"Thou speakest sooth; thy skiff unmoor, And waft us from the silent shore: 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 't is 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,-'t was but the beam That chequer'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; And all its hidden secrets sleep,

Known but to genii of the deep,

Which, trembling in their coral caves,

They dare not whisper to the waves.

As rising on its purple wing
The insect-queen16 of eastern spring,
O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer
Invites the young pursuer near,
And leads him on from flower to flower
A weary chase and wasted hour,
Then leaves him, as it soars on high,
With panting heart and tearful eye :
So beauty lures the full-grown child,
With hue as bright, and wing as wild;
A chase of idle hopes and fears,
Begun in folly, closed in tears.
If won, to equal ills betray'd,
Woe waits the insect and the maid;
A life of pain, the loss of peace,
From infant's play, and man's caprice :
The lovely toy so fiercely sought
Hath lost its charm by being caught;
For
every touch that wooed its stay
Hath brush'd its brightest hues away,

Till, charm, and hue, and beauty gone, 'T is left to fly or fall alone.

With wounded wing, or bleeding breast,
Ah! where shall either victim rest?
Can this with faded pinion soar
From rose to tulip as before?
Or beauty, blighted in an hour,
Find joy within her broken bower?
No gayer insects fluttering by
Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die ;
And lovelier things have mercy shown
To every failing but their own,
And every woe a tear can claim,
Except an erring sister's shame.

The mind that broods o'er guilty woes,
Is like the scorpion girt by fire;
In circle narrowing as it glows,
The flames around their captive close,
Till, inly search'd by thousand throes,
And maddening in her ire,

One sad and sole relief she knows:
The sting she nourish'd for her foes,
Whose venom never yet was vain,
Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,
And darts into her desperate brain :
So do the dark in soul expire,
Or live like scorpion girt by fire; '7
So writhes the mind remorse hath riven,
Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven,
Darkness above, despair beneath,
Around it flame, within it death!

*

Black Hassan from the haram flies, Nor bends on woman's form his eyes; The unwonted chase each hour employs, Yet shares he not the hunter's joys. Not thus was Hassan wont to fly When Leila dwelt in his serai. Doth Leila there no longer dwell ? That tale can only Hassan tell; Strange rumours in our city say Upon that eve she fled away, When Rhamazan's 18 last sun was set, And, flashing from each minaret, Millions of lamps proclaim'd the feast Of Bairam through the boundless East.

'T was then she went as to the bath,
Which Hassan vainly search'd in wrath;
For she was flown her master's rage,
In likeness of a Georgian page,
And, far beyond the Moslems' power,
Had wrong'd him with the faithless Giaour.
Somewhat of this had Hassan deem'd;
But still so fond, so fair she seem'd,
Too well he trusted to the slave
Whose treachery deserved a grave:
And on that eve had gone to mosque,
And thence to feast in his kiosk.
Such is the tale his Nubians tell,
Who did not watch their charge too well.
But others say, that on that night,
By pale Phingari's 19 trembling light,
The Giaour upon his jet-black steed
Was seen, but seen alone to speed
With bloody spur along the shore,
Nor maid nor page behind him bore.

Her eye's dark charm 't were vain to tell, But gaze on that of the gazelle,

It will assist thy fancy well;

As large, as languishingly dark,

But soul beam'd forth in every spark
That darted from beneath the lid.
Bright as the jewel of Giamschid.

20

Yea, soul! and should our Prophet say
That form was nought but breathing clay,
By Alla! I would answer nay,
Though on Al-Sirat's "arch I stood,
Which totters o'er the fiery flood,
With paradise within my view,

And all his houris beckoning through.
Oh! who young Leila's glance could read,
And keep that portion of his creed a2
Which saith that woman is but dust,
A soulless toy for tyrant's lust?
On her might muftis gaze, and own
That through her eye the Immortal shone,
On her fair cheek's unfading hue
The young pomegranate's 23 blossoms strew
Their bloom in blushes ever new;

Her hair in hyacinthine 24 flow,
When left to roll its folds below,
As midst her handmaids in the hall
She stood superior to them all,

237

Hath swept the marble where her feet
Gleam'd whiter than the mountain sleet,
Ere from the cloud that gave it birth
It fell, and caught one stain of earth.
The cygnet nobly walks the water:
So moved on earth Circassia's daughter,
The loveliest bird of Franguestan ! 25
As rears her crest the ruffled swan,

And spurns the wave with wings of pride,
When pass the steps of stranger man

Along the banks that bound her tide;

Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck :-
Thus arm'd with beauty would she check
Intrusion's glance, till folly's gaze

Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise.
Thus high and graceful was her gait;
Her heart as tender to her mate;

Her mate-stern Hassan, who was he?
Alas! that name was not for thee!

Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en,
With twenty vassals in his train,
Each arm'd, as best becomes a man,
With arquebuss and ataghan ;
The chief before, as deck'd for war,
Bears in his belt the scimitar

Stain'd with the best of Arnaout blood,

When in the pass the rebels stood,
And few return'd to tell the tale

Of what befel in Parne's vale.

The pistols which his girdle bore
Were those that once a pacha wore,

Which still, though gemm'd and boss'd with gold,
Even robbers tremble to behold.

'T is said he goes to woo a bride

More true than her who left his side,

The faithless slave that broke her bower,

And, worse than faithless, for a Giaour!

The sun's last rays are on the hill,
And sparkle in the fountain rill,
Whose welcome waters, cool and clear,
Draw blessings from the mountaineer:
Here may the loitering merchant Greek
Find that repose 't were vain to seek
In cities, lodged too near his lord,
And trembling for his secret hoard-

The foremost Tartar 's in the gap, Conspicuous by his yellow cap; The rest in lengthening line the while Wind slowly through the long defile. Above, the mountain rears a peak, Where vultures whet the thirsty beak, And theirs may be a feast to-night Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light; Beneath, a river's wintry stream Has shrunk before the summer beam, And left a channel bleak and bare, Save shrubs that spring to perish there. Each side the midway path there lay Small broken crags of granite gray, By time, or mountain lightning, riven From summits clad in mists of heaven; For where is he that hath beheld

The peak of Liakura unveil'd!

*

They reach the grove of pine at last : "Bismillah! 26 now the peril 's past; For yonder view the opening plain, And there we 'll prick our steeds amain." The Chiaus spake, and as he said, A bullet whistled o'er his head. The foremost Tartar bites the ground!

Scarce had they time to check the rein,
Swift from their steeds the riders bound;
But three shall never mount again :
Unseen the foes that gave the wound,
The dying ask revenge in vain.
With steel unsheath'd, and carbine bent
Some o'er their coursers' harness leant,
Half shelter'd by the steed;

Some fly behind the nearest rock,
And there await the coming shock,
Nor tamely stand to bleed
Beneath the shaft of foes unseen,
Who dare not quit their craggy screen.
Stern Hassan only from his horse
Disdains to light, and keeps his course,