Tɔɔ fuls from all he knows of bliss,
fastle into what abyss.
Fas the gloomy vulture's now

To thee, old man, my deeds appear: Iad ahorrence on thy brow,

-

Aad this too was I born to bear! Ttre. that, like that bird of prey, havock have I mark'd my way: But this was taught me by the dove, Tae- and know no second love. 7- yet hath man to learn, That by the thing he dares to spurn : Tord that sings within the brake, The swan that swims upon the lake, (remite, and one alone, will take. At the fool still prone to range,1 Ar on all who cannot change, Para hi jest with boasting boys; leg at his varied joys, Bush feeble, heartless man,

than yon solitary swan; Feneath the shallow maid Eleving and betray'd. whore at least was never mineLet thought was only thine! my guilt, my weal, my woe, high-my all below. Labda no other like to thee, Orgu, in vain for me:

For was I dare not view the dame Lew thee, yet not the same. They crimes that mar my youth, Theum of wath — attest my truth! Txite-thou wert, thou art The crot d madness of my heart!

that's done canst thou undo? Ax thankless-but this grief (*) *#7: 20 „riesthood for relief. **tate în secret guess: 3

be thou pity more, say less.
ast bad my Leila live,
1 su tare to forgive;
7ad may cause in that high place
kiem pathsel masses proffer grace.
* De bunter's hand hath wrung
First-cave her shrieking young,

And in the Eight, moronstant fool
The scomb ridicule."-MS.]

To má a Bepping la omitted. It seems to have had so
omate that it could have no hopes from

-

-

* be a bent to say, that it was of a cus.

3 PEAT • perceived from the interruptions the stat, and was delivered in the usual Fax from tiers.

And calm the lonely lioness:
But soothe not- mock not my distress!
In earlier days, and calmer hours,

When heart with heart delights to blend,
Where bloom my native valley's bowers +

I had — Ah! have I now ?— a friend! To him this pledge I charge thee send, Memorial of a youthful vow;

I would remind him of my end: 5

Though souls absorb'd like mine allow
Brief thought to distant friendship's claim,
Yet dear to him my blighted name.
'Tis strange-he prophesied my doom,

And I have smiled- I then could smileWhen Prudence would his voice assume,

And warn-I reck'd not what the while : But now remembrance whispers o'er Those accents scarcely mark'd before. Say that his bodings came to pass,

And he will start to hear their truth,
And wish his words had not been sooth:
Tell him, unheeding as I was,

Through many a busy bitter scene
Of all our golden youth had been,
In pain, my faltering tongue had tried
To bless his memory ere I died;
But Heaven in wrath would turn away,
If Guilt should for the guiltless pray.

I do not ask him not to blame,
Too gentle he to wound my name;
And what have I to do with fame ?

I do not ask him not to mourn,

Such cold request might sound like scorn;
And what than friendship's manly tear
May better grace a brother's bier?
But bear this ring, his own of old,
And tell him what thou dost behold!
The wither'd frame, the ruin'd mind,
The wrack by passion left behind,
A shrivelled scroll, a scatter'd leaf,
Sear'd by the autumn blast of grief!

"Tell me no more of fancy's gleam,

No, father, no, 't was not a dream;
Alas! the dreamer first must sleep,
I only watch'd, and wish'd to weep;
But could not, for my burning brow
Throbb'd to the very brain as now:
I wish'd but for a single tear,
As something welcome, new, and dear;
I wish'd it then, I wish it still;
Despair is stronger than my will.
Waste not thine orison, despair 6
Is mightier than thy pious prayer:
I would not, if I might, be blest;
I want no paradise, but rest.

"T was then, I tell thee, father! then

I saw her; yes, she lived again;

And shining in her white symar, 7

As through yon pale gray cloud the star

Which now I gaze on, as on her,
Who look'd and looks far lovelier;
Dimly I view its trembling spark ; 1
To-morrow's night shall be more dark;
And I, before its rays appear,
That lifeless thing the living fear.
I wander, father! for my soul
Is fleeting towards the final goal.
I saw her, friar ! and I rose
Forgetful of our former woes;
And rushing from my couch, I dart,
And clasp her to my desperate heart;
I clasp-what is it that I clasp?
No breathing form within my grasp,
No heart that beats reply to mine,
Yet, Leila! yet the form is thine!

And art thou, dearest, changed so much,

As meet my eye, yet mock my touch?
Ah! were thy beauties e'er so cold,

I care not; so my arms enfold
The all they ever wish'd to hold.
Alas! around a shadow prest,

They shrink upon my lonely breast;
Yet still 'tis there! In silence stands,
And beckons with beseeching hands!
With braided hair, and bright-black eye-
I knew 't was false-she could not die!
But he is dead! within the dell

I saw him buried where he fell;

He comes not, for he cannot break

From earth; why then art thou awake?

["Which now I view with trembling spark.” — MS.]

2 The circumstance to which the above story relates was not very uncommon in Turkey. A few years ago the wife of Muchtar Pacha complained to his father of his son's supposed infidelity; he asked with whom, and she had the barbarity to give in a list of the twelve handsomest women in Yanina They were seized, fastened up in sacks, and drowned in the lake the same night! One of the guards who was present informed me, that not one of the victims uttered a cry, or showed a symptom of terror at so sudden a "wrench from all we know, from all we love." The fate of Phrosine, the fairest of this sacrifice, is the subject of many a Romaic and Arnaout ditty. The story in the text is one told of a young Venetian many years ago, and now nearly forgotten. I heard it by accident recited by one of the coffee-house story-tellers who abound in the Levant, and sing or recite their narratives. The additions and interpolations by the translator will be easily distinguished from the rest, by the want of Eastern imagery; and I regret that my memory has retained so few fragments of the original. For the contents of some of the notes I am indebted partly to D'Herbelot, and partly to that most Eastern, and, as Mr. Weber justly entitles it, "sublime tale," the "Caliph Vathek." I do not know from what source the author of that singular volume may have drawn his materials; some of his incidents are to be found in the "Biblio

They told me wild waves roll'd above
The face I view, the form I love;
They told me-'t was a hideous tale!
I'd tell it, but my tongue would fail :
If true, and from thine ocean-cave
Thou com'st to claim a calmer grave;
Oh! pass thy dewy fingers o'er
This brow that then will burn no more;
Or place them on my hopeless heart:
But, shape or shade! whate'er thou art,
In mercy ne'er again depart !

Or farther with thee bear my soul
Than winds can waft or waters roll!

"Such is my name, and such my tale. Confessor to thy secret ear

I breathe the sorrows I bewail,

And thank thee for the generous tear This glazing eye could never shed. Then lay me with the humblest dead, And, save the cross above my head, Be neither name nor emblem spread, By prying stranger to be read, Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread. "2

He pass'd-nor of his name and race Hath left a token or a trace, Save what the father must not say Who shrived him on his dying day : This broken tale was all we knew 3 Of her he loved, or him he slew.✦

thèque Orientale;" but for correctness of costum of description, and power of imagination, it far su European imitations; and bears such marks of that those who have visited the East will find some in believing it to be more than a translation. tale, even Rasselas must bow before it; his "Happ will not bear a comparison with the " Hall of Eblí 3[" Nor whether most he mourn'd none knew,

As

For her he loved, or him he slew."— MS.] [In this poem, which was published after th cantos of Childe Harold, Lord Byron began to powers. He had now received encouragement whi his daring hands, and gave his strokes their nat Here, then, we first find passages of a tone peculi Byron; but still this appearance was not uniform returned to his trammels, and reminds us of the some favourite predecessor: among these, I think times catch the notes of Sir Walter Scott. But th tempest the deep passion, sometimes buried, and blazing from some incidental touch the intensity ing reflection, which will always distinguish Lord 1 other writers - now began to display themsel EGERTON BRYDGES.]

The rise of Abrdos" was published in the beginning

3. The mood of mind in which it was struck God Lord Byron, in a letter to Mr. Gifford : god enough to look at a thing of mine in Ita and I should feel gratified if you the ume favour in its probationary state of written, I cannot say for amusement, nor and request of friends, but in a state of mstances which occasionally occur to us red it necessary for me to apply my mind ng but reality; and under this not very was composed. Send it either to the

-* A hundred hawkers' load. gs of winds to fly or fall abroad.' ter than the first, as the work of a week, wars pede in uno (by the bye, the only foot I promise never to trouble you again 1. Lid a voyage between each "]

Begirt with many a gallant slave,
Apparell'd as becomes the brave,
Awaiting each his lord's behest
To guide his steps, or guard his rest,
Old Giaffir sate in his Divan:

Deep thought was in his aged eye;
And though the face of Mussulman
Not oft betrays to standers by
The mind within, well skill'd to hide
All but unconquerable pride,

His pensive cheek and pondering brow Did more than he was wont avow.

III.

"Let the chamber be clear'd.". -The train dis

appear'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,
(Woe to the head whose eye beheld
My child Zuleika's face unveil'd !)

2 Murray tells me that Croker asked him why the thing is called the Bride of Abydos? It is an awkward question, being unanswerable: she is nct a bride; only about to be one. I don't wonder at his finding out the Bull but the detection is too late to do any good. I was a great fool to have made it, and am ashamed of not being an Irishman.” — Byron Diary, Dec. 6. 1813.]

3 [To the Bride of Abydos, Lord Byron made many additions during its progress through the press, amounting to about two hundred lines; and, as in the case of the Giaour, the passages so added will be seen to be some of the most splendid in the whole poem. These opening lines, which are among the new insertions, are supposed to have been suggested by a song of Goethe's

"Kennst du das Land wo die citronen blühn."]

4" Gúl," the rose.

5 "Souls made of fire, and children of the Sun, With whom revenge is virtue."-YOUNG's Revenge.

"Father for fear that thou shouldst chide
My sister, or her sable guide,
Know-for the fault, if fault there be,
Was mine, then fall thy frowns on me-
So lovelily the morning shone,

That let the old and weary sleep

I could not; and to view alone

The fairest scenes of land and deep, With none to listen and reply

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,

And made earth, main, and heaven our own!
There linger'd we, beguiled too long
With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song; 1
Till I, who heard the deep tambour 2
Beat thy Divan's approaching hour,
To thee, and to my duty true,
Warn'd by the sound, to greet thee flew :
But there Zuleika wanders yet.
Nay, Father, rage not - nor forget
That none can pierce that secret bower
But those who watch the women's tower."

IV.

"From unbelieving mother bred,
Vain were a father's hope to see
Aught that beseems a man in thee.
Thou, when thine arm should bend the bow,
And hurl the dart, and curb the steed,
Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed,
Must pore where babbling waters flow,
And watch unfolding roses blow.
Would that yon orb, whose matin glow
Thy listless eyes so much admire,
Would lend thee something of his fire!
Thou, who would'st see this battlement
By Christian cannon piecemeal rent;
Nay, tamely view old Stambol's wall
Before the dogs of Moscow fall,
Nor strike one stroke for life and death
Against the curs of Nazareth!
Go- let thy less than woman's hand
Assume the distaff not the brand.

1 Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia.

Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, noon, and twilight.

No sound from Selim's lip was heard,
At least that met old Giathir's car,
But every frown and every word
Pierced keener than a Christian's sword.
"Son of a slave ! - reproach'd with fear!
Those gibes had cost another dear.
Son of a slave !- and who my sire?"
Thus held his thoughts their dark career
And glances ev'n of more than ire
Flash forth, then faintly disappear.
Old Giaffir gazed upon his son

And started; for within his eye
He read how much his wrath had done;
He saw rebellion there begun :

"Come hither, boy-what, no reply?
I mark thee and I know thee too;
But there be deeds thou dar'st not do:
But if thy beard had manlier length,
And if thy hand had skill and strength,
I'd joy to see thee break a lance,
Albeit against my own perchance."

As sneeringly these accents fell,
On Selim's eye he fiercely gazed:

That eye return'd him glance for glance, And proudly to his sire's was raised,

Till Giaffir's quail'd and shrunk askance And why he felt, but durst not tell. "Much I misdoubt this wayward boy Will one day work me more annoy: I never loved him from his birth, And but his arm is little worth, And scarcely in the chase could cope With timid fawn or antelope, Far less would venture into strife Where man contends for fame and life I would not trust that look or tone: No -nor the blood so near my own. That blood he hath not heard I'll watch him closer than before. He is an Arab 3 to my sight, Or Christian crouching in the fight But hark! I hear Zuleika's voice; Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear: She is the offspring of my choice;

no mor

Oh! more than ev'n her mother dear,
With all to hope, and nought to fear-
My Peri! ever welcome here !
Sweet, as the desert fountain's wave,
To lips just cool'd in time to save-

Such to my longing sight art thou;
Nor can they waft to Mecca's shrine
More thanks for life, than I for thine,

Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now.

VI.

Fair, as the first that fell of womankind, When on that dread yet lovely serpent smi

3 The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the con a hundred-fold) even more than they hate the Christ

The mage then was stamp'd upon her mindBare beguiled- and ever more beguiling; Suze as that, oh! too transcendent vision

Trow's phantom-peopled slumber given, The bart meets heart again in dreams Elysian, And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven; as the memory of buried love;

? as the prayer which Childhood wafts above; The-the daughter of that rude old Chief, Vert the maid with tears- but not of grief.

bath not proved how feebly words essay 1 tre spark of Beauty's heavenly ray? Ta luth not feel, until his failing sight Paint duramess with its own delight, Lrng cheek, his sinking heart confess Tuht-the majesty of Loveliness?

Zuka-such around her shone The less charms unmark'd by her alone; The of love, the purity of grace,

the Music breathing from her face," Lutame softness harmonized the wholethat eye was in itself a Soul!

erful arms in meekness bending Amber rutly-budding breast; Aww and ward those arms extending Tap the neck of him who blest thid caressing and carest, Zaka came- and Giaflir felt a. parse half within him melt: Vit that agast her fancied weal thesh stern could ever feel; 1 chain'd her to that heart; a tore the links apart.

VII.

La child of gentleness!

Sp

How dear this very day must tell,

I forget my own distress,

Ce

In losing what I love so well,
To bid thee with another dwell:
Another and a braver man
Was never seen in battle's van.
We Moslem reck not much of blood;
But yet the line of Carasman 4
Unchanged, unchangeable hath stood
First of the bold Timariot bands
That won and well can keep their lands.
Enough that he who comes to woo
Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou :

His years need scarce a thought employ :
I would not have thee wed a boy.
And thou shalt have a noble dower:
And his and my united power
Will laugh to scorn the death-firman,
Which others tremble but to scan,
And teach the messenger 5 what fate
The bearer of such boon may wait.
And now thou know'st thy father's will;
All that thy sex hath need to know:
'T was mine to teach obedience still-
The way to love, thy lord may show."
VIII.

In silence bow'd the virgin's head;
And if her eye was fill'd with tears
That stifled feeling dare not shed,
And changed her cheek from pale to red,
And red to pale, as through her ears
Those winged words like arrows sped,
What could such be but maiden fears?
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,
Love half regrets to kiss it dry;
So sweet the blush of Bashfulness,
Even Pity scarce can wish it less!

Whate'er it was the sire forgot;
Or if remember'd, mark'd it not;

Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd his steed, 6
Resign'd his gem-adorn'd chibouque, 7

p bas met with objections. I will not refer wis bath nut Musse in his soul," but merely request Lit, for ten seconds, the features of the w he beisves to be the most beautiful; and, if lors net comprehend fully what is feebly expressed I. I shall be sorry for us both. For an elosage to the latest work of the first female writer of ay, age, on the analogy (and the immediate 2nd by that analogy) between "painting and

cap. 10. DE L'ALLEMAGNE. And is not st: stronger with the original than the copy? of Nature than of Art? After all, this is tas described, still I think there are some ca. 11, at least they would have done had eastenance whose speaking harmony sug des: for this passage is not drawn from fmagiry, that mirror which Affliction dashes to mg down upon the fragments, only beholds tiplied!- This morning, a very pretty an the Stadt She has been pleased to be pleased Ampt enlogy in the note annexed to the "Bride.' accounted for in several ways:- firstly, all aler my praise; secondly, this was unexpected, I hare ver courted her; and, thirdly, as Scrub who have been all their lives regularly praised by a little variety, and are glad when any Pay to say a civil thing; and, fourthly, she and-natured creature, which is the best reason, haps the only one."-B. Diary, Dec. 7. 1813.] the muted plagiarisms so industriously hunted htags, this lie has been, with somewhat more - is frequent in such charges, included; the Loveace Laving, it seems, written The melody her face" Sir Thomas Browne, too, in his There is music even in beauty." The

"It

"tracking thus a favourite writer in the snow (as Dryden expresses it) of others," is sometimes not unamusing; but to those who found upon such resemblances a general charge of plagiarism, we may apply what Sir Walter Scott says: is a favourite theme of laborious dulness to trace such coincidences, because they appear to reduce genius of the higher order to the usual standard of humanity, and of course to bring the author nearer to a level with his critics." It is not only curious, but instructive, to trace the progress of this passage to its present state of finish. Having at first written"Mind on her lip and music in her face,"

he afterwards altered it to

"The mind of music breathing in her face ". but this not satisfying him, the next step of correction brought the line to what it is at present. - MOORE.]

4 Carasman Oglou, or Kara Osman Oglou, is the principal landowner in Turkey; he governs Magnesia: those who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess land on condition of service, are called Timariots: they serve as Spahis, according to the extent of territory, and bring a certain number into the field, generally cavalry.

5 When a Pacha is sufficiently strong to resist, the single messenger, who is always the first bearer of the order for his death, is strangled instead, and sometimes five or six, one after the other, on the same errand, by command of the refractory patient; if, on the contrary, he is weak or loyal, he bows, kisses the Sultan's respectable signature, and is bow. strung with great complacency. In 1810, several of these presents were exhibited in the niche of the Seraglio gate; among others, the head of the Pacha of Bagdat, a brave young man, cut off by treachery, after a desperate resistance.

6 Clapping of the hands calls the servants. The Turks hate a superfluous expenditure of voice, and they have no bells. 7" Chibouque," the Turkish pipe, of which the amber