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 theirs may be a feast to-night,

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:
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! now the peril's past; For yonder view the opening plain, And there we'll prick our steeds amain: " 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. With steel unsheath'd, and carbine bent, Some o'er their courser's harness leant,

Half shelter'd by the steed;
Some fly behind the nearest rock,
And there await the coming shock,
Nor tamely stand to bleed

Beneath the shaft of foes unseen,
Who dare not quit their craggy screen.
Stern Hassan only from his horse
Disdains to light, and keeps his course,
Till fiery flashes in the van

Proclaim too sure the robber-clan
Have well secured the only way
Could now avail the promised prey;
Then curl'd his very beard with ire,
And glared his eye with fiercer fire:
"Though far and near the bullets hiss,
I've 'scaped a bloodier hour than this."
And now the foe their covert quit,
And call his vassals to submit;

But Hassan's frown and furious word
Are dreaded more than hostile sword,
Nor of his little band a man
Resign'd carbine or ataghan,
Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun! 1
In fuller sight, more near and near,
The lately ambush'd foes appear,
And, issuing from the grove, advance
Some who on battle-charger prance.
Who leads them on with foreign brand,
Far flashing in his red right hand?
"'T is he! 't is he! I know him now;

1 Quarter, pardon.

I know him by his pallid brow;
I know him by the evil eye
That aids his envious treachery;
I know him by his jet-black barb:
Though now array'd in Arnaut garb,
Apostate from his own vile faith,

It shall not save him from the death:
'T is he! well met in any hour,
Lost Leila's love, accursed Giaour!"

*

With sabre shiver'd to the hilt,

Yet dripping with the blood he spilt;
Yet strain'd within the sever'd hand
Which quivers round that faithless brand;
His turban far behind him roll'd,
And cleft in twain its firmest fold;
His flowing robe by falchion torn,

And crimson as those clouds of morn
That, streak'd with dusky red, portend
The day shall have a stormy end;

A stain on every bush that bore

A fragment of his palampore,1

His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven, His back to earth, his face to heaven, Fall'n Hassan lies his unclosed eye

Yet lowering on his enemy,

As if the hour that seal'd his fate

Surviving left his quenchless hate;

And o'er him bends that foe with brow

As dark as his that bled below.

1 The flowered shawl generally worn by persons of rank.

HASSAN'S MOTHER.

(From THE GIAOUR.)

THE browsing camels' bells are tinkling: His Mother look'd from her lattice high, She saw the dews of eve besprinkling The pasture green beneath her eye,

She saw the planets faintly twinkling: "'T is twilight sure his train is nigh." She could not rest in the garden-bower,

But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower:

66

Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet,

Nor shrink they from the summer heat;

Why sends not the Bridegroom his promised gift:

Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift?

Oh, false reproach! yon Tartar now

Has gain'd our nearest mountain's brow,
And warily the steep descends,

And now within the valley bends;

And he bears the gift at his saddle bow -
How could I deem his courser slow?
Right well my largess shall repay
His welcome speed, and weary way."

The Tartar lighted at the gate,
But scarce upheld his fainting weight:
His swarthy visage spake distress,
But this might be from weariness;

His garb with sanguine spots was dyed,
But these might be from his courser's side;
He drew the token from his vest-

Angel of death! 't is Hassan's cloven crest!
His calpac1 rent—his caftan red —
"Lady, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed:
Me, not from mercy, did they spare,
But this impurpled pledge to bear.
Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt;
Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt."

THE GIAOUR'S LOVE.

(From THE GIAOUR.)

THE cold in clime are cold in blood,

Their love can scarce deserve the name;

But mine was like the lava flood

That boils in Etna's breast of flame.

I cannot prate in puling strain
Of ladye-love, and beauty's chain:
If changing cheek, and scorching vein,
Lips taught to writhe, but not complain,
If bursting heart, and madd'ning brain,
And daring deed, and vengeful steel,
And all that I have felt, and feel,
Betoken love-that love was mine,
And shown by many a bitter sign.
'Tis true, I could not whine nor sigh,

I knew but to obtain or die.

1 The solid cap or centre of the head-dress; the shawl is wound round it and forms the turban.