Whose image then was stamp'd upon her mindBut once beguiled-and ever more beguiling; Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision

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

Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above;
Was she-the daughter of that rude old Chief,
Who met the maid with tears-but not of grief.

Who hath not proved how feebly words essay1
To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray?
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess
The might-the majesty of Loveliness?
Such was Zuleika-such around her shone
The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone;
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the Music breathing from her face,3
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole-
And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul !

This expression has met with objections. I will not refer Him who hath not Music in his soul," but merely request the reader to recollect, for ten ses souls, the rearers of Women whom he believes to be the most beautiful; and, if a the above line, I shall be sorry for us both. For an elothen does not comprehend fully what is feebly expressed qient passage in

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
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 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:
"Twas 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,"
Resign'd his gem-adorn'd chibouque,'

coincidence, no doubt, is worth observing, and the task of "tracking thus a favorite 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: It is a favorite theme of laborious dulness to trace such coin

cidences, 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,"

tion but memory, that mirror which Affliction dashes to the Restel the idea; for this passage is not drawn from imagina

from the Staël. She has been pleased to be pleased with my refection multiplied!-"This morning, a very pretty billet Sight eulogy in the note annexed to the Bride.' This is to e accounted for in several ways:-firstly, all women like all, or any praise; secondly, this was unexpected, because Ibare never courted her; and, thirdly, as Scrub says, those

ont of his way to say a civil thing; and, fourthly, she is a very good-natured creature, which is the best reason, after alaal, perhaps, the only one."-B. Diary, Dec. 7, 1813.] rest to his writing, this line has been, with somewhat more Among the imputed plagiarisms so industriously hunted ability than is frequent in such charges, included; the ne peet Lovelace having, it seems, written, "The melody and unsic of her face." Sir Thomas Browne, too, in his Relgio Medici, says, "There is music even in beauty." The

bows, kisses the Sultan's respectable signature, and is bowstrung 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.

• 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

No word from Selim's bosom broke;
One sigh Zuleika's thought bespoke:
Still gazed he through the lattice grate,
Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate.
To him Zuleika's eye was turn'd,
But little from his aspect learn'd;
Equal her grief, yet not the same;
Her heart confess'd a gentler flame:
But yet that heart, alarm'd or weak,
She knew not why, forbade to speak.
Yet speak she must-but when essay?
"How strange he thus should turn away!
Not thus we e'er before have met;
Not thus shall be our parting yet."
Thrice paced she slowly through the room,
And watch'd his eye-it still was fix'd:
She snatch'd the urn wherein was mix'd
The Persian Atar-gul's perfume,
And sprinkled all its odors o'er
The pictured roof and marble floor:
The drops, that through his glittering vest
The playful girl's appeal address'd,
Unheeded o'er his bosom flew,

As if that breast were marble too.
"What, sullen yet? it must not be-
Oh! gentle Selim, this from thee!"
She saw in curious order set

The fairest flowers of eastern land

"He loved them once; may touch them yet,
If offer'd by Zuleika's hand."
The childish thought was hardly breathed
Before the rose was pluck'd and wreathed;

mouth-piece, and sometimes the ball which contains the leaf, is adorned with precious stones, if in possession of the wealthier orders.

1 "Maugrabee," Moorish mercenaries.

2 "Delis," bravoes who form the forlorn hope of the cavalry, and always begin the action.

3 A twisted fold of felt is used for cimeter practice by the Turks, and few but Mussulman arms can cut through it at a single stroke: sometimes a tough turban is used for the same purpose. The jerreed is a game of blunt javelins, animated and graceful.

"Ollahs," Alla il Allah, the "Leilies," as the Spanish poets call them, the sound is Ollah; a cry of which the Turks, for a silent people, are somewhat profuse, particularly during the jerreed, or in the chase, but mostly in battle. Their ani

The next fond moment saw her seat
Her fairy form at Selim's feet:
"This rose to calm my brother's cares
A message from the Bulbul' bears;
It says to-night he will prolong
For Selim's ear his sweetest song;
And though his note is somewhat sad,
He'll try for once a strain more glad,
With some faint hope his alter'd lay
May sing these gloomy thoughts away.

XI.

"What! not receive my foolish flower? Nay then I am indeed unblest:

On me can thus thy forehead lower?

And know'st thou not who loves thee best?
Oh, Selim dear! oh, more than dearest!
Say, is it me thou hat'st or fearest?
Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest,

Since words of mine, and songs must fail,
Ev'n from my fabled nightingale.

I knew our sire at times was stern,
But this from thee had yet to learn:
Too well I know he loves thee not;
But is Zuleika's love forgot?

Ah! deem I right? the Pacha's plan-
This kinsman Bey of Carasman
Perhaps may prove some foe of thine:
If so, I swear by Mecca's shrine,
If shrines that ne'er approach allow
To woman's step admit her vow,
Without thy free consent, command,
The Sultan should not have my hand!
Think'st thou that I could bear to part
With thee, and learn to halve my heart?
Ah! were I sever'd from thy side,
Where were thy friend-and who my guide?
Years have not seen, Time shall not see
The hour that tears my soul from thee:
Even Azrael, from his deadly quiver

When flies that shaft, and fly it must,
That parts all else, shall doom forever
Our hearts to undivided dust!"

XII.

He lived he breathed-he moved he felt; He raised the maid from where she knelt; His trance was gone-his keen eye shone With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt; With thoughts that burn-in rays that melt. As the stream late conceal'd

By the fringe of its willows, When it rushes reveal'd

In the light of its billows;

mation in the field, and gravity in the chamber, with their pipes and comboloios, form an amusing contrast.

"Atar-gul," ottar of roses. The Persian is the finest. The ceiling and wainscots, or rather walls, of the Mussulman apartments are generally painted, in great houses, with one eternal and highly colored view of Constantinople, wherein the principal feature is a noble contempt of perspective; below, arms, cimeters, &c. are in general fancifully and not inelegantly disposed.

It has been much doubted whether the notes of this "Lover of the rose" are sad or merry; and Mr. Fox's remarks on the subject have provoked some learned controversy as to the opinions of the ancients on the subject I dare not venture a conjecture on the point, though a little inclined to the "errare mallem," &c. if Mr. Fox was mistaken. "Azrael," the angel of death.

As the bolt bursts on high

From the black cloud that bound it, Flash'd the soul of that eye

Through the long lashes round it. A war-horse at the trumpet's sound, A lion roused by heedless hound, A tyrant waked to sudden strife By graze of ill-directed knife, Starts not to more convulsive life Than he, who heard that vow, display'd,

And all, before repress'd, betray'd:

Now thou art mine, forever mine,

With life to keep, and scarce with life resign;
Now thou art mine, that sacred oath,
Though sworn by one, hath bound us both.
Yes, fondly, wisely hast thou done;

That vow hath saved more heads than one:
But blench not thou-thy simplest tress
Claims more from me than tenderness;
I would not wrong the slenderest hair
That clusters round thy forehead fair,
For all the treasures buried far
Within the caves of Istakar.'
This morning clouds upon me lower'd,
Reproaches on my head were shower'd,
And Giaffir almost call'd me coward!
Now I have motive to be brave;
The son of his neglected slave,
Nay, start not, 'twas the term he gave,
May show, though little apt to vaunt,
A heart his words nor deeds can daunt.
His son, indeed!-yet, thanks to thee,
Perchance I am, at least shall be;
But let our plighted secret vow
Be only known to us as now.

I know the wretch who dares demand
From Giaffir thy reluctant hand;
More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul
Holds not a Musselim's control:
Was he not bred in Egripo?3
A viler race let Israel show;

But let that pass-to none be told

Our oath; the rest shall time unfold.

To me and mine leave Osman Bey;

I've partisans for peril's day:
Think not I am what I appear;

I've arms, and friends, and vengeance near."

XIII.

Think not thou art what thou appearest!
My Selim, thou art sadly changed:
This morn I saw thee gentlest, dearest;
But now thou'rt from thyself estranged.
My love thou surely knew'st before,
It ne'er was less, nor can be more.
To see thee, hear thee, near thee stay,
And hate the night I know not why,
Save that we meet not but by day;
With thee to live, with thee to die,
I dare not to my hope deny:
Thy cheek, thine eyes, thy lips to kiss,
Like this and this-no more than this;
For, Alla! sure thy lips are flame:

What fever in thy veins is flushing?

My own have nearly caught the same,

At least I feel my cheek too blushing.
To soothe thy sickness, watch thy health,
Partake, but never waste thy wealth,
Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by,
And lighten half thy poverty;
Do all but close thy dying eye,
For that I could not live to try;
To these alone my thoughts aspire :
More can I do? or thou require?
But, Selim, thou must answer why
We need so much of mystery?

The cause I cannot dream nor tell,
But be it, since thou say'st 'tis well;
Yet what thou mean'st by arms' and 'friends,'
Beyond my weaker sense extends.

I meant that Giaffir should have heard
The very vow I plighted thee;
His wrath would not revoke my word:
But surely he would leave me free.

Can this fond wish seem strange in me,
To be what I have ever been?
What other hath Zuleika seen
From simple childhood's earliest hour?
What other can she seek to see
Than thee, companion of her bower,
The partner of her infancy?
These cherish'd thoughts, with life begun,
Say, why must I no more avow?
What change is wrought to make me shun

The truth; my pride, and thine till now? To meet the gaze of stranger's eyes Our law, our creed, our God denies; Nor shall one wandering thought of mine At such, our Prophet's will, repine: No! happier made by that decree! He left me all in leaving thee. Deep were my anguish, thus compell'd To wed with one I ne'er beheld: This wherefore should I not reveal? Why wilt thou urge me to conceal? I know the Pacha's haughty mood To thee hath never boded good: And he so often storms at naught, Allah! forbid that e'er he ought! And why I know not, but within My heart concealment weighs like sin. If then such secrecy be crime,

And such it feels while lurking here;
Oh, Selim! tell me yet in time,

Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear.
Ah! yonder see the Tchocadar,*
My father leaves the mimic war;

I tremble now to meet his eye-
Say, Selim, canst thou tell me why?"

XIV.

"Zuleika-to thy tower's retreat
Betake thee-Giaffir I can greet:
And now with him I fain must prate

Of firmans, impost, levies, state.
There's fearful news from Danube's banks,
Our Vizier nobly thins his ranks,

For which the Giaour may give him thanks!

The treasures of the Pre-adamite Sultans. See D'Herbelot, article Istakar.

1" Masselim," a governor, the next in rank after a Pacha; a Waywode is the third; and then come the Agas

"Egripo," the Negropont. According to the proverb, the Turks of Egripo, the Jews of Salonica, and the Greeks of Athens, are the worst of their respective races.

4" Tchocadar"-one of the attendants who precedes a man of authority.

Our Sultan hath a shorter way
Such costly triumph to repay.
But, mark me, when the twilight drum
Hath warn'd the troops to food and sleep,
Unto thy cell will Selim come:

Then softly from the Harem creep
Where we may wander by the deep:
Our garden-battlements are steep;
Nor these will rash intruder climb
To list our words, or stint our time;
And if he doth, I want not steel

Which some have felt, and more may feel.
Then shalt thou learn of Selim more
Than thou hast heard or thought before:
Trust me, Zuleika-fear not me!
Thou know'st I hold a harem key."

"Fear thee, my Selim! ne'er till now Did word like this-"

"Delay not thou; I keep the key-and Haroun's guard Have some, and hope of more reward. To-night, Zuleika, thou shalt hear My tale, my purpose, and my fear: I am not, love! what I appear."

THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.

CANTO THE SECOND.

I.

THE winds are high on Helle's wave,
As on that night of stormy water
When Love, who sent, forgot to save
The young, the beautiful, the brave,

The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
Oh! when alone along the sky
Her turret-torch was blazing high,
Though rising gale, and breaking foam,

And shrieking sea-birds warn'd him home;

And clouds aloft and tides below,

With signs and sounds, forbade to go,

He could not see, he would not hear,
Or sound or sign foreboding fear;

His
eye but saw that light of love,
The only star it hail'd above;
His ear but rang with Hero's song,
"Ye waves, divide not lovers long!".
That tale is old, but love anew

May nerve young hearts to prove as true.

II.

The winds are high, and Helle's tide
Rolls darkly heaving to the main;
And Night's descending shadows hide
That field with blood bedew'd in vain,
The desert of old Priam's pride;

The tombs, sole relics of his reign,
All-save immortal dreams that could beguile
The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle!

III.

Oh! yet-for there my steps have been ; These feet have press'd the sacred shore, These limbs that buoyant wave hath borneMinstrel with thee to muse, to mourn,

To trace again those fields of yore, Believing every hillock green

Contains no fabled hero's ashes, And that around the undoubted scene

Thine own" broad Hellespont" still dashes,

Be long my lot! and cold were he
Who there could gaze denying thee!

IV.

The night hath closed on Helle's stream,
Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill
That moon, which shone on his high theme:
No warrior chides her peaceful beam,

But conscious shepherds bless it still.
Their flocks are grazing on the mound

Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow: That mighty heap of gather'd ground Which Ammon's son ran proudly round," By nations raised, by monarchs crown'd, Is now a lone and nameless barrow! Within-thy dwelling-place how narrow! Without-can only strangers breathe The name of him that was beneath : Dust long outlasts the storied stone; But Thou-thy very dust is gone!

V.

Late, late to-night will Dian cheer
The swain, and chase the boatman's fear:
Till then-no beacon on the cliff

May shape the course of struggling skiff;
The scatter'd lights that skirt the bay,

All, one by one, have died away;
The only lamp of this lone hour
Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower.

Yes! there is light in that lone chamber,
And o'er her silken Ottoman
Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber,
O'er which her fairy fingers ran;

1 The wrangling about this epithet, "the broad Hellespont" or the "boundless Hellespont," whether it means one or the other, or what it means at all, has been beyond all possibility of detail. I have even heard it disputed on the spot; and not foreseeing a speedy conclusion to the controversy, amused myself with swimming across it in the mean time; and probably may again, before the point is settled. Indeed, the question as to the truth of "the tale of Troy divine" still continues, much of it resting upon the talismanic word “ancipos:" probably Homer had the same notion of distance that a coquette has of time; and when he talks of boundless, means half a mile; as the latter, by a like figure, when she says eternal attachment, simply speci

fies three weeks.

2 Before his Persian invasion, and crowned the altar with laurel, &c. He was afterwards imitated by Caracalla in

I

his race. It is believed that the last also poisoned a friend, named Festus, for the sake of new Patroclan games. have seen the sheep feeding on the tombs of Esietes and Antilochus the first is in the centre of the plain.

3 When rubbed, the amber is susceptible of a perfume, which is slight but not disagreeable. [On discovering that, in some of the early copies, the all-important monosyllable "not" had been omitted, Lord Byron wrote to Mr. Murray," There is a diabolical mistake which must be corrected; it is the omission of 'not' before disagreeable, in the note on the amber rosary. This is really horrible, and

nearly as bad as the stumble of mine at the threshold-I mean the misnomer of Bride. Pray do not let a copy go without the not: it is nonsense, and worse than nonsense. I wish the printer was saddled with a vampire."]