Where'er had pass'd his summer years of life, Then turning, vaulted on his pawing steed, It seems they vanish'd in a land of strife; And instant spurr'd him into panting speed. But all unknown his glory or his guilt,

His face was mask'd—the features of the dead,
These only told that somewhere blood was spilt, If dead it were, escaped the observer's dread;
And Ezzelin, who might have spoke the past, But if in sooth a star its bosom bore,
Return'd no more that night appear'd his last. Such is the badge that knighthood ever wore,

And such 'tis known Sir Ezzelin had worn

Upon the night that led to such a morn.
Upon that night (a peasant's is the tale)

If thus he perish'd, Heaven receive his soul ! A Serf that cross'd the intervening vale,

His undiscover'd limbs to ocean roll;
When Cynthia's light almost gave way to morn, And charity upon the hope would dwell,
And nearly veil'd in mist her waning horn; It was not Lara's hand by which he fell.
A Serf, that rose betimes to thread the wood,
And hew the bough that bought his children's food,
Pass'd by the river that divides the plain

Or Otho's lands and Lara's broad domain : And Kaled-Lara-Ezzelin, are gone,
He heard a tramp-a horse and horseman broke Alike without their monumental stone!
From out the wood-before him was a cloak The first, all efforts vainly strove to wean
Wrapt round some burden at his saddle-bow; From lingering where her chieftain's blood had been
Bent was his head, and hidden was his brow. Grief had so tamed a spirit once too proud,
Roused by the sudden sight at such a time, Her tears were few, her wailing never loud;
And some foreboding that it might be crime, But furious would you tear her from the spot
Himself unheeded watch'd the stranger' course, Where yet she scarce believed that he was not
Who reach'd the river, bounded from his horse, Her eye shot forth with all the living fire
And lifting thence the burden which he bore, That haunts the tigress in her whelpless ire,
Heaved up the bank, and dashed it from the shore, But left to waste her weary moments there,
Then paused, and look'd, and turn'd, and seem'd to She talk'd all idly unto shapes of air,

Such as the busy brain of Sorrow paints, And still another hurried glance would snatch, And woos to listen to her fond complaints : And follow with his step the stream that flow'd, And she would sit beneath the very tree As if even yet too much its surface show'd : Where lay his drooping head upon her knee; At once he started, stoop'd, around him strown And in that posture where she saw him fall, The winter floods had scatter'd heaps of stone; His words, his looks, his dying grasp recall : Of these the heaviest thence he gather'd there, And she had shorn, but saved her raven hair, And slung them with a more than common care. And oft would snatch it from her bosom there, Meantime the Sarf had crept to where unseen And fold, and press it gently to the ground, Himself might safely mark what this might mean; As if she staunched anew some phantom's wound He caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast, Herself would question, and for him reply; And something glitter'd starlike on the vest, Then rising, start, and beckon him to fly But ere he well could mark the buoyant trunk, From some imagined spectre in pursuit ; A massy fragment smote it, and it sunk:

Then seat her down upon some linden's root, It rose again but indistinct to view,

And hide her visage with her meagre hand, And left the waters of a purple hue,

Or trace strange characters along the sandThen deeply disappear'd: the horseman gazed, This could not last-she lies by him she loved ; Till ebb’d the latest eddy it had raised;

Her tale untold-her truth too dearly proved.

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Tas event in section xxiv. Canto II. was sug- he replied, that he saw two men on foot, who came gested by the description of the death or rather down the street, and looked diligently about, to barial of the Duke of Gandia.

observe whether any person was passing.. That The most interesting and particular account of seeing no one, they returned, and a short time afthis mysterious event is given by Burchard, and is terwards two others came, and looked around in the in substance as follows: "On the eighth day of same manner as the former: no person still appearJune, the Cardinal of Valenza, and the Duke of ing, they gave a sign to their companions, when a Gandia, sons of the Pope, supped with their mother, man came, mounted on a white horse, having beVanozza, near the church of S. Pietro ad vincula ; hind him a dead body, the head and arms of which several other persons being present at the entertain- hung on one side, and the feet on the other side of ment. A late hour approaching, and the cardinal the horse; the two persons on foot supporting the having reminded his brother, that it was time to body, to prevent its falling. They thus proceeded return to the apostolic palace, they mounted their towards that part where the filth of the city is usuhorses or mules, with only a few attendants, and ally discharged into the river, and turning the horse, proceeded together as far as the palace of the Car- with his tail towards the water, the two persons dinal Ascanio Sforza, when the duke informed the took the dead body by the arms and feet, and avith cardinal, that before he returned home, he had to all their strength ffung it into the river. The perpay a visit of pleasure. Dismissing therefore all son on horseback then asked if they had thrown it his attendants except his staffiero, or footman, and in, to which they replied, Signor, si (yes, Sir.) He a person in a mask, who had paid him a visit whilst then looked towards the river, and seeing a mantle at supper, and who, during the space of a month or floating on the stream, he inquired what it was that thereabouts, previous to this time, had called upon appeared black, to which they answered, it was a him almost daily, at the apostolic palace, he took mantle; and one of them threw stones upon it, in this person behind him on his mule, and proceeded consequence of which it sunk. The attendants of to the street of the Jews, where he quitted his ser- the pontiff then inquired from Giorgio, why he had Fant, directing him to remain there until a certain not revealed this to the governor of the city; to hour; when, if he did not return, he might repair which he replied, that he had seen in his time a to the palace. The duke then seated the person in hundred dead bodies thrown into the river at the the mask behind him, and rode, I know not whither; same place, without any inquiry being made respectout in that night he was assassinated, and thrown ing them, and that he had not therefore, considerinto the river. The servant, after having been ed it as a matter of any importance. The fisherdismissed, was also assaulted and mortally wound- men and seamen were then collected, and ordered ed; and although he was attended with great care, to search the river, where, on the following eveFet such was his situation, that he could give no in- ning, they found the body of the duke, with his telligible account of what had befallen his master. habit entire, and thirty ducats in his purse. He In the morning, the duke not having returned to was pierced with nine wounds, one of which was in the palace, his servants began to be alarmed; and his throat, the others in his head, body, and limbs. one of them informed the pontiff of the evening No sooner was the pontiff informed of the death of excursion of his sons, and that the duke had not his son, and that he had been thrown, like filth, yet made his appearance. This gave the pope no into the river, than, giving way to his grief, he small anxiety ; but he conjectured that the duke shut himself up in a chamber, and wept bitterly. had been attracted by some courtesan to pass the The Cardinal of Segovia, and other attendants on night with her, and not choosing to quit the house the pope, went to the door, and after many hours in open day, had waited till the following evening spent in persuasions and exhortations, prevailed to return home. When, however, the evening ar- upon him to admit them. From the evening of rived, and he found himself disappointed in his ex- Wednesday, till the following Saturday, the pope pectations, he became deeply amicted, and began to took no food; nor did he sleep from Thursday mornmake inquiries from different persons, whom he or- ing till the same hour on the ensuing day. At dered to attend him for that purpose. Among length, however, giving way to the entreaties of his these was a man named Giorgio Schiavoni, who, attendants, he began to restrain his sorrow, and to having discharged some timber from a bark in the consider the injury which his own health might susriver, had remained on board the vessel to watch it, tain, by the further indulgence of his grief."--Rosand being interrogated whether he had seen any coe's Leo Tenth, vol. i. page 265. mne thrown into the river on the night preceding,

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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,* 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 camp, 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 whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock,
Have left untouch'd her hoary rock,
The key-stone 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 Timolean's brother bled,
Or baffled Persian'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-capt Acropolis,
Which seems the very clouds to kiss.

1. 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 hand.

II. On dun Cithæron'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, The sabre round his loins to gird;

• Napoli di Romania is not now the most considerabie place in the Moren, but Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and maintains his government. Napoli is Dons Argos. I visited all three iu 1810-11; and in the course of Journeying hrough the country from my first arrival in 1809, I crossed the Lothrnua eight times in my way from Attica to the Muren, over the mountains, a in the other direction, when paming from the Gulf of Athens to that of Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beautiful, though very different: that by sea has more ramenesa, but the royage being always within sight of land, and often very near it, presents many attractive views of the blanda Salarnis, Ægina, Poro, &c., and the coast of the continent.

And there the volleying thunders pour,

Coumourgi-can his glory cease,
Till waves grow smoother to the roar.

That latest conqueror of Greece,
The trench is dug, the cannon's breath

Till Christian hands to Greece restore
Wings the far hissing globe of death ;

The freedom Venice gave of yore?
Fast whirl the fragments from the wall,

A hundred years have roll'd away
Which crumbles with the ponderous ball;

Since he refused the Moslem's sway,
And from that wall the foe replies,

And now he led the Mussulman,
O'er dusty plain and smoky skies,

And gave the guidance of the van
With fires that answer fast and well

To Alp, who well repaid the trust
The summons of the Infidel.

By cities levell’d with the dust;

And proved, by many a deed of death.

How firm his heart in novel faith.
But near and nearest to the wall

Of those who wish and work its fall,
With deeper skill in war's black art

The walls grew weak; and fast and hot
Than Othman's sons, and high of heart

Against them pour'd the ceaseless shot,
As any chief that ever stood

With unabating fury sent
Triumphant in the fields of blood;

From battery to battlement;
From post to post, and deed to deed,

And thunder-like the pealing din

Rose from each heated culverin ;
Fast spurring on his reeking steed,
Where sallying ranks the trench assail,

And here and there some crackling dome
And make the foremost Moslem quail ;

Was fired before the exploding bomb:
Or where the battery, guarded well,

And as the fabric sank beneath
Remains as yet impregnable,

The shattering shell's volcanic breath,
Alighting cheerly to inspire

In red and wreathing columns flash'd
The soldier slackening in his fire,

The flame, as loud the ruin crash'd,
The first and freshest of the host

Or into countless meteors driven,
Which Stamboul's sultan there can boast,

Its earth-stars melted into heaven;
To guide the follower o'er the field,

Whose clouds that day grew doubly dun,
To point the tube, the lance to wield,

Impervious to the hidden sun,

With volumed smoke that slowly grew
Or whirl around the bickering blade ;-
Was Alp, the Adrian renegade !

To one wide sky of sulphurous hue.


But not for vengeance, long delay'd,
From Venice-once a race of worth

Alone, did Alp, the renegade,
His gentle sires-he drew his birth ;

The Moslem warriors sternly teach
But late an exile from her shore,

His skill to pierce the promised breach:
Against his countrymen he bore

Within these walls a maid was pent
The arms they taught to bear; and now

His hope would win without consent
The turban girt his shaven brow.

Of that inexorable sire,
Through many a change had Corinth pass'd

Whose heart refused him in its ire,
With Greece to Venice' rule at last;

When Alp, beneath his Christian name,
And here, before her walls, with those

Her virgin hand aspired to claim.
To Greece and Venice equal focs,

In happier mood, and earlier time,
He stood a foe, with all the zeal

While unimpeach'd for traitorous crime,
Which young and fiery converts feel,

Gayest in gondola or hall,
Within whose heated bosom throngs

He glitter'd through the Carnival;
The memory of a thousand wrongs.

And tuned the softest serenade
To him had Venice ceased to be

That e'er on Adria's waters play'd
Her ancient civic boast-"the Free ; "

At midnight to Italian maid.
And in the palace of St. Mark
Unnamed accusers in the dark

Within the “Lion's mouth" had placed

And many deem'd her heart was won.
A charge against him uneffaced ;

For sought by numbers, given to none,
He iled in time, and saved his life,

Had young Francesca's hand remain'd
To waste his future years in strife,

Still by the church's bonds unchain'd:
That taught his land how great her loss

And when the Adriatic bore
In him who triumph'd o'er the Cross,

Lanciotto to the Paynim shore,
'Gainst which he rear'd the Crescent high,

Her wonted smiles were seen to fail,
And battled to avenge or die.

And pensive wax'd the maid and pale;
More constant at confessional,

More rare at masque and festival;
Coumourgi 2–he whose closing scene

Or seen at such, with downcast eyes,
Adorn'd the triumph of Eugene,

Which conquer'd hearts they ceased to priso:
When on Carlowitz' bloody plain

With listless look she seems to gaze,
The last and mightiest of the slain,

With humbler care her form arrays;
He sank, regretting not to die,

Her voice less lively in the song,
But curst the Christian's victory-

Her step, though bght, less fleet among

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The pairs, on whom the Morning's glance And take a long unmeasured tone,
Breaks, yet unsated with the dance,

To mortal minstrelsy unknown.

It seem'd to those within the wall

A cry prophetic of their fall:
Sent by the state to guard the land,

It struck even the besieger's ear (Which wrested from the Moslem's hand,

With something ominous and drear, While Sobieski tamed his pride

An undefined and sudden thrill, By Buda's wall and Danube's side,

Which makes the heart a moment still, The chiefs of Venice wrung away

Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed From Patra to Eubea's bay,)

Of that strange sense its silence framed; Minotti held in Corinth's towers

Such as a sudden passing-bell The Doge's delegated powers,

Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell. While yet the pitying eye of Peace Smiled o'er her long-forgotten Greece:

XII. And ere that faithless truce was broke

The tent of Alp was on the shore; Which freed her from the unchristian yoke. The sound was hush'd, the prayer was o'er; With him his gentle daughter came,

The watch was set, the night-round made, Nor there, since Menelaus' dame

All mandates issued and obey'd : Forsook her lord and land, to prove

"Tis but another anxious night, What woes await on lawless love,

His pains the morrow may requitė Had fairer form adorn'd the shore

With all revenge and love can pay, Than she, the matchless stranger, bore.

In guerdon of their long delay.

Few hours remain, and he hath need

Of rest, to nerve for many a deed
The wall is rent, the ruins yawn ;

Of slaughter; but within his soul And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn,

The thoughts like troubled waters roll O'er the disjointed mass shall vault

He stood alone among the host; The foremost of the fierce assault.

Not his the loud fanátic boast The bands are rank'd; the chosen van

To plant the crescent o'er the cross, Of Tartar and of Mussulman,

Or risk a life with little loss, The full of hope, misnamed " forlorn,"

Secure in paradise to be Who hold the thought of death in scorn,

By Houris loved immortally: And win their way with falchion's force,

Nor his, what burning patriots feel, Or pave the path with many a corse,

The stern exaltedness of zeal, O'er which the following brave may rise,

Profuse of blood, untired in toil, Their stepping-stone-the last who dies !

When battling on the parent soil.

He stood alone-a renegade

Against the country he betray'd;

He stood alone amidst his band, 'Tis midnight: on the mountains brown

Without a trusted heart or hand; The cold round moon shines deeply down;

They follow'd him, for he was brave, Blue roll the waters, blue the sky

And great the spoil he got and gave; Spreads like an ocean hung on high,

They crouch'd to him, for he had skill Bespangled with those isles of light,

To warp and wield the vulgar will; So wildly, spiritually bright;

But still his Christian origin
Who ever gazed upon them shining,

With them was little less than sin.
And turn'd to earth without repining,
Nor wish'd for wings to flee away,

They envied even the faithless fame

He earn'd beneath a Moslem name; And mix with their eternal ray?

Since he, their mightiest chief had been The waves on either shore lay there Calm, clear, and azure as the air ;

In youth a bitter Nazarene. And scarce their foam the pebbles shook,

They did not know how pride can stoop,

When baffled feelings withering droop; But murmur'd meekly as the brook.

They did not know how hate can burn The winds were pillow'd on the waves;

In hearts once changed from soft to stern The banners droop'd along their staves,

Nor all the false and fatal zeal
And, as they fell around them furling,

The convert of revenge can feel.
Above them shone the crescent curling;
And that deep silence was unbroke,

He ruled them-man may rule the worst. Save where the watch his signal spoke,

By ever daring to be first:

So lions o'er the jackal sway;
Save where the steed neigh'd oft and shrill,
And echo a! swer'd from the hill,

The jackal points, he fells the prey,

Then on the vulgar yelling press,
And the wide hum of that wild host
Rustled like leaves from coast to coast,

To gorge the relics of success.
As rose the Muezzin's voice in air
In midnight call to wonted prayer ;

It rose, that chanted mournful strain,

His head grows fever'd, and his pulse Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain :

The quick successive throbs convulse; 'Twas musical, but sadly sweet,

In vain from side to side he throws Such as when winds and harp-strings meet, His form, in courtship of regioje;

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