차이

문서의 선택한 두 판 사이의 차이를 보여줍니다.

--- 문학:영문학:영국:바이런 [2020/09/04 19:56]
clayeryan@gmail.com [작품 리스트]
+++ 문학:영문학:영국:바이런 [2020/10/07 14:34] (현재)
clayeryan@gmail.com
@@ 줄 1: / 줄 1: @@
-{{keywords>영국, 낭만주의, 시인, 바이런, 조지, 고든, poem, , poet, british, english, george gorden lord byron}}
 {{indexmenu_n> 1}}
@@ 줄 32: / 줄 30: @@
 《코린트의 포위》 (The Siege of Corinth) (poem) (1816)
 《파리시나》 (Parisina) (1816)
-《칠론의 죄수》 (The Prisoner Of Chillon) (1816) (text on Wikisource)
+《칠론의 죄수》 (The Prisoner Of Chillon) (1816)
 《꿈》 (The Dream) (1816)
 《프로메테우스》 (Prometheus) (1816)
@@ 줄 82: / 줄 80: @@
 A heart whose love is innocent! </poem>
 ++++
+번역중 : [[:문학:영문학:영국:바이런:She_Walks_In_Beauty]]
 ++++
@@ 줄 7187: / 줄 7187: @@
 To Caroline |
 <poem>
+Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
+Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay;
+And heard unmov'd thy plenteous sighs,
+Which said far more than words can say?
+Though keen the grief thy tears exprest,
+When love and hope lay both o'erthrown;
+Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast
+Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as thine own.
+But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd,
+When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine;
+The tears that from my eyelids flow'd
+Were lost in those which fell from thine.
+Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek,
+Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame,
+And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak,
+In sighs alone it breath'd my name.
+And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
+In vain our fate in sighs deplore;
+Remembrance only can remain,
+But that, will make us weep the more.
+Again, thou best belov'd, adieu!
+Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret,
+Nor let thy mind past joys review,
+Our only hope is, to forget!
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7195: / 줄 7223: @@
 <poem>
+A Fragment of a Turkish Tale
+The tale which these disjointed fragments present, is founded upon circumstances now less common in the East than formerly; either because the ladies are more circumspect than in the 'olden time', or because the Christians have better fortune, or less enterprise. The story, when entire, contained the adventures of a female slave, who was thrown, in the Mussulman manner, into the sea for infidelity, and avenged by a young Venetian, her lover, at the time the Seven Islands were possessed by the Republic of Venice, and soon after the Arnauts were beaten back from the Morea, which they had ravaged for some time subsequent to the Russian invasion. The desertion of the Mainotes on being refused the plunder of Misitra, led to the abandonment of that enterprise, and to the desolation of the Morea,during which the cruelty exercised on all sides was unparalleled even in the annals of the faithful.
+No breath of air to break the wave
+That rolls below the Athenian's grave,
+That tomb which, gleaming o'er the cliff
+First greets the homeward-veering skiff
+High o'er the land he saved in vain;
+When shall such Hero live again?
+Fair clime! where every season smiles
+Benignant o'er those blessйd isles,
+Which, seen from far Colonna's height,
+Make glad the heart that hails the sight,
+And lend to lonliness delight.
+There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek
+Reflects the tints of many a peak
+Caught by the laughing tides that lave
+These Edens of the Eastern wave:
+And if at times a transient breeze
+Break the blue crystal of the seas,
+Or sweep one blossom from the trees,
+How welcome is each gentle air
+That waves and wafts the odours there!
+For there the Rose, o'er crag or vale,
+Sultana of the Nightingale,
+The maid for whom his melody,
+His thousand songs are heard on high,
+Blooms blushing to her lover's tale:
+His queen, the garden queen, his Rose,
+Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows,
+Far from winters of the west,
+By every breeze and season blest,
+Returns the sweets by Nature given
+In soft incense back to Heaven;
+And gratefu yields that smiling sky
+Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh.
+And many a summer flower is there,
+And many a shade that Love might share,
+And many a grotto, meant by rest,
+That holds the pirate for a guest;
+Whose bark in sheltering cove below
+Lurks for the pasiing peaceful prow,
+Till the gay mariner's guitar
+Is heard, and seen the Evening Star;
+Then stealing with the muffled oar,
+Far shaded by the rocky shore,
+Rush the night-prowlers on the prey,
+And turns to groan his roudelay.
+Strande–that where Nature loved to trace,
+As if for Gods, a dwelling place,
+And every charm and grace hath mixed
+Within the Paradise she fixed,
+There man, enarmoured of distress,
+Shoul mar it into wilderness,
+And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower
+That tasks not one labourious hour;
+Nor claims the culture of his hand
+To blood along the fairy land,
+But springs as to preclude his care,
+And sweetly woos him–but to spare!
+Strange–that where all is Peace beside,
+There Passion riots in her pride,
+And Lust and Rapine wildly reign
+To darken o'er the fair domain.
+It is as though the Fiends prevailed
+Against the Seraphs they assailed,
+And, fixed on heavenly thrones, should dwell
+The freed inheritors of Hell;
+So soft the scene, so formed for joy,
+So curst the tyrants that destroy!
+He who hath bent him o'er the dead
+Ere the first day of Death is fled,
+The first dark day of Nothingness,
+The last of Danger and Distress,
+(Before Decay's effacing fingers
+Have swept the lines where Beauty lingers,)
+And marked the mild angelic air,
+The rapture of Repose that's there,
+The fixed yet tender thraits that streak
+The languor of the placid cheek,
+And–but for that sad shrouded eye,
+That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,
+And but for that chill, changeless brow,
+Where cold Obstruction's apathy
+Appals the gazing mourner's heart,
+As if to him it could impart
+The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon;
+Yes, but for these and these alone,
+Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour,
+He still might doubt the Tyrant's power;
+So fair, so calm, so softly sealed,
+The first, last look by Death revealed!
+Such is the aspect of his shore;
+'T is Greece, but living Greece no more!
+So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
+We start, for Soul is wanting there.
+Hers is the loveliness in death,
+That parts not quite with parting breath;
+But beauty with that fearful bloom,
+That hue which haunts it to the tomb,
+Expression's last receding ray,
+A gilded Halo hovering round decay,
+The farewell beam of Feeling past away!
+Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth,
+Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth!
+Clime of the unforgotten brave!
+Whose land from plain to mountain-cave
+Was Freedom;s home or Glory's grave!
+Shrine of the mighty! can it be,
+That this is all remains of thee?
+Approach, thou craven crouching slave:
+Say, is this not Thermopylж?
+These waters blue that round you lave,–
+Of servile offspring of the free–
+Pronounce what sea, what shore is this?
+The gulf, the rock of Salamis!
+These scenes, their story yet unknown;
+Arise, and make again your own;
+Snatch from the ashes of your Sires
+The embers of their former fires;
+And he who in the strife expires
+Will add to theirs a name of fear
+That Tyranny shall quake to hear,
+And leave his sons a hope, a fame,
+They too will rather die than shame:
+For Freedom's battle once begun,
+Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son,
+Though baffled oft is ever won.
+Bear witness, Greece, thy living page!
+Attest it many a deathless age!
+While Kings, in dusty darkness hid,
+Have left a namesless pyramid,
+Thy Heroes, though the general doom
+Hath swept the column from their tomb,
+A mightier monument command,
+The mountains of thy native land!
+There points thy Muse to stranger's eye
+The graves of those that cannot die!
+'T were long to tell, and sad to trace,
+Each step from Spledour to Disgrace;
+Enough–no foreign foe could quell
+Thy soul, till from itself it fell;
+Yet! Self-abasement paved the way
+To villain-bonds and despot sway.
+What can he tell who tread thy shore?
+No legend of thine olden time,
+No theme on which the Muse might soar
+High as thine own days of yore,
+When man was worthy of thy clime.
+The hearts within thy valleys bred,
+The fiery souls that might have led
+Thy sons to deeds sublime,
+Now crawl from cradle to the Grave,
+Slaves–nay, the bondsmen of a Slave,
+And callous, save to crime.
+Stained with each evil that pollutes
+Mankind, where least above the brutes;
+Without even savage virtue blest,
+Without one free or valiant breast,
+Still to the neighbouring ports tey waft
+Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft;
+In this subtle Greek is found,
+For this, and this alown, renowned.
+In vain might Liberty invoke
+The spirit to its bondage broke
+Or raise the neck that courts the yoke:
+No more her sorrows I bewail,
+Yet this will be a mournful tale,
+And they who listen may believe,
+Who heard it first had cause to grieve.
+Far, dark, along the blue sea glancing,
+The shadows of the rocks advancing
+Start on the fisher's eye like boat
+Of island-pirate or Mainote;
+And fearful for his light caпque,
+He shuns the near but doubtful creek:
+Though worn and weary with his toil,
+And cumbered with his scaly spoil,
+Slowly, yet strongly, plies the oar,
+Till Port Leone's safer shore
+Receives him by the lovely light
+That best becomes an Eastern night.
+… Who thundering comes on blackest steed,
+With slackened bit and hoof of speed?
+Beneath the clattering iron's sound
+The caverned echoes wake around
+In lash for lash, and bound for bound;
+The foam that streaks the courser's side
+Seems gathered from the ocean-tide:
+Though weary waves are sunk to rest,
+There's none within his rider's breast;
+And though tomorrow's tempest lower,
+'Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour!
+I know thee not, I loathe thy race,
+But in thy lineaments I trace
+What time shall strengthen, not efface:
+Though young and pale, that sallow front
+Is scathed by fiery passion's brunt;
+Though bent on earth thine evil eye,
+As meteor-like thou glidest by,
+Right well I view thee and deem thee one
+Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun.
+On - on he hastened, and he drew
+My gaze of wonder as he flew:
+Though like a demon of the night
+He passed, and vanished from my sight,
+His aspect and his air impressed
+A troubled memory on my breast,
+And long upon my startled ear
+Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear.
+He spurs his steed; he nears the steep,
+That, jutting, shadows o'er the deep;
+He winds around; he hurries by;
+The rock relieves him from mine eye;
+For, well I ween, unwelcome he
+Whose glance is fixed on those that flee;
+And not a start that shines too bright
+On him who takes such timeless flight.
+He wound along; but ere he passed
+One glance he snatched, as if his last,
+A moment checked his wheeling steed,
+A moment breathed him from his speed,
+A moment on his stirrup stood -
+Why looks he o'er the olive wood?
+The crescent glimmers on the hill,
+The mosque's high lamps are quivering still
+Though too remote for sound to wake
+In echoes of far tophaike,
+The flashes of each joyous peal
+Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal,
+Tonight, set Rhamazani's sun;
+Tonight the Bairam feast's begun;
+Tonight - but who and what art thou
+Of foreign garb and fearful brow?
+That thou should'st either pause or flee?
+He stood - some dread was on his face,
+Soon hatred settled in its place:
+It rose not with the reddening flush
+Of transient anger's hasty blush,
+But pale as marble o'er the tomb,
+Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom.
+His brow was bent, his eye was glazed;
+He raised his arm, and fiercely raised,
+And sternly shook his hand on high,
+As doubting to return or fly;
+Impatient of his flight delayed,
+Here loud his raven charger neighed -
+Down glanced that hand and, and grasped his blade;
+That sound had burst his waking dream,
+As slumber starts at owlet's scream.
+The spur hath lanced his courser's sides;
+Away, away, for life he rides:
+Swift as the hurled on high jerreed
+Springs to the touch his startled steed;
+The rock is doubled, and the shore
+Shakes with the clattering tramp no more;
+The crag is won, no more is seen
+His Christian crest and haughty mien.
+'Twas but an instant he restrained
+That fiery barb so sternly reined;
+'Twas but a moment that he stood,
+Then sped as if by death pursued;
+But in that instant 0'er his soul
+Winters of memory seemed to roll,
+And gather in that drop of time
+A life of pain, an age of crime.
+O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears,
+Such moment pours the grief of years:
+What felt he then, at once opprest
+By all that most distracts the breast?
+That pause, which pondered o'er his fate,
+Oh, who its dreary length shall date!
+Though in time's record nearly nought,
+It was eternity to thought!
+For infinite as boundless space
+The thought that conscience must embrace,
+Which in itself can comprehend
+Woe without name, or hope, or end.
+The hour is past, the Giaour is gone;
+And did he fly or fall alone?
+Woe to that hour he came or went!
+The curse for Hassan’s sin was sent
+To turn a palace to a tomb:
+He came, he went, like the Simoom,
+That harbinger of fate and gloom,
+Beneath whose widely - wasting breath
+The very cypress droops to death -
+Dark tree, still sad when others’ grief is fled,
+The only constant mourner o’er the dead!
+The steed is vanished from the stall;
+No serf is seen in Hassan’s hall;
+The lonely spider’s thin grey pall
+Waves slowly widening o’er the wall;
+The bat builds in his harem bower,
+And in the fortress of his power
+The owl usurps the beacon-tower;
+The wild-dog howls o’er the fountain’s brim,
+With baffled thirst and famine, grim;
+For the stream has shrunk from its marble bed,
+Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread.
+‘Twas sweet of yore to see it play
+And chase the sultriness of day,
+As springing high the silver dew
+In whirls fantastically flew,
+And flung 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 played
+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 seem’d 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 filled that font is fled -
+The blood that warmed his heart is shed!
+And here no more shall human voice
+Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice.
+The last sad note that swelled the gale
+Was woman’s wildest funeral wall:
+That quenched in silence all is still,
+But the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill:
+Though raves the gust, and floods the rain,
+No hand shall clasp its clasp again.
+On desert sands ‘twere joy to scan
+The rudest steps of fellow man,
+So 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 worked her cankering way -
+But 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 vassal from labour,
+Since his turban was cleft by the infidel’s sabre!
+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;
+The foremost of the band is seen
+An emir by his garb of green:
+‘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.’
+‘Thou speakest sooth; they skiff unmoor,
+And waft us from the silent shore;
+Nay, leave the sail still furled, and ply
+The nearest oar that’s scattered by,
+And midway to those rocks where sleep
+The channeled waters dark and deep.
+Rest from your task - so - bravely done,
+Of course had been right swiftly run;
+Yet ‘tis the longest voyage, I trow,
+That one of -
+Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank,
+The calm wave rippled to the bank;
+I watched it as it sank, methought
+Some motion from the current caught
+Bestirred it more, - ‘twas but the beam
+That checkered 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 gemmed the tide, then mocked 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 rising on its purple wing
+The insect-queen 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 betrayed,
+Woe 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 brushed 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 die,
+And lovelier things have mercy shown
+To every failing but their own,
+And every woe a tear can claim
+Except an erring sister’s shame.
+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 searched by thousand throes,
+And maddening in her ire,
+One sad and sole relief she knows,
+The sting she nourished for her foes,
+Whose venom never yet was vain,
+Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,
+So do the dark in soul expire,
+Or live like scorpion girt by fire;
+So writhes the mind remorse hath riven,
+Unfit for earth, undoomed for heaven,
+Darkness above, despair beneath,
+Around it flame, within it death!
+Black Hassan from the harem flies,
+Nor bends on woman’s form his eyes;
+The unwonted chase each hour employs,
+Yet shares he not the hunter’s joys.
+Not thus was Hassan wont to fly
+When Leila dwelt in his Serai.
+Doth Leila there no longer dwell?
+That tale can only Hassan tell:
+Strange rumours in our city say
+Upon that eve she fled away
+When Rhamazan’s last sun was set,
+And flashing from each minaret
+Millions of lamps proclaimed the feast
+Of Bairam through the boundless East.
+‘Twas then she went as to the bath,
+Which Hassan vainly searched in wrath;
+For she was flown her master’s rage
+In likeness of a Georgian page,
+And far beyond the Moslem’s power
+Had wronged him with the faithless Giaour.
+Somewhat of this had Hassan deemed;
+But still so fond, so fair she seemed,
+Too well he trusted to the slave
+Whose treachery deserved a grave:
+And on that eve had gone to mosque,
+And thence to feast in his kiosk.
+Such is the tale his Nubians tell,
+Who did not watch their charge too well;
+But others say, that on that night,
+By pale Phingari’s trembling light,
+The Giaour upon his jet-black steed
+Was seen, but seen alone to speed
+With bloody spur along the shore,
+Nor maid nor page behind him bore.
+Her eye’s dark charm ‘twere vain to tell,
+But gaze on that of the gazelle,
+It will assist thy fancy well;
+As large, as languishingly dark,
+But soul beamed forth in every spark
+That darted from beneath the lid,
+Bright as the jewel of Giamschild.
+Yea, Soul, and should our prophet say
+That form was nought but breathing clay,
+By Allah! I would answer nay;
+Though on Al-Sirat’s arch I stood,
+Which totters o’er the fiery flood,
+With Paradise within my view,
+And all his Houris beckoning through.
+Oh! Who young Leila’s glance could read
+And keep that portion of his creed,
+Which saith that woman is but dust,
+A soulless toy for tyrant’s lust?
+On her might Muftis might gaze, and own
+That through her eye the Immortal shone;
+On her fair cheek’s unfading hue
+The young pomegranate’s blossoms strew
+Their bloom in blushes ever new;
+Her hair in hyacinthine flow,
+When left to roll its folds below,
+As midst her handmaids in the hall
+She stood superior to them all,
+Hath swept the marble where her feet
+Gleamed whiter than the mountain sleet
+Ere from the cloud that gave it birth
+It fell, and caught one stain of earth.
+The cygnet nobly walks the water;
+So moved on earth Circassia’s daughter,
+The loveliest bird of Franguestan!
+As rears her crest the ruffled swan,
+And spurns the wave with wings of pride,
+When pass the steps of stranger man
+Along the banks that bound her tide;
+Thus rose fair Leila’s whiter neck:-
+Thus armed with beauty would she check
+Intrusion’s glance, till folly’s gaze
+Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise:
+Thus high and graceful as her gait;
+Her heart as tender to her mate;
+Her mate - stern Hassan, who was he?
+Alas! That name was not for thee!
+Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en
+With twenty vassals in his train,
+Each armed, as best becomes a man,
+With arquebuss and ataghan;
+The chief before, as decked for war,
+Bears in his belt the scimitar
+Stain'd with the best of Amaut blood
+When in the pass the rebels stood,
+And few returned to tell the tale
+Of what befell in Parne's vale.
+The pistols which his girdle bore
+Were those that once a pasha wore,
+Which still, though gemmed and bossed with gold,
+Even robbers tremble to behold.
+'Tis said he goes to woo a bride
+More true than her who left his side;
+The faithless slave that broke her bower,
+And - worse than faithless - for a Giaour!
+The sun's last rays are on the hill,
+And sparkle in the fountain rill,
+Whose welcome waters, cool and clear,
+Draw blessings from the mountaineer:
+Here may the loitering merchant Greek
+Find that repose 'twere vain to seek
+In cities lodged too near his lord,
+And trembling for his secret hoard -
+Here may he rest where none can see,
+In crowds a slave, in deserts free;
+And with forbidden wine may stain
+The bowl a Moslem must not drain.
+The foremost Tartar's in the gap,
+Conspicuous by his yellow cap;
+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 tonight,
+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 grey
+By time, or mountain lightning, riven
+From summits clad in mists of heaven;
+For where is he that hath beheld
+The peak of Liakura unveiled?
+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 unsheathed, and carbine bent,
+Some o'er their courser's harness leant,
+Half sheltered 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 curled 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
+Resigned carbine or ataghan,
+Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun!
+In fuller sight, more near and near,
+The lately ambushed 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?
+“Tis he! 'tis he! I know him now;
+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 arrayed in Arnaut garb
+Apostate from his own vile faith,
+It shall not save him from the death:
+'Tis he! well met in any hour,
+Lost Leila's love, accursed Giaour!
+As rolls the river into ocean,
+In sable torrent wildly streaming;
+As the sea-tide's opposing motion,
+In azure column Proudly gleaming
+Beats back the current many a rood,
+In curling foam and mingling flood,
+While eddying whirl, and breaking wave,
+Roused by the blast of winter, rave;
+Through sparkling spray, in thundering clash,
+The lightnings of the waters flash
+In awful whiteness o'er the shore,
+That shines and shakes beneath the roar;
+Thus - as the stream, and Ocean greet,
+With waves that madden as they meet -
+Thus join the bands, whom mutual wrong,
+And fate, and fury, drive along.
+The bickering sabres’ shivering jar;
+And pealing wide or ringing near
+Its echoes on the throbbing ear,
+The deathshot hissing from afar;
+The shock, the shout, the groan of war,
+Reverberate along that vale
+More suited to the shepherds tale:
+Though few the numbers - theirs the strife
+That neither spares nor speaks for life!
+Ah! fondly youthful hearts can press,
+To seize and share the dear caress;
+But love itself could never pant
+For all that beauty sighs to grant
+With half the fervour hate bestows
+Upon the last embrace of foes,
+When grappling in the fight they fold
+Those arms that ne'er shall lose their hold:
+Friends meet to part; love laughs at faith;
+True foes, once met, are joined till death!
+With sabre shivered to the hilt,
+Yet dripping with the blood he spilt;
+Yet strained within the severed hand
+Which quivers round that faithless brand;
+His turban far behind him rolled,
+And cleft in twain its firmest fold;
+His flowing robe by falchion torn,
+And crimson as those clouds of morn
+That, streaked with dusky red, portend
+The day shall have a stormy end;
+A stain on every bush that bore
+A fragment of his palampore
+His breast with wounds unnumbered riven,
+His back to earth, his face to heaven,
+Fallen Hassan lies - his unclosed eye
+Yet lowering on his enemy,
+As if the hour that sealed his fate
+Surviving left his quenchless hate;
+And o'er him bends that foe with brow
+As dark as his that bled below.
+'Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave,
+But his shall be a redder grave;
+Her spirit pointed well the steel
+Which taught that felon heart to feel.
+He called the Prophet, but his power
+Was vain against the vengeful Giaour:
+He called on Allah - but the word.
+Arose unheeded or unheard.
+Thou Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer
+Be passed, and thine accorded there?
+I watched my time, I leagued with these,
+The traitor in his turn to seize;
+My wrath is wreaked, the deed is done,
+And now I go - but go alone.'
+The browsing camels' bells are tinkling:
+His mother looked from her lattice high -
+She saw the dews of eve besprinkling
+The pasture green beneath her eye,
+She saw the planets faintly twinkling:
+'Tis twilight - sure his train is nigh.'
+She could not rest in the garden-bower,
+But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower:
+'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 gained 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! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest!
+His calpac rent - his caftan red -
+'Lady, a fearful bride thy son hath wed:
+Me, not from mercy, did they spare,
+But this empurpled pledge to bear.
+Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt:
+Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt.'
+A turban carved in coarsest stone,
+A pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown,
+Whereon can now be scarcely read
+The Koran verse that mourns the dead,
+Point out the spot where Hassan fell
+A victim in that lonely dell.
+There sleeps as true an Osmanlie
+As e'er at Mecca bent the knee;
+As ever scorned forbidden wine,
+Or prayed with face towards the shrine,
+In orisons resumed anew
+At solemn sound of 'Allah Hu!'
+Yet died he by a stranger's hand,
+And stranger in his native land;
+Yet died he as in arms he stood,
+And unavenged, at least in blood.
+But him the maids of Paradise
+Impatient to their halls invite,
+And the dark Heaven of Houris' eyes
+On him shall glance for ever bright;
+They come - their kerchiefs green they wave,
+And welcome with a kiss the brave!
+Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour
+Is worthiest an immortal bower.
+But thou, false Infidel! shalt writhe
+Beneath avenging Monkir's scythe;
+And from its torment 'scape alone
+To wander round lost Eblis' throne;
+And fire unquenched, unquenchable,
+Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;
+Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell
+The tortures of that inward hell!
+But first, on earth as vampire sent,
+Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:
+Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
+And suck the blood of all thy race;
+There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
+At midnight drain the stream of life;
+Yet loathe the banquet which perforce
+Must feed thy livid living corse:
+Thy victims ere they yet expire
+Shall know the demon for their sire,
+As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
+Thy flowers are withered on the stem.
+But one that for thy crime must fall,
+The youngest, most beloved of all,
+Shall bless thee with a father's name -
+That word shall wrap thy heart in flame!
+Yet must thou end thy task, and mark
+Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,
+And the last glassy glance must view
+Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue;
+Then with unhallowed hand shalt tear
+The tresses of her yellow hair,
+Of which in life a lock when shorn
+Affection's fondest pledge was worn,
+But now is borne away by thee,
+Memorial of thine agony!
+Wet with thine own best blood shall drip
+Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip;
+Then stalking to thy sullen grave,
+Go - and with Gouls and Afrits rave;
+Till these in horror shrink away
+From spectre more accursed than they!
+'How name ye yon lone Caloyer?
+His features I have scanned before
+In mine own land: 'tis many a year,
+Since, dashing by the lonely shore,
+I saw him urge as fleet a steed
+As ever served a horseman's need.
+But once I saw that face, yet then
+It was so marked with inward pain,
+I could not pass it by again;
+It breathes the same dark spirit now,
+As death were stamped upon his brow.
+'Tis twice three years at summer tide
+Since first among our freres he came;
+And here it soothes him to abide
+For some dark deed he will not name.
+But never at our vesper prayer,
+Nor e'er before confession chair
+Kneels he, nor recks he when arise
+Incense or anthem to the skies,
+But broods within his cell alone,
+His faith and race alike unknown.
+The sea from Paynim land he crost,
+And here ascended from the coast;
+Yet seems he not of Othman race,
+But only Christian in his face:
+I'd judge him some stray renegade,
+Repentant of the change he made,
+Save that he shuns our holy shrine,
+Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine.
+Great largess to these walls he brought,
+And thus our abbot's favour bought;
+But were I prior, not a day
+Should brook such stranger's further stay,
+Or pent within our penance cell
+Should doom him there for aye to dwell.
+Much in his visions mutters he
+Of maiden whelmed beneath the sea;
+Of sabres clashing, foemen flying,
+Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying.
+On cliff he hath been known to stand,
+And rave as to some bloody hand
+Fresh severed from its parent limb,
+Invisible to all but him,
+Which beckons onward to his grave,
+And lures to leap into the wave.'
+Dark and unearthly is the scowl
+That glares beneath his dusky cowl:
+The flash of that dilating eye
+Reveals too much of times gone by;
+Though varying, indistinct its hue,
+Oft will his glance the gazer rue,
+For in it lurks that nameless spell,
+Which speaks, itself unspeakable,
+A spirit yet unquelled and high,
+That claims and keeps ascendency;
+And like the bird whose pinions quake,
+But cannot fly the gazing snake,
+Will others quail beneath his look,
+Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can brook.
+From him the half-affrighted friar
+When met alone would fain retire,
+As if that eye and bitter smile
+Transferred to others fear and guile:
+Not oft to smile descendeth he,
+And when he doth 'tis sad to see
+That he but mocks at misery.
+How that pale lip will curl and quiver!
+Then fix once more as if for ever;
+As if his sorrow or disdain
+Forbade him e'er to smile again.
+Well were it so - such ghastly mirth
+From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth.
+But sadder still it were to trace
+What once were feelings in that face:
+Time hath not yet the features fixed,
+But brighter traits with evil mixed;
+And there are hues not always faded,
+Which speak a mind not all degraded
+Even by the crimes through which it waded:
+The common crowd but see the gloom
+Of wayward deeds, and fitting doom;
+The close observer can espy
+A noble soul, and lineage high:
+Alas! though both bestowed in vain,
+Which grief could change, and guilt could stain,
+It was no vulgar tenement
+To which such lofty gifts were lent,
+And still with little less than dread
+On such the sight is riveted.
+The roofless cot, decayed and rent,
+Will scarce delay the passer-by;
+The tower by war or tempest bent,
+While yet may frown one battlement,
+Demands and daunts the stranger's eye;
+Each ivied arch, and pillar lone,
+Pleads haughtily for glories gone!
+'His floating robe around him folding,
+Slow sweeps he through the columned aisle;
+With dread beheld, with gloom beholding
+The rites that sanctify the pile.
+But when the anthem shakes the choir,
+And kneel the monks, his steps retire;
+By yonder lone and wavering torch
+His aspect glares within the porch;
+There will he pause till all is done -
+And hear the prayer, but utter none.
+See - by the half-illumined wall
+His hood fly back, his dark hair fall,
+That pale brow wildly wreathing round,
+As if the Gorgon there had bound
+The sablest of the serpent-braid
+That o'er her fearful forehead strayed:
+For he declines the convent oath
+And leaves those locks unhallowed growth,
+But wears our garb in all beside;
+And, not from piety but pride,
+Gives wealth to walls that never heard
+Of his one holy vow nor word.
+Lo! - mark ye, as the harmony
+Peals louder praises to the sky,
+That livid cheek, that stony air
+Of mixed defiance and despair!
+Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine!
+Else may we dread the wrath divine
+Made manifest by awful sign.
+If ever evil angel bore
+The form of mortal, such he wore:
+By all my hope of sins forgiven,
+Such looks are not of earth nor heaven!'
+To love the softest hearts are prone,
+But such can ne'er be all his own;
+Too timid in his woes to share,
+Too meek to meet, or brave despair;
+And sterner hearts alone may feel
+The wound that time can never heal.
+The rugged metal of the mine,
+Must burn before its surface shine,
+But plunged within the furnace-flame,
+It bends and melts - though still the same;
+Then tempered to thy want, or will,
+'Twill serve thee to defend or kill;
+A breast-plate for thine hour of need,
+Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed;
+But if a dagger's form it bear,
+Let those who shape its edge, beware!
+Thus passion's fire, and woman's art,
+Can turn and tame the sterner heart;
+From these its form and tone are ta'en,
+And what they make it, must remain,
+But break - before it bend again.
+If solitude succeed to grief,
+Release from pain is slight relief;
+The vacant bosom's wilderness
+Might thank the pang that made it less.
+We loathe what none are left to share:
+Even bliss - 'twere woe alone to bear;
+The heart once left thus desolate
+Must fly at last for ease - to hate.
+It is as if the dead could feel
+The icy worm around them steal,
+And shudder, as the reptiles creep
+To revel o'er their rotting sleep,
+Without the power to scare away
+The cold consumers of their clay I
+It is as if the desert-bird,
+Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream
+To still her famished nestlings' scream,
+Nor mourns a life to them transferred,
+Should rend her rash devoted breast,
+And find them flown her empty nest.
+The keenest pangs the wretched find
+Are rapture to the dreary void,
+The leafless desert of the mind,
+The waste of feelings unemployed.
+Who would be doomed to gaze upon
+A sky without a cloud or sun?
+Less hideous far the tempest's roar
+Than ne'er to brave the billows more -
+Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er,
+A lonely wreck on fortune's shore,
+'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay,
+Unseen to drop by dull decay; -
+Better to sink beneath the shock
+Than moulder piecemeal on the rock!
+'Father! thy days have passed in peace,
+'Mid counted beads, and countless prayer;
+To bid the sins of others cease
+Thyself without a crime or care,
+Save transient ills that all must bear,
+Has been thy lot from youth to age;
+And thou wilt bless thee from the rage
+Of passions fierce and uncontrolled,
+Such as thy penitents unfold,
+Whose secret sins and sorrows rest
+Within thy pure and pitying breast. My days, though few, have passed below
+In much of joy, but more of woe;
+Yet still in hours of love or strife,
+I've 'scaped the weariness of life:
+Now leagued with friends, now girt by foes,
+I loathed the languor of repose.
+Now nothing left to love or hate,
+No more with hope or pride elate,
+I'd rather be the thing that crawls
+Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls,
+Than pass my dull, unvarying days,
+Condemned to meditate and gaze.
+Yet, lurks a wish within my breast
+For rest - but not to feel 'tis rest
+Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil;
+And I shall sleep without the dream
+Of what I was, and would be still,
+Dark as to thee my deeds may seem:
+My memory now is but the tomb
+Of joys long dead; my hope, their doom:
+Though better to have died with those
+Than bear a life of lingering woes.
+My spirit shrunk not to sustain
+The searching throes of ceaseless pain;
+Nor sought the self-accorded grave
+Of ancient fool and modern knave:
+Yet death I have not feared to meet;
+And the field it had been sweet,
+Had danger wooed me on to move
+The slave of glory, not of love.
+I've braved it - not for honour's boast;
+I smile at laurels won or lost;
+To such let others carve their way,
+For high renown, or hireling pay:
+But place again before my eyes
+Aught that I deem a worthy prize
+The maid I love, the man I hate,
+And I will hunt the steps of fate,
+To save or slay, as these require,
+Through rending steel, and rolling fire:
+Nor needest thou doubt this speech from one
+Who would but do ~ what he hath done.
+Death is but what the haughty brave,
+The weak must bear, the wretch must crave;
+Then let life go to him who gave:
+I have not quailed to danger's brow
+When high and happy - need I now?
+'I loved her, Friar! nay, adored -
+But these are words that all can use -
+I proved it more in deed than word;
+There's blood upon that dinted sword,
+A stain its steel can never lose:
+'Twas shed for her, who died for me,
+It warmed the heart of one abhorred:
+Nay, start not - no - nor bend thy knee,
+Nor midst my sins such act record;
+Thou wilt absolve me from the deed,
+For he was hostile to thy creed!
+The very name of Nazarene
+Was wormwood to his Paynim spleen.
+Ungrateful fool! since but for brands
+Well wielded in some hardy hands,
+And wounds by Galileans given -
+The surest pass to Turkish heaven
+For him his Houris still might wait
+Impatient at the Prophet's gate.
+I loved her - love will find its way
+Through paths where wolves would fear to prey;
+And if it dares enough, 'twere hard
+If passion met not some reward -
+No matter how, or where, or why,
+I did not vainly seek, nor sigh:
+Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain
+I wish she had not loved again.
+She died - I dare not tell thee how;
+But look - 'tis written on my brow!
+There read of Cain the curse and crime,
+In characters unworn by time:
+Still, ere thou dost condemn me, pause;
+Not mine the act, though I the cause.
+Yet did he but what I had done
+Had she been false to more than one.
+Faithless to him, he gave the blow;
+But true to me, I laid him low:
+Howe'er deserved her doom might be,
+Her treachery was truth to me;
+To me she gave her heart, that all
+Which tyranny can ne'er enthral;
+And I, alas! too late to save!
+Yet all I then could give, I gave,
+'Twas some relief, our foe a grave.
+His death sits lightly; but her fate
+Has made me - what thou well mayest hate.
+His doom was sealed - he knew it well
+Warned by the voice of stern Taheer,
+Deep in whose darkly boding ear
+The deathshot pealed of murder near,
+As filed the troop to where they fell!
+He died too in the battle broil,
+A time that heeds nor pain nor toil;
+One cry to Mahomet for aid,
+One prayer to Allah all he made:
+He knew and crossed me in the fray -
+I gazed upon him where he lay,
+And watched his spirit ebb away:
+Though pierced like pard by hunters' steel,
+He felt not half that now I feel.
+I searched, but vainly searched, to find
+The workings of a wounded mind;
+Each feature of that sullen corse
+Betrayed his rage, but no remorse.
+Oh, what had vengeance given to trace
+Despair upon his dying face I
+The late repentance of that hour,
+When penitence hath lost her power
+To tear one terror from the grave,
+And will not soothe, and cannot save.
+'The cold in clime are cold in blood,
+Their love can scarce deserve the name;
+But mine was like a 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 searching vein,
+Lips taught to writhe, but not complain,
+If bursting heart, and maddening 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.
+I die - but first I have possessed,
+And come what may, I have been blessed.
+Shall I the doom I sought upbraid?
+No - reft of all, yet undismayed
+But for the thought of Leila slain,
+Give me the pleasure with the pain,
+So would I live and love again.
+I grieve, but not, my holy guide!
+For him who dies, but her who died:
+She sleeps beneath the wandering wave
+Ah! had she but an earthly grave,
+This breaking heart and throbbing head
+Should seek and share her narrow bed.
+She was a form of life and light,
+That, seen, became a part of sight;
+And rose, where'er I turned mine eye,
+The morning-star of memory!
+'Yes, love indeed is light from heaven..
+A spark of that immortal fire
+With angels shared, by Allah given,
+To lift from earth our low desire.
+Devotion wafts the mind above,
+But Heaven itself descends in love;
+A feeling from the Godhead caught,
+To wean from self each sordid thought;
+A ray of him who formed the whole;
+A glory circling round the soul !
+I grant my love imperfect, all
+That mortals by the name miscall;
+Then deem it evil, what thou wilt;
+But say, oh say, hers was not guilt !
+She was my life's unerring light:
+That quenched, what beam shall break my night?
+Oh! would it shone to lead me still,
+Although to death or deadliest ill!
+Why marvel ye, if they who lose
+This present joy, this future hope,
+No more with sorrow meekly cope;
+In phrensy then their fate accuse;
+In madness do those fearful deeds
+That seem to add but guilt to woe?
+Alas! the breast that inly bleeds
+Hath nought to dread from outward blow;
+Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
+Cares little into what abyss.
+Fierce as the gloomy vulture's now
+To thee, old man, my deeds appear:
+I read abhorrence on thy brow,
+And this too was I born to bear!
+'Tis true, that, like that bird of prey,
+With havock have I marked my way:
+But this was taught me by the dove,
+To die - and know no second love.
+This lesson yet hath man to learn,
+Taught by the thing he dares to spurn:
+The bird that sings within the brake,
+The swan that swims upon the lake,
+One mate, and one alone, will take.
+And let the fool still prone to range,
+And sneer on all who cannot change,
+Partake his jest with boasting boys;
+I envy not his varied joys,
+But deem such feeble, heartless man,
+Less than yon solitary swan;
+Far, far beneath the shallow maid
+He left believing and betrayed.
+Such shame at least was never mine -
+Leila! each thought was only thine!
+My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe,
+My hope on high - my all below.
+Earth holds no other like to thee,
+Or, if it doth, in vain for me:
+For worlds I dare not view the dame
+Resembling thee, yet not the same.
+The very crimes that mar my youth,
+This bed of death - attest my truth!
+'Tis all too late - thou wert, thou art
+The cherished madness of my heart!
+'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, abhorred all place,
+Shuddering I shrunk from Nature's face,
+Where every hue that charmed 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 see'st 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 absorbed 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 smile -
+When prudence would his voice assume,
+And warn - I recked not what - the while:
+But now remembrance whispers o'er
+Those accents scarcely marked 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 manly tear
+May better grace a brother's bier?
+But bear this ring, his own of old,
+And tell him - what thou dost behold!
+The withered frame, the ruined mind,
+The wrack by passion left behind,
+A shrivelled scroll, a scattered leaf,
+Seared 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 watched, and wished to weep;
+But could not, for my burning brow
+Throbbed to the very brain as now:
+I wished but for a single tear,
+As something welcome, new, and dear-;
+I wished 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 looked and looks far lovelier;
+Dimly I view its trembling spark;
+Tomorrow'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 goal.
+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 wished 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 eye -
+I knew 'twas false - she could not die!
+But he is dead! 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 rolled above
+The face I view, the form I love;
+They told me - 'twas a hideous tale I
+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,
+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 pilgrims tread.'
+He passed - 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 we knew
+Of her he loved, or him he slew.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7201: / 줄 8608: @@
 Thy Days Are Done |
 <poem>
+Thy days are done, thy fame begun;
+Thy country's strains record
+The triumphs of her chosen Son,
+The slaughter of his sword!
+The deeds he did, the fields he won,
+The freedom he restored!
+Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
+Thou shalt not taste of death!
+The generous blood that flow'd from thee
+Disdain'd to sink beneath:
+Within our veins its currents be,
+Thy spirit on our breath!
+Thy name, our charging hosts along,
+Shall be the battle-word!
+Thy fall, the theme of choral song
+From virgin voices pour'd!
+To weep would do thy glory wrong:
+Thou shalt not be deplored.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7208: / 줄 8634: @@
 Bride of Abydos, The |
 <poem>
+"Had we never loved so kindly,
+Had we never loved so blindly,
+Never met or never parted,
+We had ne'er been broken-hearted." — Burns
+TO
+THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD HOLLAND,
+THIS TALE IS INSCRIBED,
+WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD AND RESPECT,
+BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED AND SINCERE FRIEND,
+BYRON.
+THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS
+_________
+CANTO THE FIRST.
+I.
+Know ye the land where cypress and myrtle
+Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,
+Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
+Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?
+Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,
+Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine;
+Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with perfume,
+Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gъl in her bloom; [1]
+Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
+And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;
+Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,
+In colour though varied, in beauty may vie,
+And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye;
+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 Sun —
+Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? [2]
+Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell
+Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.
+II.
+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 wont avow.
+III.
+"Let the chamber be clear'd." — The train disappear'd —
+"Now call me the chief of the Haram guard."
+With Giaffir is 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 meet!
+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!
+"Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide
+My sister, or her sable guide,
+Know — for the fault, if fault there be,
+Was mine — then fall thy frowns on me —
+So lovelily the morning shone,
+That — let the old and weary sleep —
+I could not; and to view alone
+The fairest scenes of land and deep,
+With none to listen and reply
+To thoughts with which my heart beat high
+Were irksome — for whate'er my mood,
+In sooth I love not solitude;
+I on Zuleika's slumber broke,
+And as thou knowest that for me
+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, beguil'd too long
+With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song, [3]
+Till I, who heard the deep tambour [4]
+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 secret bower
+But those who watch the women's tower."
+IV.
+"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 or 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 see'st yon bow — it hath a string!"
+V.
+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.
+"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?
+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 return'd 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 more —
+I'll watch him closer than before.
+He is an Arab to my sight, [5]
+Or Christian crouching in the fight —
+But hark! — I hear Zuleika's voice;
+Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear:
+She is 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 my 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."
+VI.
+Fair, as the first that fell of womankind,
+When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling,
+Whose image then was stamp'd upon her mind —
+But once beguiled — and evermore beguiling;
+Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent 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, [6]
+The heart whose softness harmonised 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 — Giaffir felt
+His purpose half within him melt;
+Not that against her fancied weal
+His heart though stern could ever feel;
+Affection chain'd her to that heart;
+Ambition tore the links apart.
+VII.
+"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 Moslems reck not much of blood;
+But yet the line of Carasman [7]
+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, [8]
+And now thy 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."
+VIII.
+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 to 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;
+So sweet the blush of Bashfulness,
+Even Pity scarce can wish it less!
+Whate'er it was the sire forgot;
+Or if remember'd, mark'd it not;
+Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd his steed, [9]
+Resign'd his gem-adorn'd chibouque, [10]
+And mounting featly for the mead,
+With Maugrabee [11] and Mamaluke,
+His way amid his Delis took, [12]
+To witness many an active deed
+With sabre keen, or blunt jerreed.
+The Kislar only and his Moors
+Watch well the Haram's massy doors.
+IX.
+His head was leant upon his hand,
+His eye look'd o'er the dark blue water
+That swiftly glides and gently swells
+Between the winding Dardanelles;
+But yet he saw nor sea nor strand,
+Nor even his Pacha's turban'd band
+Mix in the game of mimic slaughter,
+Careering cleave the folded felt [13]
+With sabre stroke right sharply dealt;
+Nor mark'd the javelin-darting crowd,
+Nor heard their Ollahs wild and loud [14] —
+He thought but of old Giaffir's daughter!
+X.
+No word from Selim's bosom broke;
+One sigh Zuleika's thought bespoke:
+Still gazed he through the lattice grate,
+Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate.
+To him Zuleika's eye was turn'd,
+But little from his aspect learn'd;
+Equal her grief, yet not the same:
+Her heart confess'd a gentler flame:
+But yet that heart, alarm'd, or weak,
+She knew not why, forbade to speak.
+Yet speak she must — but when essay?
+"How strange he thus should turn away!
+Not thus we e'er before have met;
+Not thus shall be our parting yet."
+Thrice paced she slowly through the room,
+And watched his eye — it still was fix'd:
+She snatch'd the urn wherein was mix'd
+The Persian Atar-gъl's perfume, [15]
+And sprinkled all its odours o'er
+The pictured roof and marble floor: [16]
+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; [17]
+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.
+XI.
+"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 shrine,
+If shrines that ne'er approach allow
+To woman's step admit her vow,
+Without thy free consent, command,
+The Sultan should not have my hand!
+Think'st though that I could bear to part
+With thee, and learn to halve my heart?
+Ah! were I sever'd from thy side,
+Where were thy friend — and who my guide?
+Years have not seen, Time shall not see
+The hour that tears my soul from thee:
+Even Azrael, [18] from his deadly quiver
+When flies that shaft, and fly it must,
+That parts all else, shall doom for ever
+Our hearts to undivided dust!"
+XII.
+He lived — he breathed — he moved — he felt;
+He raised the maid from where she knelt;
+His trance was gone — his keen eye shone
+With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt;
+With thoughts that burn — in rays that melt.
+As the streams late conceal'd
+By the fringe of its willows,
+When it rushes reveal'd
+In the light of its billows;
+As the bolt bursts on high
+From the black cloud that bound it,
+Flash'd the soul of that eye
+Through the long lashes round it.
+A war-horse at the trumpet's sound,
+A lion roused by heedless hound,
+A tyrant waked to sudden strife
+By graze of ill-directed knife,
+Starts not to more convulsive life
+Than he, who heard that vow, display'd,
+And all, before repress'd, betray'd:
+"Now thou art mine, for ever mine,
+With life to keep, and scarce with life resign;
+Now thou art mine, that sacred oath,
+Though sworn by one, hath bound us both.
+Yes, fondly, wisely hast thou done;
+That vow hath saved more heads than one:
+But blench not thou — thy simplest tress
+Claims more from me than tenderness;
+I would not wrong the slenderest hair
+That clusters round thy forehead fair,
+For all the treasures buried far
+Within the caves of Istakar. [19]
+This morning clouds upon me lower'd,
+Reproaches on my head were shower'd,
+And Giaffir almost call'd me coward!
+Now I have motive to be brave;
+The son of his neglected slave —
+Nay, start not, 'twas the term he gave —
+May shew, though little apt to vaunt,
+A heart his words nor deeds can daunt.
+His son, indeed! — yet, thanks to thee,
+Perchance I am, at least shall be!
+But let our plighted secret vow
+Be only known to us as now.
+I know the wretch who dares demand
+From Giaffir thy reluctant hand;
+More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul
+Holds not a Musselim's control: [20]
+Was he not bred in Egripo? [21]
+A viler race let Israel show!
+But let that pass — to none be told
+Our oath; the rest let time unfold.
+To me and mine leave Osman Bey;
+I've partisans for peril's day:
+Think not I am what I appear;
+I've arms, and friends, and vengeance near."
+XIII.
+"Think not thou art what thou appearest!
+My Selim, thou art sadly changed:
+This morn I saw thee gentlest, dearest:
+But now thou'rt from thyself estranged.
+My love thou surely knew'st before,
+It ne'er was less, nor can be more.
+To see thee, hear thee, near thee stay,
+And hate the night, I know not why,
+Save that we meet not but by day;
+With thee to live, with thee to die,
+I dare not to my hope deny:
+Thy cheek, thine eyes, thy lips to kiss,
+Like this — and this — no more than this;
+For, Allah! Sure thy lips are flame:
+What fever in thy veins is flushing?
+My own have nearly caught the same,
+At least I feel my cheek too blushing.
+To soothe thy sickness, watch thy health,
+Partake, but never waste thy wealth,
+Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by,
+And lighten half thy poverty;
+Do all but close thy dying eye,
+For that I could not live to try;
+To these alone my thoughts aspire:
+More can I do? or thou require?
+But, Selim, thou must answer why
+We need so much of mystery?
+The cause I cannot dream nor tell,
+But be it, since thou say'st 'tis well;
+Yet what thou mean'st by 'arms' and 'friends,'
+Beyond my weaker sense extends.
+I mean that Giaffir should have heard
+The very vow I plighted thee;
+His wrath would not revoke my word:
+But surely he would leave me free.
+Can this fond wish seem strange in me,
+To be what I have ever been?
+What other hath Zuleika seen
+From simple childhood's earliest hour?
+What other can she seek to see
+Than thee, companion of her bower,
+The partner of her infancy?
+These cherish'd thoughts with life begun,
+Say, why must I no more avow?
+What change is wrought to make me shun
+The truth; my pride, and thine till now?
+To meet the gaze of stranger's eyes
+Our law, our creed, our God denies,
+Nor shall one wandering thought of mine
+At such, our Prophet's will, repine:
+No! happier made by that decree!
+He left me all in leaving thee.
+Deep were my anguish, thus compell'd
+To wed with one I ne'er beheld:
+This wherefore should I not reveal?
+Why wilt thou urge me to conceal!
+I know the Pacha's haughty mood
+To thee hath never boded good:
+And he so often storms at naught,
+Allah! forbid that e'er he ought!
+And why I know not, but within
+My heart concealment weighs like sin.
+If then such secresy be crime,
+And such it feels while lurking here,
+Oh, Selim! tell me yet in time,
+Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear.
+Ah! yonder see the Tchocadar, [22]
+My father leaves the mimic war:
+I tremble now to meet his eye —
+Say, Selim, canst thou tell me why?"
+XIV.
+"Zuleika — to thy tower's retreat
+Betake thee — Giaffir I can greet:
+And now with him I fain must prate
+Of firmans, imposts, levies, state.
+There's fearful news from Danube's banks,
+Our Vizier nobly thins his ranks,
+For which the Giaour may give him thanks!
+Our sultan hath a shorter way
+Such costly triumph to repay.
+But, mark me, when the twilight drum
+Hath warn'd the troops to food and sleep,
+Unto thy cell will Selim come:
+Then softly from the Haram creep
+Where we may wander by the deep:
+Our garden-battlements are steep;
+Nor these will rash intruder climb
+To list our words, or stint our time;
+And if he doth, I want not steel
+Which some have felt, and more may feel.
+Then shalt thou learn of Selim more
+Than thou hast heard or thought before:
+Trust me, Zuleika — fear not me!
+Thou know'st I hold a Haram key."
+"Fear thee, my Selim! ne'er till now
+Did word like this — "
+"Delay not thou;
+I keep the key — and Haroun's guard
+Have some, and hope of more reward.
+Tonight, Zuleika, thou shalt hear
+My tale, my purpose, and my fear:
+I am not, love! what I appear."
+____________
+CANTO THE SECOND.
+I.
+The winds are high on Helle's wave,
+As on that night of stormy water,
+When Love, who sent, forgot to save
+The young, the beautiful, the brave,
+The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
+Oh! when alone along the sky
+Her turret-torch was blazing high,
+Though rising gale, and breaking foam,
+And shrieking sea-birds warn'd him home;
+And clouds aloft and tides below,
+With signs and sounds, forbade to go,
+He could not see, he would not hear,
+Or sound or sign foreboding fear;
+His eye but saw the light of love,
+The only star it hail'd above;
+His ear but rang with Hero's song,
+"Ye waves, divide not lovers long!" —
+That tale is old, but love anew
+May nerve young hearts to prove as true.
+II.
+The winds are high, and Helle's tide
+Rolls darkly heaving to the main;
+And Night's descending shadows hide
+That field with blood bedew'd in vain,
+The desert of old Priam's pride;
+The tombs, sole relics of his reign,
+All — save immortal dreams that could beguile
+The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle!
+III.
+Oh! yet — for there my steps have been!
+These feet have press'd the sacred shore,
+These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne —
+Minstrel! with thee to muse, to mourn,
+To trace again those fields of yore,
+Believing every hillock green
+Contains no fabled hero's ashes,
+And that around the undoubted scene
+Thine own "broad Hellespont" still dashes, [23]
+Be long my lot! and cold were he
+Who there could gaze denying thee!
+IV.
+The night hath closed on Helle's stream,
+Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill
+That moon, which shoon on his high theme:
+No warrior chides her peaceful beam,
+But conscious shepherds bless it still.
+Their flocks are grazing on the mound
+Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow;
+That mighty heap of gather'd ground
+Which Ammon's son ran proudly round, [24]
+By nations raised, by monarchs crown'd,
+Is now a lone and nameless barrow!
+Within — thy dwelling-place how narrow?
+Without — can only strangers breathe
+The name of him that was beneath:
+Dust long outlasts the storied stone;
+But Thou — thy very dust is gone!
+V.
+Late, late to-night will Dian cheer
+The swain, and chase the boatman's fear;
+Till then — no beacon on the cliff
+May shape the course of struggling skiff;
+The scatter'd lights that skirt the bay,
+All, one by one, have died away;
+The only lamp of this lone hour
+Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower.
+Yes! there is light in that lone chamber,
+And o'er her silken Ottoman
+Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber,
+O'er which her fairy fingers ran; [25]
+Near these, with emerald rays beset,
+(How could she thus that gem forget?)
+Her mother's sainted amulet, [26]
+Whereon engraved the Koorsee text,
+Could smooth this life, and win the next;
+And by her Comboloio lies [27]
+A Koran of illumined dyes;
+And many a bright emblazon'd rhyme
+By Persian scribes redeem'd from time;
+And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,
+Reclines her now neglected lute;
+And round her lamp of fretted gold
+Bloom flowers in urns of China's mould;
+The richest work of Iran's loom,
+And Sheeraz' tribute of perfume;
+All that can eye or sense delight
+Are gather'd in that gorgeous room:
+But yet it hath an air of gloom.
+She, of this Peri cell the sprite,
+What doth she hence, and on so rude a night?
+VI.
+Wrapt in the darkest sable vest,
+Which none save noblest Moslems wear,
+To guard from winds of heaven the breast
+As heaven itself to Selim dear,
+With cautious steps the thicket threading,
+And starting oft, as through the glade
+The gust its hollow moanings made;
+Till on the smoother pathway treading,
+More free her timid bosom beat,
+The maid pursued her silent guide;
+And though her terror urged retreat,
+How could she quit her Selim's side?
+How teach her tender lips to chide?
+VII.
+They reach'd at length a grotto, hewn
+By nature, but enlarged by art,
+Where oft her lute she wont to tune,
+And oft her Koran conn'd apart:
+And oft in youthful reverie
+She dream'd what Paradise might be;
+Where woman's parted soul shall go
+Her Prophet had disdain'd to show;
+But Selim's mansion was secure,
+Nor deem'd she, could he long endure
+His bower in other worlds of bliss,
+Without her, most beloved in this!
+Oh! who so dear with him could dwell?
+What Houri soothe him half so well?
+VIII.
+Since last she visited the spot
+Some change seem'd wrought within the grot;
+It might be only that the night
+Disguised things seen by better light:
+That brazen lamp but dimly threw
+A ray of no celestial hue:
+But in a nook within the cell
+Her eye on stranger objects fell.
+There arms were piled, not such as wield
+The turban'd Delis in the field;
+But brands of foreign blade and hilt,
+And one was red — perchance with guilt!
+Ah! how without can blood be spilt?
+A cup too on the board was set
+That did not seem to hold sherbet.
+What may this mean? she turn'd to see
+Her Selim — "Oh! can this be he?"
+IX.
+His robe of pride was thrown aside,
+His brow no high-crown'd turban bore
+But in its stead a shawl of red,
+Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore:
+That dagger, on whose hilt the gem
+Were worthy of a diadem,
+No longer glitter'd at his waist,
+Where pistols unadorn'd were braced;
+And from his belt a sabre swung,
+And from his shoulder loosely hung
+The cloak of white, the thin capote
+That decks the wandering Candiote:
+Beneath — his golden plated vest
+Clung like a cuirass to his breast
+The greaves below his knee that wound
+With silvery scales were sheathed and bound.
+But were it not that high command
+Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand,
+All that a careless eye could see
+In him was some young Galiongйe. [28]
+X.
+"I said I was not what I seem'd;
+And now thou see'st my words were true:
+I have a tale thou hast not dream'd,
+If sooth — its truth must others rue.
+My story now 'twere vain to hide,
+I must not see thee Osman's bride:
+But had not thine own lips declared
+How much of that young heart I shared,
+I could not, must not, yet have shown
+The darker secret of my own.
+In this I speak not now of love;
+That, let time, truth, and peril prove:
+But first — oh! never wed another —
+Zuleika! I am not thy brother!"
+XI.
+"Oh! not my brother! — yet unsay —
+God! am I left alone on earth
+To mourn — I dare not curse the day
+That saw my solitary birth?
+Oh! thou wilt love me now no more!
+My sinking heart foreboded ill;
+But know me all I was before,
+Thy sister — friend — Zuleika still.
+Thou ledd'st me hear perchance to kill;
+If thou hast cause for vengeance see
+My breast is offer'd — take thy fill!
+Far better with the dead to be
+Than live thus nothing now to thee;
+Perhaps far worse, for now I know
+Why Giaffir always seem'd thy foe;
+And I, alas! am Giaffir's child,
+Form whom thou wert contemn'd, reviled.
+If not thy sister — wouldst thou save
+My life, oh! bid me be thy slave!"
+XII.
+"My slave, Zuleika! — nay, I'm thine;
+But, gentle love, this transport calm,
+Thy lot shall yet be link'd with mine;
+I swear it by our Prophet's shrine,
+And be that thought thy sorrow's balm.
+So may the Koran verse display'd [29]
+Upon its steel direct my blade,
+In danger's hour to guard us both,
+As I preserve that awful oath!
+The name in which thy heart hath prided
+Must change; but, my Zuleika, know,
+That tie is widen'd, not divided,
+Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe.
+My father was to Giaffir all
+That Selim late was deem'd to thee;
+That brother wrought a brother's fall,
+But spared, at least, my infancy;
+And lull'd me with a vain deceit
+That yet a like return may meet.
+He rear'd me, not with tender help,
+But like the nephew of a Cain; [30]
+He watch'd me like a lion's whelp,
+That gnaws and yet may break his chain.
+My father's blood in every vein
+Is boiling; but for thy dear sake
+No present vengeance will I take;
+Though here I must no more remain.
+But first, beloved Zuleika! hear
+How Giaffir wrought this deed of fear.
+XIII.
+"How first their strife to rancour grew,
+If love or envy made them foes,
+It matters little if I knew;
+In fiery spirits, slights, though few
+And thoughtless, will disturb repose.
+In war Abdallah's arm was strong,
+Remember'd yet in Bosniac song,
+And Paswan's rebel hordes attest [31]
+How little love they bore such guest:
+His death is all I need relate,
+The stern effect of Giaffir's hate;
+And how my birth disclosed to me,
+Whate'er beside it makes, hath made me free.
+XIV.
+"When Paswan, after years of strife,
+At last for power, but first for life,
+In Widdin's walls too proudly sate,
+Our Pachas rallied round the state;
+Nor last nor least in high command,
+Each brother led a separate band;
+They gave their horse-tails to the wind, [32]
+And mustering in Sophia's plain
+Their tents were pitch'd, their posts assign'd;
+To one, alas! assign'd in vain!
+What need of words? the deadly bowl,
+By Giaffir's order drugg'd and given,
+With venom subtle as his soul,
+Dismiss'd Abdallah's hence to heaven.
+Reclined and feverish in the bath,
+He, when the hunter's sport was up,
+But little deem'd a brother's wrath
+To quench his thirst had such a cup:
+The bowl a bribed attendant bore;
+He drank one draught, and nor needed more! [33]
+If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt,
+Call Haroun — he can tell it out.
+XV.
+"The deed once done, and Paswan's feud
+In part suppress'd, though ne'er subdued,
+Abdallah's Pachalic was gain'd: —
+Thou know'st not what in our Divan
+Can wealth procure for worse than man —
+Abdallah's honours were obtain'd
+By him a brother's murder stain'd;
+'Tis true, the purchase nearly drain'd
+His ill got treasure, soon replaced.
+Wouldst question whence? Survey the waste,
+And ask the squalid peasant how
+His gains repay his broiling brow! —
+Why me the stern usurper spared,
+Why thus with me the palace shared,
+I know not. Shame, regret, remorse,
+And little fear from infant's force;
+Besides, adoption of a son
+Of him whom Heaven accorded none,
+Or some unknown cabal, caprice,
+Preserved me thus; but not in peace;
+He cannot curb his haughty mood,
+Nor I forgive a father's blood!
+XVI.
+"Within thy father's house are foes;
+Not all who break his bread are true:
+To these should I my birth disclose,
+His days, his very hours, were few:
+They only want a heart to lead,
+A hand to point them to the deed.
+But Haroun only knows — or knew —
+This tale, whose close is almost nigh:
+He in Abdallah's palace grew,
+And held that post in his Serai
+Which holds he here — he saw him die:
+But what could single slavery do?
+Avenge his lord? alas! too late;
+Or save his son from such a fate?
+He chose the last, and when elate
+With foes subdued, or friends betray'd,
+Proud Giaffir in high triumph sate,
+He led me helpless to his gate,
+And not in vain it seems essay'd
+To save the life for which he pray'd.
+The knowledge of my birth secured
+From all and each, but most from me;
+Thus Giaffir's safety was insured.
+Removed he too from Roumelie
+To this our Asiatic side,
+Far from our seat by Danube's tide,
+With none but Haroun, who retains
+Such knowledge — and that Nubian feels
+A tyrant's secrets are but chains,
+From which the captive gladly steals,
+And this and more to me reveals:
+Such still to guilt just Allah sends —
+Slaves, tools, accomplices — no friends!
+XVII.
+"All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds;
+But harsher still my tale must be:
+Howe'er my tongue thy softness wounds,
+Yet I must prove all truth to thee.
+I saw thee start this garb to see,
+Yet is it one I oft have worn,
+And long must wear: this Galiongйe,
+To whom thy plighted vow is sworn,
+Is leader of those pirate hordes,
+Whose laws and lives are on their swords;
+To hear whose desolating tale
+Would make thy waning cheek more pale:
+Those arms thou see'st my band have brought,
+The hands that wield are not remote;
+This cup too for the rugged knaves
+Is fill'd — once quaff'd, they ne'er repine:
+Our Prophet might forgive the slaves;
+They're only infidels in wine!
+XVIII.
+"What could I be? Proscribed at home,
+And taunted to a wish to roam;
+And listless left — for Giaffir's fear
+Denied the courser and the spear —
+Though oft — oh, Mohammed! how oft! —
+In full Divan the despot scoff'd,
+As if my weak unwilling hand
+Refused the bridle or the brand:
+He ever went to war alone,
+And pent me here untried — unknown;
+To Haroun's care with women left,
+By hope unblest, of fame bereft.
+While thou — whose softness long endear'd,
+Though it unmann'd me, still had cheer'd —
+To Brusa's walls for safety sent,
+Awaited'st there the field's event.
+Haroun, who saw my spirit pining
+Beneath inaction's sluggish yoke,
+His captive, though with dread, resigning,
+My thraldom for a season broke,
+On promise to return before
+The day when Giaffir's charge was o'er.
+'Tis vain — my tongue can not impart
+My almost drunkenness of heart,
+When first this liberated eye
+Survey'd Earth, Ocean, Sun and Sky,
+As if my spirit pierced them through,
+And all their inmost wonders knew!
+One word alone can paint to thee
+That more than feeling — I was Free!
+Ev'n for thy presence ceased to pine;
+The World — nay — Heaven itself was mine!
+XIX.
+"The shallop of a trusty Moor
+Convey'd me from this idle shore;
+I long'd to see the isles that gem
+Old Ocean's purple diadem:
+I sought by turns, and saw them all: [34]
+But when and where I join'd the crew,
+With whom I'm pledged to rise or fall,
+When all that we design to do
+Is done, 'twill then be time more meet
+To tell thee, when the tale's complete.
+XX.
+"'Tis true, they are a lawless brood,
+But rough in form, nor mild in mood;
+With them hath found — may find — a place:
+But open speech, and ready hand,
+Obedience to their chief's command;
+A soul for every enterprise,
+That never sees with terror's eyes;
+Friendship for each, and faith to all,
+And vengeance vow'd for those who fall,
+Have made them fitting instruments
+For more than ev'n my own intents.
+And some — and I have studied all
+Distinguish'd from the vulgar rank,
+But chiefly to my council call
+The wisdom of the cautious Frank —
+And some to higher thoughts aspire,
+The last of Lambro's patriots there [35]
+Anticipated freedom share;
+And oft around the cavern fire
+On visionary schemes debate,
+To snatch the Rayahs from their fate. [36]
+So let them ease their hearts with prate
+Of equal rights, which man ne'er knew;
+I have a love of freedom too.
+Ay! let me like the ocean-Patriarch roam, [37]
+Or only known on land the Tartar's home! [38]
+My tent on shore, my galley on the sea,
+Are more than cities and Serais to me:
+Borne by my steed, or wafted by my sail,
+Across the desert, or before the gale,
+Bound where thou wilt, my barb! or glide, my prow!
+But be the star that guides the wanderer, Thou!
+Thou, my Zuleika! share and bless my bark;
+The Dove of peace and promise to mine ark!
+Or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife,
+Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
+The evening beam that smiles the cloud away,
+And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!
+Blest — as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall
+To pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call;
+Soft — as the melody of youthful days,
+That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise;
+Dear — as his native song to exile's ears,
+Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.
+For thee in those bright isles is built a bower
+Blooming as Aden in its earliest hour. [39]
+A thousand swords, with Selim's heart and hand,
+Wait — wave — defend — destroy — at thy command!
+Girt by my band, Zuleika at my side,
+The spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride.
+The Haram's languid years of listless ease
+Are well resign'd for cares — for joys like these:
+Not blind to fate, I see, where'er I rove,
+Unnumber'd perils — but one only love!
+Yet well my toils shall that fond beast repay,
+Though fortune frown or falser friends betray.
+How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill,
+Should all be changed, to find thee faithful still!
+Be but thy soul, like Selim's, firmly shown;
+To thee be Selim's tender as thine own;
+To soothe each sorrow, share in each delight,
+Blend every thought, do all — but disunite!
+Once free, 'tis mine our horde again to guide;
+Friends to each other, foes to aught beside:
+Yet there we follow but the bent assign'd
+By fatal Nature to man's warring kind:
+Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease!
+He makes a solitude, and calls it — peace!
+I like the rest must use my skill or strength,
+But ask no land beyond my sabre's length:
+Power sways but by division — her resource
+The blest alternative of fraud or force!
+Ours be the last; in time deceit may come
+When cities cage us in a social home:
+There ev'n thy soul might err — how oft the heart
+Corruption shakes which peril could not part!
+And woman, more than man, when death or woe,
+Or even disgrace, would lay her lover low,
+Sunk in the lap of luxury will shame —
+Away suspicion! — not Zuleika's name!
+But life is hazard at the best; and here
+No more remains to win, and much to fear:
+Yes, fear! — the doubt, the dread of losing thee,
+By Osman's power, and Giaffir's stern decree.
+That dread shall vanish with the favouring gale,
+Which Love to-night hath promised to my sail:
+No danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest,
+Their steps till roving, but their hearts at rest.
+With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms;
+Earth — sea alike — our world within our arms!
+Ay — let the loud winds whistle o'er the deck,
+So that those arms cling closer round my neck:
+The deepest murmur of this lip shall be
+No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!
+The war of elements no fears impart
+To Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art:
+There lie the only rocks our course can check;
+Here moments menace — there are years of wreck!
+But hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape!
+This hour bestows, or ever bars escape.
+Few words remain of mine my tale to close:
+Of thine but one to waft us from our foes;
+Yea — foes — to me will Giaffir's hate decline?
+And is not Osman, who would part us, thine?
+XXI.
+"His head and faith from doubt and death
+Return'd in time my guard to save;
+Few heard, none told, that o'er the wave
+From isle to isle I roved the while:
+And since, though parted from my band
+Too seldom now I leave the land,
+No deed they've done, nor deed shall do,
+Ere I have heard and doom'd it too:
+I form the plan, decree the spoil,
+'Tis fit I oftener share the toil.
+But now too long I've held thine ear;
+Time presses, floats my bark, and here
+We leave behind but hate and fear.
+To-morrow Osman with his train
+Arrives — to-night must break thy chain:
+And wouldst thou save that haughty Bey,
+Perchance, his life who gave the thine,
+With me this hour away — away!
+But yet, though thou art plighted mine,
+Wouldst thou recall thy willing vow,
+Appall'd by truth imparted now,
+Here rest I — not to see thee wed:
+But be that peril on my head!"
+XXII.
+Zuleika, mute and motionless,
+Stood like that statue of distress,
+When, her last hope for ever gone,
+The mother harden'd into stone;
+All in the maid that eye could see
+Was but a younger Niobи.
+But ere her lip, or even her eye,
+Essay'd to speak, or look reply,
+Beneath the garden's wicket porch
+Far flash'd on high a blazing torch!
+Another — and another — and another —
+"Oh! — 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 last of all, his sabre waving,
+Stern Giaffir in his fury raving:
+And now almost they touch the cave —
+Oh! must that grot be Selim's grave?
+XXIII.
+Dauntless he stood — "'Tis come — soon past —
+One kiss, Zuleika — 'tis my last:
+But yet my band not far from shore
+May hear this signal, see the flash;
+Yet now too few — the attempt were rash:
+No matter — yet one effort more."
+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, 'tis 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,
+At thee his rage will only chafe.
+Stir not — lest even to thee perchance
+Some erring blade or ball should glance.
+Fear'st though for him? — may I expire
+If in this strife I seek thy sire!
+No — though by him that poison pour'd:
+No — though again he call me coward!
+But tamely shall I meet their steel?
+No — as each crest save his may feel!"
+XXIV.
+One bound he made, and gain'd the sand:
+Already at his feet hath sunk
+The foremost of the prying band,
+A gasping head, a quivering trunk:
+Another falls — but round him close
+A swarming circle of his foes;
+From right to left his path he cleft,
+And almost met the meeting wave:
+His boat appears — not five oars' length —
+His comrades strain with desperate strength —
+Oh! are they yet in time to save?
+His feet the foremost breakers lave;
+His band are plunging in the bay,
+Their sabres glitter through the spray;
+We — wild — unwearied to the strand
+They struggle — now they touch the land!
+They come — 'tis but to add to slaughter —
+His heart's best blood is on the water!
+XXV.
+Escaped from shot, unharm'd by steel,
+Or scarcely grazed its force to feel,
+Had Selim won, betray'd, beset,
+To where the strand and billows met:
+There as his last step left the land,
+And the last death-blow dealt his hand —
+Ah! wherefore did he turn to look
+For her his eye but sought in vain?
+That pause, that fatal gaze he took,
+Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd his chain.
+Sad proof, in peril and in pain,
+How late will Lover's hope remain!
+His back was to the dashing spray;
+Behind, but close, his comrades lay
+When, at the instant, hiss'd the ball —
+"So may the foes of Giaffir fall!"
+Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang?
+Whose bullet through the night-air sang,
+Too nearly, deadly aim'd to err?
+'Tis thine — Abdallah's Murderer!
+The father slowly rued thy hate,
+The son hath found a quicker fate:
+Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling,
+The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling —
+If aught his lips essay'd to groan,
+The rushing billows choked the tone!
+XXVI.
+Morn slowly rolls the clouds away;
+Few trophies of the fight are there:
+The shouts that shook the midnight-bay
+Are silent; but some signs of fray
+That strand of strife may bear,
+And fragments of each shiver'd brand;
+Steps stamp'd; and dash'd into the sand
+The print of many a struggling hand
+May there be mark'd; nor far remote
+A broken torch, an oarless boat;
+And tangled on the weeds that heap
+The beach where shelving to the deep
+There lies a white capote!
+'Tis rent in twain — one dark-red stain
+The wave yet ripples o'er in vain:
+But where is he who wore?
+Ye! who would o'er his relics weep,
+Go, seek them where the surges sweep
+Their burthen round Sigжum's steep,
+And cast on Lemnos' shore:
+The sea-birds shriek above the prey,
+O'er which their hungry beaks delay,
+As shaken on his restless pillow,
+His head heaves with the heaving billow;
+That hand, whose motion is not life,
+Yet feebly seems to menace strife,
+Flung by the tossing tide on high,
+Then levell'd with the wave —
+What recks it, though that corse shall lie
+Within a living grave?
+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, [40]
+That heart hath burst — that eye was closed —
+Yea — closed before his own!
+XXVII.
+By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail!
+And woman's eye is wet — man's cheek is pale:
+Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race,
+Thy destined lord is come too late:
+He sees not — ne'er shall see — thy face!
+Can he not hear
+The loud Wul-wulleh warn his distant ear? [41]
+Thy handmaids weeping at the gate,
+The Koran-chanters of the hymn of fate,
+The silent slaves with folded arms that wait,
+Sighs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale,
+Tell him thy tale!
+Thou didst not view thy Selim fall!
+That fearful moment when he left the cave
+Thy heart grew chill:
+He was thy hope — thy joy — thy love — thine all —
+And that last thought on him thou couldst not save
+Sufficed to kill;
+Burst forth in one wild cry — and all was still.
+Peace to thy broken heart, and virgin grave!
+Ah! happy! but of life to lose the worst!
+That grief — though deep — though fatal — was thy first!
+Thrice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the force
+Of absence, shame, pride, hate, revenge, remorse!
+And, oh! that pang where more than madness lies!
+The worm that will not sleep — and never dies;
+Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night,
+That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light,
+That winds around, and tears the quivering heart!
+Ah! wherefore not consume it — and depart!
+Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting chief!
+Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head,
+Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs doth spread;
+By that same hand Abdallah — Selim — bled.
+Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief:
+Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed,
+Thy Daughter's dead!
+Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,
+The star hath set that shone on Helle's stream.
+What quench'd its ray? — the blood that thou hast shed!
+Hark! to the hurried question of Despair:
+"Where is my child?" — an Echo answers — "Where?" [42]
+XVIII.
+Within the place of thousand tombs
+That shine beneath, while dark above
+The sad but living cypress glooms,
+And withers not, though branch and leaf
+Are stamp'd with an eternal grief,
+Like early unrequited Love,
+One spot exists, which ever blooms,
+Ev'n in that deadly grove —
+A single rose is shedding there
+Its lonely lustre, meek and pale:
+It looks as planted by Despair —
+So white — so faint — the slightest gale
+Might whirl the leaves on high;
+And yet, though storms and blight assail,
+And hands more rude than wintry sky
+May wring it from the stem — in vain —
+To-morrow sees it bloom again!
+The stalk some spirit gently rears,
+And waters with celestial tears;
+For well may maids of Helle deem
+That this can be no earthly flower,
+Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,
+And buds unshelter'd by a bower;
+Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower,
+Nor woos the summer beam:
+To it the livelong night there sings
+A bird unseen — but not remote:
+Invisible his airy wings,
+But soft as harp that Houri strings
+His long entrancing note!
+It were the Bulbul; but his throat,
+Though mournful, pours not such a strain:
+For they who listen cannot leave
+The spot, but linger there and grieve,
+As if they loved in vain!
+And yet so sweet the tears they shed,
+'Tis sorrow so unmix'd with dread,
+They scarce can bear the morn to break
+That melancholy spell,
+And longer yet would weep and wake,
+He sings so wild and well!
+But when the day-blush bursts from high
+Expires that magic melody.
+And some have been who could believe,
+(So fondly youthful dreams deceive,
+Yet harsh be they that blame,)
+That note so piercing and profound
+Will shape and syllable its sound
+Into Zuleika's name. [43]
+'Tis from her cypress' summit heard,
+That melts in air the liquid word;
+'Tis from her lowly virgin earth
+That white rose takes its tender birth.
+There late was laid a marble stone;
+Eve saw it placed — the Morrow gone!
+It was no mortal arm that bore
+That deep fixed pillar to the shore;
+For there, as Helle's legends tell,
+Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell;
+Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave
+Denied his bones a holier grave:
+And there by night, reclined, 'tis said,
+Is seen a ghastly turban'd head:
+And hence extended by the billow,
+'Tis named the "Pirate-phantom's pillow!"
+Where first it lay that mourning flower
+Hath flourish'd; flourisheth this hour,
+Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale;
+As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's tale.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7215: / 줄 10013: @@
 Oh! Weep for Those |
 <poem>
+Chill and mirk is the nightly blast,
+Where Pindus' mountains rise,
+And angry clouds are pouring fast
+The vengeance of the skies.
+Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
+And lightnings, as they play,
+But show where rocks our path have crost,
+Or gild the torrent's spray.
+Is yon a cot I saw, though low?
+When lightning broke the gloom---
+How welcome were its shade!---ah, no!
+'Tis but a Turkish tomb.
+Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,
+I hear a voice exclaim---
+My way-worn countryman, who calls
+On distant England's name.
+A shot is fired---by foe or friend?
+Another---'tis to tell
+The mountain-peasants to descend,
+And lead us where they dwell.
+Oh! who in such a night will dare
+To tempt the wilderness?
+And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear
+Our signal of distress?
+And who that heard our shouts would rise
+To try the dubious road?
+Nor rather deem from nightly cries
+That outlaws were abroad.
+Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!
+More fiercely pours the storm!
+Yet here one thought has still the power
+To keep my bosom warm.
+While wandering through each broken path,
+O'er brake and craggy brow;
+While elements exhaust their wrath,
+Sweet Florence, where art thou?
+Not on the sea, not on the sea---
+Thy bark hath long been gone:
+Oh, may the storm that pours on me,
+Bow down my head alone!
+Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
+When last I pressed thy lip;
+And long ere now, with foaming shock,
+Impelled thy gallant ship.
+Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
+Hast trod the shore of Spain;
+'Twere hard if aught so fair as thou
+Should linger on the main.
+And since I now remember thee
+In darkness and in dread,
+As in those hours of revelry
+Which Mirth and Music sped;
+Do thou, amid the fair white walls,
+If Cadiz yet be free,
+At times from out her latticed halls
+Look o'er the dark blue sea;
+Then think upon Calypso's isles,
+Endeared by days gone by;
+To others give a thousand smiles,
+To me a single sigh.
+And when the admiring circle mark
+The paleness of thy face,
+A half-formed tear, a transient spark
+Of melancholy grace,
+Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun
+Some coxcomb's raillery;
+Nor own for once thou thought'st on one,
+Who ever thinks on thee.
+Though smile and sigh alike are vain,
+When severed hearts repine
+My spirit flies o'er Mount and Main
+And mourns in search of thine.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7222: / 줄 10108: @@
 Stanzas Composed During A Thunderstorm |
 <poem>
+Chill and mirk is the nightly blast,
+Where Pindus' mountains rise,
+And angry clouds are pouring fast
+The vengeance of the skies.
+Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
+And lightnings, as they play,
+But show where rocks our path have crost,
+Or gild the torrent's spray.
+Is yon a cot I saw, though low?
+When lightning broke the gloom---
+How welcome were its shade!---ah, no!
+'Tis but a Turkish tomb.
+Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,
+I hear a voice exclaim---
+My way-worn countryman, who calls
+On distant England's name.
+A shot is fired---by foe or friend?
+Another---'tis to tell
+The mountain-peasants to descend,
+And lead us where they dwell.
+Oh! who in such a night will dare
+To tempt the wilderness?
+And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear
+Our signal of distress?
+And who that heard our shouts would rise
+To try the dubious road?
+Nor rather deem from nightly cries
+That outlaws were abroad.
+Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!
+More fiercely pours the storm!
+Yet here one thought has still the power
+To keep my bosom warm.
+While wandering through each broken path,
+O'er brake and craggy brow;
+While elements exhaust their wrath,
+Sweet Florence, where art thou?
+Not on the sea, not on the sea---
+Thy bark hath long been gone:
+Oh, may the storm that pours on me,
+Bow down my head alone!
+Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
+When last I pressed thy lip;
+And long ere now, with foaming shock,
+Impelled thy gallant ship.
+Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
+Hast trod the shore of Spain;
+'Twere hard if aught so fair as thou
+Should linger on the main.
+And since I now remember thee
+In darkness and in dread,
+As in those hours of revelry
+Which Mirth and Music sped;
+Do thou, amid the fair white walls,
+If Cadiz yet be free,
+At times from out her latticed halls
+Look o'er the dark blue sea;
+Then think upon Calypso's isles,
+Endeared by days gone by;
+To others give a thousand smiles,
+To me a single sigh.
+And when the admiring circle mark
+The paleness of thy face,
+A half-formed tear, a transient spark
+Of melancholy grace,
+Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun
+Some coxcomb's raillery;
+Nor own for once thou thought'st on one,
+Who ever thinks on thee.
+Though smile and sigh alike are vain,
+When severed hearts repine
+My spirit flies o'er Mount and Main
+And mourns in search of thine.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7229: / 줄 10203: @@
 And Wilt Thou Weep When I Am Low? |
 <poem>
+And wilt thou weep when I am low?
+Sweet lady! speak those words again:
+Yet if they grieve thee, say not so---
+I would not give that bosom pain.
+My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
+My blood runs coldly through my breast;
+And when I perish, thou alone
+Wilt sigh above my place of rest.
+And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace
+Doth through my cloud of anguish shine:
+And for a while my sorrows cease,
+To know thy heart hath felt for mine.
+Oh lady! blessd be that tear---
+It falls for one who cannot weep;
+Such precious drops are doubly dear
+To those whose eyes no tear may steep.
+Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
+With every feeling soft as thine;
+But Beauty's self hath ceased to charm
+A wretch created to repine.
+Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
+Sweet lady! speak those words again:
+Yet if they grieve thee, say not so---
+I would not give that bosom pain.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7236: / 줄 10238: @@
 I Would I Were a Careless Child |
 <poem>
+I would I were a careless child,
+Still dwelling in my highland cave,
+Or roaming through the dusky wild,
+Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave;
+The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride
+Accords not with the freeborn soul,
+Which loves the mountain's craggy side,
+And seeks the rocks where billows roll.
+Fortune! take back these cultured lands,
+Take back this name of splendid sound!
+I hate the touch of servile hands,
+I hate the slaves that cringe around.
+Place me among the rocks I love,
+Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar;
+I ask but this -- again to rove
+Through scenes my youth hath known before.
+Few are my years, and yet I feel
+The world was ne'er designed for me:
+Ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal
+The hour when man must cease to be?
+Once I beheld a splendid dream,
+A visionary scene of bliss:
+Truth! -- wherefore did thy hated beam
+Awake me to a world like this?
+I loved -- but those I loved are gone;
+Had friends -- my early friends are fled:
+How cheerless feels the heart alone
+When all its former hopes are dead!
+Though gay companions o'er the bowl
+Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
+Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul,
+The heart -- the heart -- is lonely still.
+How dull! to hear the voice of those
+Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power,
+Have made, though neither friends nor foes,
+Associates of the festive hour.
+Give me again a faithful few,
+In years and feelings still the same,
+And I will fly the midnight crew,
+Where boist'rous joy is but a name.
+And woman, lovely woman! thou,
+My hope, my comforter, my all!
+How cold must be my bosom now,
+When e'en thy smiles begin to pall!
+Without a sigh I would resign
+This busy scene of splendid woe,
+To make that calm contentment mine,
+Which virtue knows, or seems to know.
+Fain would I fly the haunts of men--
+I seek to shun, not hate mankind;
+My breast requires the sullen glen,
+Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind.
+Oh! that to me the wings were given
+Which bear the turtle to her nest!
+Then would I cleave the vault of heaven,
+To flee away and be at rest.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7243: / 줄 10306: @@
 The Siege of Corinth |
 <poem>
+ADVERTISEMENT
+"The grand army of the Turks, (in 1715), under the Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into the heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli di Romania, the most considerable place in all that country, [1] thought it best in the first place to attack Corinth, upon which they made several storms. The garrison being weakened, and the governor seeing it was impossible to hold out against so mighty a force, thought it fit to beat a parley; but while they were treating about the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish army, wherein they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men were killed; which so enraged the infidels, that they would not grant any capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they took it, and put most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the governor, to the sword. The rest, with Antonio Bembo, proveditor extraordinary, were made prisoners of war." — History of the Turks, vol. iii. p. 151.
+THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.
+I.
+Many a vanish'd year and age,
+And tempest's breath, and battle's rage,
+Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands
+A fortress form'd to Freedom's hands.
+The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock
+Have left untouch'd her hoary rock,
+The keystone of a land, which still,
+Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill,
+The landmark to the double tide
+That purpling rolls on either side,
+As if their waters chafed to meet,
+Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.
+But could the blood before her shed
+Since first Timoleon's brother bled,
+Or baffled Persia's despot fled,
+Arise from out the earth which drank
+The stream of slaughter as it sank,
+That sanguine ocean would o'erflow
+Her isthmus idly spread below:
+Or could the bones of all the slain,
+Who perish'd there, be piled again,
+That rival pyramid would rise
+More mountain-like, through those clear skies
+Than yon tower-capp'd Acropolis,
+Which seems the very clouds to kiss.
+II.
+On dun Cithжron's ridge appears
+The gleam of twice ten thousand spears,
+And downward to the Isthmian plain,
+From shore to shore of either main,
+The tent is pitch'd, the crescent shines
+Along the Moslem's leaguering lines;
+And the dusk Spahi's bands advance
+Beneath each bearded pacha's glance;
+And far and wide as eye can reach
+The turban'd cohorts throng the beach;
+And there the Arab's camel kneels,
+And there his steed the Tartar wheels;
+The Turcoman hath left his herd, [2]
+The sabre round his loins to gird;
+And there the volleying thunders pour,
+Till waves grow smoother to the roar.
+The trench is dug, the cannon's breath
+Wings the far hissing globe of death;
+Fast whirl the fragments from the wall,
+Which crumbles with the ponderous ball;
+And from that wall the foe replies,
+O'er dusty plain and smoky skies,
+With fires that answer fast and well
+The summons of the Infidel.
+III.
+But near and nearest to the wall
+Of those who wish and work its fall,
+With deeper skill in war's black art
+Than Othman's sons, and high of heart
+As any chief that ever stood
+Triumphant in the fields of blood;
+From post to post, and deed to deed,
+Fast spurring on his reeking steed,
+Where sallying ranks the trench assail,
+And make the foremost Moslem quail;
+Or where the battery, guarded well,
+Remains as yet impregnable,
+Alighting cheerly to inspire
+The soldier slackening in his fire;
+The first and freshest of the host
+Which Stamboul's Sultan there can boast
+To guide the follower o'er the field,
+To point the tube, the lance to wield,
+Or whirl around the bickering blade; —
+Was Alp, the Adrian renegade!
+IV.
+From Venice — once a race of worth
+His gentle sires — he drew his birth;
+But late an exile from her shore,
+Against his countrymen he bore
+The arms they taught to bear; and now
+The turban girt his shaven brow.
+Through many a change had Corinth pass'd
+With Greece to Venice' rule at last;
+And here, before her walls, with those
+To Greece and Venice equal foes,
+He stood a foe, with all the zeal
+Which young and fiery converts feel,
+Within whose heated bosom throngs
+The memory of a thousand wrongs.
+To him had Venice ceased to be
+Her ancient civic boast — "the Free;"
+And in the palace of St Mark
+Unnamed accusers in the dark
+Within the "Lion's mouth" had placed
+A charge against him uneffaced:
+He fled in time, and saved his life,
+To waste his future years in strife,
+That taught his land how great her loss
+In him who triumph'd o'er the Cross,
+'Gainst which he rear'd the Crescent high,
+And battled to avenge or die.
+V.
+Coumourgi — he whose closing scene [3]
+Adorn'd the triumph of Eugene,
+When on Carlowitz' bloody plain,
+The last and mightiest of the slain,
+He sank, regretting not to die,
+But cursed the Christian's victory —
+Coumourgi — can his glory cease,
+That latest conqueror of Greece,
+Till Christian hands to Greece restore
+The freedom Venice gave of yore?
+A hundred years have roll'd away
+Since he refix'd the Moslem's sway,
+And now he led the Mussulman,
+And gave the guidance of the van
+To Alp, who well repaid the trust
+By cities levell'd with the dust;
+And proved, by many a deed of death,
+How firm his heart in novel faith.
+VI.
+The walls grew weak; and fast and hot
+Against them pour'd the ceaseless shot,
+With unabating fury sent,
+From battery to battlement;
+And thunder-like the pealing din
+Rose from each heated culverin;
+And here and there some crackling dome
+Was fired before the exploding bomb;
+And as the fabric sank beneath
+The shattering shell's volcanic breath,
+In red and wreathing columns flash'd
+The flame as loud the ruin crash'd,
+Or into countless meteors driven,
+Its earth-stars melted into heaven;
+Whose clouds that day grew doubly d[un?]
+Impervious to the hidden sun,
+With volumed smoke that slowly grew
+To one wide sky of sulphurous hue.
+VII.
+But not for vengeance, long delay'd,
+Alone, did Alp, the renegade,
+The Moslem warriors sternly teach
+His skill to pierce the promised breach:
+Within those walls a maid was pent
+His hope would win, without consent
+Of that inexorable sire,
+Whose heart refused him in its ire,
+When Alp, beneath his Christian name,
+Her virgin hand aspired to claim.
+In happier mood, and earlier time,
+While unimpeach'd for traitorous crime,
+Gayest in gondola or hall,
+He glitter'd through the Carnival;
+And tuned the softest serenade
+That e'er on Adria's waters play'd
+At midnight to Italian maid.
+VIII.
+And many deem'd her heart was won;
+For sought by numbers, given to none,
+Had young Francesca's hand remain'd
+Still by the church's bond unchain'd:
+And when the Adriatic bore
+Lanciotto to the Paynim shore,
+Her wonted smiles were seen to fail,
+And pensive wax'd the maid and pale;
+More constant at confessional,
+More rare at masque and festival;
+Or seen at such with downcast eyes,
+Which conquer'd hearts they ceased to prize!
+With listless look she seems to gaze;
+With humbler care her form arrays;
+Her voice less lively in the song;
+Her step, though light, less fleet among
+The pairs, on whom the Morning's glance
+Breaks, yet unsated with the dance.
+IX.
+Sent by the state to guard the land,
+(Which, wrested from the Moslem's hand,
+While Sobieski tamed his pride
+By Buda's wall and Danube's side,
+The chiefs of Venice wrung away
+From Patra to Eubњa's bay,)
+Minotti held in Corinth's towers
+The Doge's delegated powers,
+While yet the pitying eye of Peace
+Smiled o'er her long-forgotten Greece:
+And ere that faithless truce was broke
+Which freed her from the unchristian yoke,
+With him his gentle daughter came;
+Nor there, since Menelaus' dame
+Forsook her lord and land, to prove
+What woes await on lawless love,
+Had fairer form adorn'd the shore
+Than she, the matchless stranger, bore.
+X.
+The wall is rent, the ruins yawn,
+And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn,
+O'er the disjointed mass shall vault
+The foremost of the fierce assault.
+The bands are rank'd; the chosen van
+Of Tartar and of Mussulman,
+The full of hope, misnamed "forlorn,"
+Who hold the thought of death in scorn,
+And win their way with falchion's force,
+Or pave the path with many a corse,
+O'er which the following brave may rise,
+Their stepping-stone — the last who dies!
+XI.
+'Tis midnight: on the mountains brown
+The cold, round moon shines deeply down:
+Blue roll the waters, blue the sky
+Spreads like an ocean hung on high,
+Bespangled with those isles of light,
+So wildly, spiritually bright;
+Who ever gazed upon them shining,
+And turn'd to earth without repining,
+Nor wish'd for wings to flee away,
+And mix with their eternal ray?
+The waves on either shore lay there,
+Calm, clear, and azure as the air;
+And scarce their foam the pebbles shook,
+But murmur'd meekly as the brook.
+The winds were pillow'd on the waves;
+The banners droop'd along their staves,
+And, as they fell around them furling,
+Above them shone the crescent curling;
+And that deep silence was unbroke,
+Save where the watch his signal spoke,
+Save where the steed neigh'd oft and shrill,
+And echo answer'd from the hill,
+And the wide hum of that wild host,
+Rustled like leaves from coast to coast,
+As rose the Muezzin's voice in air
+In midnight call to wonted prayer;
+It rose, that chanted mournful strain,
+Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain:
+'Twas musical, but sadly sweet,
+Such as when winds and harp-strings meet,
+And take a long-unmeasured tone,
+To mortal minstrelsy unknown.
+It seem'd to those within the wall
+A cry prophetic of their fall:
+It struck even the besieger's ear
+An undefined and sudden thrill,
+Which makes the heart a moment still,
+Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed
+Of that strange sense its silence framed:
+Such as a sudden passing-bell
+Wakes though but for a stranger's knell.
+XII.
+The tent of Alp was on the shore;
+The sound was hush'd, the prayer was o'er;
+The watch was set, the night-round made,
+All mandates issued and obey'd:
+'Tis but another anxious night,
+His pains the morrow may requite
+With all revenge and love can pay,
+In guerdon for their long delay.
+Few hours remain, and he hath need
+Of rest, to nerve for many a deed
+Of slaughter; but within his soul
+The thoughts like troubled waters roll.
+He stood alone among the host;
+Not his the loud fanatic boast
+To plant the Crescent o'er the Cross
+Or risk a life with little loss,
+Secure in Paradise to be
+By Houris loved immortally:
+Nor his, what burning patriots feel,
+The stern exaltedness of zeal,
+Profuse of blood, untired in toil,
+When battling on the parent soil.
+He stood alone — a renegade
+Against the country he betray'd.
+He stood alone amidst his band,
+Without a trusted heart or hand:
+They follow'd him, for he was brave,
+And great the spoil he got and gave;
+They crouch'd to him, for he had skill
+To warp and wield the vulgar will:
+But still his Christian origin
+With them was little less than sin.
+They envied even the faithless fame
+He earn'd beneath a Moslem name:
+Since he, their mightiest chief had been
+In youth, a bitter Nazarene.
+They did not know how pride can stoop,
+When baffled feelings withering droop;
+They did not know how hate can burn
+In hearts once changed from soft to stern;
+Nor all the false and fatal zeal
+The convert of revenge can feel.
+He ruled them — man may rule the worst
+By ever daring to be first:
+So lions o'er the jackal sway;
+The jackal points, he fells the prey,
+Then on the vulgar yelling press,
+To gorge the relics of success.
+XIII.
+His head grows fever'd, and his pulse
+The quick successive throbs convulse;
+In vain from side to side he throws
+His form, in courtship of repose;
+Or if he dozed, a sound, a start
+Awoke him with a sunken heart.
+The turban on his hot brow press'd,
+The mail weigh'd lead-like on his breast,
+Though oft and long beneath its weight
+Upon his eyes had slumber sate,
+Without or couch or canopy,
+Except a rougher field and sky
+Than now might yield a warrior's bed,
+Than now along the heaven was spread.
+He could not rest, he could not stay
+Within his tent to wait for day,
+But walk'd him forth along the sand,
+Where thousand sleepers strew'd the strand.
+What pillow'd them? and why should he
+More wakeful than the humblest be?
+Since more their peril, worse their toil,
+And yet they fearless dream of spoil;
+While he alone, where thousands pass'd
+A night of sleep, perchance their last,
+In sickly vigil wander'd on,
+And envied all he gazed upon.
+XIV.
+He felt his soul become more light
+Beneath the freshness of the night.
+Cool was the silent sky, though calm,
+And bathed his brow with airy balm:
+Behind, the camp — before him lay,
+In many a winding creek and bay,
+Lepanto's gulf; and on the brow
+Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow,
+High and eternal, such as shone
+Through thousand summers brightly gone.
+Along the gulf, the mount, the clime;
+It will not melt, like man, to time;
+Tyrant and slave are swept away,
+Less form'd to wear the before the ray;
+But that white veil, the lightest, frailest,
+Which on the mighty mount thou hailest,
+Shines o'er its craggy battlement;
+In form a peak, in height a cloud,
+In texture like a hovering shroud,
+Thus high by parting Freedom spread,
+As from her fond abode she fled,
+And linger'd on the spot, where long
+Her prophet spirit spake in song.
+Oh! still her step at moments falters
+O'er wither'd fields, and ruined altars,
+And fain would wake, in souls too broken,
+By pointing to each glorious token.
+But vain her voice, till better days
+Dawn in those yet remember'd rays,
+Which shone upon the Persian flying,
+And saw the Spartan smile in dying.
+XV.
+Not mindless of these mighty times
+Was Alp, despite his flight and crimes;
+And through this night, as on he wander'd,
+And o'er the past and present ponder'd,
+And thought upon the glorious dead
+Who there in better cause had bled,
+He felt how faint and feebly dim
+The fame that could accrue to him,
+Who cheer'd the band, and waved the sword
+A traitor in a turban'd horde;
+And led them to the lawless siege,
+Whose best success were sacrilege.
+Not so had those his fancy number'd,
+The chiefs whose dust around him slumber'd;
+Their phalanx marshall'd on the plain,
+Whose bulwarks were not then in vain.
+They fell devoted, but undying;
+The very gale their names seem'd sighing:
+The waters murmur'd of their name;
+The woods were peopled with their fame;
+The silent pillar, lone and gray,
+Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay;
+Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain,
+Their memory sparkled o'er the mountain,
+The meanest rill, the mightiest river,
+Roll'd mingling with their fame for ever.
+Despite of every yoke she bears,
+That land is glory's still, and theirs!
+When man would do a deed of worth
+He points to Greece, and turns to tread,
+So sanction'd, on the tyrant's head:
+He looks to her, and rushes on
+Where life is lost, or freedom won.
+XVI.
+Still by the shore Alp mutely mused,
+And woo'd the freshness night diffused.
+There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea, [3]
+Which changeless rolls eternally;
+So that wildest of waves, in their angriest mood,
+Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a rood;
+And the powerless moon beholds them flow,
+Heedless if she come or go:
+Calm or high, in main or bay,
+On their course she hath no sway.
+The rock unworn its base doth bare,
+And looks o'er the surf, but it comes not there;
+And the fringe of the foam may be seen below,
+On the line that it left long ages ago:
+A smooth short space of yellow sand
+Between it and the greener land.
+He wander'd on, along the beach,
+Till within the range of a carbine's reach
+Of the leaguer'd wall; but they saw him not,
+Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot,
+Did traitors lurk in the Christian's hold?
+Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts wax'd cold,
+I know not, in sooth; but from yonder wall
+There flash'd no fire, and there hiss'd no ball,
+Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown,
+That flank'd the sea-ward gate of the town;
+Though he heard the sound, and could almost tell
+The sullen words of the sentinel,
+As his measured step on the stone below
+Clank'd, as he paced it to and fro;
+And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall
+Hold o'er the dead their carnival,
+Gorging and growling o'er carcass and limb!
+They were too busy to bark at him!
+From a Tartar's skull they had stripp'd the flesh,
+As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh;
+And their white tusks crunch'd o'er the whiter skull, [4]
+As it slipped through their jaws, when their edge grew dull,
+As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead,
+When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed;
+So well had they broken a lingering fast
+With those who had fall'n for that night's repast.
+And Alp knew, by the turbans that roll'd on the sand,
+The foremost of these were the best of his band:
+Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear,
+And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair, [5]
+All the rest was shaven and bare.
+The scalps were in the wild-dog's maw,
+The hair was tangled round his jaw.
+But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf,
+There sat a vulture flapping a wolf,
+Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away,
+Scared by the dogs, from the human prey;
+But he seized on his share of a steed that lay,
+Pick'd by the birds, on the sands of the bay.
+XVII.
+Alp turn'd him from the sickening sight:
+Never had shaken his nerves in fight;
+Be he better could brook to behold the dying,
+Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying,
+Scorch'd with death-thirst, and writing in vain,
+Than the perishing dead who are past all pain.
+There is something of pride in the perilous hour,
+Whate'er be the shape in which death may lour;
+For Fame is there to say who bleeds,
+And Honour's eye on daring deeds!
+But when all is past, it is humbling to tread
+O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead,
+And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air,
+Beasts of the forest, all gathering there;
+All regarding man as their prey,
+All rejoicing in his decay.
+XVIII.
+There is a temple in ruin stands,
+Fashion'd by long-forgotten hands;
+Two or three columns, and many a stone,
+Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown!
+Out upon Time! it will leave no more
+Of the things to come than the things before!
+But enough of the past for the future to grieve
+O'er that which hath been, and o'er that which must be!
+What we have seen, our sons shall see;
+Remnants of things that have pass'd away,
+Fragments of stone, rear'd by creatures of clay!
+XIX.
+He sate him down at a pillar's base,
+And pass'd his hand athwart his face;
+Like one in dreary musing mood,
+Declining was his attitude;
+His head was drooping on his breast,
+Fever'd, throbbing, and opprest;
+And o'er his brow, so downward bent,
+Oft his beating fingers went,
+Hurriedly, as you may see
+Your own run over the ivory key,
+Ere the measured tone is taken,
+By the chords you would awaken.
+There he sate all heavily,
+As he heard the night-wind sigh.
+Was it the wind, through some hollow stone, [6]
+Sent that soft and tender moan?
+He lifted his head, and he look'd on the sea,
+But it was unrippled as glass may be;
+He look'd on the long grass — it waved not a blade;
+How was that gentle sound convey'd?
+He look'd to the banners — each flag lay still,
+So did the leaves on Cithжron's hill,
+And he felt not a breath come over his cheek;
+What did that sudden sound bespeak?
+He turn'd to the left — is he sure of sight?
+There sate a lady, youthful and bright!
+XX.
+He started up with more of fear
+Than if an armed foe were near.
+"God of my fathers! what is here?
+Who art thou, and wherefore sent
+So near a hostile armament?"
+His trembling hands refused to sign
+The cross he deem'd no more divine:
+He had resumed it in that hour,
+But conscience wrung away the power.
+He gazed — he saw: he knew the face
+Of beauty, and the form of grace;
+It was Francesca by his side,
+The maid who might have been his bride!
+The rose was yet upon her cheek,
+But mellow'd with a tenderer streak:
+Where was the play of her soft lips fled?
+Gone was the smile that enliven'd their red.
+The ocean's calm within their view,
+Beside her eye had less of blue;
+But like that cold wave it stood still,
+And its glance, though clear, was chill.
+Around her form a thin robe twining,
+Nought conceal'd her bosom shining;
+Through the parting of her hair,
+Floating darkly downward there,
+Her rounded arm shew'd white and bare:
+And ere yet she made reply,
+Once she raised her hand on high;
+It was so wan and transparent of hue,
+You might have seen the moon shine through.
+XXI.
+"I come from my rest to him I love best,
+That I may be happy, and he may be blest.
+I have pass'd the guards, the gate, the wall;
+Sought thee in safety through foes and all.
+'Tis said the lion will turn and flee
+From a maid in the pride of her purity;
+And the Power on high, that can shield the good
+Thus from the tyrant of the wood,
+Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well
+From the hands of the leaguering infidel.
+I come — and if I come in vain,
+Never, oh never, we meet again!
+Thou hast done a fearful deed
+In falling away from thy fathers' creed:
+But dash that turban to earth, and sign
+The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine;
+Wring the black drop from thy heart,
+And to-morrow unites us no more to part."
+"And where should our bridal-couch be spread?
+In the midst of the dying and the dead?
+For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame
+The sons and shrines of the Christian name.
+None, save thou and thine, I've sworn,
+Shall be left upon the morn:
+But thee will I bear to a lovely spot,
+Where our hands shall be join'd, and our sorrow forgot.
+There thou yet shall be my bride,
+When once again I've quell'd the pride
+Of Venice: and her hated race
+Have felt the arm they would debase
+Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those
+Whom vice and envy made my foes."
+Upon his hand she laid her own —
+Light was the touch, but it thrill'd to the bone,
+And shot a chillness to his heart,
+Which fix'd him beyond the power to start.
+Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold,
+He could not lose him from its hold:
+But never did clasp of one so dear
+Strike on the pulse with such feeling of fear,
+As those thin fingers, long and white,
+Froze through his blood by their touch that night.
+The feverish glow of his brow was gone,
+And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone,
+As he look'd on the face, and beheld its hue,
+So deeply changed from what he knew:
+Fair but faint — without the ray
+Of mind, that made each feature play
+Like sparkling waves on a sunny day;
+And her motionless lips lay still as death,
+And her words came forth without her breath,
+And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell,
+And there seem'd not a pulse in her veins to dwell.
+Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fix'd,
+And the glance that it gave was wild and unmix'd
+With aught of change, as the eyes may seem
+Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream:
+Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare,
+Stirr'd by the breath of the wintry air,
+So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light,
+Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight;
+As they seem, through the dimness, about to come down
+From the shadowy wall where their images frown;
+Fearfully flitting to and fro,
+As the gusts on the tapestry come and go.
+"If not for the love of me be given
+Thus much, then, for the love of Heaven, —
+Again I say — that turban tear
+From off thy faithless brow, and swear
+Thine injured country's sons to spare,
+Or thou art lost; and never shalt see —
+Not earth — that's past — but heaven or me.
+If this thou dost accord, albeit
+A heavy doom 'tis thine to me,
+That doom shall half absolve thy sin,
+And mercy's gate may receive within;
+But pause one moment more, and take
+The curse of Him thou didst forsake;
+And look once more to heaven, and see
+Its love for ever shut from thee.
+There is a light cloud by the moon — [7]
+'Tis passing, and will pass full soon —
+If, by the time its vapoury sail
+Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil,
+Thy heart within thee is not changed,
+Then God and man are both avenged;
+Dark will thy doom be, darker still
+Thine immortality of ill."
+Alp look'd to heaven, and saw on high
+The sign she spake of in the sky;
+But his heart was swoll'n, and turn'd aside,
+By deep interminable pride.
+This first false passion of his breast
+Roll'd like a torrent o'er the rest.
+He sue for mercy! He dismay'd
+By wild words of a timid maid!
+He, wrong'd by Venice, vow to save
+Her sons, devoted to the grave!
+No — though that cloud were thunder's worst,
+And charged to crush him — let it burst!
+He look'd upon it earnestly,
+Without an accent of reply;
+He watch'd it passing: it is flown:
+Full on his eye the clear moon shone.
+And thus he spake — "Whate'er my fate,
+I am no changeling — 'tis too late:
+The reed in storms may bow and quiver,
+Then rise again; the tree must shiver.
+What Venice made me, I must be,
+Her foe in all, save love to thee:
+But thou art safe: oh, fly with me!"
+He turn'd, but she is gone!
+Nothing is there but the column stone.
+Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air?
+He saw not — he knew not — but nothing is there.
+XXII.
+The night is past, and shines the sun
+As if that morn were a jocund one.
+Lightly and brightly breaks away
+The Morning from her mantle gray,
+And the Noon will look on a sultry day.
+Hark to the trump, and the drum,
+And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,
+And the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne,
+And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum,
+And the clash and the shout, "They come, they come!"
+The horsetails are pluck'd from the ground, and the sword
+From its sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.
+Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman,
+Strike your tents, and throng to the van;
+Mount ye, spur ye, skirt the plain,
+That the fugitive may flee in vain,
+When he breaks from the town; and none escape,
+Aged or young in Christian shape;
+While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,
+Bloodstain the breach through which they pass.
+The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein;
+Curved is each neck, and flowing each main;
+White is the foam of their champ on the bit:
+The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;
+The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar,
+And crush the wall they have crumbled before:
+Forms in his phalanx each Janizar;
+Alp at their head; his right arm is bare,
+So is the blade of his scimitar;
+The khan and the pachas are all at their post:
+The vizier himself at the head of the host.
+When the culverin's signal is fired, then on;
+Leave not in Corinth a living one —
+A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls,
+A hearth in her mansions, a stone in her walls.
+God and the prophet — Allah Hu!
+Up to the skies with that wild halloo!
+"There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale
+And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail?
+He who first downs with the red cross may crave
+His heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, and have!"
+Thus utter'd Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier;
+The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear,
+And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire: —
+Silence — hark to the signal — fire!
+XXIII.
+As the wolves, that headlong go
+On the stately buffalo,
+Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar,
+And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore,
+He tramples on earth, or tosses on high
+The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die;
+Thus against the wall they went,
+Thus the first were backward bent;
+Many a bosom, sheathed in brass,
+Strew'd the earth like broken glass,
+Shiver'd by the shot, that tore
+The ground whereon they moved no more:
+Even as they fell, in files they lay,
+Like the mower's grass at the close of day,
+When is work is done on the levell'd plain;
+Such was the fall of the foremost slain.
+XXIV.
+As the spring-tides, with heavy splash,
+From the cliffs invading dash
+Huge fragments, sapp'd by the ceaseless flow,
+Till white and thundering down they go,
+Like the avalanche's snow
+On the Alpine vales below;
+Thus at length, outbreathed and worn,
+Corinth's sons were downward borne
+By the long and oft-renew'd
+Charge of the Moslem multitude.
+In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell,
+Heap'd, by the host of the infidel,
+Hand to hand, and foot to foot:
+Nothing there, save death, was mute;
+Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry
+For quarter, or for victory,
+Mingle there with the volleying thunder,
+Which makes the distant cities wonder
+How the sounding battle goes,
+If with them, or for their foes;
+If they must mourn, or may rejoice
+In that annihilating voice,
+Which pierces the deep hills through and through
+With an echo dread and new:
+You might have heard it, on that day,
+O'er Salamis and Megara;
+(We have heard the hearers say,)
+Even unto Pirжus' bay.
+XXV.
+From the point of encountering blades to the hilt,
+Sabres and swords with blood were gilt:
+But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun
+And all but the after carnage done.
+Shriller shrieks now mingling come
+From within the plunder'd dome:
+Hark to the haste of flying feet,
+That splash in the blood of the slippery street;
+But here and there, where 'vantage ground
+Against the foe may still be found,
+Desperate groups, of twelve or ten,
+Make a pause, and turn again —
+With banded backs against the wall,
+Fiercely stand, or fighting fall.
+There stood an old man — his hairs were white,
+But his veteran arm was full of might:
+So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray,
+The dead before him on that day,
+In a semicircle lay;
+Still he combated unwounded,
+Though retreating, unsurrounded.
+Many a scar of former fight
+Lurk'd beneath his corslet bright;
+But of every wound his body bore,
+Each and all had been ta'en before:
+Though aged, he was so iron of limb,
+Few of our youth could cope with him;
+And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay,
+Outnumber'd his thin hairs of silver gray.
+From right to left his sabre swept:
+Many an Othman mother wept
+Sons that were unborn, when dipp'd
+His weapon first in Moslem gore,
+Ere his years could count a score.
+Of all he might have been the sire
+Who fell that day beneath his ire:
+For, sonless left long years ago,
+His wrath made many a childless foe;
+And since the day, when in the strait [8]
+His only boy had met his fate,
+His parent's iron hand did doom
+More than a human hecatomb.
+If shades by carnage be appeased,
+Patroclus' spirit less was pleased
+Than his, Minotti's son, who died
+Where Asia's bounds and ours divide,
+Buried he lay, where thousands before
+For thousands of years were inhumed on the shore;
+What of them is left, to tell
+Where they lie, and how they fell?
+Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves;
+But they live in the verse that immortally saves.
+XXVI.
+Hark to the Allah shout! a band
+Of the Mussulman bravest and best is at hand:
+Their leader's nervous arm is bare,
+Swifter to smite, and never to spare —
+Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them on;
+Thus in the fight is he ever known:
+Others a gaudier garb may show,
+To them the spoil of the greedy foe;
+Many a hand's on a richer hilt,
+But none on a steel more ruddily gilt;
+Many a loftier turban may wear, —
+Alp is but known by the white arm bare;
+Look through the thick of the fight, 'tis there!
+There is not a standard on the shore
+So well advanced the ranks before;
+There is not a banner in Moslem war
+Will lure the Delis half so far;
+It glances like a falling star!
+Where'er that mighty arm is seen,
+The bravest be, or late have been;
+There the craven cries for quarter
+Vainly to the vengeful Tartar;
+Or the hero, silent lying,
+Scorns to yield a groan in dying;
+Mustering his last feeble blow
+'Gainst the nearest levell'd foe,
+Though faint beneath the mutual wound,
+Grappling on the gory ground.
+XXVII.
+Still the old man stood erect,
+And Alp's career a moment check'd.
+"Yield thee, Minotti; quarter take,
+For thine own, thy daughter's sake."
+"Never, renegado, never!
+Though the life of thy gift would last for ever."
+"Francesca! — oh, my promised bride:
+Must she too perish by thy pride?"
+"She is safe." — "Where? where?" — "In heaven;
+From whence thy traitor soul is driven —
+Far from thee, and undefiled."
+Grimly then Minotti smiled,
+As he saw Alp staggering bow
+Before his words, as with a blow.
+"O God! when died she?" — "Yesternight —
+Nor weep I for her spirit's flight:
+None of my pure race shall be
+Slaves to Mohammed and thee —
+Come on!" That challenge is in vain —
+Alp's already with the slain!
+While Minotti's words were wreaking
+More revenge in bitter speaking
+Than his falchion's point had found,
+Had the time allow'd to wound,
+From within the neighbouring porch
+Of a long-defended church,
+Where the last and desperate few
+Would the failing fight renew,
+The sharp shot dash'd Alp to the ground;
+Ere an eye could view the wound
+That crash'd through the brain of the infidel,
+Round he spun, and down he fell;
+A flash like fire within his eyes
+Blazed, as he bent no more to rise,
+And then eternal darkness sunk
+Through all the palpitating trunk;
+Nought of life left, save a quivering
+Where his limbs were slightly shivering:
+They turn'd him on his back; his breast
+And brow were stain'd with gore and dust,
+And through his lips the life-blood oozed,
+From its deep veins lately loosed;
+But in his pulse there was no throb,
+Nor on his lips one dying sob;
+Sigh, nor word, nor struggling breath
+Heralded his way to death:
+Ere his very thought could pray,
+Unanel'd he pass'd away,
+Without a hope from mercy's aid, —
+To the last — a Renegade.
+XXVIII.
+Fearfully the yell arose
+Of his followers, and his foes;
+These in joy, in fury those:
+Then again in conflict mixing,
+Clashing swords, and spears transfixing,
+Interchanged the blow and thrust,
+Hurling warriors in the dust.
+Street by street, and foot by foot,
+Still Minotti dares dispute
+The latest portion of the land
+Left beneath his high command;
+With him, aiding heart and hand,
+The remnant of his gallant band.
+Still the church is tenable,
+Whence issued the fated ball
+That half avenged the city's fall,
+When Alp, her fierce assailant, fell:
+Thither bending sternly back,
+They leave before a bloody track;
+And, with their faces to the foe,
+Dealing wounds with every blow,
+The chief, and his retreating train,
+Join to those within the fane;
+There they yet may breathe awhile,
+Shelter'd by the massy pile.
+XXIX.
+Brief breathing-time! the turban'd host,
+With added ranks and raging boast,
+Press onwards with such strength and heat,
+Their numbers balk their own retreat;
+For narrow the way that led to the spot
+Where still the Christians yielded not;
+And the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try
+Through the massy column to turn and fly;
+They perforce must do or die.
+They die: but ere their eyes could close,
+Avengers o'er their bodies rose;
+Fresh and furious, fast they fill
+The ranks unthinn'd, though slaughter'd still:
+And faint the weary Christians wax
+Before the still renew'd attacks:
+And now the Othmans gain the gate;
+Still resists its iron weight,
+And still, all deadly aim'd and hot,
+From every crevice comes the shot;
+From every shatter'd window pour
+The volleys of the sulphurous shower:
+But the portal wavering grows and weak —
+The iron yields, the hinges creak —
+It bends — and falls — and all is o'er;
+Lost Corinth may resist no more!
+XXX.
+Dark, sternly, and all alone,
+Minotti stood o'er the altar stone:
+Madonna's face upon him shone,
+Painted in heavenly hues above,
+With eyes of light and looks of love;
+And placed upon that holy shrine
+To fix our thoughts on things divine,
+When pictured there we kneeling see
+Her, and the boy-God on her knee,
+Smiling sweetly on each prayer
+To heaven, as if to waft it there.
+Still she smiled; even now she smiles,
+Though slaughter streams along her aisles:
+Minotti lifted his aged eye,
+And made the sign of a cross with a sigh,
+Then seized a torch which blazed thereby;
+And still he stood, while, with steel and flame,
+Inward and onward the Mussulman came.
+XXXI.
+The vaults beneath the mosaic stone
+Contain'd the dead of ages gone:
+Their names were on the graven floor,
+But now illegible with gore;
+The carved crests, and curious hues
+The varied marble's veins diffuse,
+Were smear'd, and slippery — stain'd, and strown
+With broken swords, and helms o'erthrown:
+There were dead above, and the dead below
+Lay cold in many a coffin'd row;
+You might see them piled in sable state,
+By a pale light through a gloomy grate:
+But War had enter'd their dark caves,
+And stored along the vaulted graves
+Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread
+In masses by the fleshless dead:
+Here, throughout the siege, had been
+The Christians' chiefest magazine;
+To these a late-form'd train now led,
+Minotti's last and stern resource,
+Against the foe's o'erwhelming force.
+XXXII.
+The foe came on, and few remain
+To strive, and those must strive in vain:
+For lack of further lives, to slake
+The thirst of vengeance now awake,
+With barbarous blows they gash the dead,
+And lop the already lifeless head,
+And fell the statues from their niche,
+And spoil the shrine of offerings rich,
+And from each other's rude hands wrest
+The silver vessels saints had bless'd.
+To the high altar on they go;
+Oh, but it made a glorious show!
+On its table still behold
+The cup of consecrated gold;
+Massy and deep, a glittering prize,
+Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes:
+That morn it held the holy wine,
+Converted by Christ to His blood so divine,
+Which His worshippers drank at the break of day
+To shrive their souls ere they join'd in the fray,
+Still a few drops within it lay;
+And round the sacred table glow
+Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row,
+From the purest metal cast;
+A spoil — the richest, and the last.
+XXXIII.
+So near they came, the nearest stretch'd
+To grasp the spoil he almost reach'd
+When old Minotti's hand
+Touch'd with a torch the train —
+'Tis fired!
+Spire, vaults, and shrine, the spoil, the slain,
+The turban'd victors, the Christian band,
+All that of living or dead remain,
+Hurl'd on high with the shiver'd fane,
+In one wild roar expired!
+The shatter'd town — the walls thrown down —
+The waves a moment backward bent —
+The hills that shake, although unrent,
+As if an earthquake pass'd —
+The thousand shapeless things all driven
+In cloud and flame athwart the heaven,
+By that tremendous blast —
+Proclaim'd the desperate conflict o'er
+On that too long afflicted shore!
+Up to the sky like rockets go
+All that mingled there below:
+Many a tall and goodly man,
+Scorch'd and shrivell'd to a span,
+When he fell to earth again
+Like a cinder strew'd the plain:
+Down the ashes shower like rain;
+Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles
+With a thousand circling wrinkles;
+Some fell on the shore, but, far away,
+Scatter'd o'er the isthmus lay;
+Christian or Moslem, which be they?
+Let their mothers see and say!
+When in cradled rest they lay,
+And each nursing mother smiled
+On the sweet sleep of her child,
+Little deem'd she such a day
+Would rend those tender limbs away.
+Not the matrons that them bore
+Could discern their offspring more;
+That one moment left no trace
+More of human form or face
+Save a scatter'd scalp or bone:
+And down came blazing rafters, strown
+Around, and many a falling stone,
+Deeply dinted in the clay,
+All blacken'd there and reeking lay.
+All the living things that heard
+That deadly earth-shock disappear'd.
+The wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled,
+And howling left the unburied dead;
+The camels from their keepers broke;
+The distant steer forsook the yoke —
+The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain,
+And burst his girth, and tore his rein;
+The bull-frog's note, from out the marsh,
+Deep-mouth'd arose, and doubly harsh;
+The wolves yell'd on the cavern'd hill
+Where echo roll'd in thunder still;
+The jackal's troop, in gather'd cry, [8]
+Bay'd from afar complainingly,
+With mix'd and mournful sound,
+Like crying babe, and beaten hound:
+With sudden wing, and ruffled breast,
+The eagle left his rocky nest,
+And mounted nearer to the sun,
+The clouds beneath him seem'd so dun
+Their smoke assail'd his startled beak,
+And made him higher soar and shriek —
+Thus was Corinth lost and won!
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7250: / 줄 11462: @@
 Mazeppa |
 <poem>
+Twas after dread Pultowa's day,
+When fortune left the royal Swede -
+Around a slaughtered army lay,
+No more to combat and to bleed.
+The power and glory of the war,
+Faithless as their vain votaries, men,
+Had passed to the triumphant Czar,
+And Moscow’s walls were safe again -
+Until a day more dark and drear,
+And a more memorable year,
+Should give to slaughter and to shame
+A mightier host and haughtier name;
+A greater wreck, a deeper fall,
+A shock to one - a thunderbolt to all.
+II
+Such was the hazard Of the die;
+The wounded Charles was taught to fly
+By day and night through field and flood,
+Stained with his own and subjects' blood;
+For thousands fell that flight to aid:
+And not a voice was heard to upbraid
+Ambition in his humbled hour,
+When truth had nought to dread from power,
+His horse was slain, and Gieta gave
+His own - and died the Russians’ slave.
+This too sinks after many a league
+Of well sustained, but vain fatigue;
+And in the depth of forests darkling,
+The watch-fires in the distance sparkling -
+The beacons of surrounding foes -
+A king must lay his limbs at length.
+Are these the laurels and repose
+For which the nations strain their strength?
+They laid him by a savage tree,
+In outworn nature’s agony;
+His wounds were stiff, his limbs were stark,
+The heavy hour was chill and dark;
+The fever in his blood forbade
+A transient slumber's fitful aid:
+And thus it was; but yet through all,
+Kinglike the monarch bore his fall,
+And made, in this extreme of ill,
+His pangs the vassals of his will:
+All silent and subdued were they,
+As owe the nations round him lay.
+III
+A band of chiefs! - alas! how few,
+Since but the fleeting of a day
+Had thinned it; but this wreck was true
+And chivalrous: upon the clay
+Each sate him down, all sad and mute,
+Beside his monarch and his steed;
+For danger levels man and brute,
+And all are fellows in their need.
+Among the rest, Mazeppa made
+His pillow in an old oak's shade -
+Himself as rough, and scarce less old,
+The Ukraine's hetman, calm and bold:
+But first, outspent with this long course,
+The Cossack prince rubbed down his horse,
+And made for him a leafy bed,
+And smoothed his fetlocks and his mane,
+And slacked his girth, and stripped his rein,
+And joyed to see how well he fed;
+For until now he had the dread
+His wearied courser might refuse
+To browse beneath the midnight dews:
+But he was hardy as his lord,
+And little cared for bed and board;
+But spirited and docile too,
+Whate'er was to be done, would do.
+Shaggy and swift, and strong of limb,
+All Tartar-like he carried him;
+Obeyed his voice, and came to call,
+And knew him in the midst of all.
+Though thousands were around, - and night,
+Without a star, pursued her flight, -
+That steed from sunset until dawn
+His chief would follow like a fawn.
+IV
+This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak,
+And laid his lance beneath his oak,
+Felt if his arms in order good
+The long day's march had well withstood -
+If still the powder filled the pan,
+And flints unloosened kept their lock -
+His sabre's hilt and scabbard felt,
+And whether they had chafed his belt;
+And next the venerable man,
+From out his haversack and can,
+Prepared and spread his slender stock
+And to the monarch and his men
+The whole or portion offered then
+With far less of inquietude
+Than courtiers at a banquet would.
+And Charles of this his slender share
+With smiles partook a moment there,
+To force of cheer a greater show,
+And seem above both wounds and woe;-
+And then he said -'Of all our band,
+Though firm of heart and strong of hand,
+In skirmish, march, or forage, none
+Can less have said or more have done
+Than thee, Mazeppa! On the earth
+So fit a pair had never birth,
+Since Alexander's days till now,
+As thy Bucephalus and thou:
+All Scythia's fame to thine should yield
+For pricking on o'er flood and field.'
+Mazeppa answered - " Ill betide
+The school wherein I learned to ride!
+Quoth Charles -'Old Hetman, wherefore so,
+Since thou hast learned the art so well?
+Mazeppa said - "Twere long to tell;
+And we have many a league to go,
+With every now and then a blow,
+And ten to one at least the foe,
+Before our steeds may graze at ease,
+Beyond the swift Borysthenes:
+And, sire, your limbs have need of rest,
+And I will be the sentinel
+Of this your troop.' -'But I request,'
+Said Sweden's monarch, 'thou wilt tell
+This tale of thine, and I may reap,
+Perchance, from this the boon of sleep;
+For at this moment from my eyes
+The hope of present slumber flies.'
+'Well, sire, with such a hope, I'll track
+My seventy years of memory back:
+I think 'twas in my twentieth spring, -
+Ay, 'twas, - when Casimir was king -
+John Casimir, - I was his page
+Six summers, in my earlier age:
+A learned monarch, faith! was he,
+And most unlike your majesty:
+He made no wars, and did not gain
+New realms to lose them back again;
+And (save debates in Warsaw's diet)
+He reigned in most unseemly quiet;
+Not that he had no cares to vex,
+He loved the muses and the sex;
+And sometimes these so froward are,
+They made him wish himself at war;
+But soon his wrath being o'er, he took
+Another mistress - or new book;
+And then he gave prodigious fetes -
+All Warsaw gathered round his gates
+To gaze upon his splendid court,
+And dames, and chiefs, of princely port.
+He was the Polish Solomon,
+So sung his poets, all but one,
+Who, being unpensioned, made a satire,
+And boasted that he could not flatterI
+It was a court of jousts and mimes,
+Where every courtier tried at rhymes;
+Even I for once produced some verses,
+And signed my odes "Despairing Thyrsis."
+There was a certain Palatine,
+A Count of far and high descent,
+Rich as a salt or silver mine;
+And he was proud, ye may divine,
+As if from heaven he had been sent:
+He had such wealth in blood and ore
+As few could match beneath the throne;
+And he would gaze upon his store,
+And o'er his pedigree would pore,
+Until by some confusion led,
+Which almost looked like want of head,
+He thought their merits were his own.
+His wife was not of his opinion;
+His junior she by thirty years;
+Grew daily tired of his dominion;
+And, after wishes, hopes, and fears,
+To virtue a few farewell tears,
+A restless dream or two, some glances
+At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances,
+Awaited but the usual chances,
+Those happy accidents which render
+The coldest dames so very tender,
+To deck her Count with titles given,
+'Tis said, as passports into heaven;
+But, strange to say, they rarely boast
+Of these, who have deserved them most.
+V
+'I was a goodly stripling then;
+At seventy years I so may say,
+That there were few, or boys or men,
+Who, in my dawning time of day,
+Of vassal or of knight's degree,
+Could vie in vanities with me;
+For I had strength, youth, gaiety,
+A port, not like to this ye see,
+But smooth, as all is rugged now;
+For time, and care, and war, have ploughed
+My very soul from out my brow;
+And thus I should be disavowed
+By all my kind and kin, could they
+Compare my day and yesterday;
+This change was wrought, too, long ere age
+Had ta'en my features for his page:
+With years, ye know, have not declined
+My strength, my courage, or my mind,
+Or at this hour I should not be
+Telling old tales beneath a tree,
+With starless skies my canopy.
+But let me on: Theresa's form -
+Methinks it glides before me now,
+Between me and yon chestnut's bough,
+The memory is so quick and warm;
+And yet I find no words to tell
+The shape of her I loved so well:
+She had the Asiatic eye,
+Such as our, Turkish neighbourhood,
+Hath mingled with our Polish blood,
+Dark as above us is the sky;
+But through it stole a tender light,
+Like the first moonrise of midnight;
+Large, dark, and swimming in the stream,
+Which seemed to melt to its own beam;
+All love, half langour, and half fire,
+Like saints that at the stake expire,
+And lift their raptured looks on high,
+As though it were a joy to die.
+A brow like a midsummer lake,
+Transparent with the sun therein,
+When waves no murmur dare to make,
+And heaven beholds her face within.
+A cheek and lip - but why proceed?
+I loved her then - I love her still;
+And such as I am, love indeed
+In fierce extremes - in good and ill.
+But still we love even in our rage,
+And haunted to our very age
+With the vain shadow of the past,
+As is Mazeppa to the last
+VI
+'We met - we gazed - I saw, and sighed,
+She did not speak, and yet replied;
+There are ten thousand tones and signs
+We hear and see, but none defines -
+Involuntary sparks of thought,
+Which strike from out the heart o’erwrought,
+And form a strange intelligence,
+Alike mysterious and intense,
+Which link the burning chain that binds,
+Without their will, young hearts and minds
+Conveying, as the electric wire,
+We know not how, the absorbing fire.
+I saw, and sighed - in silence wept,
+And still reluctant distance kept,
+Until I was made known to her,
+And we might then and there confer
+Without suspicion - then, even then,
+I longed, and was resolved to speak;
+But on my lips they died again,
+The accents tremulous and weak,
+Until one hour. - There is a game,
+A frivolous and foolish play,
+Wherewith we while away the day;
+It is - I have forgot the name -
+And we to this, it seems, were set,
+By some strange chance, which I forget:
+I reck'd not if I won or lost,
+It was enough for me to be
+So near to hear, and oh! to see
+The being whom I loved the most. -
+I watched her as a sentinel,
+(May ours this dark night watch as well!)
+Until I saw, and thus it was,
+That she was pensive, nor perceived
+Her occupation, nor was grieved
+Nor glad to lose or gain; but still
+Played on for hours, as if her win
+Yet bound her to the place, though not
+That hers might be the winning lot.
+Then through my brain the thought did pass
+Even as a flash of lightning there,
+That there was something in her air
+Which would not doom me to despair;
+And on the thought my words broke forth,
+All incoherent as they were -
+Their eloquence was little worth,
+But yet she listened - 'tis enough -
+Who listens once will listen twice;
+Her heart, be sure, is not of ice,
+And one refusal no rebuff.
+VII
+I loved, and was beloved again -
+They tell me, Sire, you never knew
+Those gentle frailties; if 'tis true,
+I shorten all my joy or pain;
+To you 'twould seem absurd as vain
+But all men are not born to reign,
+Or o'er their passions, or as you
+Thus o'er themselves and nations too.
+I am - or rather was - a prince,
+A chief of thousands, and could lead
+Them on where each would foremost bleed;
+But could not o'er myself evince
+The like control - but to resume:
+I loved, and was beloved again;
+In sooth, it is a happy doom,
+But yet where happiest ends in pain. -
+We met in secret, and the hour
+Which led me to that lady's bower
+Was fiery expectation's dower.
+My days and nights were nothing - all
+Except that hour which doth recall
+In the long lapse from youth to age
+No other like itself - I'd give
+The Ukraine back again to live
+It o'er once more - and be a page,
+The happy page, who was the lord
+Of one soft heart, and his own sword,
+And had no other gem nor wealth
+Save nature's gift of youth and health.
+We met in secret - doubly sweet,
+Some say, they find it so to meet;
+I know not that - I would have given
+My life but to have called her mine
+In the full view of earth and heaven;
+For I did oft and long repine
+That we could only meet by stealth.
+VIII
+'For lovers there are many eyes,
+And such there were on us; the devil
+On such occasions should be civil -
+The devil! - I'm loth to do him wrong,
+It might be some untoward saint,
+Who would not be at rest too long,
+But to his pious bile gave vent -
+But one fair night, some lurking spies
+Surprised and seized us both.
+The Count was something more than wroth -
+I was unarmed; but if in steel,
+All cap from head to heel,
+What 'gainst their numbers could I do?
+'Twas near his castle, far away
+From city or from succour near,
+And almost on the break of day;
+I did not think to see another,
+My moments seemed reduced to few;
+And with one prayer to Mary Mother,
+And, it may be, a saint or two,
+As I resigned me to my fate,
+They led me to the castle gate:
+Tleresa's doom I never knew,
+Our lot was henceforth separate.
+An angry man, ye may opine,
+Was he, the proud Count Palatine;
+And he had reason good to be,
+But he was most enraged lest such
+An accident should chance to touch
+Upon his future pedigree;
+Nor less amazed, that such a blot
+His noble 'scutcheon should have got,
+While he was highest of his line
+Because unto himself he seemed
+The first of men, nor less he deemed
+In others' eyes, and most in mine.
+'Sdeath! with a page - perchance a king
+Had reconciled him to the thing;
+But with a stripling of a page -
+I felt - but cannot paint his rage.
+IX
+"'Bring forth the horse!" - the horse was brought;
+In truth, he was a noble steed,
+A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,
+Who looked as though the speed of thought
+Were in his limbs; but he was wild,
+Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
+With spur and bridle undefiled -
+'Twas but a day he had been caught;
+And snorting, with erected mane,
+And struggling fiercely, but in vain,
+In the full foam of wrath and dread
+To me the desert-born was led:
+They bound me on, that menial throng,
+Upon his back with many a thong;
+They loosed him with a sudden lash -
+Away! - away! - and on we dash! -
+Torrents less rapid and less rash.
+X
+'Away! - away! - my breath was gone -
+I saw not where he hurried on:
+'Twas scarcely yet the break of day,
+And on he foamed - away! - away! -
+The last of human sounds which rose,
+As I was darted from my foes,
+Was the wild shout of savage laughter,
+Which on the wind came roaring after
+A moment from that rabble rout:
+With sudden wrath I wrenched my head,
+And snapped the cord, which to the mane
+Had bound my neck in lieu of rein,
+And, writhing half my form about,
+Howled back my curse; but 'midst the tread,
+The thunder of my courser's speed,
+Perchance they did not hear nor heed:
+It vexes me - for I would fain
+Have paid their insult back again.
+I paid it well in after days:
+There is not of that castle gate.
+Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight,
+Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left;
+Nor of its fields a blade of grass,
+Save what grows on a ridge of wall,
+Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall;
+And many a time ye there might pass,
+Nor dream that e'er the fortress was.
+I saw its turrets in a blaze,
+Their crackling battlements all cleft,
+And the hot lead pour down like rain
+From off the scorched and blackening roof,
+Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof.
+They little thought that day of pain,
+When launched, as on the lightning's flash,
+They bade me to destruction dash,
+That one day I should come again,
+With twice five thousand horse, to thank
+The Count for his uncourteous ride.
+They played me then a bitter prank,
+'When, with the wild horse for my guide,
+The bound me to his foaming flank:
+At length I played them one as frank -
+For time at last sets all things even -
+And if we do but watch the hour,
+There never yet was human power
+Which could evade, if unforgiven,
+The patient search and vigil long
+Of him who treasures up a wrong.
+XI
+'Away, away, my steed and I,
+Upon the pinions of the wind.
+All human dwellings left behind,
+We sped like meteors through the sky,
+When with its crackling sound the night
+Is chequered with the northern light:
+Town - village - none were on our track,
+But a wild plain of far extent,
+And bounded by a forest black;
+And, save the scarce seen battlement
+On distant heights of some strong hold,
+Against the Tartars built of old,
+No trace of man. The year before
+A Turkish army had marched o'er;
+And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod,
+The verdure flies the bloody sod: -
+The sky was dull, and dim, and grey,
+And a low breeze crept moaning by -
+I could have answered with a sigh -
+But fast we fled, away, away -
+And I could neither sigh nor pray -
+And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain
+Upon the courser's bristling mane;
+But, snorting still with rage and fear,
+He flew upon his far career:
+At times I almost thought, indeed,
+He must have slackened in his speed;
+But no - my bound and slender frame
+Was nothing to his angry might,
+And merely like a spur became:
+Each motion which I made to free
+My swoln limbs from their agony
+Increased his fury and affright:
+I tried my voice, - 'twas faint and low,
+But yet he swerved as from a blow;
+And, starting to each accent, sprang
+As from a sudden trumpet's clang:
+Meantime my cords were wet with gore,
+Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er;
+And in my tongue the thirst became
+A something fierier far than flame.
+XII
+'We neared the wild wood - 'twas so wide,
+I saw no bounds on either side;
+'Twas studded with old sturdy trees,
+That bent not to the roughest breeze
+Which howls down from Siberia's waste,
+And strips the forest in its haste, -
+But these were few and far between,
+Set thick with shrubs more young and green,
+Luxuriant with their annual leaves,
+Ere strown by those autumnal eves
+That nip the forest's foliage dead,
+Discoloured with a lifeless red,
+Which stands thereon like stiffened gore
+Upon the slain when battle's o'er,
+And some long winter's night hath shed
+Its frost o'er every tombless head,
+So cold and stark, the raven's beak
+May peck unpierced each frozen cheek:
+'Twas a wild waste of underwood,
+And here and there a chestnut stood,
+The strong oak, and the hardy pine;
+But far apart - and well it were,
+Or else a different lot were mine -
+The boughs gave way, and did not tear
+My limbs; and I found strength to bear
+My wounds, already scarred with cold -
+My bonds forbade to loose my hold.
+We rustled through the leaves like wind,
+Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;
+By night I heard them on the track,
+Their troop came hard upon our back,
+With their long gallop, which can tire
+The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire:
+Where'er we flew they followed on,
+Nor left us with the morning sun;
+Behind I saw them, scarce a rood,
+At day-break winding through the wood,
+And through the night had heard their feet
+Their stealing, rustling step repeat.
+Oh! how I wished for spear or sword,
+At least to die amidst the horde,
+And perish - if it must be so -
+At bay, destroying many a foe
+When first my courser's race begun,
+I wished the goal already won;
+But now I doubted strength and speed:
+Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed
+Had nerved him like the mountain-roe -
+Nor faster falls the blinding snow
+Which whelms the peasant near the door
+Whose threshold he shall cross no more,
+Bewildered with the dazzling blast,
+Than through the forest-paths he passed -
+Untired, untamed, and worse than wild;
+All furious as a favoured child
+Balked of its wish; or fiercer still
+A woman piqued - who has her will.
+XIII
+'The wood was passed; 'twas more than noon,
+But chill the air, although in June;
+Or it might be my veins ran cold -
+Prolonged endurance tames the bold;
+And I was then not what I seem,
+But headlong as a wintry stream,
+And wore my feelings out before
+I well could count their causes o'er:
+And what with fury, fear, and wrath,
+The tortures which beset my path,
+Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress,
+Thus bound in nature's nakedness;
+Sprung from a race whose rising blood
+When stirred beyond its calmer mood,
+And trodden hard upon, is like
+The rattle-snake's, in act to strike -
+What marvel if this worn-out trunk
+Beneath its woes a moment sunk?
+The earth gave way, the skies rolled round,
+I seemed to sink upon the ground;
+But erred, for I was fastly bound.
+My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore,
+And throbbed awhile, then beat no more:
+The skies spun like a mighty wheel;
+I saw the trees like drunkards reel,
+And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes,
+Which saw no farther. He who dies
+Can die no more than then I died;
+O’ertortured by that ghastly ride.
+I felt the blackness come and go,
+And strove to wake; but could not make
+My senses climb up from below:
+I felt as on a plank at sea,
+When all the waves that dash o'er thee,
+At the same time upheave and whelm,
+And hurl thee towards a desert realm.
+My undulating life was as
+The fancied lights that flitting pass
+Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when
+Fever begins upon the brain;
+But soon it passed, with little pain,
+But a confusion worse than such:
+I own that I should deem it much,
+Dying, to feel the same again;
+And yet I do suppose we must
+Feel far more ere we turn to dust:
+No matter; I have bared my brow
+Full in Death's face - before - and now.
+XIV
+'My thoughts came back; where was I? Cold,
+And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse
+Life reassumed its lingering hold,
+And throb by throb - till grown a pang;
+Which for a moment would convulse,
+My blood reflowed, though thick and chill;
+My ear with uncouth noises rang,
+My heart began once more to thrill;
+My sight returned, though dim; alas!
+And thickened, as it were, with glass.
+Methought the dash of waves was nigh.,
+There was a gleam too of the sky
+Studded with stars; - it is no dream;
+The wild horse swims the wilder stream!
+The bright broad river's gushing tide
+Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide,
+And we are half-way, struggling o'er
+To yon unknown and silent shore.
+The waters broke my hollow trance,
+And with a temporary strength
+My stiffened limbs were rebaptized.
+My courser's broad breast proudly braves,
+And dashes off the ascending waves,
+And onward we advance
+We reach the slippery shore at length,
+A haven I but little prized,
+For all behind was dark and drear
+And all before was night and fear.
+How many hours of night or day
+In those suspended pangs I lay,
+I could not tell; I scarcely knew
+If this were human breath I drew.
+XV
+'With glossy skin, and dripping mane,
+And reeling limbs, and reeking flank,
+The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain
+Up the repelling bank.
+We gain the top. a boundless plain
+Spreads through the shadow of the night,
+And onward, onward, onward, seems,
+Like precipices in our dreams,
+To stretch beyond the sight;
+And here and there a speck of white,
+Or scattered spot of dusky green,
+In masses broke into the light,
+As rose the moon upon my right:
+But nought distinctly seen
+In the dim waste would indicate
+The omen of a cottage gate;
+No twinkling taper from afar
+Stood like a hospitable star;'
+Not even an ignis-fatuus rose
+To make him merry with my woes:
+That very cheat had cheered me then!
+Although detected, welcome still,
+Reminding me, through every ill,
+Of the abodes of men.
+XVI
+'Onward we went - but slack and slow
+His savage force at length o'erspent,
+The drooping courser, faint and low,
+All feebly foaming went.
+A sickly infant had had power
+To guide him forward in that hour!
+But, useless all to me,
+His new-born tameness nought availed -
+My limbs were bound; my force had failed,
+Perchance, had they been free.
+With feeble effort still I tried
+To rend the bonds so starkly tied,
+But still it was in vain;
+My limbs were only wrung the more,
+And soon the idle strife gave o'er,
+Which but prolonged their pain:
+The dizzy race seemed almost done,
+Although no goal was nearly won.
+Some streaks announced the coming sun -
+How slow, alas! he came!
+Methought that mist of dawning grey
+Would never dapple into day;
+How heavily it rolled away -
+Before the eastern flame
+Rose crimson, and deposed the stars,
+And called the radiance from their cars,
+And filled the earth, from his deep throne,
+With lonely lustre, all his own.
+XVII
+'Up rose the sun; the mists were curled
+Back from the solitary world
+Which lay around - behind - before;
+What booted it to traverse o'er
+Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute,
+Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot,
+Lay in the wild luxuriant soil;
+No sign of travel - none of toll;
+The very air was mute:
+And not an insect's shrill small horn,
+Nor matin bird's new voice was borne
+From herb nor thicket. Many a werst,
+Panting as if his heart would burst,
+The weary brute still staggered on;
+And still we were - or seemed - alone:
+At length, while reeling on our way,
+Methought I heard a courser neigh,
+From out yon tuft of blackening firs.
+Is it the wind those branches stirs?
+No, no! from out the forest prance
+A trampling troop; I see them come I
+In one vast squadron they advance!
+I strove to cry - my lips were dumb.
+The steeds rush on in plunging pride;
+But where are they the reins to guide?
+A thousand horse - and none to ride!
+With flowing tail, and flying mane,
+Wide nostrils never stretched by pain,
+Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,
+And feet that iron never shod,
+And flanks unscarred by spur or rod,
+A thousand horse, the wild, the free,
+Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
+Came thickly thundering on,
+As if our faint approach to meet;
+The sight re-nerved my courser's feet,
+A moment staggering, feebly fleet,
+A moment, with a faint low neigh,
+He answered, and then fell!
+With gasps and glazing eyes he lay,
+And reeking limbs immoveable,
+His first and last career is done!
+On came the troop - they saw him stoop,
+They saw me strangely bound along
+His back with many a bloody thong.
+They stop - they start - they snuff the air,
+Gallop a moment here and there,
+Approach, retire, wheel round and round,
+Then plunging back with sudden bound,
+Headed by one black mighty steed,
+Who seemed the patriarch of his breed,
+Without a single speck or hair
+Of white upon his shaggy hide;
+They snort - they foam - neigh - swerve aside,
+And backward to the forest fly,
+By instinct, from a human eye.
+They left me there to my despair,
+Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch,
+Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch,
+Relieved from that unwonted weight,
+From whence I could not extricate
+Nor him nor me - and there we lay
+The dying on the dead!
+I little deemed another day
+Would see my houseless, helpless head.
+And there from morn till twilight bound,
+I felt the heavy hours toll round,
+With just enough of life to see
+My last of suns go down on me,
+In hopeless certainty of mind,
+That makes us feel at length resigned
+To that which our foreboding years
+Presents the worst and last of fears
+Inevitable - even a boon,
+Nor more unkind for coming soon,
+Yet shunned and dreaded with such care,
+As if it only were a snare
+That prudence might escape:
+At times both wished for and implored,
+At times sought with self-pointed sword,
+Yet still a dark and hideous close
+To even intolerable woes,
+And welcome in no shape.
+And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure,
+They who have revelled beyond measure
+In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure,
+Die calm, or calmer, oft than he
+Whose heritage was misery.
+For he who hath in turn run through
+All that was beautiful and new,
+Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave;
+And, save the future, (which is viewed
+Not quite as men are base or good,
+But as their nerves may be endued,)
+With nought perhaps to grieve:
+The wretch still hopes his woes must end,
+And death, whom he should deem his friend,
+Appears, to his distempered eyes,
+Arrived to rob him of his prize,
+The tree of his new Paradise.
+Tomorrow would have given him all,
+Repaid his pangs, repaired his fall;
+Tomorrow would have been the first
+Of days no more deplored or curst,
+But bright, and long, and beckoning years,
+Seen dazzling through the mist of tears,
+Guerdon of many a painful hour;
+Tomorrow would have given him power
+To rule, to shine, to smite, to save -
+And must it dawn upon his grave?
+XVIII
+'The sun was sinking - still I lay
+Chained to the chill and stiffening steed,
+I thought to mingle there our clay;
+And my dim eyes of death had need,
+No hope arose of being freed.
+I cast my last looks up the sky,
+And there between me and the sun
+I saw the expecting raven fly,
+Who scarce would wait till both should die,
+Ere his repast begun;
+He flew, and perched, then flew once more,
+And each time nearer than before;
+I saw his wing through twilight flit,
+And once so near me he alit
+I could have smote, but lacked the strength;
+But the slight motion of my hand,
+And feeble scratching of the sand,
+The exerted throat's faint struggling noise,
+Which scarcely could be called a voice,
+Together scared him off at length.
+I know no more - my latest dream
+Is something of a lovely star
+Which fixed my dull eyes from afar,
+And went and came with wandering beam,
+And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense,
+Sensation of recurring sense,
+And then subsiding back to death,
+And then again a little breath,
+A little thrill, a short suspense,
+An icy sickness curdling o'er
+My heart, and sparks that crossed my brain
+A gasp, a throb, a start of pain,
+A sigh, and nothing more.
+XIX
+'I woke - where was I? - Do I see
+A human face look down on me?
+And doth a roof above me close?
+Do these limbs on a couch repose?
+Is this a chamber where I lie
+And is it mortal yon bright eye,
+That watches me with gentle glance?
+I closed my own again once more,
+As doubtful that the former trance
+Could not as yet be o'er.
+A slender girl, long-haired, and tall,
+Sate watching by the cottage wall.
+The sparkle of her eye I caught
+Even with my first return of thought;
+For ever and anon she threw
+A prying, pitying glance on me
+With her black eyes so wild and free:
+I gazed, and gazed, until I knew
+No vision it could be, -
+But that I lived, and was released
+From adding to the vulture's feast:
+And when the Cossack maid beheld
+My heavy eyes at length unsealed,
+She smiled - and I essayed to speak,
+But failed - and she approached, and made
+With lip and finger signs that said,
+I must not strive as yet to break
+The silence, till my strength should be
+Enough to leave my accents free;
+And then her hand on mine she laid,
+And smoothed the pillow for my head,
+And stole along on tiptoe tread,
+And gently oped the door, and spake
+In whispers - ne'er was voice so sweet!
+Even music followed her light feet.
+But those she called were not awake,
+And she went forth; but, ere she passed,
+Another look on me she cast,
+Another sign she made, to say,
+That I had nought to fear, that all
+Were near, at my command or call,
+And she would not delay
+Her due return:- while she was gone,
+Methought I felt too much alone.
+"She came with mother and with sire -
+What need of more? - I will not tire
+With long recital of the rest,
+Since I became the Cossack's guest.
+They found me senseless on the plain.
+They bore me to the nearest hut,
+They brought me into life again
+Me - one day o'er their realm to reign!
+Thus the vain fool who strove to glut
+His rage, refining on my pain,
+Sent me forth to the wilderness,
+Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone,
+To pass the desert to a throne, -
+What mortal his own doom may guess?
+Let none despond, let none despair!
+Tomorrow the Borysthenes
+May see our coursers graze at ease
+Upon his Turkish bank, - and never
+Had I such welcome for a river
+As I shall yield when safely there.
+Comrades good night!' - The Hetman threw
+His length beneath the oak-tree shade,
+With leafy couch already made,
+A bed nor comfortless nor new
+To him, who took his rest whene'er
+The hour arrived, no matter where:
+His eyes the hastening slumbers steep.
+And if ye marvel Charles forgot
+To thank his tale, he wondered not, -
+The king had been an hour asleep.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7257: / 줄 12396: @@
 And Thou Art Dead, As Young and Fair |
 <poem>
+And thou art dead, as young and fair
+As aught of mortal birth;
+And form so soft, and charms so rare,
+Too soon return'd to Earth!
+Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed,
+And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
+In carelessness or mirth,
+There is an eye which could not brook
+A moment on that grave to look.
+I will not ask where thou liest low,
+Nor gaze upon the spot;
+There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
+So I behold them not:
+It is enough for me to prove
+That what I lov'd, and long must love,
+Like common earth can rot;
+To me there needs no stone to tell,
+'T is Nothing that I lov'd so well.
+Yet did I love thee to the last
+As fervently as thou,
+Who didst not change through all the past,
+And canst not alter now.
+The love where Death has set his seal,
+Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
+Nor falsehood disavow:
+And, what were worse, thou canst not see
+Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.
+The better days of life were ours;
+The worst can be but mine:
+The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
+Shall never more be thine.
+The silence of that dreamless sleep
+I envy now too much to weep;
+Nor need I to repine
+That all those charms have pass'd away,
+I might have watch'd through long decay.
+The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
+Must fall the earliest prey;
+Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
+The leaves must drop away:
+And yet it were a greater grief
+To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
+Than see it pluck'd to-day;
+Since earthly eye but ill can bear
+To trace the change to foul from fair.
+I know not if I could have borne
+To see thy beauties fade;
+The night that follow'd such a morn
+Had worn a deeper shade:
+Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
+And thou wert lovely to the last,
+Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
+As stars that shoot along the sky
+Shine brightest as they fall from high.
+As once I wept, if I could weep,
+My tears might well be shed,
+To think I was not near to keep
+One vigil o'er thy bed;
+To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
+To fold thee in a faint embrace,
+Uphold thy drooping head;
+And show that love, however vain,
+Nor thou nor I can feel again.
+Yet how much less it were to gain,
+Though thou hast left me free,
+The loveliest things that still remain,
+Than thus remember thee!
+The all of thine that cannot die
+Through dark and dread Eternity
+Returns again to me,
+And more thy buried love endears
+Than aught except its living years.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7264: / 줄 12481: @@
 I would to heaven that I were so much clay |
 <poem>
+I would to heaven that I were so much clay,
+As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling -
+Because at least the past were passed away -
+And for the future - (but I write this reeling,
+Having got drunk exceedingly today,
+So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling)
+I say - the future is a serious matter -
+And so - for God's sake - hock and soda water!
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7271: / 줄 12495: @@
 There Was A Time, I Need Not Name |
 <poem>
+There was a time, I need not name,
+Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
+When all our feelings were the same
+As still my soul hath been to thee.
+And from that hour when first thy tongue
+Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
+Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
+Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,
+None, none hath sunk so deep as this---
+To think how all that love hath flown;
+Transient as every faithless kiss,
+But transient in thy breast alone.
+And yet my heart some solace knew,
+When late I heard thy lips declare,
+In accents once imagined true,
+Remembrance of the days that were.
+Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
+Though thou wilt never love again,
+To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
+Remembrance of that love remain.
+Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me,
+Nor longer shall my soul repine,
+Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be,
+Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7278: / 줄 12530: @@
 Isles of Greece, The |
 <poem>
+The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
+Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
+Where grew the arts of war and peace,
+Where Delos rose, and Phoebus
+sprung!
+Eternal summer gilds them yet,
+But all, except their sun, is set...
+The mountains look on Marathon--
+And Marathon looks on the sea;
+And musing there an hour alone,
+I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
+For standing on the Persians' grave,
+I could not deem myself a slave.
+A king sat on the rocky brow
+Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
+And ships, by thousands, lay below,
+And men in nations--all were his!
+He counted them at break of day--
+And when the sun set, where were they?
+And where are they? And where art thou?
+My country? On thy voiceless shore
+The heroic lay is tuneless now--
+The heroic bosom beats no more!
+And must thy lyre, so long divine,
+Degenerate into hands like mine?
+'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
+Though linked among a fettered race,
+To feel at least a patriot's shame,
+Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
+For what is left the poet here?
+For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear....
+Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
+Our virgins dance beneath the shade--
+I see their glorious black eyes shine;
+But gazing on each glowing maid,
+My own the burning teardrop laves,
+To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
+Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
+Where nothing, save the waves and I,
+May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
+There, swanlike, let me sing and die:
+A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--
+Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7285: / 줄 12585: @@
 The Siege and Conquest of Alhama |
 <poem>
+The Moorish King rides up and down,
+Through Granada's royal town;
+From Elvira's gate to those
+Of Bivarambla on he goes.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Letters to the monarch tell
+How Alhama's city fell:
+In the fire the scroll he threw,
+And the messenger he slew.
+Woe is me, Albamal
+He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,
+And through the street directs his course;
+Through the street of Zacatin
+To the Alhambra spurring in.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+When the Alhambra walls he gain'd,
+On the moment he ordain'd
+That the trumpet straight should sound
+With the silver clarion round.
+Woe is me, Alhamal
+And when the hollow drums of war
+Beat the loud alarm afar,
+That the Moors of town and plain
+Might answer to the martial strain.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Then the Moors, by this aware,
+That bloody Mars recall'd them there,
+One by one, and two by two,
+To a mighty squadron grew.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Out then spake an aged Moor
+In these words the king before,
+'Wherefore call on us, oh King?
+What may mean this gathering?'
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'Friends! ye have, alas! to know
+Of a most disastrous blow;
+That the Christians, stern and bold,
+Have obtain'd Alhama's hold.'
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Out then spake old Alfaqui,
+With his beard so white to see,
+'Good King! thou art justly served,
+Good King! this thou hast deserved.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'By thee were slain, in evil hour,
+The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;
+And strangers were received by thee
+Of Cordova the Chivalry.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'And for this, oh King! is sent
+On thee a double chastisement:
+Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
+One last wreck shall overwhelm.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'He who holds no laws in awe,
+He must perish by the law;
+And Granada must be won,
+And thyself with her undone.'
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Fire crashed from out the old Moor's eyes,
+The Monarch's wrath began to rise,
+Because he answer'd, and because
+He spake exceeding well of laws.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'There is no law to say such things
+As may disgust the ear of kings:
+'Thus, snorting with his choler, said
+The Moorish King, and doom'd him dead.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
+Though thy beard so hoary be,
+The King hath sent to have thee seized,
+For Alhama's loss displeased.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+And to fix thy head upon
+High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
+That thus for thee should be the law,
+And others tremble when they saw.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'Cavalier, and man of worth!
+Let these words of mine go forth!
+Let the Moorish Monarch know,
+That to him I nothing owe.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'But on my soul Alhama weighs,
+And on my inmost spirit preys;
+And if the King his land hath lost,
+Yet others may have lost the most.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'Sires have lost their children, wives
+Their lords, and valiant men their lives!
+One what best his love might claim
+Hath lost, another wealth, or fame.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'I lost a damsel in that hour,
+Of all the land the loveliest flower;
+Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
+And think her ransom cheap that day.'
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+And as these things the old Moor said,
+They sever'd from the trunk his head;
+And to the Alhambra's wall with speed
+'Twas carried, as the King decreed.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+And men and infants therein weep
+Their loss, so heavy and so deep;
+Granada's ladies, all she rears
+Within her walls, burst into tears.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+And from the windows o'er the walls
+The sable web of mourning falls;
+The King weeps as a woman o'er
+His loss, for it is much and sore.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7292: / 줄 12728: @@
 Damжtas |
 <poem>
+In law an infant, and in years a boy,
+In mind a slave to every vicious joy;
+From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd;
+In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;
+Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child;
+Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;
+Women his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;
+Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school;
+Damжtas ran through all the maze of sin,
+And found the goal when others just begin:
+Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,
+And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;
+But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain,
+And what was once his bliss appears his bane.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7299: / 줄 12748: @@
 Thou Whose Spell Can Raise the Dead |
 <poem>
+Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
+Bid the prophet's form appear.
+"Samuel, raise thy buried head!
+"King, behold the phantom seer!"
+Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud:
+Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.
+Death stood all glassy in the fixed eye:
+His hand was withered, and his veins were dry;
+His foot, in bony whiteness, glitterd there,
+Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;
+From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,
+Like cavern'd winds the hollow acccents came.
+Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
+At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.
+"Why is my sleep disquieted?
+"Who is he that calls the dead?
+"Is it thou, Oh King? Behold
+"Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
+"Such are mine; and such shall be
+"Thine, to-morrow, when with me:
+"Ere the coming day is done,
+"Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
+"Fare thee well, but for a day,
+"Then we mix our mouldering clay.
+"Thou, thy race, lie pale and low,
+"Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
+"And the falchion by thy side,
+"To thy heart, thy hand shall guide:
+"Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
+"Son and sire, the house of Saul!"
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7306: / 줄 12785: @@
 Stanzas To Jessy |
 <poem>
+There is a mystic thread of life
+So dearly wreath'd with mine alone,
+That Destiny's relentless knife
+At once must sever both, or none.
+There is a Form on which these eyes
+Have fondly gazed with such delight---
+By day, that Form their joy supplies,
+And Dreams restore it, through the night.
+There is a Voice whose tones inspire
+Such softened feelings in my breast,
+I would not hear a Seraph Choir,
+Unless that voice could join the rest.
+There is a Face whose Blushes tell
+Affection's tale upon the cheek,
+But pallid at our fond farewell,
+Proclaims more love than words can speak.
+There is a Lip, which mine has prest,
+But none had ever prest before;
+It vowed to make me sweetly blest,
+That mine alone should press it more.
+There is a Bosom all my own,
+Has pillow'd oft this aching head,
+A Mouth which smiles on me alone,
+An Eye, whose tears with mine are shed.
+There are two Hearts whose movements thrill,
+In unison so closely sweet,
+That Pulse to Pulse responsive still
+They Both must heave, or cease to beat.
+There are two Souls, whose equal flow
+In gentle stream so calmly run,
+That when they part---they part?---ah no!
+They cannot part---those Souls are One.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7313: / 줄 12830: @@
 Remember Him, Whom Passion's Power |
 <poem>
+Remember him, whom Passion's power
+Severely---deeply---vainly proved:
+Remember thou that dangerous hour,
+When neither fell, though both were loved.
+That yielding breast, that melting eye,
+Too much invited to be blessed:
+That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,
+The wilder wish reproved, repressed.
+Oh! let me feel that all I lost
+But saved thee all that Conscience fears;
+And blush for every pang it cost
+To spare the vain remorse of years.
+Yet think of this when many a tongue,
+Whose busy accents whisper blame,
+Would do the heart that loved thee wrong,
+And brand a nearly blighted name.
+Think that, whate'er to others, thou
+Hast seen each selfish thought subdued:
+I bless thy purer soul even now,
+Even now, in midnight solitude.
+Oh, God! that we had met in time,
+Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free;
+When thou hadst loved without a crime,
+And I been less unworthy thee!
+Far may thy days, as heretofore,
+From this our gaudy world be past!
+And that too bitter moment o'er,
+Oh! may such trial be thy last.
+This heart, alas! perverted long,
+Itself destroyed might there destroy;
+To meet thee in the glittering throng,
+Would wake Presumption's hope of joy.
+Then to the things whose bliss or woe,
+Like mine, is wild and worthless all,
+That world resign---such scenes forego,
+Where those who feel must surely fall.
+Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness---
+Thy soul from long seclusion pure;
+From what even here hath passed, may guess
+What there thy bosom must endure.
+Oh! pardon that imploring tear,
+Since not by Virtue shed in vain,
+My frenzy drew from eyes so dear;
+For me they shall not weep again.
+Though long and mournful must it be,
+The thought that we no more may meet;
+Yet I deserve the stern decree,
+And almost deem the sentence sweet.
+Still---had I loved thee less---my heart
+Had then less sacrificed to thine;
+It felt not half so much to part
+As if its guilt had made thee mine.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7320: / 줄 12900: @@
 Sonnet to Lake Leman |
 <poem>
+ousseau -- Voltaire -- our Gibbon -- De Staлl --
+Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore,
+Thy shore of names like these! wert thou no more,
+Their memory thy remembrance would recall:
+To them thy banks were lovely as to all,
+But they have made them lovelier, for the lore
+Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core
+Of human hearts the ruin of a wall
+Where dwelt the wise and wondrous; but by thee
+How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel,
+In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea,
+The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal,
+Which of the heirs of immortality
+Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real!
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7327: / 줄 12920: @@
 Sonnet - to Genevra |
 <poem>
+Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
+And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
+Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,
+My heart would wish away that ruder glow:
+And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes---but, oh!
+While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
+And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
+Soft as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.
+For, though thy long dark lashes low depending,
+The soul of melancholy Gentleness
+Gleams like a Seraph from the sky descending,
+Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
+At once such majesty with sweetness blending,
+I worship more, but cannot love thee less.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7334: / 줄 12940: @@
 To Eliza |
 <poem>
+Eliza, what fools are the Mussulman sect,
+Who to woman deny the soul's future existence!
+Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their defect,
+And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.
+Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of sense,
+He ne'er would have woman from paradise driven;
+Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence,
+With woman alone he had peopled his heaven.
+Yet still, to increase your calamities more,
+Not Content with depriving your bodies of spirit,
+He allots one poor husband to share amongst four!-
+With souls you'd dispense; but this last, who could bear it?
+His religion to please neither party is made;
+On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil;
+Still I Can't contradict, what so oft has been said,
+'Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil.'
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7341: / 줄 12965: @@
 Stanzas To A Lady, On Leaving England |
 <poem>
+Tis done---and shivering in the gale
+The bark unfurls her snowy sail;
+And whistling o'er the bending mast,
+Loud sings on high the fresh'ning blast;
+And I must from this land be gone,
+Because I cannot love but one.
+But could I be what I have been,
+And could I see what I have seen---
+Could I repose upon the breast
+Which once my warmest wishes blest---
+I should not seek another zone,
+Because I cannot love but one.
+'Tis long since I beheld that eye
+Which gave me bliss or misery;
+And I have striven, but in vain,
+Never to think of it again:
+For though I fly from Albion,
+I still can only love but one.
+As some lone bird, without a mate,
+My weary heart is desolate;
+I look around, and cannot trace
+One friendly smile or welcome face,
+And ev'n in crowds am still alone,
+Because I cannot love but one.
+And I will cross the whitening foam,
+And I will seek a foreign home;
+Till I forget a false fair face,
+I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
+My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
+But ever love, and love but one.
+The poorest, veriest wretch on earth
+Still finds some hospitable hearth,
+Where Friendship's or Love's softer glow
+May smile in joy or soothe in woe;
+But friend or leman I have none,'
+Because I cannot love but one.
+I go---but wheresoe'er I flee
+There's not an eye will weep for me;
+There's not a kind congenial heart,
+Where I can claim the meanest part;
+Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone,
+Wilt sigh, although I love but one.
+To think of every early scene,
+Of what we are, and what we've been,
+Would whelm some softer hearts with woe---
+But mine, alas! has stood the blow;
+Yet still beats on as it begun,
+And never truly loves but one.
+And who that dear lov'd one may be,
+Is not for vulgar eyes to see;
+And why that early love was cross'd,
+Thou know'st the best, I feel the most;
+But few that dwell beneath the sun
+Have loved so long, and loved but one.
+I've tried another's fetters too,
+With charms perchance as fair to view;
+And I would fain have loved as well,
+But some unconquerable spell
+Forbade my bleeding breast to own
+A kindred care for aught but one.
+'Twould soothe to take one lingering view,
+And bless thee in my last adieu;
+Yet wish I not those eyes to weep
+For him that wanders o'er the deep;
+His home, his hope, his youth are gone,
+Yet still he loves, and loves but one.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7348: / 줄 13047: @@
 To Mary, On Receiving Her Picture |
 <poem>
+This faint resemblance of thy charms,
+(Though strong as mortal art could give,)
+My constant heart of fear disarms,
+Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
+Here, I can trace the locks of gold
+Which round thy snowy forehead wave;
+The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,
+The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.
+Here I can trace---ah, no! that eye,
+Whose azure floats in liquid fire,
+Must all the painter's art defy,
+And bid him from the task retire.
+Here, I behold its beauteous hue;
+But where's the beam so sweetly straying,
+Which gave a lustre to its blue,
+Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?
+Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
+Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
+Than all the living forms could be,
+Save her who plac'd thee next my heart.
+She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear,
+Lest time might shake my wavering soul,
+Unconscious that her image there
+Held every sense in fast control.
+Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 'twill cheer---
+My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;
+In life's last conflict 'twill appear,
+And meet my fond, expiring gaze.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7355: / 줄 13087: @@
 Lachin Y Gair |
 <poem>
+Away, ye gay landscapes, ye garden of roses!
+In you let the minions of luxury rove;
+Restore me to the rocks, where the snowflake reposes,
+Though still they are sacred to freedom and love:
+Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,
+Round their white summits though elements war;
+Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
+I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.
+Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wandered;
+My cap was teh bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;
+On chieftains long perished my memory pondered,
+As daily I strode through the pine-covered glade;
+I sought not my home till the day's dying glory
+Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star;
+For fancy was cheered by traditional story,
+Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.
+"Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices
+Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?"
+Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,
+And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale.
+Rouch Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers,
+Winter presides in his cold icy car:
+Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;
+They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.
+"Ill-starred, though brave, did no visions foreboding
+Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?"
+Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden,
+Victory crowned not your fall with applause:
+Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber,
+You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar;
+The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number,
+Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.
+Years have rolled on, Loch na Garr, since I left you,
+Years must elapse ere I tread you again:
+Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you,
+Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain.
+England! thy beauties are tame and domestic
+To one who has roved o'er the mountains afar:
+Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic!
+The steep frowning glories of the dark Loch na Garr.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7362: / 줄 13137: @@
 To M |
 <poem>
+Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire,
+With bright, but mild affection shine:
+Though they might kindle less desire,
+Love, more than mortal, would be thine.
+For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
+Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
+We must admire, but still despair;
+That fatal glance forbids esteem.
+When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
+So much perfection in thee shone,
+She fear'd that, too divine for earth,
+The skies might claim thee for their own.
+Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
+Lest angels might dispute the prize,
+She bade a secret lightning lurk,
+Within those once celestial eyes.
+These might the boldest Sylph appall,
+When gleaming with meridian blaze;
+Thy beauty must enrapture all;
+But who can dare thine ardent gaze?
+'Tis said that Berenice's hair,
+In stars adorns the vault of heaven;
+But they would ne'er permit thee there,
+Who wouldst so far outshine the seven.
+For did those eyes as planets roll,
+Thy sister-lights would scarce appear:
+E'en suns, which systems now control,
+Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7369: / 줄 13177: @@
 Song of Saul Before His Last Battle |
 <poem>
+Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
+Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
+Heed not the corse, though a king’s in your path:
+Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
+Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
+Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
+Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!
+Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.
+Farewell to others, but never we part,
+Heir to my royalty, son of my heart!
+Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
+Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7376: / 줄 13197: @@
 To M. S. G. |
 <poem>
+Whene'er I view those lips of thine,
+Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
+Yet, I forego that bliss divine,
+Alas! it were---unhallow'd bliss.
+Whene'er I dream of that pure breast,
+How could I dwell upon its snows!
+Yet, is the daring wish represt,
+For that,---would banish its repose.
+A glance from thy soul-searching eye
+Can raise with hope, depress with fear;
+Yet, I conceal my love,---and why?
+I would not force a painful tear.
+I ne'er have told my love, yet thou
+Hast seen my ardent flame too well;
+And shall I plead my passion now,
+To make thy bosom's heaven a hell?
+No! for thou never canst be mine,
+United by the priest's decree:
+By any ties but those divine,
+Mine, my belov'd, thou ne'er shalt be.
+Then let the secret fire consume,
+Let it consume, thou shalt not know:
+With joy I court a certain doom,
+Rather than spread its guilty glow.
+I will not ease my tortur'd heart,
+By driving dove-ey'd peace from thine;
+Rather than such a sting impart,
+Each thought presumptuous I resign.
+Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave
+More than I here shall dare to tell;
+Thy innocence and mine to save,---
+I bid thee now a last farewell.
+Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair
+And hope no more thy soft embrace;
+Which to obtain, my soul would dare,
+All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.
+At least from guilt shalt thou be free,
+No matron shall thy shame reprove;
+Though cureless pangs may prey on me,
+No martyr shalt thou be to love.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7383: / 줄 13252: @@
 On A Distant View Of Harrow |
 <poem>
+Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov'd recollection
+Embitters the present, compar'd with the past;
+Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection,
+And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last;
+Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace the resemblance
+Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied;
+How welcome to me your ne'er fading remembrance,
+Which rests in the bosom, though hope is deny'd!
+Again I revisit the hills where we sported,
+The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought;
+The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted,
+To pore o'er the precepts by Pedagogues taught.
+Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd,
+As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay;
+Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd,
+To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray.
+I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded,
+Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown;
+While, to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded,
+I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone.
+Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation,
+By my daughters, of kingdom and reason depriv'd;
+Till, fir'd by loud plaudits and self-adulation,
+I regarded myself as a Garrick reviv'd.
+Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!
+Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast;
+Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you:
+Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.
+To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me,
+While Fate shall the shades of the future unroll!
+Since Darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me,
+More dear is the beam of the past to my soul!
+But if, through the course of the years which await me,
+Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,
+I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me,
+Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew.
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7390: / 줄 13302: @@
 Siege and Conquest of Alhama, The |
 <poem>
+The Moorish King rides up and down,
+Through Granada's royal town;
+From Elvira's gate to those
+Of Bivarambla on he goes.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Letters to the monarch tell
+How Alhama's city fell:
+In the fire the scroll he threw,
+And the messenger he slew.
+Woe is me, Albamal
+He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,
+And through the street directs his course;
+Through the street of Zacatin
+To the Alhambra spurring in.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+When the Alhambra walls he gain'd,
+On the moment he ordain'd
+That the trumpet straight should sound
+With the silver clarion round.
+Woe is me, Alhamal
+And when the hollow drums of war
+Beat the loud alarm afar,
+That the Moors of town and plain
+Might answer to the martial strain.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Then the Moors, by this aware,
+That bloody Mars recall'd them there,
+One by one, and two by two,
+To a mighty squadron grew.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Out then spake an aged Moor
+In these words the king before,
+'Wherefore call on us, oh King?
+What may mean this gathering?'
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'Friends! ye have, alas! to know
+Of a most disastrous blow;
+That the Christians, stern and bold,
+Have obtain'd Albania's hold.'
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Out then spake old Alfaqui,
+With his beard so white to see,
+'Good King! thou art justly served,
+Good King! this thou hast deserved.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'By thee were slain, in evil hour,
+The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;
+And strangers were received by thee
+Of Cordova the Chivalry.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'And for this, oh King! is sent
+On thee a double chastisement:
+Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
+One last wreck shall overwhelm.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'He who holds no laws in awe,
+He must perish by the law;
+And Granada must be won,
+And thyself with her undone.'
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Fire crashed from out the old Moor's eyes,
+The Monarch's wrath began to rise,
+Because he answer'd, and because
+He spake exceeding well of laws.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'There is no law to say such things
+As may disgust the ear of kings:
+'Thus, snorting with his choler, said
+The Moorish King, and doom'd him dead.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
+Though thy beard so hoary be,
+The King hath sent to have thee seized,
+For Alhama's loss displeased.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+And to fix thy head upon
+High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
+That thus for thee should be the law,
+And others tremble when they saw.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'Cavalier, and man of worth!
+Let these words of mine go forth!
+Let the Moorish Monarch know,
+That to him I nothing owe.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'But on my soul Alhama weighs,
+And on my inmost spirit preys;
+And if the King his land hath lost,
+Yet others may have lost the most.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'Sires have lost their children, wives
+Their lords, and valiant men their lives!
+One what best his love might claim
+Hath lost, another wealth, or fame.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+'I lost a damsel in that hour,
+Of all the land the loveliest flower;
+Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
+And think her ransom cheap that day.'
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+And as these things the old Moor said,
+They sever'd from the trunk his head;
+And to the Alhambra's wall with speed
+'Twas carried, as the King decreed.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+And men and infants therein weep
+Their loss, so heavy and so deep;
+Granada's ladies, all she rears
+Within her walls, burst into tears.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
+And from the windows o'er the walls
+The sable web of mourning falls;
+The King weeps as a woman o'er
+His loss, for it is much and sore.
+Woe is me, Alhama!
 </poem>
 ++++
@@ 줄 7397: / 줄 13445: @@
 Reply to Some Verses of J.M.B. Pigot, Esq. |
 <poem>
+Why, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain,
+Why thus in despair do you fret?
+For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh
+Will never obtain a coquette.
+Would you teach her to love? for a time seem to rove;
+At first she may frown in a pet;
+But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile,
+And then you may kiss your coquette.
+For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs,
+They think all our homage a debt:
+Yet a partial neglect soon takes an effect,
+And humbles the proudest coquette.
+Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your chain,
+And seem her hauteur to regret;
+If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny,
+That yours is the rosy coquette.
+If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride,
+This whimsical virgin forget;
+Some other adiaiire, who will melt with your fire,
+And laugh at the little coquette.
+For me I adore some twenty or more,
+And love them most dearly but yet
+Though my heart they enthral, I'd abandon them all,
+Did they act like your blooming coquette.
+No longer repine, adopt this design,
+And break through her slight-woven net;
+Away with despair, no longer forbear
+To fly from the captious coquette.
+Then quit her, my friend your bosom defend,
+Ere quite with her snares you're beset;
+Lest your deep-wounded heart, when incensed by the smart, Should lead you to curse the coquette.
 </poem>
 ++++

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