THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS; A TURKISH TALE. Had we never loved so kindly, Never met or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted. Burns. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD HOLLAND, THIS TABLE IS INSCRIBED, WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD AND RESPECT BYRON. 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, And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye; '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. II. Begirt with many a gallant slave, Deep thought was in his aged eye; His pensive cheek and pondering brow Did more than he was 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, Hence, lead my daughter from her tower; hour: Yet not to her repeat my thought; "Pacha! to hear is to obey." First lowly rendering reverence meet; "Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide Know-for the fault, if fault there be, That-let the old and weary sleep- The fairest scenes of land and deep, 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, 3 Till I, who heard the deep tambour 4 Warn'd by the sound, to greet thee flew : That none can pierce that secret bower But those who watch the women's tower." IV. "Son of a slave !"-the Pacha said- Thou, when thine arm should bend the bow, No sound from Selim's lip was heard, And glances even of more than ire |