Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide ly 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, I on Zuleika's slumber broke, And, as thou knowest that for me There linger'd we, beguiled too long But there Zuleika wanders yet- "Son of a slave"-the Pacha said- Thou, when thine arm should bend the 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 eves 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 thine own head take heedIf thus Zuleika oft takes wingThou see'st yon bow-it hath a string!" No sound from Selim's lip was heard, Those gibes had cost another dear. career; And glances ev'n of more than ire And started; for within his eye 66 Come hither, boy-what, no reply? As sneeringly these accents fell, Till Giaffir's quail'd and shrunk askance And why-he felt, but durst not tell. more I'll watch him closer than before. 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." wander'd; My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid; On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd, As daily I strode through the pinecover'd glade ; I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ; For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. "Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale? Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale. Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car: Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers; They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr. 'Ill-starr'd, though brave, did no visiens foreboding Tell you that fate had forsaken you cause?" Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden Victory crown'd not your fall with applause: Still were you happy in death's earthly slumber, You rest with your clan in the caves of The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number, Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr. Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you, Years must elapse ere I tread you again : Nature of verdure and flow'rs has bereft you, Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain. England thy beauties are tame and domestic MAID of Athens, ere we part, The dates for Byron's poems are made up chiefly from the very full accounts of their writ ing and publication given in the notes to E. H. Coleridge's splendid edition. By those tresses unconfined, BYRON Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge: By those wild eyes like the roe, ASD thou art dead, as young and fair I will not ask where thou liest low, There dowers or weeds at will may grow, So Hehold them not : That what I loved, and long must love, Yet did I love thee to the last Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal, Not falsehood disavow : And, what were worse, thou canst not Or wag, or change, or fault in me. 171 The better days of life were ours; Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep That all those charms have pass'd away; The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch`d Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, Since earthly eye but ill can bear I know not if I could have borne Extinguish'd, not decay'd; As stars that shoot along the sky As once I wept, if I could weep, My tears might well be shed, One vigil o'er thy bed; Uphold thy drooping head; Yet how much less it were to gain, And more thy buried love endears WHEN WE TWO PARTED WHEN we two parted 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 Sun Can he smile on such deeds as his chil dren have done? Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell. Begirt with many a gallant slave, Deep thought was in his aged eye; His pensive cheek and pondering brow "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 Her fate is fix'd this very hour: "Pacha! to hear is to obey." First lowly rendering reverence meet : "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 There linger'd we, beguiled too long But there Zuleika wanders yet- "Son of a slave "-the Pacha said- Thou, when thine arm should bend the bow, And hurl the dart, and curb the steed, Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed, Mast pore where babbling waters flow, Aud 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 thine own head take heedIf thus Zuleika oft takes wing hou see'st yon bow-it hath a string!" No sound from Selim's lip was heard, Those gibes had cost another dear. career; And glances ev'n of more than ire And started; for within his eye "Come hither, boy-what, no reply? As sneeringly these accents fell, Till Giaffir's quail'd and shrunk as kance And why-he felt, but durst not tell. Much I misdoubt this wayward boy Far less would venture into strife more I'll watch him closer than before. 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." |