Minotti lifted his aged eye,

The turban'd victors, the Christian band,
And made the sign of a cross with a sigh, All that of living or dead remain,
Then seized a torch which blazed thereby ; Hurl'd on high with the shiver'd fane,
And still he stood, while, with steel and flame, In one wild roar expired!
Inward and onward the Mussulman came.

The shatter'd town-the walls thrown down

The waves a moment backward bent

The hills that shake, although unrent,
The vaults beneath the mosaic stone

As if an earthquake pass'de Contain'd the dead of ages gone;

The thousand shapeless things all driven Their names were on the graven floor,

In cloud and flame athwart the heaven, But now illegible with gore;

By that tremendous blast The carved crests, and curious hues,

Proclaim'd the desperate conflict o'er The varied marble's veins diffuse,

On that too long afflicted shore: Were smear'd, and slippery-stain'd, and strown Up to the sky like rockets go With broken swords, and helms o'erthrown: All that mingled there below: There were dead above, and the dead below Many a tall and goodly man, Lay cold in many a coffin'd row;

Scorch'd and shrivell’d to a span, You might see them piled in sable state,

When he fell to carth again By a pale light through a gloomy grate;

Like a cinder strew'd the plain: But War had enter'd their dark caves,

Down the ashes shower like rain; And stored along the vaulted graves

Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread

With a thousand circling wrinkles ; In masses by the fleshless dead :

Some fell on the shore, but, far away, Here, throughout the siege, had been

Scatter'd o'er the isthmus lay; The Christians' chiefest magazine;

Christian or Moslem, which be they? To these a late-form'd train now led,

Let their mothers see and say ! Minotti's last and stern resource

When in cradled rest they lay, Against the foe's o'erwhelming force.

And each nursing mother smiled

On the sweet sleep of her child,

Little deem'd she such a day
The foe came on, and few remain

Would rend those tender limbs away. To strive, and those must strive in vain :

Not the matrons that them bore For lack of further lives, to slake

Could discern their offspring more ; The thirst of vengeance now awake,

That one moment left no trace With barbarous blows they gash the dead,

More of human form or face, And lop the already lifeless head,

Save a scatter'd scalp or bone: And fell the statues from their niche,

And down came blazing rafters, strown And spoil the shrines of offerings rich,

Around, and many a falling stone, And from each other's rude hands wrest

Deeply dinted in the clay, The silver vessels saints had bless'd.

All blacken'd there and reeking lay. To the high altar on they go ;

All the living things that heard Oh, but it made a glorious show!

That deadly earth-shock disappear'd; On its table still behold

The wild birds flew; the wild dogs filed, The cup of consecrated gold ;

And howling left the unburied dead; Massy and deep, a glittering prize,

The camels from their keepers broke; Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes :

The distant steer forsook the yokeThat morn it held the holy wine,

The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain, Converted by Christ to his blood so divine, And burst his girth, and tore his rein ; Which his worshippers drank at the break of day The bullfrog's note, from out the marsh, To shrive their souls ere they join'd in the fray. Deepmouth'd arose, and doubly harsh Still a few drops within it lay;

The wolves yell'd on the cavern'd hill, And round the sacred table glow

Where echo rollid in thunder still; Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row,

The jackal's troop, in gather'd cry, 10 From the purest metal cast;

Bay'd from afar complainingly, A spoil—the richest, and the last.

With a mix'd and mournful sound,

Like crying babe, and beaten hound:

With sudden wing, and ruffled breast,
So near they came, the nearest stretch'd

The eagle left his rocky nest, To grasp the spoil he almost reach'd,

And mounted nearer to the sun, When old Minotti's hand

The clouds beneath him seem'd so dun; Touch'd with the torch the train

Their smoke assail'd his startled beak, 'Tis fired!

And made him higher soar and shriekSpire, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain,

Thus was Corinth lost and won !


6. The Turcoman hath left his herd.

Was it the wind, through some hollovo stone. Page 166, line 38.

Page 169, line 37. The life of the Turcomans is wandering and pa- I must here acknowledge a close, though uninkiarcbal: they dwell in tents.

tentional, resemblance in these twelve lines to a passage in an unpublished poem of Mr. Coleridge,

called " Christabel." It was not till after these 2.

lines were written that I heard that wild and singuCoumourgi-he whose closing scene. larly original and beautiful poem recited; and the

Page 167, line 57. MS. of that production I never saw till very recentAli Coumourgi, the favorite of three sultans, and ly, by the kindness of Mr. Coleridge himself, who, Grand Vizier to Achmet III. after recovering Pelo- I hope, is convinced that I have not been a'wilful ponnesus from the Venetians in one campaign, was

plagiarist. The original idea undoubtedly pertains mortally wounded in the next, against the Ger- above fourteen years. Let me conclude by a hope

to Mr. Coleridge, whose poem has been composed mans, at the battle of Peterwaradin, (in the plain that he will not longer delay the publication of a of Carlowitz.) in Hungary, endeavoring to rally his guards. He died of his wounds, next day. His production, of which I can only add my mite of aplast order was the decapitation of General Breuner, probation to the applause of far more competent and some other German prisoners: and his lasi judges. words, “Oh that I could thus serve all the Chris

7. tian dogs!” a speech and act not unlike one of There is a light cloud by the moon. Caligula. He was a young man of great ambition

Page 171, line 61. and unbounded presumption : on being told that I have been told that the idea expressed from Prince Eugene, then opposed to him, “was a great lines 588 to 603 has been admired by those whose general,” he said, “I shall become a greater, and approbation is valuable. I am glad of it: but it is at his expense."

not orignal-at least not mine; it may be found 3.

much better expressed in pages 182-3-4 of the EngThere shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea.

lish version of Mathete (1-forget the precise page

of the French,) a work to which I have before re Page 169, line 91.

ferred, and never recur to, or read, without a reThe reader need hardly be reminded that there newal of gratification. are no perceptible tides in the Mediterranean.


The horsetails are pluck'd from the ground, and the 4.


Page 171, line 106. And their white tusks craunch'd o'er the whiter skull.

The horsetail fixed upon a lance, a Pacha's stand

ard. Page 170, line 8.

9. This spectacle I have seen, such as described, beneath the wall of the Seraglio at Constantinople,

And since the day when in the strait. in the little cavities worn by the Bosphorus in the

Page 172, line 98. rock, a narrow terrace of which projects between

In the naval battle, at the mouth of the Darda. the wall and the water. I think the fact is also nelles between the Venetians and the Turks. mentioned in Hobhouse's Travels. The bodies were probably those of some refractory Janizaries.


The jackals troop, in gather'd cry. 5.

Page 174, line 109. And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair.

I believe I have taken a poetical license to transPage 170, line 60.

plant the jackal from Asia. In Greece I never saw

nor heard these animals; but among the ruins of This tuft, or long lock, is left from a superstition Ephesus I have heard them by hundreds. They that Mahomet will draw them into Paradise by it. haunt ruins, and follow armics.






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Each flower the dews have lightly wet,

And in the sky the stars are met, The following poem is grounded on a circum- and on the wave is deeper blue, stance mentioned in Gibbon's "Antiquities of the And on the leaf a browner hue, House of Brunswick."--I am aware, that in modern And in the heaven that clear obscure, imes the delicacy or fastidiousness of the reader So softly dark, and darkly pure, may deem such subjects unfit for the purposes of Which follows the decline of day, doetry. The Greek dramatists, and some of the As twilight melts beneath the moon away. best of our old English writers, were of a different opinion: as Alfieri and Schiller have also been, more recently, upon the continent. The following

II. extract will explain the facts on which the story is But it is not to list to the waterfall founded. The name of Azo is substituted for That Parisina leaves her hall, Nicholas, as more metrical.

And it is not to gaze on the heavenly light “Under the reign of Nicholas III. Ferrara was That the lady walks in the shadow of night polluted with a domestic tragedy. By the testimony And if she sits in Este's bower, of an attendant, and his own observation, the Mar- "Tis not for the sake of its full-blown flower quis of Este discovered the incestuous loves of his She listens--but not for the nightingale wife Parisini, and Hugo his bastard son, a beautiful Though her ear expects as soft a tale. and valiant youth. They were beheaded in the There glides a step through the foliage thick, castle by the sentence of a father and husband, who And her cheek grows palemand her heart beata published his shame, and survived their execution.

quick. He was unfortunate, if they were guilty; if they There whispers a voice through the rustling leaves were innocent, he was still more unfortunate; nor And her blush returns, and her bosom heaves : is there any possible situation in which I can sin- A moment more and they shall meetcerely approve the last act of justice of a parent."- 'Tis past-her lover's at her feet Gibbon's Miscellaneoue Works, vol. iii. p. 470, new edition.


And what unto them is the world beside,

With all its change of time and tide ?
It is the hour when from the boughs

Its living things—its earth and skyThe nightingale's high note is heard ;

Are nothing to their mind and eye. It is the hour when lovers' vows

And heedless as the dead are they Seem sweet in every whisper'd word:

Of aught around, above, beneath ; And gentle winds, and waters near,

As if all else had passed away, Make music to the lonely ear.

They only for each other breathe.

Their very sighs are full of joy

So deep, that did it not decay, That happy madness would destroy

The hearts which feel its fiery sway: Of guilt, of peril, do they decm In that tumultuous tender dream? Who that have felt that passion's power, Or paused or fear'd in such an hour ? Or thought how brief such moments last ? But yet-they are already past! Alas! we must awake before We know such vision comes no more.

And whose that name? 'tis Hugo's,-his
In sooth he had not deem'd of this !--
'Tis Hugo's,--he, the child of one
He loved his own all-evil son-
The offspring of his wayward youth,
When he betrayed Bianca's truth,
The maid whose folly could confide
In him who made her not his bride.

With many a lingering look they leave

The spot of guilty gladness past;
And though they hope, and vow, they grieve

As if that parting were the last.
The frequent sigh-the long embrace

The lip that there would cling for ever,
While gleams on Parisina's face

The Heaven she fears will not forgive her, As if each calmly conscious star Beheld her frailty from afarThe frequent sigh, the long embrace, Yet binds them to their trysting-place; But it must come, and they must part In fearful heaviness of heart, With all the deep and shuddering chill Which follows fast the deeds of ill.

He pluck'd his poniard in its sheath,

But sheath'd it ere the point was bare -
Howe'er unworthy now to breathe,

He could not slay a thing so fair

At least, not smiling-sleeping-thereNay more :-he did not wake her then,

But gazed upon her with a glance

Which, had she roused her from her trance, Had frozen her sense to sleep againAnd o'er his brow the burning lamp Gleam'd on the dew-drops big and damp. She spake no more-but still she slumber'dWhile, in his thought, her days are number'd

And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed,

To covet there another's bride;
But she must lay her conscious head

A husband's trusting heart beside.
But ferer'd in her sleep she seems,
And red her cheek with troubled dreams,

And mutters she in her unrest
A name she dare not breathe by day,

And clasps her lord unto the breast
Which pants for one away:
And he to that embrace awakes,
And, happy in the thought, mistakes
That dreaming sigh, and warm caress,
For such as he was wont to bless ;
And could in very fondness weep
O'er her who loves him even in sleep.

VIII. And with the morn he sought, and found, In many a tale from those around, The proof of all he fear'd to know, Their present guilt, his future wo: The long-conniving damsels seek

To save themselves, and would transfer

The guilt-the shame the doom-to her:
Concealment is no more-they speak
All circumstance which may compel
Full credence to the tale they tell :
And Azo's tortured heart and ear
Have nothing more to feel or hear.

He was not one who brook'd delay:

Within the chamber of his state,
The chief of Este's ancient sway

Upon his throne of judgment sate;
His nobles and his guards are there,-
Before him is the sinful pair;
Both young-and one how passing fair !
With swordless belt, and fetter'd hand,
Oh, Christ! that such a son should stand

Before a father's face!
Yet thus must Hugo meet his sire,
And hear the sentence of his ire,
The tale of his disgrace!
And yet he seems not overcome,
Although, as yet, his voice be dumb.

He clasp'd her sleeping to his heart,

And listen'd to each broken word:
He hears-Why doth Prince Azo start,

As if the Archangel's voice he heard ?
And well he may-a deeper doom
Could scarcely thunder o'er his tomb,
When he shall wake to sleep no more,
And stand the eternal throne before.
And well he may—his earthly peace
Upon that sound is doom'd to cease :
That sleeping whisper of a name
Bespeaks her guilt and Azo's shame.
And whose that name that o'er his pillow
Sounds fearful as the breaking billow,
Which rolls the plank upon the shore,

And dashes on the pointed rock The wretch who sinks to rise no more, So came upon his soul the shock.

And still, and pale, and silently

Did Parisina wait her doom;
How changed since last her speaking eye

Glanced gladness round the glittering room Where high-born men were proud to wait Where Beauty watch'd to imitate

Her gentle voice-her lovely mien-
And gather from her air and gait
The graces of its queen :
Then,-had her eye in sorrow wept,
A thousand warriors forth had leapt,
A thousand swords had sheathless shone,
And made her quarrel all their own.

Now,-what is she? and what are they?

XIII. Can she command, or these obey?

And hcre stern Azo hid his face All silent and unheeding now,

For on his brow the swelling vein With downcast eyes and knitting brow,

Throbb'd as if back upon his brain And folded arms, and freezing air,

The hot blood ebb’d and flow'd again ; And lips that scarce their scorn forbear,

And therefore bow'd he for a space, Her knights, and dames, her court-is there. And pass'd his shaking hand along And he, the chosen one, whose lance

His eye, to veil it from the throng; Had yet been couch'd before her glance,

While Hugo raised his chained hands. Who-were his arm a moment free

And for a brief delay demands Had died or gain'd her liberty;

His father's ear: the silent sire
The minion of his father's bride,

Forbids not what his words require.
He, too, is fetter'd by her side;
Nor sees her swollen and full eye swim

“It is not that I dread the deathLess for her own despair than him:

For thou hast seen me by thy side Those lids--o'er which the violet vein

All redly through the battle ride, Wandering, leaves a tender stain,

And that not once a useless brand Shining through the smoothest white

Thy slaves have wrested from my hand, That e'er did softest kiss invite

Hath shed more blood in cause of thine, Now seem'd with hot and livid glow

Than e'er can stain the axe of mine: To press, not shade, the orbs below;

Theu gav'st, and may'st resume my breath, Which glance so heavily, and fill,

A gift for which I thank thee not:
As tear on tear grows gathering still.

Nor are my mother's wrongs forgot,
Her slighted love and ruin'd name,

Her offspring's heritage of shame;

But she is in the grave, where he,
And he for her had also wept,

Her son, thy rival, soon shall be,
But for the eyes that on him gazed :

Her broken heart—my sever'd head
His sorrow, if he felt it, slept;

Shall witness for thee from the dead
Stern and erect his brow was raised.

How trusty and how tender were
Whate'er the grief his soul avow'd,

Thy youthful love-paternal care. He would not shrink before the crowd;

"Tis true, that I have done thee wrongBut yet he dared not look on her:

But wrong for wrong :-this, deem'd thy brida Remembrance of the hours that were

The other victim of thy pride, His guilt-his love his present state

Thou know'st for me was destined long. His father's wrath-all good men's hate

Thou saw'st, and covetedst her charms His earthly, his eternal fate

And with thy very crime my birth, And her's, oh, her's !-he dared not throw

Thou tauntedst me as little worth ; One look upon that deathlike brow !

A match ignoble for her arms, Else had his rising heart betray'd

Because, forsooth, I could not claira
Remorse for all the wreck it made.

The lawful heirship of thy name,
Nor sit on Este's lineal throne :

Yet, were a few short summers mine,

My name should more than Este's shine And Azo spake :-- But yesterday

With honors all my own.
I gloried in a wife and son;

I had a sword and have a breast
That dream this morning pass'd away,

That should have won as haught: a crest
Ere day delines, I shall have none.

As ever waved along the line
My life must linger on alone!

Of all these sovereign sires of thine. Well,-let that pase,--there breathes not one Not always knightly spurs are worn Who would not do as I have done:

The brightest by the better born; Those ties are broken-not by me;

And mine have lanced my courser's flank
Let that too pass ;- The doom's prepared ! Before proud chiefs of princely rank,
Hugo, the priest awaits on thee,

When charging to the cheering cry
And then-thy crime's reward!

Of • Este and of Victory!'
Away! address thy prayers to Heaven,

I will not plead the cause of crime,
Before its evening stars are met-

Nor sue thee to redeem from time
Learn if thou there canst be forgiven;

A few brief hours or days that must
Its mercy may absolve thee yet.

At length roll o'er my reckless dust ;-
But here, upon the earth beneath,

Such maddening moments as my past,
There is no spot where thou and I

They could not and they did not, last-
Together, for an hour, could breathe:

Albeit my birth and name be base,
Farewell! I will not see thee die

And thy nobility of race
But thou, frail thing! shalt view his head Disdain'd to deck a thing like me
Away! I cannot speak the rest:

Yet in my lineaments they trace
Go! woman of the wanton breast,

Some features of my father's face,
Not I, but thou his blood dost shed:

And in my spirit-all of thee. Go! if that sight thou canst outlive,

From thee-this tamelessness of heartAnd joy thee in the life I give."

From thee-nay, wherefore dost thou start 1

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