Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between [parted Heights which appear as lovers who have In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted;

Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted,

Love was the very root of the fond rage Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed;

Itself expired, but leaving them an age Of years all winters-war within themselves to rage.

Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way, [stand; The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his For here, not one, but many make their play,

And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand,

Flashing and cast around: of all the band, The brightest through these parted hills hath forked

His lightnings, as if he did understand That in such gaps as desolation worked, There the hot shaft should blast whatever

therein lurked.

Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye,

[a soul With night, and clouds, and thunder, and To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful; the far roll

Of your departing voices is the knoll
Of what in me is sleepless,-if I rest.
But where of ye, O tempests! is the goal?
Are ye like those within the human breast?
Or do ye find at length, like eagles, some
high nest?

Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me,-could I wreak,

[throw My thoughts upon expression, and thus Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak,

All that I would have sought, and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe-into one
word,
[speak;

And that one word were Lightning, I would
But as it is, I live and die unheard,
With a most voiceless thought, sheathing
it as a sword.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn,
With breath all incense, and with cheek
all bloom,
[scorn,
Laughing the clouds away with playful
And living as if earth contained no tomb,
And glowing into day: we may resume
The march of our existence: and thus I,
Still on thy shores, fair Leman! may find

room

And food for meditation, nor pass by Much that may give us pause, if pondered fittingly.

GREECE. From " The Giaour."

HE who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled,
The first dark day of nothingness,
The last of danger and distress
(Before Decay's effacing fingers

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers),
And marked the mild angelic air-
The rapture of repose that's there-
The fixed yet tender traits that streak
The languor of the placid cheek,
And-but for that sad shrouded eye,

That fires not, wins not, weeps not nowAnd but for that chill, changeless brow, Where cold Obstruction's apathy

Appals the gazing mourner's heart,
As if to him it could impart

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon-
Yes, but for these and these alone,
Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour,
He still might doubt the tyrant's power,
So fair, so calm, so softly sealed,
The first, last look by death revealed!
Such is the aspect of this shore-
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start-for soul is wanting there.
Hers is the loveliness in death,
That parts not quite with parting breath;
But beauty with that fearful bloom,
That hue which haunts it to the tomb-
Expression's last receding ray,

A gilded halo hovering round decay,
The farewell beam of Feeling passed away!
Spark of that flame-perchance of heavenly
birth-
[cherished earth!

Which gleams, but warms no more its

Clime of the unforgotten brave! Whose land from plain to mountain cave Was Freedom's home or Glory's graveShrine of the mighty! can it be That this is all remains of thee? Approach, thou craven crouching slave.

Say, is not this Thermopyla? These waters blue that round you lave, O servile offspring of the freePronounce what sea, what shore is this? The gulf, the rock of Salamis ! These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear, That Tyranny shall quake to hear, And leave his sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame: For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page! Attest it many a deathless age! While kings in dusky darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes-though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tombA mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land! There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die! 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, Each step from splendour to disgrace:

Enough-no foreign foe could quell
Thy soul, till from itself it fell.
Yes! self-abasement paved the way
To villain-bonds and despot sway.
What can he tell who treads thy shore?
No legend of thine olden time,
No theme on which the Muse might soar
High as thine own in days of yore,

When man was worthy of thy clime.
The hearts within thy valleys bred,
The fiery souls that might have led
Thy sons to deeds sublime,
Now crawl from cradle to the grave,
Slaves-nay, the bondsmen of a slave,
And callous, save to crime;
Stained with each evil that pollutes
Mankind where least above the brutes;
Without even savage virtue blest,
Without one free or valiant breast.
Still to the neighbouring ports they waft
Proverbial wiles and ancient craft;
In this the subtle Greek is found,
For this, and this alone, renowned.
In vain might Liberty invoke
The spirit to its bondage broke,
Or raise the neck that courts the yoke.

-0

THE HELLESPONT.

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 warned 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 the light of love,
The only star it hailed 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,

The winds are high, and Helle's tide

Rolls darkly heaving to the main ; And Night's descending shadows hide The field with blood bedewed in vain, The desert of old Priam's pride;

The tombs, sole relics of his reign,

All-save immortal dreams that could be

guile

The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle !

Oh! yet-for there my steps have been;

These feet have pressed 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!

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 gathered ground Which Ammon's son ran proudly round, By nations raised, by monarchs crowned, 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!

DEATH OF ZULEIKA.

By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail! And woman's eye is wet-man's cheek is pale!

Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race,

Thy destined lord is come too late; He sees not-ne'er shall see-thy face! Can he not hear

The loud Wul-wulleh warn his distant ear? Thy handmaids weeping at the gate, The Koran-chanters of the hymn of fate, The silent slaves with folded arms that wait,

Sighs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale, Tell him thy tale!

Thou didst not view thy Selim fall;

That fearful moment when he left the cave
Thy heart grew chill:

He was thy hope-thy joy-thy love-thine [not save

allAnd that last thought on him thou couldst

And, oh! that pang where more than madness lies, [dies! The worm that will not sleep, and never Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night, [the light, That dreads the darkness and yet loathes That winds around and tears the quivering heart, [part? Ah! wherefore not consume it - and deWoe to thee, rash and unrelenting chief! Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head, [spread;

Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs doth By that same hand Abdallah-Selimbled.

Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief; Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed,

She, whom thy Sultan had but seen to wed,

Thy daughter's dead! [beam, Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely 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?"

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
Are stamped with an eternal grief,

Like early unrequited love,
One spot exists, which ever blooms,
Even in that deadly grove-
A single rose is shedding there

Its lonely lustre, meek and pale ;
It looks as planted by Despair-

So white so faint-the slightest gale Might whirl the leaves on high;

And yet, though storms and blight assail, And hands more rude than wintry sky

May wring it from the stem-in vainTo-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 Nor woos the summer beam; [shower, To it the livelong night there sings

A bird unseen-but not remote:
Invisible his airy wings,

But soft as harp that Houri strings
His long entrancing note.

It were the Bulbul; but his throat, Though mournful, pours not such a strain,

For they who listen cannot leave
The spot, but linger there and grieve,
As
they loved in vain.

And yet so sweet the tears they shed,
'Tis sorrow so unmixed with dread,
They scarce can bear the morn to break
That melancholy spell,

And longer yet would weep and wake,
He sings so wild and well;
But when the day-blush bursts from high,
Expires that magic melody.

And some have been who could believe
(So fondly youthful dreams deceive,

Yet harsh be they that blame), That note so piercing and profound Will shape and syllable its sound

Into Zuleika's name.

"Tis from her cypress' summit heard,
That melts in air the liquid word;
'Tis from her lowly virgin earth
That white rose takes its tender birth.
There late was laid a marble stone;
Eve saw it placed-the Morrow, gone!
It was no mortal arm that bore
That deep-fixed pillar to the shore;
For there, as Helle's legends tell,
Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell,
Lashed by the tumbling tide, whose wave
Denied his bones a holier grave;
And there by night, reclined, 'tis said,
Is seen a ghastly turbaned head;
And hence extended by the billow,
'Tis named the "Pirate Phantom's Pillow."
Where first it lay, that mourning flower
Hath flourished, flourisheth this hour,
Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale,
As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's
tale.

EVENING.

SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, Along Morea's hills the setting sun;

Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light!
O'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he
throws,
[glows.

Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it
On old Ægina's rock, and Idra's isle,
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile,
O'er his own regions lingering, loves to
shine,

Though there his altars are no more divine.
Descending fast, the mountain shadows kiss
Thy glorious gulf, unconquered Salamis !
Their azure arches through the long expanse
More deeply purpled meet his mellowing
glance,
[driven,
And tenderest tints, along their summits
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of
heaven;

Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.

On such an eve, his palest beam he cast, When, Athens! here thy Wisest looked his last. [ray,

How watched thy better sons his farewell That closed their murdered sage's latest day!

Not yet not yet-Sol pauses on the hillThe precious hour of parting lingers still; But sad his light to agonizing eyes, And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes: [pour, Gloom o'er the lovely land he seemed to The land where Phoebus never frowned before;

But ere he sank below Citharon's head, The cup of woe was quaffed-the spirit fled; The soul of him who scorned to fear or fly, Who lived and died as none can live or die!

But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain, The queen of night asserts her silent reign. No murky vapour, herald of the storm, Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form;

With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play,

There the white column greets her grateful
ray,
[beset,
And, bright around with quivering beams
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret:
The groves of olive scattered dark and wide
Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide,
The cypress saddening by the sacred

mosque,

The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk, And, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calm, Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,

All tinged with varied hues, arrest the eyeAnd dull were his that passed them heedless by.

Again the Ægean, heard no more afar, Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war; Again his waves in milder tints unfold Their long array of sapphire and of gold, Mixed with the shades of many a distant isle,

That frown-where gentler ocean seems to smile.

[to thee? Not now my theme-why turn my thoughts Oh! who can look along thy native sea, Nor dwell upon thy name, whate'er the tale, So much its magic must o'er all prevail? Who that beheld that sun upon thee set, Fair Athens! could thine evening face forget? [frees,

Not he whose heart nor time nor distance Spell-bound within the clustering Cyclades. Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain, -His Corsair's isle was once thine own

domain

Would that with freedom it were thine again!

CORINTH.

MANY a vanished year and age,

And tempest's breath, and battle's rage,
Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands
A fortress formed to Freedom's hands.
The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's
shock,

Have left untouched her hoary rock,
The keystone of a land which still,
Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill,
The landmark to the double tide
That purpling rolls on either side,
As if their waters chafed to meet,
Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.
But could the blood before her shed
Since first Timoleon's brother bled,
Or baffled Persia's despot fled,
Arise from out the earth, which drank
The stream of slaughter as it sank,
That sanguine ocean would o'erflow
Her isthmus idly spread below;
Or could the bones of all the slain
Who perished there, be piled again,
That rival pyramid would rise
More mountain-like through these clear
skies,

Than yon tower-capped Acropolis,
Which seems the very clouds to kiss.