« ÎnapoiContinuați »
He died too in the battle broil,
But for the thought of Leila slain,
6. The cold in clime are cold in blood,
Their love can scarce deserve the name; But mine was like a lava flood
That boils in Ætna's breast of flame. I cannot prate in puling strain Of ladye-love, and beauty's chain: If changing cheek, and scorching vein,' Lips taught to writhe, but not complain, If bursting heart, and maddning brain, And daring deed, and vengeful steel, And all that I have felt and feel, Betoken love that love was mine, And shown by many a bitter sign. 'Tis true, I could not whine nor sigh, I knew but to obtain or die. I die- but first I have possess'd, And come what may, I have been bless'd. Shall I the doom I sought upbraid? Noreft of all, yet undismay'da
“ Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven;"
A spark of that immortal fire With angels shared, by Alla given,
To lift from earth our low desire. Devotion wafts the mind above, But Heaven itself descends in love ; A feeling from the Godhead caught, To wean from self each sordid thought; A Ray of him who form’d the whole ; A Glory circling round the soul ! I grant my love imperfect, all That mortals by the name miscall ; Then deem it evil, what thou wilt; But say, oh say, hers was not guilt! She was my life's unerring light: That quench’d, what beam shall break my night?" Oh! would it shone to lead me still, Although to death or deadliest ill! Why marvel ye, if they who lose
This present joy, this future hope,
No more with sorrow meekly cope ;
That seem to add but guilt to wo?
Hath naught to dread from outward blow;
in his troublesome faculty of fore-hearing. On our return to Athens we heard from Leoné (a prisoner set ashore some days after) of the intended attack of the Mainotes, mentioned, with the cause of its not taking place, in the notes to Childe Harold, Canto 2d. I was at some pains to question the man, and he described the dresses, arms, and marks of the horses of our party so accurately, that, with other cir. cumstances, we could not doubt of his having been in “vil. lanous company," and ourselves in a bad neighborhood. Dervish became a soothsayer for life, and I dare say is now hearing more musketry than ever will be fired, to the great refreshment of the Arnaouts of Berat, and his native mountains.--I shall mention one trait more of this singular race. In March, 1811, a remarkably stout and active Arnaout came (I believe the fiftieth on the same errand) to offer himself as an attendant, which was declined: “Well, Affendi," quoth he,“ may you live !-you would have found me useful. I shall leave the town for the hills to-morrow; in the winter I return, perhaps you will then receive me."-Dervish, who was present, remarked as a thing of course, and of no consequence, " in the mean time he will join the Klephtes," (robbers,) which was true to the letter. If not cut off, they come down in the winter, and pass it unmolested in some town, where they are often as well known as their exploits. ?["I cannot prate in puling strain
Of bursting heart and maddening brain,
And fire that raged in every vein.”-MS.) ? [“ Even now alone, yet undismay'd,
I know no friend and ask no aid."-MS.) 3 [These, in our opinion, are the most beautiful passages of the poem ; and soine of them of a beauty which it would not be easy to eclipse by many citations in the language.JEFFREY.)
*[The hundred and twenty-six lines which follow, down to Tell me no more of fancy's gleam," first appeared in the fifth edition. In returning the proof to Mr. Murray, Lord
Byron says :-" I have, but with some difficulty, not added any more to this snake of a poem, which has been lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being more than a canto and a half of Childe llarold. The last lines Hodgson likes. It is not often he does; and when he don't, he tells me with great energy, and I fret, and alter. I have thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel ; and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself. Do you know anybody who can stop-I mean, point-commas, and so forth? for I am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation."
5 [Among the Giaour MSS. is the first draught of this passage, which we subjoin :
To lift from earth our low desire.
Devotion sends the soul above,
But Heaven itself descends to love.
This present joy, this future liope,
Which taught them with all ill to cope,
In madness do those fearful deeds
that inly bleeds,
heart Has naught to dread from outward foe,” &c.) of" "Tis quench'd, and I am lost in night."-MS.)
Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
To thee, old man, my deeds appear: I read abhorrence on thy brow,
And this too was I born to bear! 'Tis true, that, like that bird of prey, With havoc have I mark'd my way: But this was tanght me by the dove, To dio-and know 10 second love. This lesson yet hath man to learn, Taught by the thing ho dares to spurn: The bird that sings within the brake, The swan that swims upon the lake, One mate, and one alone, will take. And let the fool still prone to range,' And sneer on all who cannot change, Purtake his jest with boasting boys; I cry not his raried jovs, But deem such feeble, heartless man, Less than you solitary swan; Far, far beneath the shallow maid He left believing and betray'd. Such share at least was never mineLeila! each thonglit was only thine ! My good, my guilt, my weal, my wo, My hope on hig'i—my all below. Earth holds no other like to thee, Or, if it doth, in vain for me : For worlds I dare not view the damo Resembling theo, yet not the same. The very crimes that mar my youth, This bed of death-attest my truth ! 'Tis all too late—thou wert, thou art The cherish'd madness of my heart!
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 ;
Though souls absorb'd like mine allow
And I have smiled-1 then could smile
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 hiin 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 shrivellid scroll, a scatter'd leaf, Sear'd by the autumn blast of grief!
1" And she was lost—and yet I breathed,
But not the breath of human life :
And stung my every thought to strife.
“ Tell me no more of fancy's gleam,
No, father, no, 'twas not a dream ;
! " And let the light, inconstant fool
That ancers lus coxcomb ridicule."-MS.] * The monk's sermon is omitted. It seems to have had so et le ellert upon the pauent, that it could have no hopes from the render. It may be sufficient to say, that it was of a procomary length, las may be perceived from the interruptenia and uneasiness of ihe patient,) and was delivered in Dhe nsual tone of all orthodox preachers.
" but this grief In truth is not for thy relief,
My state thy thought can never guess."-MS.) + [“ Where rise iny native city's towers."-MS.] 6 ["I have no heart to love him now,
And 'ris but to declare my end."--MS.] & p" Nay, kneel not, father, rise-despair," &c.-MS.]
Symar,” a shroud.
They told me wild waves roll'd abovo
Which now I gaze on, as on her,
“ Such is my name, and such my tale.
Confessor! to thy secret ear
And thank thee for the generous tear
He pass'd—nor of his name and race
(“Which now I view with trembling spark.”—MS.")
of his incidents are to be found in the “ Bibliothèque Orien3 The circumstance to which the above story relates was tale;" but for correctness of costume, beauty of description, not very uncommon in Turkey. A few years ago the wife of and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imiMuchtar Pacha complained to his father of his son's sup tations; and bears such marks of originality, that those who posed infidelity; he asked with whoin, and she had the bar. have visited the East will find some difficulty in believing barity to give in a list of the twelve handsomest women in it to be more than a translation. As an Eastern tale, even Yanina. They were seized, fastened up in sacks, and Rasselas must bow before it; his “Happy Valley" will not drowned in the lake the same night! One of the guards bear a comparison with the “ Hall of Eblis." who was present informed me, that not one of the victims
[“ Nor whether most he mourn'd none knew, uttered a cry, or showed a symptom of terror at so sudden
For her he loved, or him he slew."-MS.) a “ wrench from all we know, from all we love." The fate of Phrosine, the fairest of this sacritice, is the subject of * (In this poem, which was published after the first two many a Romaic and Arnaout ditty. The story in the text canios of Childe Harold, Lord Byron began to show his is one told of a young Venetian many years ago, and now powers. He had now received encouragement which set nearly forgotten. I heard it by accident recited by one of free bis daring hands, and gave his strokes their natural the coffee-house storytellers who abound in the Levant, and force. Here, then, we first find passages of a tone peculiar sing or recite their narratives. The additions and interpo. to Lord Byron ; but still this appearance was not uniform : lations by the translator will be easily distinguished from he often returned to his trammels, and reminds us of the the rest, by the want of Eastern imagery; and I regret that manner of some favorite predecessor: among these, I think my memory has retained so few fragments of the original. we sometimes catch the notes of Sir Walter Scott. But the For the contents of some of the notes I am indebted partly internal tempest-the deep passion, sometimes buried, and to D'Herbelot, and partly to that most Eastern, and, as sometimes blazing from some incidental touch-the intensity Mr. Weber justly entitles it, “sublime tale," the “ Caliph of agonizing reflection, which will always distinguish Lora | Vathek." I do not know from what source the author of Byron from other writers-now began to display them: 1 that singular volume may have drawn his materials; some selves.-SiR EGERTON BRYDGES.)
CANTO THE FIRST.
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,
perfume, War 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, la color though varied, in beauty may vie, And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye ; Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine ? "Tis the clime of the East ; 'tis the land of the SunCan he smile on such deeds as his children have
Deep thought was in his aged eye;
Not oft betrays to standers by
III. “Let tho chamber be clear'd.”—The train disap
And the Nubian awaiting the sire's award.
"[The “* Bride of Abydos" was published in the begin aink of December, 1813. The mood of mind in which it
truek off is thus stated by Lord Byron, in a letter to Mr. Gifford :-" You have been good enough to look at a thing of mine in MS. -a Turkish story--and I should feel erabied if you would do it the same favor in its probatione sale of printing. It was written, I cannot say for assement, nor obliged by hunger and request of friends,' tot in a state of mind, from circumstances which ocčasonally occur to us youth,' that rendered it necessary for me to apply my mind to something, any thing, but realty; and under this not very brilliant inspiration it was Composed. Send it either to the flames, or
"A hundred hawkers' load, On wings of winds to fly or fall abroad.' I deserves no better than the first, as the work of a week, and scribbled stans pede in uno (by the by, the only I bave to stand on ;) and I promise never to trouble you szam under forty cantos, and a voyage between each.")
? (“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 not 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.)
$[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. 8" Souls made of fire, and children of the Sun,
With whom revenge is virtue."--Young's Revenge.
But, Haroun !—to my danghter speed :
Hence, lead my daughter from her tower;
First lowly rendering reverence meet; And downcast look’d, and gently spako,
Still standing at the Pacha's feet:
At least that met old Giaffir's ear,
“Son of a slave ! -reproach'd with fear!
Those gibes had cost another dear. Son of a slave !-and who my siro ?”
Thus held his thoughts their dark career; And glances ev’n of more than ire
Flash forth, then faintly disappear.
And started; for within his eye
“ Come hither, boy-what, no reply?
“ Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide
My sister, or her sable guide,
That-let the old and weary sleep
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 harem'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;' Till I, who heard the deep tamboura 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 yetNay, Father, rage not—nor forget That none can pierce that secret bower But those who watch the women's tower."
" From unbelieving mother bred,
And hurl the dart, and curb the steed,
Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed,
As sneeringly these accents fell,
That eye return'd him glance for glance And proudly to his sire's was raised,
Till Giaffir's quaild and shrunk askanceAnd 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 lifeI would not trust that look or tone: No-nor the blood so near my own. That blood-he hath not heard-no moreI'll watch him closer than before. He is an Arabs to my sight, Or Christian crouching in the fightBut hark !--I hear Zuleika's voice;
Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear:
Oh! more than ev'n her mother dear,
Such to my longing sight art thou ;
Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now."
When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling,
I Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia.
2 Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, noon, and twi.
3 The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the complimnent hundred-fold) even more than they hate the Chris tians.