Oh! yet

for there my steps have been ;
These feet have press'd the sacred shore,
These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne
Minstrel with thee to muse, to mourn,
To trace again those fields of yore,
Believing every hillock green

Contains no fabled hero's ashes,
And that around the undoubted scene

Thine own "broad Hellespont " (1) still dashes,

Be long my lot! and cold were he

Who there could gaze denying thee!

IV.

The night hath closed on Helle's stream,
Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill
That moon, which shone on his high theme:
No warrior chides her peaceful beam,

But conscious shepherds bless it still,
Their flocks are grazing on the mound
Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow :
That mighty heap of gather'd ground
Which Ammon's (2) son ran proudly round.
By nations raised, by monarchs crown'd,
Is now a lone and nameless barrow !

-

Within thy dwelling-place how narrow!
Within -can only strangers breathe
The name of him that was beneath:
Dust long outlasts the storied stone;
But Thou- thy very dust is gone!

V.

Late, late to-night will Dian cheer

The swain, and chase the boatman's fear;

(1) The wrangling about this epithet," the broad Hellespont" or the "boundless Hellespont," whether it means one or the other, or what it means at all, has been beyond all possibility of detail. I have even heard it disputed on the spot; and not foreseeing a speedy conclusion to the controversy, amused myself with swimming across it in the mean time, and probably may again, before the point is settled. In deed, the question as to the truth of "the tale of Troy divine" still continues, much of it resting upon the talismanic word "ancipos:" probably Homer had the same notion of distance that a coquette has of time, and when he talks of boundless, means half a mile; as the latter, by a like figure, when she says eternal attachment, simply specifies three weeks.

(2) Before his Persian invasion, and crowned the altar with laurel, &c. He was afterwards imitated by Caracalla in his race. It is believed that the last also poisoned a friend, named Festus, for the sake of new Patroclan games. I have seen the sheep feeding on the tombs of sietes and Antilochus; the first is in the centre of the plain.

Till then

no beacon on the cliff

May shape the course of struggling skiff;
The scatter'd lights that skirt the bay,
All, one by one, have died away;
The only lamp of this lone hour
Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower.
Yes! there is light in that lone chamber,
And o'er her silken Ottoman

Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber,
O'er which her fairy fingers ran; (1)
Near these, with emerald rays beset,
(How could she thus that gem forget?)
Her mother's sainted amulet, (2)
Whereon engraved the Koorsee text,
Could smooth this life, and win the next;
And by her comboloio (3) lies
A Koran of illumined dyes ;

And many a bright emblazon'd rhyme
By Persian scribes redeem'd from time;
And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,
Reclines her now neglected lute;
And round her lamp of fretted gold
Bloom flowers in urns of China's mould;
The richest work of Iran's loom,

And Sheeraz' tribute of perfume;
All that can eye or sense delight

Are gather'd in that gorgeous room:
But yet it hath an air of gloom.

She, of this Peri cell the sprite,

What doth she hence, and on so rude a night?

VI.

Wrapt in the darkest sable vest,

Which none save noblest Moslem wear,
To guard from winds of heaven the breast
As heaven itself to Selim dear,

(1) When rubbed, the amber is susceptible of a perfume, which is slight but not disagreeable.

(2) The belief in amulets engraved on gems, or enclosed in gold boxes, containing scraps from the Koran, worn round the neck, wrist, or arm, is still universal in the East. The Koorsee (throne) verse in the second chap. of the Koran describes the attributes of the Most High, and is engraved in this manner, and worn by the pious, as the most esteemed and sublime of all sentences.

(3) "Comboloio". a Turkish rosary. The MSS., particularly those of the Persians, are richly adorned and illuminated. The Greek females are kept in utter ignorance; but many of the Turkish girls are highly accomplished, though not actually qualified for a Christian coterie. Perhaps some of our own "blues" might not be the worse for bleaching.

With cautious steps the thicket threading,
And starting oft, as through the glade
The gust its hollow moanings made,
Till on the smoother pathway treading,
More free her timid bosom beat,

The maid pursued her silent guide ;
And though her terror urged retreat,
How could she quit her Selim's side?
How teach her tender lips to chide?

VII.

They reach'd at length a grotto, hewn
By nature, but enlarged by art,
Where oft her lute she wont to tune,
And oft her Koran conn'd apart;
And oft in youthful reverie

She dream'd what Paradise might be
Where woman's parted soul shall go
Her Prophet had disdain'd to show;
But Selim's mansion was secure,
Nor deem'd she, could he long endure
His bower in other worlds of bliss,
Without her, most beloved in this!
Oh! who so dear with him could dwell?
What Houri soothe him half so well?

VIII.

Since last she visited the spot

Some change seem'd wrought within the grot:

It might be only that the night

Disguised things seen by better light:

That brazen lamp but dimly threw

A ray of no celestial hue;

But in a nook within the cell

Her eye on stranger objects fell.

There arms were piled, not such as wield

The turban'd Delis in the field;

But brands of foreign blade and hilt,
And one was red - perchance with guilt!
Ah! how without can blood be spilt ?
A cup too on the board was set
That did not seem to hold sherbet.
What may this mean? she turn'd to see

Her Selim "Oh! can this be he?"

IX.

His robe of pride was thrown aside,

His brow no high-crown'd turban bore,
But in its stead a shawl of red,

Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore :
That dagger, on whose hilt the gem
Were worthy of a diadem,

No longer glitter'd at his waist,
Where pistols unadorn'd were braced;
And from his belt a sabre swung,
And from his shoulder loosely hung
The cloak of white, the thin capote
That decks the wandering Candiote;
Beneath his golden-plated vest

Clung like a cuirass to his breast;
The greaves below his knee that wound
With silvery scales were sheathed and bound.
But were it not that high command

Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand,

All that a careless

eye could see

In him was some young Galiongée. (1)

X.

"I said I was not what I seem'd ;

And now thou see'st my words were true :
I have a tale thou hast not dream'd,
If sooth-its truth must others rue.
My story now 't were vain to hide;
I must not see thee Osman's bride :
But had not thine own lips declared
How much of that young heart I shared,
I could not, must not, yet have shown
The darker secret of my own.
In this I speak not now of love e;
That, let time, truth, and peril prove :
But first-Oh! never wed another
Zuleika! I am not thy brother! "

(1)" Galiongée". —or Galiongi, a sailor, that is, a Turkish sailor; the Greeks navigate, the Turks work the guns. Their dress is picturesque; and I have seen the Capitan Pacha more than once wearing it as a kind of incog. Their legs, however, are generally naked. The buskins described in the text as sheathed behind with silver are those of an Arnaut robber, who was my host, (he had quitted the profession,) at his Pyrgo, near Gastouni in the Morea; they were plated in scales one over the other, like the back of an armadillo.

XI.

"Oh! not my brother! —yet unsay -
God! am I left alone on earth
To mourn-I dare not curse -the day

That saw my solitary birth?

-

Oh! thou wilt love me now no more!
My sinking heart foreboded ill;
But know me all I was before,

Thy sister-friend

- Zuleika still.

Thou led'st me here perchance to kill ;
If thou hast cause for vengeance, see!
My breast is offer'd take thy fill!
Far better with the dead to be

Than live thus nothing now to thee:
Perhaps far worse, for now I know
Why Giaffir always seem'd thy foe;
And I, alas! am Giaffir's child,
For whom thou wert contemn'd, reviled.
If not thy sister would'st thou save
My life, Oh! bid me be thy slave!"

"My slave, Zuleika !

XII.

nay, I'm thine :
But, gentle love, this transport calm,
Thy lot shall yet be link'd with mine;
I swear it by our Prophet's shrine,

And be that thought thy sorrow's balm.
So may the Koran (1) verse display'd
Upon its steel direct my blade,
In danger's hour to guard us both,
As I preserve that awful oath!

The name in which thy heart hath prided
Must change; but, my Zuleika, know,
That tie is widen'd, not divided,

Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe.
My father was to Giaffir all

That Selim late was deem'd to thee;
That brother wrought a brother's fall,

But spared, at least, my infancy;

(1) The characters on all Turkish scimitars contain sometimes the name of the place of their manufacture, but more generally a text from the Koran, in letters of gold, Among those in my possession, is one with a blade of singular construction; it is very broad, and the edge notched into serpentine curves like the ripple of water, or the wavering of flame. I asked the Arminian who sold it, what possible use such a figure could add: he said, in Italian, that he did not know: but the Mussulmans had an idea that those of this form gave a severer wound; and liked it because it was piu feroce." I did not much admire the reason, but bought it for its peculiarity.