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And I will hunt the steps of fate,
A time that heeds nor pain nor toil;
One cry to Mahomet for aid,
And watch'd his spirit ebb away:
He felt not half that now I feel. I have not quail'd to danger's brow I search’d, but vainly searchd, to find When high and happy-need I now? The workings of a wounded mind;
Each feature of that sullen corse
Betray'd his rage, but no remorse. “I loved her, friar! nay, adored- Oh, what had Vengeance given to trace But these are words that all can use- Despair upon his dying face! I proved it more in deed than word; The late repentance of that hour, There's blood upon that dinted sword, When Penitence hath lost her power A stain its steel can never lose:
To tear one terror from the grave, 'Twas shed for her, who died for me, And will not soothe, and can not save. It warm'd the heart of one abhorr'd : Nay, start not-no-nor bend thy knee, Nor midst my sins such act record ; “ The cold in clime are cold in blood, Thou wilt absolve me from the deed, Their love can scarce deserve the name; For he was hostile to thy creed !
But mine was like the lava-flood The very name of Nazarene
That boils in Aetna's breast of flame. Was wornwood to his Paynim spleen. I cannot prate in puling strain Ungrateful fool! since but for brands Of ladye-love, and beauty's chain : Well wielded in some hardy hands, If changing cheek, and scorching vein, And wounds by Galileans given,
Lips taught to writhe, but not complain, The surest pass to Turkish heaven, If bursting heart, and mad’ning brain, For him his Houris still might wait And daring deed, and vengeful steel, Impatient at the prophet's gate.
And all that I have felt, and feel, I loved her-love will find its way
Betoken love-that love was mine, Through paths where wolves would fear And shown by many a bitter sign.
'Tis true I could not whine nor sigh, And if it dares enough, 'twere hard I knew but to obtain or die. If passion met not some reward
I die- but first I have possessid, No matter how, or where, or why, And come what may, I have been blest, I did not vainly seek, nor sigh:
Shall I the doom I sought upbraid ? Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain
No-reft of all, yet undismay'd I wish she had not loved again.
But for the thought of Leila slain, She died - I dare not tell thee how; Give me the pleasure with the pain, But look—'tis written on my brow! So would I live and love again. T'here read of Cain the curse and crime, grieve, but not, my holy guide! In characters unworn by time :
For him who dies, but her who died : Still, ere thou dost condemn me, pause ; She sleeps beneath the wandering waveNot mine the act, though I the cause.
Ah! had she but an earthly grave, Yet did he but what I had done
This breaking heart and throbbing head Had she been false to more than one.
Should seek and share her narrow bed. Faithless to him, he gave the blow; She was a form of life and light, But true to me, I laid him low :
That, seen, became a part of sight; Howe'er deserved her dooni might be, And rose where'er I turn'd mine eye, Her treachery was truth to me;
The Morning-star of Memory! To me she gave her heart, that all Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven ; Which tyranny can ne'er enthrall ; A spark of that immortal fire And I, alas! too late to save!
With angels shared, by Alla given, Yet all I then could give, I gave,
To lift from earth our low desire. Twas some relief, our foe a grave.
Devotion wafts the mind above, His death sits lightly; but her fate
But Heaven itself descends in love; Has made me—what thou well may'st hate. A feeling from the Godhead caught, His doom was seal'd- he knew it well, To wean froin self each sordid thought; Warn'd by the voice of stern Taheer, A Ray of him who form'd the whole ; Deep in whose darkly boding ear A Glory circling round the soul! The deathshot peal'd of murder near, I grant my love imperfect, all As filed the troop to where they fell! That mortals by the name miscall ; He died too in the battle-broil,
Then deem it evil, what thou wilt,
But say, oh say, hers was not guilt! Looks not to priesthood for relief.
My soul's estate in secret guess :
When thou canst bid my Leila live, Oh! would it shone to lead me still, Then will I sue thee to forgive; Although to death or deadliest ill! Then plead iny cause in that high place Why marvel ye, if they who lose
Where purchased masses proffer grace. This present joy, this future hope, Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung No more with sorrow meekly cope;
From forest-cave her shrieking young, In phrensy then their fate accuse:
And calm the lonely lioness:
But soothe not-mock not my distress !
"In earlier days, and calmer hours,
Where bloom my native valley's bowers
I had-Ah! have I now?-a friend! Fierce as the gloomy vulture's now
To him this pledge I charge thee send,
I To thee, old man, my
appear: Memorial of a youthful vow; I read abhorrence on thy brow,
I would remind him of my end : And this too was I born to bear!
Though souls absorb'd like mine allow 'Tis true, that, like that bird of prey, With harock have I mark'd my way:
Brief thought to distant friendship’s claini,
Yet dear to him my blighted name. But this was taught me by the dove,
'Tis strange—he prophesied my doom, To die—and know no second love.
And I have smiled-I then could smile--This lesson yet hath man to learn,
When Prudence would his voice assume, Taught by the thing he dares to spurn:
And warn-I reck'd not what-the while: The bird that sings within the brake,
But now remembrance whispers o'er The swan that swims upon the lake,
Those accents scarcely mark'd before. One mate, and one alone, will take. And let the fool still prone to range,
Say—that his bodings came to pass,
And he will start to hear their truth, And sneer on all who cannot change,
And wish his words had not been sooth: Partake his jest with boasting boys; Tell him, unheeding as I was, I envy not his varied joys,
Through many a busy bitter scene But deem such feeble, heartless man,
Of all our golden youth had been, Less than yon solitary swan;
In pain, my faltering tongue had tried Far, far beneath the shallow maid
To bless his memory ere I died; He left believing and betray'd.
But heaven in wrath would turn away, Such shame at least was never mine
If Guilt should for the guiltless pray. Leila! each thought was only thine!
I do not ask him not to blame, My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe,
Too gentle he to wound my name; My hope on high-my all below.
And what have I to do with fame? Earth holds no other like to thee,
I do not ask him not to mourn, Or if it doth, in vain for me:
Such cold request might sound like scorn; For worlds I dare not view the dame
And what than friendship's manly tear Resembling thee, yet not the same.
May better grace a brother's bier ? The very crimes that mar my youth, But bear this ring, his own of old, This bed of death-attest my truth!
And tell him- what thou dost behold! Tis all too late-thou wert, thou art
The wither'd frame, the ruin'd mind, The cherish'd madness of my heart!
The wrack by passion left behind,
A shrivellid scroll, a scatter'd leaf, “And she was lost- and yet I breathed, Seared by the autumn-blast of grief! But not the breath of human life: A serpent round my heart was wreathed, And stung my very thought to strife. Alike all time, abhorr'd all place,
“Tell me no more of fancy's gleain, Shuddering I shrunk from Nature's face, No, father, no, 'twas not a dream; Where every hue that charm’d before Alas! the dreamer first must sleep. T'he blackness of my bosom wore.
I only watch'd, and wish'd to weep; The rest thou dost already know,
But could not, for my burning brow And all my sins, and half my woe. Throbb’d to the very brain as now: But talk no more of penitence;
I wish'd but for a single tear, l'hou seest I soon shall part from hence: As something welcome, new, and dear : And if thy holy tale were true,
I wish'd it then, I wish it still, The deed that's done canst thou undo? Despair is stronger than my will. Think me not thankless--but this grief Waste not thine orison, despair
I saw him buried where he fell;
Is mightier than thy pious prayer :
“Such is my name, and such my tale.
TUE BRIDE OF ABYDOS,
A TURKISH TA L E.
llad we never loved so kindly,
TO TRE RIGJIT HONOURABLE
FELLY OBLIGED AND SINCERE FRIEND,
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of LORD ILOLLAND,
the turtle, TRIS TALE IS INSCRIBED, WITH EVERY SENTI- Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime? MENT OF AEGARD AND RESPECT, BY HIS GRATE- Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,
Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams BYRON,
ever shine; Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd
with perfume, CANTO I.
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her
bloom; Know re the land where the cypress and Where the citron and olive are fairest of myrtle
fruit, Are embleme of reeds that are done in their And the voice of the nightingale never is clime ?
Where the tints of the earth, and the hues | In sooth I love not solitude;
of the sky,
I on Zuleika's slumber broke,
We to the cypress-groves had flown, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? And made earth, main, and heaven our own! Tis the clime of the east; 'tis the land of There linger'd we, beguiled too long
With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song; Can he smile on such deeds as his children Till I, who heard the deep tambour
have done? Beat thy Divan's approaching hour, Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell To thee and to my duty true, Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales Warn’d by the sound, to greet thee flew :
which they tell. But there Zuleika wanders yet
Nay, father, rage not-nor forget Begirt with many a gallant slave,
That none can pierce that secret bower
But those who watch the women's tower." Apparell’d as becomes the brave, Awaiting each his Lord's behest To guide his steps, or guard his rest, “Son of a slave"—the Pacha said Old Giaffir sate in his Divan :
“From unbelieving mother bred, Deep thought was in his aged eye: Vain were a father's hopes to see And though the face of Mussulman Aught that beseems a man in thee. Not oft betrays to standers by
Thon, when thine arm should bend the bow, The mind within, well skill'd to hide And hurl the dart, and curb the steed, All but unconquerable pride,
Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed, His pensive cheek and pondering brow Must pore where babbling waters flow, Did more than he was wont avow.
And watch unfolding roses blow.
Would that yon orb, whose matin-glow "Let the chamber be clear’d.”—The train would lend thee something of his fire!
Thy listless eyes so much admire,
disappear'd“Now call me the chief of the Haram guard." By Christian cannon piecemeal rent;
Thou, who would'st see this battlement With Giaffir is none but his only son, And the Nnbian awaiting the sire's award. Before the dogs of Moscow fall,
Nay, tamely view old Stambol's wall “Haroun-when all the crowd that wait
Nor strike one stroke for life and death Are pass'd beyond the outer gate,
Against the curs of Nazareth ! (Woe to the head whose eye beheld
Go— let thy less than woman's hand My child Zuleika's face unveil'd!)
Assume the distaff-not the brand. Hlence, lead my daughter from her tower; But, Haroun –to my daughter speed: Her fate is fix'd this very hour:
And hark of thine own hicad take heedYet not to her repeat my thought; If thus Zuleika oft takes wingBy me alone be duty taught !”
Thou seest yon bow-it hath a string!"
“Pacha! to hear is to obey." No more must slave to despot say—
No sound from Selim's lip was heard,
At least that met old Giaffir's ear,
But every frown and every word
Pierced keener than a Christian's sword. And downcast look’d, and gently spake,
“Son of a slave! - reproach'd with fear! Still standing at the Pacha's feet:
Those gibes had cost another dear.
Son of a slave!- and who For son of Moslem must expire,
sire?” Ere dare to sit before his sire!
Thus held his thoughts their dark career,
Flash forth, then faintly disappear,
And started; for within his eye know-for the fault, if fault there be, He read how much his wrath had done; Was mine, then fall thy frowns on me~ He saw rebellion there begun : So lovelily the morning shone,
“Come hither, boy - what, no reply? That-let the old and weary sleep- I mark thee—and I know thee too ; I could not; and to view alone
But there be deeds thou darest not do: The fairest scenes of land and deep, But if thy beard had manlier length, With none to listen and reply
And if thy hand had skill and strength, To thouglıts with which my lieart beat high I'd joy to see thee break a lance, Were irksome--for whate'er iny mood, Albeit against my own perchance."
As sneeringly these accents fell,
The heart whose softness harmonized the
Her graceful arms in meekness bending “Much I misdoubt this wayward boy
Across her gently-budding breast; Will one day work me more annoy ;
At one kind word those arms extending I never loved him from his birth, To clasp the neck of him who blest And- but his arm is little worth,
His child caressing and carest, And scarcely in the chase could cope
Zuleika came- and Giaffir felt With timid fawn or antelope,
His purpose half within him melt: Far less would venture into strife
Not that against her fancied weal Where man contends for fame and life
His heart though stern could ever feel; I would not trust that look or tone:
Affection chain'd her to that heart;
Ambition tore the links apart.
“Zuleika! child of gentleness !
How dear this very day must tell, But hark!-I hear Zuleika's voice;
When I forget my own distress, Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear:
In losing what I love so well,
To bid thee with another dwell : She is the offspring of my choice;
Another! and a braver man 0! more than even her mother dear,
Was never seen in battle's van.
We Moslem reck not much of blood;
But yet the line of Carasman
Unchanged, unchangeable hath stood To lips just cool'd in time to save
First of the bold Timariot bands Such to my longing sight art thou ;
That won and well can keep their lands.
Enough that he who comes to woo
His years need scarce a thought employ:
I would not have thee wed a boy. Fair, as the first that fell of womankind, And thou shalt have a noble dower: When on that dread yet lovely serpent And his and my united power
Will laugh to scorn the death-firman, Whose image then was stamp'd upon her Which others tremble but to scan,
And teach the messenger what fate
The way to love, thy lord may show. And paints the lost on Earth revived in
In silence bow'd the virgin's head; Soft, as the memory of buried love;
And if her eye was fill'd with tears Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts
That stifled feeling dare not shed,
And red to pale, as through her ears
Those winged words like arrows spell,
What could such be but maiden-fears? grief.
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,
Love half regrets to kiss it dry ; Who hath not proved how feebly words So sweet the blush of Bashfulness,
Even Pity scarce can wish it less !