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 That all those charms have pass'd away; I might have watch'd through long decay. The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd I know not if I could have borne 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, Uphold thy drooping head; Yet how much less it were to gain, And more thy buried love endears WHEN WE TWO PARTED WHEN we two parted In silence and tears. Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, The dew of the morning Of what I feel now. They name thee before me, In secret we met In silence I grieve, After long years, How should I greet thee?— With silence and tears. ?.... 1816, THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS A TURKISH TALE "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. CANTO THE FIRST KNOW ye the land where the 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 Gúl in her bloom; 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 color 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? 'T is the clime of the East; 't is the land of the Sun Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell. Begirt with many a gallant slave, Deep thought was in his aged eye; His pensive cheek and pondering brow "Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide My sister, or her sable guide, That-let the old and weary sleep- 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 There linger'd we, beguiled too long But there Zuleika wanders yet- 66 Son of a slave "-the Pacha said— From unbelieving mother bred, Vain were a father's hope to see 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 Stambol's wall Before the dogs of Moscow fall, Nor strike one stroke for life and death Against the curs of Nazareth! Go-let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff-not the brand. But, Haroun !-to my daughter speed! And hark-of thine own head take heedIf thus Zuleika oft takes wingThou see'st yon bow-it hath a string!" No sound from Selim's lip was heard, At least that met old Ĝiaffir'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 And started; for within his eye "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." I'll watch him closer than before. 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 fearMy 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 thoy · Nor can they waft to Mecca's shrine More thanks for life, than I for thine, Who blest thy birth and bless the now." Fair, as the first that fell of womankind, When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling, Whose image then was stamp'd upon her mind- But once beguil'd-and ever more 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, The heart whose softness harmonized the whole, And oh! that eye was in itself a Soul ! Her graceful arms in meekness bending "Zuleika! child of gentleness! How dear this very day must tell, When I forget my own distress, And if her eye was fill'd with tears And red to pale, as througn her ears Those winged words like arrows sped, What could such be but maiden fears i 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 hi steed, Resign'd his gem-adorn'd chibouque, And mounting featly for the mead, With Maugrabee and Mamaluke, His way amid his Delis took. 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. His head was leant upon his hand, His eye look'd o'er the dark blue water That swiftly glides and gently swells Mix in the game of mimic slaughter, Careering cleave the folded felt. With sabre stroke right sharply dealt; No word from Selim's bosom broke ; Not thus we e'er before have met; room, And watch'd his eye-it still was fix'd : She snatch'd the urn wherein was mix'd The Persian Atar-gul's perfume, The playful girl's appeal address'd, As if that breast were marble too. 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 brea thed Before the rose was pluck'd and wrea thed; The next fond moment saw her seat "What! not receive my foolish flower? And know'st thou not who loves thee best? Oh, Selim dear! oh, more than dearest! Since words of mine, and songs must fail, Ev'n from my fabled nightingale. Years have not seen, Time shall not see When flies that shaft, and fly it must, That parts all else, shall doom for ever Our hearts to undivided dust!" 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 stream 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: 66 Now thou art mine, for ever mine, With life to keep, and scarce with life resign; |