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Nay, leave the sail still furl'd and ply, The nearest oar that's scatter'd by ; And midway to those rocks where sleep The channell’d waters dark and deep, Rest from your task-80-bravely done, Our course has been right swiftly run, Yet 'tis the longest voyage, I trow, That one of

Sullen it plung'd, and slowly sank,
The calm wave rippled to the bank;
I watch'd as it sank, methought
Some motion from the current caught
Bestirr'd it more,-'twas but the beam
That checker'd o'er the living stream:
I gazed, till vanishing from view,
Like lessening pebble it withdrew;
Still less and less, a speck of white
That gemm'd the tide, then mock'd the sight;
And all its hidden secrets sleep,
Known but to genii of the deep,
Which, trembling in their coral caves
They dare not whisper to the waves.

As, springing high, the silver dew In whirls fantastically flew, And Aung luxurious coolness round The air, and verdure o'er the ground. 'Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright, To view the wave of watery light, And hear its melody by night, And oft had Hassan's childhood play'd Around the verge of that cascade; And oft upon his mother's breast That sound had harmonized his rest; And oft had Hassan's youth along Its bank been soothed by beauty's song; And softer seemed each melting tone Of music mingled with its own. But ne'er shall Hassan's age repose Along the brink at twilight's close: The stream that fill'd that font is fledThe blood that warm'd his heart is shed ! And here no more shall human voice Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice ; The last sad note that swer the gale Was woman's wildest funeral wail ; That quench'd in silence, all is still, Bat the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill : Though raves the gust, and floods the rain, No hand shall close its clasp again. On desert sands 'twere joy to scan The rudest steps of fellow manSo here the very voice of grief Might wake an echo like relief; At least 'twould say, "all are not gone; There lingers life, though but in one" For many a gilded chamber's there, Which solitude might well forbear; Within that dome as yet decay Hath slowly work'd her cankering wayBut gloom is gathered o'er the gate Nor there the fakir's self will wait; Nor there will wandering dervise stay, For bounty cheers not his delay; Nor there will weary stranger halt To bless the sacred “bread and salt." }} Alike must wealth and poverty Pass heedless and unheeded by, For courtesy and pity died With Hassan on the mountain side. His roof, that refuge unto men,

Is desolation's hungry den. The guest flies the hall, and the vassals from labor, Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre ! 12

As rising on its purple wing The insect queen 16 of eastern spring, O’er emerald meadows of Kashmeer Invites the young pursuer near, And leads him on from flower to flower A weary chase and wasted hour, Then leaves him, as it soars on high, With panting heart and tearful eye: So beauty lures the full-grown child, With hue as bright, and wing as wild; A chase of idle hopes and fears, Begun in folly, closed in tears. If won, to equal ills betray'd, Wo waits the insect and the maid-. A life of pain, the loss of peace, From infant's play, and man's caprice . The lovely toy so fiercely sought Hath lost its charm by being caught. For every touch that wooed its stay Hath brush'd its brightest hues away. Till, charm, and hue, and beauty gone, 'Tis left to fly or fall alone. With wounded wing, or bleeding breast, Ah! where shall either victim rest? Can this with faded pinion soar From rose to tulip as before ? Or beauty, blighted in an hour, Find joy within her broken bower? No! gayer insects fluttering by Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that dic, And lovelier things have mercy shown To every failing but their own, And every wo a tear can claim Except an erring sister's shamc.

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I hear the sound of coming feet,
But not a voice mine ear to greet;
More near-each turban I can scan,
And silver-sheathed ataghan ; 13
The foremost of the band is seen,
An emir by his garb of green : 14
"Ho! who art thou ?-this low salam **
Replies of Moslem faith I am.
The burden ye so gently bear,
Seems one that claims your utmost care,
And, doubtless, holds some precious freight,
My humble bark would gladly wait.”

The mind, that broods o'er guilty woes,

Is like the scorpion girt by fire, In circle narrowing as it glows, The flames around their captive close, Till, inly search'd by thousand throes,

And maddening in her irr,

" Thou speakest sooth, thy skiff unmoor, And waft us from the silent shore :

One sad and sole relief she knows,

On her fair cheek's unfading hue The sting she nourish'd for her foes,

The young pomegranate's 23 blossoms strew Whose venom never yet was vain,

Their bloom in blushes ever new; Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,

Her hair in hyacinthine flow, And darts into her desperate brain:

When left to roll its folds below, So do the dark in soul expire,

As 'midst her handmaids in the hall Or live like scorpion girt by fire; 17

She stood superior to them all, So writhes the mind remorse hath riven,

Hath swept the marble where her feet Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven,

Gleam'd whiter than the mountain sleet, Darkness above, despair beneath,

Ere from the cloud that gave it birth
Around it flame, within it death!

It fell and caught one stain of earth.
The cygnet nobly walks the water ;

So moved on earth Circassia's daughter,
Black Hassan from the haram flies,

The loveliest bird of Franguestan ! 25 Nor bends on woman's form his eyes ;

As rears her crest the ruffled swan, The unwonted chase each hour employs,

And spurns the wave with wings of pride Yet shares he not the hunter's joys.

When pass the steps of stranger man Not thus was Hassan wont to fly

Along the banks that bound her tide; When Leila dwelt in his Serai.

Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck :Doth Leila there no longer dwell ?

Thus armed with beauty would she check Chat tale can only Hassan tell :

Intrusion's glance, till folly's gaze Strange rumors in our city say

Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise Upon that eve she fled away,

Thus high and graceful was her gait; When Rhamazan's 1s last sun was sel,

Her heart as tender to her mate: And flashing from each minaret,

Her mate-stern Hassan, who was he?
Millions of lamps proclaim'd the feast

Alas! that name was not for thee!
Of Bairam through the boundless east.
'Twas then she went as to the bath,
Which Hassan vainly search'd in wrath ;

Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en
For she was flown her master's rage,

With twenty vassals in his train, In likeness of a Georgian page,

Each arm'd, as best becomes a man,
And far beyond the Moslem's power

With arquebuss and ataghan;
Had wrong'd him with the faithless Giaoun The chief before as deck'd for war,
Somewhat of this had Hassan deem'd;

Bears in his belt the scimetar
But still so fond, so fair she seem'd,

Stained with the best of Arnaut blood Too well he trusted to the slave

When in the pass the rebels stood, Whose treachery deserv'd a grave:

And few return'd to tell the tale And on that ere had gone to mosque,

Of what befell in Parne's vale. And thence to feast in his kiosk.

The pistols which his girdle bore Such is the tales his Nubians tell,

Were those that once a pasha wore, Who did not watch their charge too well ;

Which still, though gemm'd and boss'd with gold And others say that on that night,

Even robbers tremble to behold. By pale Phingari's 19 trembling light

"Tis said he goes to woo a bride The Giaour upon his jet-black steed

More true than her who left his side; Was seen, but seen alone to speed

The faithless slave that broke her bower, With bloody spur along the shore,

And worse than faithless, for a Giaour! Nor maid nor page behind him bore.

The sun's last rays are on the hill, Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell,

And sparkle in the fountain rill,

Whose welcome waters, cool and clear,
But gaze on that of the gazelle,
It will assist thy fancy well;

Draw blessings from the mountaineer ;

Here may the loitering merchant Greek
As large, as languishingly dark,
But soul beam'd forth in every spark

Find that repose 'twere vain to seek

In cities lodged too near his lord,
That darted from beneath the lid,

And trembling for his secret hoard-
Bright as the jewel of Giamschid.20
Yea, soul, and should our prophet say

Here may he rest where none can see,
That form was nought but breathing clay,

In crowds a slave, in deserts free;

And with forbidden wine may stain
By Alla! I would answer nay;

The bowl a Moslem must not drain.
Though on Al-Sirat's 21 arch I stood
Which totters o'er the fiery flood,
With paradise within my view,

The foremost Tartar's in the gap,
And all his houris beckoning through.

Conspicuous by his yellow cap; Oh! who young Leila's glance could read

The rest in lengthening line the while And keep that portion of his creed 29

Wind slowly through the long defile: Which saith that woman is but dust,

Above the mountain rears a peak, A soulless toy for tyrant's lust?

Where vultures whet the thirsty beak, On her might Muftis gaze, and own

And theirs may be a feast to-night, That through her eye the Immortal shone ; Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light;

Beneath, a river's wintry stream

Beats back the current many a rood, Has shrunk before the summer beam,

In curling foam and mingling flood, And left a channel bleak and bare,

While eddying whirl, and breaking wave Save shrubs that spring to perish there :

Roused by the blast of winter, rave; Each side the midway path there lay

Through sparkling spray, in thundering clash, Small broken crags of granite gray,

The lightnings of the waters flash By time, or mountain lightning riven

In awful whiteness o'er the shore, From summits clad in mists of heaven;

That shines and shakes beneath the roar; For where is he that hath beheld

Thus-as the stream and ocean greet, The peak of Liakura unveil'd ?

With waves that madden as they meet

Thus join the bands, whom mutual wrong, They reach the grove of pine at last:

And fate, and fury, drive along. “ Bismillah ! % now the peril's past;

The bickering sabres' shivering jar; For yonder view the opening plain,

And pealing widė or ringing near And there we 'll prick our steeds amain."

Its echoes on the throbbing ear, The Chiaus spake, and as he said,

The death-shot hissing from afar; A bullet whistled o'er his head;

The shock, the shout, the groan of war, The foremost Tartar bites the ground!

Reverberate along that vale, Scarce had they time to check the rein,

More suited to the shepherd's tale: Swift from their steeds the riders bound;

Though few the numbers-theirs the strife, But three shall never mount again;

That neither spares nor speaks for life! Unseen the foes that save the wound,

Ah! fondly youthful hearts can press,

To seize and share the dear caress; The dying ask in vain.

But love itself could never pant
With steel uns and carbine bent,

For all that beauty sighs to grant
Some or courser's harness leant,
Hali I'd by the steed;

With half the fervor hate bestows
Some i nd the nearest rock,

Upon the last embrace of foes, And there await the coming shock,

When grappling in the fight they fold

Those arms that ne'er shall lose their hold: Nor tamely stand to bleed Beneath the shaft of foes unseen,

Friends meet to part; love laughs at faith; Who dare not quit their craggy screen.

True foes, once met, are join'd till death! Stern Hassan only from his horse

With sabre shiver'd to the hilt,
Disdains to light, and keeps his course.
Till fiery flashes in the van

Yet dripping with the blood he spilt:

Yet strain'd within the sever'd hand
Proclaim too sure the robber-clan
Have well secured the only way

Which quivers round that faithless brand; Could now avail the promised prey ;

His turban far behind him roll'd, Then curl'd his very beard 27 with ire,

And cleft in twain its firmest fold;

His flowing robe by falchion torn, And glared his eye with fiercer fire:

And crimson as those clouds of morn “Though far and near the bullets hiss,

That, streak'd with dusky red, portend
I've scaped a bloodier hour than this.”
And now the foe their covert quit,

The day shall have a stormy end;
And call his vassals to submit;

A stain on every bush that bore But Hassan's frown and furious word

A fragment of his palampore, 30

His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven, Are dreaded more than hostile sword, Nor of his little band a man

His back to earth, his face to heaven, Resign'd carbine or ataghan,

Fallen Hassan lies—his unclosed eye Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun!”

Yet lowering on his enemy, In fuller sight, more near and near,

As if the hour that seal'd his fate The lately ambush'd foes appear,

Surviving left his quenchless hate;

And o'er him bends that foe with brow
And, issuing from the grove, advance
Some who on battle-charger prance.

As dark as his that bled below.
Who leads them on with foreign brand,
Far flashing in his red right hand ?

Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave, or 'Tis he! 'tis he! I know him now;

But his shall be a redder grave; I know him by his pallid brow;

Her spirit pointed well the steel I know him by the evil eye 29

Which taught that felon heart to feel. That aids his envious treachery ;

He call’d the Prophet, but his power I know him by his jet-black barb:

Was vain against the vengeful Giaour :

He call'd on Alla-but the word
Though now array'd in Arnaut garb,

Arose unheeded or unheard.
Apostate from his own vile faith,
It shall not save him from the death:

Thou Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer 'Tis he! well met in any hour !

Be pass'd, and thine accorded there? Lost Leila's love, accursed Giaour!"

I watched my time, I leagued with these,

The traitor in his turn to seize ; As rolls the river into the ocean,

My wrath is wreak'd, the deed is done, In sable torrent wildly streaming;

And now I go-but go alone." As the sea-tide's opposing motion, azure column proudly gleaming,

The browsing camels' bells are tinkling : The tortures of that inward hell! His mother look'd from her lattice high,

But first, on earth as vampire 37 sent, She saw the dews of ere besprinkling

Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent: The pasture green beneath her eye,

Then ghastly haunt thy native place, She saw the planets faintly twinkling :

And suck the blood of all thy race; «: 'Tis twilight-sure his train is nigh."

There from thy daughter, sister, wife, She could not rest in the garden bower,

At midnight drain the stream of life; But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower : Yet loathe the banquet which perforce “Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet,

Must feed thy livid living corse:
Nor shrink they from the summer heat;

Thy victims ere they yet expire
Why sends not the bridegroom his promised gift? Shall know the demon for their sire,
Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift ? As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Oh, false reproach! yon Tartar now

Thy flowers are wither'd on the stem.
Has gain'd our nearest mountain's brow,

But one that for thy crime must fall, And warily the steep descends,

The youngest, most beloved of all, And now within the valley bends ;

Shall bless thee with a father's nameAnd he bears the gift at his saddle-bow

That word shall wrap thy heart in flame. How could I deem his courser slow?

Yet must thou end thy task, and mark Right well my largess shall repay

Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark, His welcome speed, and weary way.

And the last glassy glance must view

Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue: The Tartar lighted at the gate,

Then with unhallow'd hand shalt tear But scarce upheld his fainting weight;

The tresses of her yel! His swarthy visage spake distress,

Of which in life a loc

horn But this might be from weariness;

Affection's fondest pleuge vom: His garb with sanguine spots was dyed,

But now is borne away by thee, But these might be from his courser's side ;

Memorial of thine agony ! He drew the token, from his vest

Wet with thine own best blood shap** Angel of Death! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest

Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip; His calpac 31 rent-his caftan red

Then stalking to thy sullen grave, “ Lady, a fearful bride thy son hath wed;

Go and with Gouls and Afrits rave; Me, not for mercy, did they spare,

Till these in horror shrink away But this empurpled pledge to bear.

From spectre more accursed than they! Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt; Wo to the Giaour! for his the guilt."

How name ye yon lone Caloyer ! A turban 32 carved in coarsest stone,

His features I have scann'd before A pillar with rank weeds o’ergrown,

In mine own land: 'tis many a year, Whereon can now be scarcely read

Since, dashing by the lonely shore, The Koran verse that mourns the dead,

I saw him urge as fleet a steed Point out the spot where Hassan fell

As ever served a horseman's need. A victim in that lonely dell.

But once I saw that face, yet then There sleeps as true an Osmanlie

It was so mark'd with inward pain, As e'er at Mecca bent the knee ;

I could not pass it by again; As ever scorn'd forbidden wine,

It breathes the same dark spitit now, Or prayed with face towards the shrine,

As death was stamp'd upon his brow." In orisons resumed anew At solemn sound of “ Alla Hu !" 33

“ 'Tis twice three years at summer-tide Yet died he by a stranger's hand,

Since first among our freres he came ; And stranger in his pative land;

And here it soothes him to abide Yet died he as in arms he stood,

For some dark deed he will not name. And unavenged, at least in blood.

But never at our vesper prayer, But him the maids of paradise

Nor e'er before confession chair Impatient to their halls invite,

Kneels he, nor recks he when arise And the dark heaven of Houri's eyes

Incense or anthem to the skies, On him shall glance for ever bright;

But broods within his cell alone, They come their kerchiefs green they wave, 24

His faith and race alike unknown. And welcome with a kiss the brave!

The sea from Paynim land he crost, Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour

And here ascended from the coast;
Is worthiest an immortal bower.

Yet seems he not of Othman race,
But only Christian in his face :

I'd judge him some stray renegade,
But thou, false infidel! shalt writhe

Repentant of the change he made, Beneath avenging Monkir's 35 scythe;

Save that he shuns our holy shrine, And from its torment 'scape alone

Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine. To wander round lost Eblis' 36 throne;

Great largess to these walls he brought, A fire unquench'd, unquenchable,

And thus our abbot's favor bought; Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;

But were I prior, not a day Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell

Should brook such stranger's further stay,

Or pent within our penance cell

With dread beheld, with gloom beholding Should doom him there for aye to dwell.

The rights that sanctify the pile. Much in his visions mutters he

But when the anthem shakes the choir, Of maiden whelm'd beneath the sea ;

And kneel the monks, his steps retire; Of sabres clashing, foemen flying,

By yonder lone and wavering torch Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying.

His aspect glares within the porch; On cliff he hath been known to stand,

There will he pause till all is done And rave as to some bloody hand

And hear the prayer, but utter none. Fresh sever'd from its parent limb,

See-by the half-illumined wall Invisible to all but him,

His hood fly back, his dark hair fall, Which beckons onward to his grave,

That pale brow widely wreathing round, And lures to leap into the wave.”

As if the Gorgon there had bound
The sablest of the serpent-braid
That o'er her fearful forehead stray'd:

For be declines the convent oath,
Dark and unearthly is the scowl.

And leaves those locks unhallow'd growth, That glares beneath his dusky cowl:

But wears our garb in all beside : The tash of that dilating eye

Ard, not from piety but pride, Reveals too much of times gone by ;

Gives wealth to walls that never heard Though varying, indistinct its hue,

Of his one holy vow nor word. Oft will his glance the gazer rue,

Lo !--mark ye, as the harmony Por in it lurks that nameless spell

Peals louder praises to the sky, Which speaks, itself unspeakable,

That livid cheek, that stony air A spirit yet unque 11'd and high,

Gi mix'd defiance and despair ! That claims and keeps ascendancy ;

Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine, And like therard whose pinions quake,

Else may we dread the wrath divine But can do the gazing snake,

Made manifest by awful sign.
Will others quail beneath his look,

If ever evil angel bore
Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can brook. The form of mortal, such he wore:
From him the half-affrighted friar

By all my hope of sins forgiven,
When met alone would fain retire,

Such looks are not of earth nor heaven!" As if that eye and bitter smile Transferr'd to others fear and guile :

To love the softest hearts are prone, Not oft to smile descendeth he,

But such can ne'er be all his own ; And when he doth 'tis sad to see

Too timid in his woes to share, That he but mocks at misery.

Too meek to meet, or brave despair ; How that pale lip will curl and quiver,

And sterner hearts alone may feel Then fix once more as if for ever ;

The wound that time can never heal. As if his sorrow or disdain

The rugged metal of the mine Forbade him e'er to smile again.

Must burn before its surface shine, Well were it so-such ghastly mirth

But plunged within the furnace-flame, From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth

It bends and melts—though still the same ; But sadder still it were to trace

Then temper'd to thy want, or will, What once were feelings in that face :

"Twill serve thee to defend or kill; Time hath not yet the features fix'd,

A breastplate for thine hour of need, But brighter traits with evil mix'd;

Or blade to bid thy foemen bleed; And there are hues pot always faded,

But if a dagger's form it bear, Which speak a mind not all degraded

Let those who shape its edge beware! Even by the crimes through which it waded : Thus passion's fire, and woman's art, The common crowd but see the gloom

Can turn and tame the sterner heart; Of wayward deeds, and fitting doom ;

From these its form and tone are ta’en, The close observer can espy

And what they make it, must remain, A noble soul, and lineage high :

But break-before it bend again.
Alas! though both bestow'd in vain,
Which grief could change, and guilt could stain.
It was no vulgar tenement

If solitude succeed to grief,
To which such lofty gifts were lent,

Release from pain is slight relief; And still with little less than dread

The vacant bosom's wilderness On such the sight is riveted.

Might thank the pang that made it less. The roofless cot, decay'd and rent,

We loathe what none are left to share; Will scarce delay the passer by;

Even bliss—'twere wo alone to bear; The tower by war or tempest bent,

The heart once left thus desolate While fet may frown one battlement,

Must fly at last for ease-to hate. Demands and daunts the stranger's eye ;

It is as if the dead could feel Each ivied arch, and pillar lone,

The icy worm around them steal, Pleads haughtily for glories gone !

And shudder, as the reptiles creep

To revel o'er their rotting sleep, *His floating robe around him folding,

Without the power to scare away Slow sweeps he through the colum'd aisle ; The cold consumers of their clay!

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