If aught his lips essayed to groan, The rushing billow choaked the tone! XXVI. Morn slowly rolls the clouds away; Few trophies of the fight are there: The shouts that shook the midnight-bay Are silent; but some signs of fray That strand of strife may bear, 1065 1070 And fragments of each shivered brand; Steps stamped; and dashed into the sand The print of many a struggling hand May there be marked; nor far remote 1075 And tangled on the weeds that heap "Tis rent in twain one dark-red stain The wave yet ripples o'er in vain: But where is he who wore? Ye! who would o'er his relics weep Go, seek them where the surges sweep And cast on Lemnos' shore: The sea birds shriek above the prey, O'er which their hungry beaks delay, 1080 1085 The bird that tears that prostrate from The only heart, the only eye Had bled or wept to see him die, 1095 Had seen those scattered limbs composed, 1100 And mourned above his turban - stone, o That heart hath burst-that eye was closedclosed before his own! Yea XXVII. By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail! man's cheek is pale: 1106 Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race, Thy destined lord is come too late; The loud Wul-wulleh 41 warn his distant ear? 1110 Thy handmaids weeping at the gate, The Koran - chaunters of the hymn of fate, Thou didst not view thy Selim fall! That fearful moment when he left the cave Thy heart grew chill: 1115 He was thy hope-thy joy-thy love-thine allAnd that last thought on him thou could'st not Peace to thy broken heart, and virgin grave! was 1125 Thrice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the force Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting chief! Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head, 1135 Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread: By that same hand Abdallah Selim bled. Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief: Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed, Thy Daughter's dead! 1140 Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam, The Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream. What quenched its ray?-the blood that thou hast shed! Hark! to the hurried question of Despair; "Where is my child?" an Echo answers "Where?” 42 1145 XXVIII. Within the place of thousand tombs That shine beneath, while dark above The sad but living cypress glooms And withers not, though branch and leaf 1150 Are stamped with an eternal grief, Like early unrequited Love, One spot exists, which ever blooms, Ev'n in that deadly grove A single rose is shedding there 1155 THE BRIDE OP ABYDOS. It's lonely lustre, meek and pale: It looks as planted by Despair Canto II. So white so faint the slightest gale Might whirl the leaves on high; And yet, though storms and blight assail, 1160 And hands more rude than wintry sky in vain 1155 May wring it from the stem To-morrow sees it bloom again! The stalk some spirit gently rears, And waters with celestial tears; For well may maids of Helle deem That this can be no earthly flower, Which mocks the tempest's withering hour, And buds unsheltered by a bower; Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower, 1170 Nor woos the summer beam: To it the livelong night there sings A bird unseen Invisible his airy wings, But soft as harp that Houri strings His long entrancing note! It were the Bulbul; but his throat, 1175 Though mournful, pours not such a strain: For they who listen cannot leave The spot, but linger there and grieve 1180 |