I die-but first I have possess'd, But for the thought of Leila slain, I grieve, but not, my holy guide! DEATH OF SELIM. (BRIDE OF ABYDOS, Canto ii. Stanzas 22-26.) ZULEIKA, mute and motionless, Beneath the garden's wicket porch Far flash'd on high a blazing torch! Another and another—and another, -- "Oh! fly—no more—yet now my more than brother!" Far, wide, through every thicket spread, The fearful lights are gleaming red; Nor these alone for each right hand Is ready with a sheathless brand. They part, pursue, return, and wheel With searching flambeau, shining steel; And now almost they touch the cave But yet my band not far from shore May hear this signal, see the flash ; Forth to the cavern mouth he stept; His pistol's echo rang on high, Zuleika started not, nor wept, Despair benumb'd her breast and eye! "They hear me not, or if they ply Their oars, 't is but to see me die ; That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh. Then forth my father's scimitar, Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war! Farewell, Zuleika ! - Sweet! retire: Yet stay within - here linger safe, Stir not lest even to thee perchance Some erring blade or ball should glance. If in this strife I seek thy sire! No-though by him that poison pour'd: The foremost of the prying band, A gasping head, a quivering trunk: Another falls - but round him close - not five oars' length — A swarming circle of his foes; now they touch the land! They come - 't is but to add to slaughterHis heart's best blood is on the water. Escaped from shot, unharm'd by steel, Had Selim won, betray'd, beset, To where the strand and billows met; For her his eye but sought in vain ? Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd his chain. Sad proof, in peril and in pain, How late will Lover's hope remain! 66 'So may the foes of Giaffir fall!" Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang? The son hath found a quicker fate: Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling, Morn slowly rolls the clouds away; Few trophies of the fight are there: And fragments of each shiver'd brand; Steps stamp'd; and dash'd into the sand May there be mark'd; nor far remote 'T is rent in twain -one dark-red stain Ye! who would o'er his relics weep, His head heaves with the heaving billow; Then levell'd with the wave What recks it, though that corse shall lie The bird that tears that prostrate form Hath only robb'd the meaner worm; The only heart, the only eye Had bled or wept to see him die, Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed, And mourn'd above his turban-stone, That heart hath burst that eye was closed Yea-closed before his own! |