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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 delay'd,

Here loud his raven charger neigh'd—

Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd 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 hurl'd on high jerreed (9)
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 restrain'd
That fiery barb so sternly rein'd;
'Twas but a moment that he stood,
Then sped as if by death pursued:
But in that instant o'er his soul
Winters of Memory seem'd 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 ponder'd 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, (10)
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 vanish'd from the stall;
No serf is seen in Hassan's hall;
The lonely Spider's thin gray pall
Waves slowly widening o'er the wall;
The Bat builds in his Haram bower;
And in the fortress of his power
The Owl usurps the beacon-tower;

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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 play'd
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 scothed 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 fill'd that font is fled-
The blood that warm'd his heart is shed!
And here no more shall human voice
Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice.
The last sad note that swell'd the gale
Was woman's wildest funeral wail:
That quench'd 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 close 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 work'd her cankering way—
But gloom is gather'd 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." (11)
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! (12)





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; (13) `


The foremost of the band is seen
An Emir by his garb of green:(14)
"Ho! who art thou?-this low salam (15)
Replies of Moslem faith I am.


"The burthen ye so gently bear

"Seems one that claims your utmost care, "And, doubtless, holds some precious freight,

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"Thou speakest sooth; thy skiff unmoor, "And waft us from the silent shore;

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'Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply "The nearest oar that's scatter'd by, "And midway to those rocks where sleep "The channel'd waters dark and deep. "Rest from your task- -so-bravely done, "Our course has 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 watch'd it as it sank, methought Some motion from the current caught Bestirr❜d it more, 'twas but the beam That checker'd 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 gemm'd the tide, then mock'd the sight;


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