Near these, with emerald rays beset,
(How could she thus that gem forget?)
Her mother's sainted amulet,'
Whereon engraved the Koorsee text,
Could smooth this life, and win the next;
And by her comboloio* lies

A Koran of illumined dyes;

And many a bright emblazon'd rhyme
By Persian scribes redeem'd from time;
And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,
Reclines her now neglected lute;
And round her lamp of fretted gold
Bloom flowers in urns of China's mould;
The richest work of Iran's loom,
And Sheeraz' tribute of perfume;
All that can eye or sense delight

Are gather'd in that gorgeous room:
But yet it hath an air of gloom.

She, of this Peri cell the sprite,

What doth she hence, and on so rude a night?

VI.

Wrapp'd in the darkest sable vest,

Which none save noblest Moslem wear, To guard from winds of heaven the breast As heaven itself to Selim dear, With cautious steps the thicket threading, And starting oft, as through the glade The gust its hollow moanings made, Till on the smoother pathway treading, More free her timid bosom beat,

The maid pursued her silent guide; And though her terror urged retreat, How could she quit her Selim's side? How teach her tender lips to chide?

VII.

They reach'd at length a grotto, hewn By nature, but enlarged by art, Where oft her lute she wont to tune, And oft her Koran conn'd apart; And oft in youthful revery

She dream'd what Paradise might be:

Where woman's parted soul shall go

Her Prophet had disdain'd to show;
But Selim's mansion was secure,
Nor deem'd she, could he long endure
His bower in other worlds of bliss,
Without her, most beloved in this!
Oh! who so dear with him could dwell?
What Houri soothe him half so well?

VIII.

Since last she visited the spot

Some change seem'd wrought within the grot:
It might be only that the night

Disguised things seen by better light:
That brazen lamp but dimly threw
A ray of no celestial hue;

! The belief in amulets engraved on gems, or enclosed in Fold boxes, containing scraps from the Koran, worn round the neck, wrist, or arm, is still universal in the East. The Koorsee (throne) verse in the second cap. of the Koran deseribes the attributes of the Most High, and is engraved in this manner, and worn by the pious, as the most esteemed and sublime of all sentences.

"Comboloio"- -a Turkish rosary. The MSS., particularly those of the Persians, are richly adorned and illumialed. The Greek females are kept in utter ignorance; but many of the Turkish girls are highly accomplished, though not actually qualified for a Christian coterie. Per

But in a nook within the cell
Her eye on stranger objects fell.
There arms were piled, not such as wield
The turban'd Delis in the field;
But brands of foreign blade and hilt,
And one was red-perchance with guilt!
Ah! how without can blood be spilt?
A cup too on the board was set
That did not seem to hold sherbet.
What may this mean? she turn'd to see
Her Selim-"Oh! can this be he?"

IX.

His robe of pride was thrown aside,
His brow no high-crown'd turban bore,
But in its stead a shawl of red,

Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore :
That dagger, on whose hilt the gem
Were worthy of a diadem,

No longer glitter'd at his waist,
Where pistols unadorn'd were braced;
And from his belt a sabre swung,
And from his shoulder loosely hung
The cloak of white, the thin capote
That decks the wandering Candiote :
Beneath-his golden plated vest
Clung like a cuiras to his breast;
The greaves below his knee that wound
With silvery scales were sheathed and bound.
But were it not that high command
Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand,
All that a careless eye could see
In him was some young Galiongée.❞

X.

"I said I was not what I seem'd;

And now thou see'st my words were true:
I have a tale thou hast not dream'd,
If sooth-its truth must others rue.
My story now 'twere vain to hide,
I must not see thee Osman's bride:
But had not thine own lips declared
How much of that young heart I shared,

I could not, must not, yet have shown
The darker secret of my own.

In this I speak not now of love;
That, let time, truth, and peril prove:
But first-Oh! never wed another-
Zuleika! I am not thy brother!"

XI.

"Oh! not my brother!-yet unsayGod! am I left alone on earth

To mourn-I dare not curse-the day'

That saw my solitary birth? Oh! thou wilt love me now no more! My sinking heart foreboded ill; But know me all I was before,

haps some of our own "blues" might not be worse for bleaching.

"Galiongée"-or Galiongi, a sailor, that is, a Turkish sailor; the Greeks navigate, the Turks work the guns. Their dress is picturesque; and I have seen the Capitan Pacha more than once wearing it as a kind of incog. Their legs, however, are generally naked. The buskins described in the text as sheathed behind with silver are those of an Arnaut robber, who was my host (he had quitted the profession) at his Pyrgo, near Gastouni in the Morea; they were plated in scales one over the other, like the back of an armadillo. 4["To curse-if I could curse-the day."-MS.]

Thy sister-friend-Zuleika still. Thou led'st me here perchance to kill; If thou hast cause for vengeance, see! My breast is offer'd-take thy fill!

Far better with the dead to be
Than live thus nothing now to thee:
Perhaps far worse, for now I know
Why Giaffir always seem'd thy foe;
And I, alas! am Giaffir's child,

For whom thou wert contemn'd, reviled.
If not thy sister-wouldst thou save
My life, oh! bid me be thy slave!"

And be that thought thy sorrow's balm.
So may the Koran' verse display'd
Upon its steel direct my blade,
In danger's hour to guard us both,
As I preserve that awful oath!

The name in which thy heart hath prided
Must change; but, my Zuleika, know,
That tie is widen'd, not divided,
Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe.
My father was to Giaffir all

That Selim late was deem'd to thee;
That brother wrought a brother's fall,
But spared, at least, my infancy;
And lull'd me with a vain deceit
That yet a like return may meet.
He rear'd me, not with tender help,
But like the nephew of a Cain;2
He watch'd me like a lion's whelp,

That gnaws and yet may break his chain.
My father's blood in every vein

Is boiling; but for thy dear sake
No present vengeance will I take;

Though here I must no more remain.
But first, beloved Zuleika! hear
How Giaffir wrought this deed of fear.

XIII.

"How first their strife to rancor grew,
If love or envy made them foes,
It matters little if I knew;
In fiery spirits, slights, though few
And thoughtless, will disturb repose.
In war Abdallah's arm was strong,
Remember'd yet in Bosniac song,

1 The characters on all Turkish cimeters contain sometimes the name of the place of their manufacture, but more generally a text from the Koran, in letters of gold. Amongst those in my possession is one with a blade of singular construction; it is very broad, and the edge notched into serpentine curves like the ripple of water, or the wavering of flame. I asked the Armenian who sold it, what possible use such a figure could add; he said, in Italian, that he did not know; but the Mussulmans had an idea that those of this form gave a severer wound; and liked it because it was piu feroce." I did not much admire the reason, but bought it for its peculiarity.

2 It is to be observed, that every allusion to any thing or personage in the Old Testament, such as the Ark, or Cain, is equally the privilege of Mussulman and Jew; indeed, the former profess to be much better acquainted with the lives, true and fabulous, of the patriarchs, than is warranted by our own sacred writ; and not content with Adam, they have a biography of Pre-Adamites. Solomon is the monarch of all necromancy, and Moses a prophet inferior only to Christ and Mahomet. Zuleika is the Persian name of Poti

And Paswan's' rebel hordes attest How little love they bore such guest. His death is all I need relate,

The stern effect of Giaffir's hate;

And how my birth disclosed to me,

Whate'er beside it makes, hath made me free.

XIV.

"When Paswan, after years of strife,
At last for power, but first for life,
In Widin's walls too proudly sate,
Our Pachas rallied round the state;
Nor last nor least in high command,
Each brother led a separate band;
They gave their horse-tails to the wind,
And mustering in Sophia's plain
Their tents were pitch'd, their post assign'd;
To one, alas! assign'd in vain!
What need of words? the deadly bowl,

By Giaffir's order drugg'd and given,
With venom subtle as his soul,

Dismiss'd Abdallah's hence to heaven. Reclined and feverish in the bath,

He, when the hunter's sport was up, But little deem'd a brother's wrath

To quench his thirst had such a cup: The bowl a bribed attendant bore; He drank one draught, nor needed more! If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt, Call Haroun-he can tell it out.

XV.

"The deed once done, and Paswan's feud
In part suppress'd, though ne'er subdued,
Abdallah's Pachalic was gain'd:-
Thou know'st not what in our Divan
Can wealth procure for worse than man-
Abdallah's honors were obtain'd

By him a brother's murder stain'd;
"Tis true, the purchase nearly drain'd
His ill-got treasure, soon replaced.

Wouldst question whence? Survey the waste,
And ask the squalid peasant how
His gains repay his broiling brow !—
Why me the stern usurper spared,
Why thus with me his palace shared,
I know not. Shame, regret, remorse,
And little fear from infant's force;
Besides, adoption as a son
By him whom Heaven accorded none,
Or some unknown cabal, caprice,

Preserved me thus ;-but not in peace:

phar's wife; and her amour with Joseph constitutes one of the finest poems in their language. It is, therefore, no violation of costume to put the names of Cain, or Noah, into the mouth of a Moslem.--[Some doubt having been expressed by Mr. Murray, as to the propriety of putting the name of Cain into the mouth of a Mussulman, Lord Byron sent him the preceding note--" for the benefit of the ignorant." "I don't care one lump of sugar," he says, " for my poetry; but for my costume, and my correctness on those points, I will combat lustily."]

3 Paswan Oglou, the rebel of Widin; who, for the last years of his life, set the whole power of the Porte at defiance. 4" Horse-tail," the standard of a Pacha.

Giaffir, Pacha of Argyro Castro, or Scutari, I am not sure which, was actually taken off by the Albanian Ali, in the manner described in the text. Ali Pacha, while I was in the country, married the daughter of his victim, some years after the event had taken place at a bath in Sophia, or Adrianople. The poison was mixed in the cup of coffee. which is presented before the sherbet by the bath-keeper, after dressing.

He cannot curb his haughty mood, Nor I forgive a father's blood.

XVI.

"Within thy father's house are foes;
Not all who break his bread are true:
To these should I my birth disclose,
His days, his very hours were few:
They only want a heart to lead,
A hand to point them to the deed.
But Haroun only knows, or knew

This tale, whose close is almost nigh: He in Abdallah's palace grew,

And held that post in his Serai

Which holds he here--he saw him die: But what could single slavery do? Avenge his lord? alas! too late; Or save his son from such a fate? He chose the last, and when elate

With foes subdued, or friends betray'd, Proud Giaffir in high triumph sate, He led me helpless to his gate,

And not in vain it seems essay'd
To save the life for which he pray'd.
The knowledge of my birth secured
From all and each, but most from me;
Thus Giaffir's safety was ensured.
Removed he too from Roumelie
To this our Asiatic side,

Far from our seats by Danube's tide,
With none but Haroun, who retains
Such knowledge-and that Nubian feels
A tyrant's secrets are but chains,
From which the captive gladly steals,
And this and more to me reveals:
Such still to guilt just Alla sends-
Slaves, tools, accomplices-no friends!

XVII.

"All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds;

But harsher still my tale must be:
Howe'er my tongue thy softness wounds,
Yet I must prove all truth to thee.
I saw thee start this garb to see,
Yet is it one I oft have worn,

And long must wear: this Galiongée,
To whom thy plighted vow is sworn,

Is leader of those pirate hordes,

Whose laws and lives are on their swords; To hear whose desolating tale

Would make thy waning cheek more pale:
Those arms thou see'st my band have brought,
The hands that wield are not remote ;
This cup too for the rugged knaves

Is fill'd once quaff'd, they ne'er repine:
Our prophet might forgive the slaves;
They're only infidels in wine.

XVIII.

"What could I be? Proscribed at home,
And taunted to a wish to roam;
And listless left-for Giaffir's fear
Denied the courser and the spear-

1 The Turkish notions of almost all islands are confined to the Archipelago, the sea alluded to.

Lambro Canzani, a Greek, famous for his efforts in 178990, for the independence of his country. Abandoned by the Russians, he became a pirate, and the Archipelago was the

Though oft-Oh, Mahomet! how oft!-
In full Divan the despot scoff'd,
As if my weak unwilling hand
Refused the bridle or the brand:
He ever went to war alone,
And pent me here untried-unknown;
To Haroun's care with women left,
By hope unbless'd, of fame bereft.
While thou-whose softness long endear'd,
Though it unmann'd me, still had cheer'd-
To Brusa's walls for safety sent,
Awaitedst there the field's event.
Haroun, who saw my spirit pining

Beneath inaction's sluggish yoke,

His captive, though with dread resigning,
My thraldom for a season broke,
On promise to return before

The day when Giaffir's charge was o'er.
"Tis vain-my tongue cannot impart
My almost drunkenness of heart,
When first this liberated eye
Survey'd Earth, Ocean, Sun, and Sky,
As if my spirit pierced them through,
And all their inmost wonders knew!
One word alone can paint to thee
That more than feeling-I was Free!
E'en for thy presence ceased to pine;
The World-nay, Heaven itself was mine!

XIX.

"The shallop of a trusty Moor
Convey'd me from this idle shore;
I long'd to see the isles that gem
Old Ocean's purple diadem:

I sought by turns, and saw them all ;'

But when and where I join'd the crew, With whom I'm pledged to rise or fall, When all that we design to do

Is done, 'twill then be time more meet
To tell thee, when the tale's complete.

XX.

""Tis true, they are a lawless brood,
But rough in form, nor mild in mood;
And every creed, and every race,

With them hath found-may find a place:
But open speech, and ready hand,
Obedience to their chief's command;
A soul for every enterprise,

That never sees with terror's eyes;
Friendship for each, and faith to all,
And vengeance vow'd for those who fall,
Have made them fitting instruments
For more than ev'n my own intents.
And some and I have studied all

Distinguish'd from the vulgar rank,
But chiefly to my council call

The wisdom of the cautious Frank-
And some to higher thoughts aspire,
The last of Lambro's patriots there
Anticipated freedom share;

And oft around the cavern fire
On visionary schemes debate,

To snatch the Rayahs3 from their fate.

So let them ease their hearts with prate
Of equal rights, which man ne'er knew;
I have a love for freedom too.

Ay! let me like the ocean-Patriarch' roam,
Or only know on land the Tartar's home!?
My tent on shore, my galley on the sea,
Are more than cities and Serais to me:
Borne by my steed, or wafted by my sail,
Across the desert, or before the gale,

Bound where thou wilt, my barb! or glide, my prow!
But be the star that guides the wanderer, Thou!
Thou, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark;
The Dove of peace and promise to mine ark!
Or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife,
Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!
Bless'd-as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall
To pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call;
Soft-as the melody of youthful days,

That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise;
Dear as his native song to Exile's ears,
Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.
For thee in those bright isles is built a bower
Blooming as Aden in its earliest hour.

A thousand swords, with Selim's heart and hand,
Wait-wave-defend-destroy-at thy command!
Girt by my band, Zuleika at my side,
The spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride.
The Harem's languid years of listless ease
Are well resign'd for cares-for joys like these:
Not blind to fate, I see, where'er I
rove,
Unnumber'd perils,-but one only love!
Yet well my toils shall that fond breast repay,
Though fortune frown, or falser friends betray.
How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill,
Should all be changed, to find thee faithful still!
Be but thy soul, like Selim's, firmly shown;
To thee be Selim's tender as thine own;
To soothe each sorrow, share in each delight,
Blend every thought, do all-but disunite!
Once free, 'tis mine our horde again to guide:
Friends to each other, foes to aught beside:
Yet there we follow but the bent assign'd
By fatal Nature to man's warring kind:
Mark where his carnage and his conquests cease!
He makes a solitude, and calls it-peace!

2 The wandering life of the Arabs, Tartars, and Turkomans, will be found well detailed in any book of Eastern travels. That it possesses a charm peculiar to itself, cannot be denied. A young French renegado confessed to Chateaubriand, that he never found himself alone, galloping in the desert, without a sensation approaching to rapture, which was indescribable.

3 [The longest, as well as most splendid, of those passages, with which the perusal of his own strains, during revision, inspired him, was that rich flow of eloquent feeling which follows the couplet,-" Thou, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark," &c.-a strain of poetry, which, for energy and tenderness of thought, for music of versification, and selectness of diction, has, throughout the greater portion of it, but few rivals in either ancient or modern song.MOORE.]

I like the rest must use my skill or strength,
But ask no land beyond my sabre's length:
Power sways but by division-her resource
The blest alternative of fraud or force!
Ours be the last; in time deceit may come
When cities cage us in a social home:
There ev'n thy soul might err-how oft the heart
Corruption shakes which peril could not part!
Aud woman, more than man, when death or wo,
Or even disgrace, would lay her lover low,
Sunk in the lap of luxury will shame-
Away suspicion!-not Zuleika's name!
But life is hazard at the best; and here
No more remains to win, and much to fear:
Yes, fear the doubt, the dread of losing thee,
By Osman's power, and Giaffir's stern decree.
That dread shall vanish with the favoring gale,
Which Love to-night hath promised to my sail :
No danger daunts the pair his smile hath bless'd,
Their steps still roving, but their hearts at rest.
With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms;
Earth-sea alike-our world within our arms!
Ay-let the loud winds whistle o'er the deck,
So that those arms cling closer round my neck:
The deepest murmur of this lip shall be
No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!
The war of elements no fears impart

To Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art:
There lie the only rocks our course can check:
Here moments menace-there are years of wreck!
But hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape!
This hour bestows, or ever bars escape.
Few words remain of mine my tale to close:
Of thine but one to waft us from our foes;
Yea-foes-to me will Giaffir's hate decline?
And is not Osman, who would part us, thine?

XXI.

"His head and faith from doubt and death
Return'd in time my guard to save;
Few heard, none told, that o'er the wave
From isle to isle I roved the while:
And since, though parted from my band,
Too seldom now I leave the land,
No deed they've done, nor deed shall do,
Ere I have heard and doom'd it too:

Print

Or

Or

"And gilds to-morrow's hope with heavenly ray.

I wish you would ask Mr. Gifford which of them is best; or rather, not worst."]

"Jannat al Aden," the perpetual abode, the Mussulman paradise.

["You wanted some reflections; and I send you, per Selim, eighteen lines in decent couplets, of a pensive, if not an ethical, tendency. One more revise-positively the last, if decently done-at any rate, the penultimate. Mr. Canning's approbation, I need not say, makes me proud.* To make you some amends for eternally pestering you with alterations, I send you Cobbett,-to confirm your orthodoxy." Lord B. to Mr.Murray.]

7

["Then if my lip once murmurs, it must be."-MS.]

* [Mr. Canning's note was as follows:-" I received the books, and among them, the Bride of Abydos.' It is very, very beautiful. Lord Byron (when I met him, one day, at a dinner at Mr. Ward's) was so kind as to promise to give me a copy of it. I mention this, not to save my purchase, ¦ but because I should be really flattered by the present."]

I form the plan, decree the spoil,
"Tis fit I oftener share the toil.
But now too long I've held thine ear;
Time presses, floats my bark, and here
We leave behind but hate and fear
To-morrow Osman with his train
Arrives-to-night must break thy chain:
And wouldst thou save that haughty Bey,
Perchance, his life who gave thee thine,
With me, this hour away-away!

But yet, though thou art plighted mine,
Wouldst thou recall thy willing vow,
Appall'd by truths imparted now,
Here rest I-not to see thee wed:
But be that peril on my head!"

XXII.

Zuleika, mute and motionless,
Stood like that statue of distress,
When, her last hope forever gone,
The mother harden'd into stone;
All in the maid that eye could see
Was but a younger Niobé.
But ere her lip, or even her eye,
Essay'd to speak, or look reply,
Beneath the garden's wicket porch
Far flash'd on high a blazing torch!
Another-and another-and another-

"Oh! fly-no more-yet now my more than brother!"

Far, wide, through every thicket spread,
The fearful lights are gleaming red;
Nor these alone-for each right hand
Is ready with a sheathless brand.
They part, pursue, return, and wheel
With searching flambeau, shining steel;
And last of all, his sabre waving,
Stern Giaffir in his fury raving:
And now almost they touch the cave-
Oh! must that grot be Selim's grave?

XXIII.

Dauntless he stood-" "Tis come-soon pastOne kiss, Zuleika-'tis my last :

But yet my band not far from shore May hear this signal, see the flash; Yet now too few-the attempt were rash: No matter-yet one effort more.' Forth to the cavern mouth he stepp'd; His pistol's echo rang on high: Zuleika started not, nor wept,

Despair benumb'd her breast and eye!— "They hear me not, or if they ply Their oars, 'tis but to see me die;

That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh.
Then forth my father's scimitar,
Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war!
Farewell, Zuleika!-Sweet! retire:
Yet stay within-here linger safe,
At thee his rage will only chafe.
Stir not-lest even to thee perchance
Some erring blade or ball should glance.
Fear'st thou for him?-may I expire
If in this strife I seek thy sire!
No-though by him that poison pour'd:
No-though again he call me coward!
But tamely shall I meet their steel?
No as each crest save his may feel!"

XXIV.

One bound he made, and gain'd the sand:
Already at his feet hath sunk

The foremost of the prying band,

A gasping head, a quivering trunk:
Another falls-but round him close
A swarming circle of his foes;
From right to left his path he cleft,

And almost met the meeting wave:
His boat appears-not five oars' length-
His comrades strain with desperate strength-
Oh! are they yet in time to save?
His feet the foremost breakers lave;
His band are plunging in the bay,
Their sabres glitter through the spray;
Wet-wild-unwearied to the strand
They struggle-now they touch the land!
They come 'tis but to add to slaughter-
His heart's best blood is on the water.

XXV.

Escaped from shot, unharm'd by steel,
Or scarcely grazed its force to feel,
Had Selim won, betray'd, beset,
To where the strand and billows met:
There as his last step left the land,
And the last death-blow dealt his hand-
Ah! wherefore did he turn to look

For her his eye but sought in vain?
That pause, that fatal gaze he took,

Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd his chain.

Sad proof, in peril and in pain,
How late will Lover's hope remain!
His back was to the dashing spray;
Behind, but close, his comrades lay,
When, at the instant, hiss'd the ball-
"So may the foes of Giaffir fall!"
Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang?
Whose bullet through the night-air sang,
Too nearly, deadly aim'd to err?
"Tis thine-Abdallah's Murderer!
The father slowly rued thy hate,
The son hath found a quicker fate:
Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling,
The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling-
If aught his lips essay'd to groan,
The rushing billows choked 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,
And fragments of each shiver'd brand;
Steps stamp'd; and dash'd into the sand
The print of many a struggling hand

May there be mark'd; nor far remote
A broken torch, an oarless boat;
And tangled on the weeds that heap
The beach where shelving to the deep
There lies a white capote!

"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,