And she was lost-and yet I breathed, But not the breath of human life; A serpent round my heart was wreathed, And stung my every thought to strife. Alike all time, abhorr'd all place; Shuddering, I shrank from Nature's face, Where every hue that charm'd before, The blackness of my bosom wore. The rest thou dost already know, And all my sins, and half my woe. But talk no more of penitence;
Thou seest I soon shall part from hence:
And if thy holy tale were true,
The deed that's done, canst thou undo?
Think me not thankless, but this grief
Looks not to priesthood for relief.
My soul's estate in secret guess:
But wouldst thou pity more, say less.
When thou canst bid my Leila live,
Then will I sue thee to forgive:
Then plead my cause in that high place
Where purchased masses proffer grace.
Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung
From forest-cave her shrieking young,
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! To him this pledge I charge thee send, Memorial of a youthful vow:
I would remind him of my end; Though souls absorb'd like mine allow Brief thought to distant friendship's claim, Yet dear to him my blighted name. 'Tis strange-he prophesied my doom,
And I have smiled-I then could smileWhen Prudence would his voice assume, And warn-I reck'd not what-the while: But now remembrance whispers o'er Those accents scarcely mark'd before. Say-that his bodings came to pass,
And he will start to hear their truth,
And wish his words had not been sooth:
Tell him, unheeding as I was,
Through many a busy bitter scene
Of all our golden youth had been,
In pain, my faltering tongue had tried
To bless his memory ere I died;
But Heaven in wrath would turn away,
If Guilt should for the guiltless pray.
I do not ask him not to blame,
Too gentle he to wound my name;
And what have I to do with fame?
I do not ask him not to mourn,
Such cold request might sound like scorn;
And what than friendship's inanly tear
May better grace a brother's hier?
But bear this ring, his own of old,
And tell him-what thou dost behold!
The wither'd frame, the ruin'd mind,
The wrack by passion left behind,
A shrivell'd scroll, a scatter'd leaf, Sear'd by the autumn blast of grief!
Tell me no more of fancy's gleam;
No, father, no, 'twas not a dream:
Alas! the dreamer first must sleep,
I only watch'd, and wish'd to weep;
But could not, for my burning brow
Throbb'd to the very brain as now:
I wish'd but for a single tear,
As something welcome, new, and dear;
I wish'd it then, I wish it still;
Despair is stronger than my will.
Waste not thine orison, despair
Is mightier than thy pious prayer:
I would not, if I might, be blest;
I want no paradise, but rest.
'Twas then, I tell thee, father! then
I saw her; yes, she lived again;
And shining in her white symar,*
As through yon pale grey cloud the star
Which now I gaze on, as on her,
Who look'd, and looks far lovelier;
Dimly I view its trembling spark;
To-morrow's night shall be more dark;
And I, before its rays appear,
That lifeless thing the living fear.
I wander, father! for my soul
Is fleeting towards the final gaol.
I saw her, friar, and I rose
Forgetful of our former woes;
And rushing from my couch, I dart,
And clasp her to my desperate heart;
I clasp-what is it that I clasp?
No breathing form within my grasp,
No heart that beats reply to mine;
Yet, Leila! yet the form is thine!
And art thou, dearest, changed so much,
As meet my eye, yet mock my touch?
Ah! were thy beauties e'er so cold,
I care not; so my arms enfold
The all they ever wish'd to hold.
Alas! around a shadow prest,
They shrink upon my lonely breast;
Yet still 'tis there! In silence stands.
And beckons with beseeching hands!
With braided hair, and bright-black
I knew 'twas false-she could not die!
But he is dead 1 within the dell
I saw him buried where he fell;
He comes not, for he cannot break
From earth; why then art thou awake?
They told me wild waves roll'd above
The face I view, the form I love!
They told me 'twas a hideous tale!-
I'd tell it, but my tongue would fail:
If true, and from thine ocean-cave
Thou com'st to claim a calmer grave,
Oh, pass thy dewy fingers o'er
This brow, that then will burn no more;
Or place them on my hopeless heart:
But, shape or shade! whate'er thou art,
In mercy ne'er again depart!
Or farther with thee bear my soul
Than winds can waft or waters roll!
'Such is my name, and such my tale.
Confessor to thy secret ear
I breathe the sorrows I bewail,
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 Yanin. They were seized, fastened up in sacks, and drowned in the lake the same night! One of the guards who was present in:ormed 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 Arnaut 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 coffeehouse storytellers 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 Vathek. 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 Bibliothèque 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 Jan Eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it; The circumstance to which the above story relates, his Happy Valley' will not bear a comparison with was not very uncommon in Turkey. A few years the Hall of Eblis.'
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 pass'd-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 he knew
Of her he loved, or him he slew.*
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?
'Tis the clime of the East; 'tis the land of the SunCan he smile on such deeds as his children have done?
Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell,
Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.
Begirt with many a gallant slave,
Apparell'd as becomes the brave,
Awaiting each his lord's behest,
To guide his steps, or guard his rest,
Old Giaffir sate in his Divan:
Deep thought was in his aged eye;
And though the face of Mussulman
Not oft betrays to standers by
The mind within, well skill'd to hide
All but unconquerable pride,
His pensive cheek and pondering brow Did more than he was wont avow.
'Let the chamber be clear'd.'-The train disappear'd
'Now call me the chief of the Haram guard.' With Giaffir 's none but his only son,
And the Nubian awaiting the sire's award.
'Haroun-when all the crowd that wait
Are pass'd beyond the outer gate,
(Woe to the head whose eye beheld
My child Zuleika's face unveil'd!)
Hence, lead my daughter from her tower;
Her fate is fix'd this very hour:
Yet not to her repeat my thought;
By me alone be duty taught !'
'Pacha! to hear is to obey.'
No more must slave to despot say---
Then to the tower had ta'en his way.
But here young Selim silence brake,
First lowly rendering reverence ineet;
And downcast look'd, and gently spake,
Still standing at the Pacha's feet:
For son of Moslem must expire,
Ere dare to sit before his sire!
I on Zuleika's slumber broke,
And, as thou knowest that for ine
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'd we, beguiled too long
With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song;*
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 thee flew :
But there Zuleika wanders yet-
Nay, father, rage not-nor forget
That none can pierce that sacred bower
But those who watch the women's tower."
'Son of a slave !-the Pacha said-
'From unbelieving mother bred,
Vain were a father's hope to see
Aught that beseems a man in thee.
Thou, when thine arm should bend the bow,
And hurl the dart, and curb the steed,
Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed,
Must pore where babbling waters flow,
And watch unfolding roses blow!
Would that yon orb, whose matin glow
Thy listless eyes so much admire,
Would lend thee something of his fire!
Thou, who wouldst see this battlement
By Christian cannon piecemeal rent;
Nay, tamely view old Stamboul's wall
Before the dogs of Moscow fall,
Nor strike one stroke for life and death
Against the curs of Nazareth!
Go-let thy less than woman's hand
Assume the distaff-not the brand.
But Haroun !-to my daughter speed:
And hark-of thine own head take heed-
If thus Zuleika oft takes wing-
Thou seest yon bow-it hath a string!
No sound from Selim's lips was heard,
At least that met old Giaffir's ear;
But every frown and every word
Pierced keener than a Christian's sword.
'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 career;
And glances ev'n of more than ire
Flash forth, then faintly disappear.
Old Giaffir gazed upon his son,
And started; for within his eye
He read how much his wrath had done; He saw rebellion there begun :
'Come hither, boy-what! no reply?
Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia. +Tambour,' Turkish drum, which sounds at sun. rise, noon, and twilight.
I mark thee, and I know thee too;
But there be deeds thou dar'st not do:
But if thy beard had manlier length,
And if thy hand had skill and strength,
I'd joy to see thee break a lance,
Albeit against my own perchance.'
As sneeringly these accents fell,
On Selim's eye he fiercely gazed;
That eye returned him glance for glance, And proudly to his sire's was raised,
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 near my own.
That blood-he hath not heard-no mor-
I'll watch him closer than before.
He is an Arab to my sight,*
Or Christian crouching in the fight;
But hark!-I hear Zuleika's voice;
Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear:
She the offspring of my choice;
Oh! more than ev'n her mother dear,
With all to hope and nought to fear-
My Peri-Ever welcome here!
Sweet, as the desert fountain's wave,
To lips just cool'd in time to save-
Such to iny longing sight art thou:
Nor can they waft to Mecca's shrine
More thanks for life, than I for thine,
Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now.'
Fair as the first that fell of womankind,
When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling, Whose image then was stamp'd upon her mindBut once beguiled-and evermore beguiling: Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendant 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
To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray?
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess
The might, the majesty of Loveliness?
Such was Zuleika-such around her shone
The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone--
The light of love, the purity of grace.
The mind, the Music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole;
And, oh that eye was in itself a Soul!
Her graceful arms in meekness bending
Across her gently-budding breast;
At one kind word those arms extending
To clasp the neck of him who blest
His child, caressing and carest,
Zuleika came-and Giaffir felt
His purpose half within him melt:
Not that against her fancied weal
His heart though stern could ever fee!;
Affection chain'd her to that heart;
Ambition tore the links apart.
Zuleika! child of gentleness! How dear this very day must tell, When I forget my own distress, In losing what I love so well, To bid thee with another dwell: Another! and a braver man Was never seen in battle's van. We Moslem reck not much of blood; But yet the line of Carasman,* Unchanged, unchangeable, hath stood First of the bold Timariot bands That won and well can keep their lands. Enough that he who comes to woo
Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou :
His years need scarce a thought employ:
I would not have thee wed a boy.
And thou shalt have a noble dower:
And his and my united power
Will laugh to scorn the death-firman,
Which others tremble but to scan,
And teach the messenger what fate
The bearer of such boon may wait.f
And now thou know'st thy father's will-
All that thy sex hath need to know:
'Twas mine to teach obedience still-
The way to love, thy lord may show.'
In silence bow'd the virgin's head;
And if her eye was fill'd with tears,
That stifled feeling dare not shed,
And changed her cheek from pale to red
And red to pale, as through her ears
Those winged words like arrows sped,
What could such be but maiden fears?
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,
Love half regrets to kiss it dry;
Carasman Oglu, or Kara Osman Oglou, is the principal landholder 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 number into the field, generally cavalry.
When a Pacha is sufficiently strong to resist, the The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the com- the order for his death, is strangled instead, and single messenger, who is always the first bearer of pliment a hundredfold) even more than they hate the sometimes five or six, one after the other, on the same Christians. errand, by command of the refractory patient. If, on
Chibouque, the Turkish pipe, of which the amber mouthpiece, and sometimes the ball which contains the leaf, is adorned with precious stones, if in possession of the wealthier orders.
'Maugrabee,' Moorish mercenaries.
'Delis, bravoes who form the forlorn hope of the
cavalry, and always begin the action.
Not thus we e'er before have met;
Not thus shall be our parting yet.'
Thrice paced she slowly through the room,
And watch'd his eye-it still was fix'd:
She snatch'd the urn wherein was mix'd
The Persian Atar-gúl's perfume,*
And sprinkled all its odours o'er
The pictured roof and marble floor :t
The drops, that through his glittering vest
The playful girl's appeal address'd,
Unheeded o'er his bosom flew,
As if that breast were marble too.
'What, sullen yet? it must not be-
Oh! gentle Selim, this from thee !'
She saw in curious order set
The fairest flowers of Eastern land-
'He loved them once; may touch them yet,
If offer'd by Zuleika's hand.'
The childish thought was hardly breathed
Before the rose was pluck'd and wreathed;
The next fond moment saw her seat
Her fairy form at Selim's feet:
'This rose to calm my brother's cares
A message from the Bulbul bears ;t
It says to-night he will prolong
For Selim's ear his sweetest song;
And though his note is somewhat sad,
He'll try for once a strain more glad,
With some faint hope his alter'd lay
May sing these gloomy thoughts away.
'What! not receive my foolish flower?
Nay then I am indeed unblest:
On me can thus thy forehead lower?
And know'st thou not who loves thee best?
Oh, Selim dear! oh more than dearest !
Say, is it me thou hat'st or fearest?
Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest,
Since words of mine, and songs must fail
Ev'n from my fabled nightingale.
I knew our sire at times was stern,
But this from thee had yet to learn:
Too well I know he loves thee not;
But is Zuleika's love forgot?
Ah, deem I right? the Pacha's plan-
This kinsman Bey of Carasman
Perhaps may prove some foe of thine :
If so, I swear by Mecca's shirine,
*Atar-gel,' ottar of roses.
The ceiling and wainscots, or rather walls, of the Mussulman apartments are generally painted, in A twisted fold of felt is used for scimitar practice great houses, with one eternal and highly-coloured by the Turks, and few but Mussulman arms can cut view of Constantinople, wherein the principal feature through it at a single stroke: sometimes a tough is a noble contempt of perspective; below, arms, turban is used for the same purpose. The jerreed is scimitars, etc., are in general fancifully and not in a game of blunt javelins, animated and graceful. elegantly disposed.
Ollahs, Alla il Allah, the Leilies, as the It has been much doubted whether the notes of Spanish poets call them; the sound is Ollah-a cry of this Lover of the rose' are sad or merry; and Mr. which the Turks, for a silent people, are somewhat Fox's remarks on the subject have provoked some profuse, particularly during the jerreed, or in the learned controversy as to the opinions of the ancients chase, but mostly in battle. Their animation in the on the subject. I dare not venture a conjecture on field, and gravity in the chamber, with their pipes and the point, though a little inclined to the comboloios, form an amusing contrast. mallem, etc., if Mr. Fox was mistaken.
|