotten. I heard it by accident recited by one of the coffee-house story-tellers who abound in the Levant, and sing or recite their narratives. The additions and interpolations by the translator will be easily distinguished from the rest, by the want of Eastern imagery; and I regret that my memory has retained so few fragments of the original. For the contents of some of the notes I am indebted partly to D'Herbelot, and partly to that most Eastern, and, as Mr. Weber justly entitles it, "sublime tale," the “ Caliph Vachek." I do not know from what source the author of that singular volume may have drawn his materials; some of his incidents are to be found in the “ Biblio
thèque Orientale ; " but for correctness of costume, beauty of description, and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imitations, and bears such marks of originality, that those who have visited the East will find some difficulty in believing it to be more than a translation. As an Eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it ; his " Happy Valley" will not bear a comparison with the “ Hall of Eblis." [“ Nor whether most he mourn'd none knew,
For her he loved, or him he slew." - MS.] + [In this poem, which was published after the two first cantos of Childe Harold, Lord Byron began to show his powers. He had now received encouragement which set free his daring hands, and gave his strokes their natural force. Here, then, we first find passages of a tone peculiar to Lord Byron ; but still this appearance was not uniforin : he often returned to his trammels, and reminds us of the inanner of some favourite predecessor : mong these, I think we some. times catch the notes of Sir Walter Scott. But the internal tempest – the deep passion, sometimes buried, and sometimes blazing from some incidental touch – the intensity of agonis. ing reflection, which will always distinguish Lord Byron from other writers – now began to display themselves. - Sie EGERTON BRYDGES.]
The Bride of Abydos,
A TURKISH TALE.
" Had we nerer loved so kindly,
Had we never loved so blindly,
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD HOLLAND,
THIS TALE IS INSCRIBED,
WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD AND RESPECT,
BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED AND SINCERE FRIEND,
The Bride of Abydos.
CANTO THE FIRST.
Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell
Deep thought was in his aged eye;
Not oft betrays to standers by
1. Ksow ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 3
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime ?
III. · Let the chamber be clear'd.". The train dis
And the Nubian awaiting the sire's award.
1 [The Bride of Abydos " was published in the beginning 3 [" Murray tells me that Croker asked him why the thing of December, 1913. The mood of mind in which it was struck is called the Bride of Abydos ? It is an awkward question, off is thus stated by Lord Byron, in a letter to Mr. Gifford : being unanswerable: she is nct a bride ; only about to be one.
* You have been good enough to look at a thing of mine in I don't wonder at his finding out the Bull but the detection MS. - a Turkish story - and I should feel gratified if you is too late to do any good. I was a great fool to have made would do it the same favour in its probationary state of it, and am ashamed of not being an Irirhman." - Byron printing. It was written, I cannot say for amusement, nor Diary, Dec. 6. 1813.) onliged by hunger and request of friends,' but in a state of
3 [To the Bride of Abydos, Lord Byron made many addimind, from circumstances which occasionally occur to 'us tions during its progress through the press, amounting to youth,' that rendered it necessary for me to apply my mind about two hundred lines; and, as in the case of the Giaour, to something, any thing, but reality ; and under this not very
the passages so added will be seen to be some of the most brilliant inspiration it was composed. Send it either to the splendid in the whole poem. These openin: lines, which are fardes, or
among the new insertions, are supposed to have been sug. "A hundred hawkers' load,
gested by a song of Goethe's On wings of winds to fly or fall abroad.'
" Kennst du das Land wo die citronen blühn."] It deserves no better than the first, as the work of a week,
4 4 Gúl," the rose. and scribbled 'stans pede in uno' (by the bye, the only foot I have to stand on); and I promise never to trouble you again 5“ Souls made of fire, and children of the Sun, under forty cantos, and a voyage between each.")
With whom revenge is virtue." - YOUNG's Revenge.
Hence, lead my daughter from lier tower;
But, Haroun !- to my daughter speed :
“ Pacha ! to hear is to obey."
First lowly rendering reverence meet; And downcast look'd, and gently spake,
Still standing at the Pacha's feet:
At least that met old Giaffir's ear,
« Son of a slave ! - reproach'd with fear!
Those gibes had cost another dear. Son of a slave ! - and who my sire ?"
Thus held his thoughts their dark carecr; And glances ev'n of more than ire
Flash forth, then faintly disappear.
And started; for within his eye
“ Come hither, boy — what, no reply?
" Father ! for fear that thou shouldst chide
My sister, or her sable guide,
That- let the old and weary sleep
The fairest scenes of land and deep, With none to listen and reply To thoughts with which my heart beat high Were irksome — for whate'er my mood, In sooth I love not solitude; I on Zuleika's slumber broke,
And, as thou knowest that for me
Soon turns the haram's grating key, Before the guardian slaves awoke We to the cypress groves had flown, And made earth, main, and heaven our own! There linger we, beguiled long With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song;1 Till I, who heard the deep tambour ? Beat thy Divan's approaching hour, To thee, and to my duty true, Warn'd by the sound, to greet thec few : But there Zuleika wanders yet — Nay, Father, rage not - nor forget That none can pierce that secret bower But those who watch the women's tower."
As sneeringly these accents fell,
That eye return'd him glance for glance,
Till Giaffir's quail'd and shrunk askance And why — he felt, but durst not tell. “ Much I misdoubt this wayward boy Will one day work me more annoy: I never loved him from his birth, And but his arm is little worth, And scarcely in the chase could cope With timid fawn or antelope, Far less would venture into strife Where man contends for fame and life I would not trust that look or tone: No - nor the blood so ncar my own. That blood — he hath not heard I'll watch him closer than before. He is an Arab S to my sight, Or Christian crouching in the fight But hark! - I hear Zuleika's voice;
Like Houris' hymn it mects mine ear :
Oh ! more than ev'n her mother dear,
Such to my longing sight art thou;
Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now."
“ From unbelieving mother bred,
And hurl the dart, and curb the steed,
Thou, Greek in soul if not in crced,
- no more
When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling, 3 The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the compliment a hundred-fold) creo more than they hate the Christians.
1 Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia.
* Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, noon, and twilight.
Whose image then was stamp'd upon her mind
But once beguiled — and ever more beguiling; Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision
To Sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given, When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian,
And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven; Soft, as the memory of buried love ; Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above ; Was she — the daughter of that rude old Chief, Who met the maid with tears - but not of grief.
Who hath not proved how feebly words essay 1
In losing what I love so well,
Was never seen in battle's van.
But yet the line of Carasman +
First of the bold Timariot bands
All that thy sex hath need to know :
And if her eye was fill'd with tcars
And red to pale, as through her ears
What could such be but maiden fears ? So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry; So sweet the blush of Bashfulness, Even Pity scarce can wish it less ! Whate'er it was the sire forgot ; Or if remember'd, mark'd it not; Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd his steed, 6
Resign'd his gem-adorn'd chibouque, ?
Her graceful arms in meekness bending
Across her gently-budding breast;
To clasp the neck of him who blest
VII. · Zuleika! child of gentleness !
How dear this very day must tell, When I forget my own distress,
(These twelve fine lines were added in the course of printing.)
? This expression has met with objections. I will not refer to Hirn who hath not Music in his soul," but merely request the reader to recollect, for ten seconds, the features of the woman whom he believes to be the most beautiful; and, if he thea does not comprehend fully what is feebly expressed in the above line, I shall be sorry for us both for an elo. quent passage in the latest work of the first female writer of this, perhaps of any, age, on the analogy (and the immediate coinparison excited by that analogy) between “ painting and music," see vol. iii. cap. 10. DE L'ALLEMAGNE. And is not this connection still stronger with the original than the copy? with the colouring of Nature than of Art ? After all, this is rather to be felt than described; still I think there are some who will understand it, at least they would have done had ther beheld the countenance whose speaking harmony sug, gested the idea ; for this passage is not drawn from imagiDation but memory, that mirror which Affliction dashes to the earth, and looking down upon the fragments, only beholds the reflection multiplied !-(“ This morning, a very pretty bullet from the Stael. She has been pleased to be pleased with my slight eulogy in the note annexed to the Bride.' This is to be accounted for in several ways :- firstly, all women like all, or any praise ; secondly, this was unexpected, because I have never courted her; and, thirdly, as Scrub sars, those who have been all their lives regularly praised by regular critics, like a little variety, and are glad when any one goes out of his way to say a civil thing; and, fourthly, she is a very good-natured creature, which is the best reason, after all, and, perhaps, the only one."-B. Diary, Dec. 7. 1813.)
(among the imputed plagiarisms so industriously hunted out in his writings, this line has been, with somewhat moro piausibility than is frequent in such charges, included ; the lyric poet Lovelace having, it seems, written “ The melody ant susic of her face." Sir Thomas Browne, too, in his Religio Medici, says, " There is music even in beauty." The
coincidence, no doubt, is worth observing, and the task of
tracking thus a favourite writer in the snow (as Dryden expresses it) of others," is sometimes not unamusing; but to those who found upou such resemblances a general charge of plagiarism, we may apply what Sir Walter Scott says : -" IC is a favourite theme of laborious dulness to trace such coincidences, because they appear to reduce genius of the higher order to the usual standard of humanity, of course to bring the author nearer to a level with his critics." It is not only curious, but instructive, to trace the progress of this passage to its present state of finish. Having at first written
“ Mind on her lip and music in her face," he afterwards altered it to
“ The mind of music breathing in her face"but this not satisfying him, the next step of correction brought the line to what it is at present. MOORE.)
* Carasman Ozlou, or Kara Osman Oglou, is the principal landowner in Turkey; he governs Magnesia : those who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess land on condition of service, are called Timariots : they serve as Spahis, according to the extent of territory, and bring a certain nuinber into the field, generally cavalry.
• When a Pacha is suficiently strong to resist, the single messenger, who is always the tirst bearer of the order for his deach, is strangled instead, and sometimes five or six, one alter the other, on the same errand, by command of the re. fractory patient; if, on the contrary, he is weak or loyal, he bows, kisses the Sultan's respectable signature, and is bow. strung with great complacency. In 1810, several of these presents were exhibited in the niche of the Seraglio gate ; among others, the head of the Pacha of Bagdat, a brave young man, cut off by treachery, after a desperate resistance.
6 Clapping of the hands calls the servants. The Turks hate a supertuous expenditure of voice, and they have no bells.
7 " Chibouque," the Turkish pipe, of which the amber