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Father! for fear that thou shouldst

chide y sister, or her sable guide, now-for the fault, if fault there be, Tas mine, then fall thy frowns on melovelily the morning shone, That-let the old and weary sleepcould not ; and to view alone The fairest scenes of land and deep, Vith none to listen and reply to thoughts with which my heart beat

high Vere irksome—for whate'er my mood, n sooth I love not solitude ; on Zuleika's slumber broke, And, as thou knowest that for me Soon turns the Haram's grating key, Before the guardian slaves awoke Ne 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 tambour Beat thy Divan's approaching hour, Co 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 woman's

tower."

No sound from Selim's lip was heard,

At least that met old Giaffir's ear. 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 as

kance-
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-no

more-
I'll watch him closer than before.
He is an Arab 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 ;

Oh ! more than ev'n her mother dear, With all to hope, and nought to fearMy 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.”

Son of a slave”-the Pacha said* 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 wouldst 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. But, Haroun !--to my daughter speed ! And hark-ofthineown head take heedIf thus Zuleika oft takes wingThou see'st yon bow-it hath a string !”

BYRON

I left you,

LACHIN Y GAIR

“ Ill-starr'd, though brave, did no visions

foreboding AWAY, ye gay, landscapes, ye gardens Tell you that fate had forsaken your of roses !

cause ?" In you let the minions of luxury rove; Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden, Restore me the rocks, where the snow- Victory crown'd not your fall with flake reposes,

applause : Though still they are sacred to freedom Still were you happy in death's earthly and love:

slumber, Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy moun- You rest with your clan in the caves of tains,

Braemar; Round their white summits though The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud elements war ;

number, Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth- Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch flowing fountains,

na Garr. I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.

Years have rolld on, Loch na Garr, since Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd ;

Years must elapse ere I tread you

again : My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was

Nature of verdure and flow'rs has bereft the plaid ; On chieftains long perish'd my memory

you,

Yet still are you dearer than Albion's ponder'd, As daily I strode through the pine

plain. cover'd glade;

England ! thy beauties are tame and

domestic I sought not my home till the day's

To one who has roved o'er the moun. dying glory

tains afar : Gave place to the rays of the bright

Oh for the crags that are wild and polar star;

majestic ! For fancy was cheer'd by traditional

The steep frowning glories of dark story,

Loch na Garr. Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.

MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART “ Shades of the dead ! have I not heard

Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ Rise on the night-rolling breath of the

gale?” Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,

Maid of Athens, ere we part, And rides on the wind, o'er his own

Give, oh, give me back my heart ! Highland vale.

Or, since that has left my breast, Round Loch na Garr while the stormy

Keep it now, and take the rest ! mist gathers,

Hear my vow before I go, Winter presides in his cold icy car :

Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ. Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;

1 The dates for Byron's poems are made up They dwell in the tempests of dark

chiefly from the very full accounts of their writLoch na Garr,

ing and publication given in the notes to EH.

Coleridge's splendid edition.

1807.'

your voices

y those tresses unconfined,
Voo'd by each Ægean wind;
y those lids whose jetty fringe

iss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ; y those wild eyes like the roe, ώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

y that lip I long to taste ; ly that zone-encircled waist ; ly all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well ; Sy love's alternate joy and woe, μη μου, σας αγαπώ. laid of Athens ! I am gone: l'hink of me, sweet! when alone. l'hough I Ay to Istambol, Athens holds my heart and soul; Can I cease to love thee ? No! ωη μου, σας αγαπώ.

18 10. 1812.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine ;
The sun that cheers, the storm that

lowers,
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep ;

Nor need I to repine,
That all those charms have pass'd away;
I might have watch'd through long

decay. . The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd

Must fall the earliest prey ;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,

The leaves must drop away;
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering leaf by leaf,

Than see it pluck'd to-day ;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn

Had worn a deeper shade ;
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last ;

Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG

AND FAIR

Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari

quam tui meminisse!"

AND thou art dead, as young and fair

As aught of mortal birth ; And form so soft, and charms so rare,

Too soon return'd to Earth! Though Earth received them in her bed And o'er the spot the crowd may tread

In carelessness or mirth, There is an eye which could not brook A moment on that grave to look. I will not ask where thou liest low,

Nor gaze upon the spot; There flowers or weeds at will may grow,

So I behold them not : It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love,

Like common earth can rot; To me there needs no stone to tell, 'Tis Nothing that I loved so well.

As once I wept, if I could weep,

My tears might well be shed, To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed ; To gaze. how fondly! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,

Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity

Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years.

February, 1812. 1812.

Yet did I love thee to the last

As fervently as thou, Who didst not change through all the

past, And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal, Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow : And, what were worse, thou canst not Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

WHEN WE TWO PARTED

WHEN we two parted

In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

see

And the voice of the nightingale never

is mute : Where the tints of the earth, and the

hues of the sky, In 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? "T is the clime of the East ; 't is the land

of the SunCan he smile on such deeds as his chil.

dren have done? Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' fare

well
Are the hearts which they bear, and the

tales which they tell.
Begirt with many a gallant slave,
Apparellid 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,

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“ Let the chamber be clear'd.”-The

train disappear'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,
An eine where the cypress and

(Woe to the head whose eye beheld
My child Zuleika's face unveild !)
Hence, lead my daughter from her

tower ;
Her fate is fix'd this very hour :
Yet not to her repeat my thought;
By me alone be duty taught !”

“ Pacha! to hear is to obey." Apres prer blossom, the No more must slave to despot say,

Then to the tower had ta'en his way, And the wings of Zephyr, op-. But here young Selim silence brake,

First lowly rendering reverence meet
And downcast look'd and gently spake,

Still standing at the Pacha's feet :
For son of Moslem must expire,
Ere dare to sit before his sire!

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Vand olive are fairest of

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 meSo lovelily the morning shone,

That-let the old and weary sleepI 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; Till I, who heard the deep tambour Buat 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 yetSay, Father, rage not-nor forget That none can pierce that secret bower But those who watch the woman's

tower."

No sound from Selim's lip was heard,

At least that met old Giaffir's ear. 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 larice, 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 as

kance-
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-no

more-
I'll watch him closer than before.
He is an Arab 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 ;

Oh! more than ev'n her mother dear, With all to hope, and nought to fearMy 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

"Son of a slave"—the Pacha said* 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 huri 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 wouldst 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. But, Haroun !--to my daughter speed ! And hark--of thineown head take heedIf thus Zuleika oft takes wingThou see'st yon bow—it hath a string!"

now.”

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