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With deeper skill in war's black art

Than Othman's sons, and high of heart
A any chief that ever stood
Triumphant in the fields of blood;
From post to post, and deed to deed,
Fast spurring on his reeking steed,
Where sallying ranks the trench assail,
And make the foremost Moslem quail;
Or where the battery, guarded well,
Remains as yet impregnable,
Aghting cheerly to inspire
The soldier slackening in his fire;
Third and freshest of the host
Wh Stamboul's sultan there can boast,
Tde the follower o'er the field,
Tent the tube, the lance to wield,

vrl around the bickering blade ;-We Alp, the Adrian renegade!

From Venice-once a race of worth Earentle sires-he drew his birth; But late an exile from her shore, inst his countrymen he bore The as they taught to bear; and now arban girt his shaven brow. ugh many a change had Corinth pass'd La Greece to Venice' rule at last; and here, before her walls, with those Greece and Venice equal foes, stood a foe, with all the zeal Auch young and fiery converts feel, Fa whose heated bosom throngs The memory of a thousand wrongs. Tim had Venice ceased to be Ferient civic boast "the Free;" in the palace of St. Mark maned accusers in the dark Nain the Lion's mouth" had placed harge against him uneffaced: Sed in time, and saved his life, vaste his future years in strife, taught his land how great her loss who triumph'd o'er the Cross, Sit which he rear'd the Crescent high, fat battled to avenge or die.

Corgi-he whose closing scene At the triumph of Eugene,

Carlowitz' bloody plain, The last and mightiest of the slain, Bak, regretting not to die, Barst the Christian's victory

urgi-can his glory cease, latest conqueror of Greece, Christian hands to Greece restore Te freedom Venice gave of yore? Indred years have roll'd away Sare he refix'd the Moslem's sway; Lad now he led the Mussulman, lad gave the guidance of the van To Alp, who well repaid the trust By cities levell'd with the dust; And proved, by many a deed of death, How firm his heart in novel faith.

The walls grew weak; and fast and hot Against them pour'd the ceaseless shot, With unabating fury sent

From battery to battlement;
And thunder-like the pealing din
Rose from each heated culverin;

And here and there some crackling dome
Was fired before the exploding bomb :
And as the fabric sank beneath
The shattering shell's volcanic breath,
In red and wreathing columns flash'd
The flame, as loud the ruin crash'd,
Or into countless meteors driven,
Its earth-stars melted into heaven;
Whose clouds that day grew doubly dun,
Impervious to the hidden sun,
With volumed smoke that slowly grew
To one wide sky of sulphurous hue.

But not for vengeance, long delay'd,
Alone, did Alp, the renegade,
The Moslem warriors sternly teach
His skill to pierce the promised breach:
Within these walls a maid was pent
His hope would win, without consent
Of that inexorable sire,

Whose heart refused him in its ire,
When Alp, beneath his Christian name,
Her virgin hand aspired to claim.
In happier mood, and earlier time,
While unimpeach'd for traitorous crime,
Gayest in gondola or hall,

He glitter'd through the Carnival;
And tuned the softest serenade
That e'er on Adria's waters play'd
At midnight to Italian maid.

And many deem'd her heart was won; For sought by numbers, given to none, Had young Francesca's hand remain'd Still by the church's bonds unchain'd: And when the Adriatic bore Lanciotto to the Paynim shore, Her wonted smiles were seen to fail, And pensive wax'd the maid and pale; More constant at confessional, More rare at masque and festival; Or seen at such, with downcast eyes, Which conquer'd hearts they ceased to prize: With listless look she seems to gaze; With humbler care her form arrays; Her voice less lively in the song; Her step, though light, less fleet among The pairs, on whom the Morning's glance Breaks, yet unsated with the dance.

Sent by the state to guard the land, (Which, wrested from the Moslem's hand, While Sobieski tamed his pride By Buda's wall and Danube's side, The chiefs of Venice wrung away From Patra to Euboea's bay), Minotti held in Corinth's towers The Doge's delegated powers,

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While yet the pitying eye of Peace
Smiled o'er her long forgotten Greece:
And ere that faithless truce was broke
Which freed her from the unchristian yoke,
With him his gentle daughter came;
Nor there, since Menelaus' dame
Forsook her lord and land, to prove
What woes await on lawless love,
Had fairer form adorn'd the shore
Than she, the matchless stranger, bore.

The wall is rent, the ruins
And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn,
yawn;
O'er the disjointed mass shall vault
The foremost of the fierce assault.
The bands are rank'd; the chosen van
Of Tartar, and of Mussulman,
The full of hope, misnamed "forlorn,"
Who hold the thought of death in scorn,
And win their way with falchions' force,
Or pave the path with many a corse,
O'er which the following brave may risc,
Their stepping-stone- the last who dies!

Tis midnight: on the mountain's brown
The cold, round moon shines deeply down;
Blue roll the waters, blue the sky
Spreads like an ocean hung on high,
Bespangled with those isles of light,
So wildly, spiritually bright;
Who ever gazed upon them shining,
And turn'd to earth without repining,
Nor wish'd for wings to flee away,
And mix with their eternal ray?
The waves on either shore lay there
Calm, clear, and azure as the air;
And scarce their foam the pebbles shook,
But murmur'd meekly as the brook.
The winds were pillow'd on the waves;
The banners droop'd along their staves,
And; as they fell around them furling,
Above them shone the crescent curling;
And that deep silence was unbroke,
Save where the watch his signal spoke,
Save where the steed neigh'd oft and
shrill,

And echo answer'd from the hill,
And the wide hum of that wild host
Rustled like leaves from coast to coast,
As rose the Muezzin's voice in air
In midnight call to wonted prayer;
It rose, that chanted mournful strain,
Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain:
'Twas musical, but sadly sweet,
Such as when winds and harp-strings meet,
And take a long unmeasured tone,
To mortal minstrelsy unknown.
It seem'd to those within the wall
A cry prophetic of their fall:
It struck even the besieger's ear
With something ominous and drear,
An undefined and sudden thrill,
Which makes the heart a moment still,
Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed

Of that strange sense its silence frame
Such as a sudden passing-bell
Wakes, though but for a stranger's in

The tent of Alp was on the shore,
The sound was hush'd, the prayer was
The watch was set, the night and m
All mandates issued and obeyd:
'Tis but another anxious night.
His pains the morrow may requite
With all revenge and love can pay,
In guerdon for their long delay.
Few hours remain, and he hath need
Of rest, to nerve for many a deed
Of slaughter; but within his soul
The thoughts like troubled waters P
He stood alone among the host;
Not his the loud fanatic boast
To plant the crescent o'er the cross.
By Houris loved immortally:
Or risk a life with little loss,
Secure in paradise to be
Nor his, what burning patriots feel,
Profuse of blood, untired in toil.
The stern exaltedness of zeal,
When battling on the parent soil.
He stood alone-a renegade
Against the country he betray'd;
He stood alone amidst his band,
Without a trusted heart or hand:
They follow'd him, for he was bran
And great the spoil he got and gave
They crouch'd to him, for he had ski
To warp and wield the vulgar will
But still his Christian origin

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They envied even the faithless fame

With them was little less than sin

He earn'd beneath a Moslem-name;
Since he, their mightiest chief, had
In youth a bitter Nazarene.

They did not know how pride can sto
When baffled feelings withering droo
They did not know how hate can ban
Nor all the false and fatal zeal
In hearts once changed from soft to s
The convert of revenge can feel.
He ruled them-man may rule the wo
By ever daring to be first:
So lions o'er the jackal sway;
The jackal points, he fells the prey,
Then on the vulgar yelling press,
To gorge the relics of success.

The quick successive throbs convulse;
His head grows fever'd, and his puls
In vain from side to side he throws
His form, in courtship of repose;
Or if he dozed, a sound, a start
Awoke him with a sunken heart.
The turban on his hot brow press'd,
The mail weigh'd lead-like on his brea
Though oft and long beneath its weight
Upon his eyes had slumber sate,
Without or couch or canopy,

a rougher field and sky

aw might yield a warrior's bed,
ow along the heaven was spread.
d not rest, he could not stay
his tent to wait for day,
_k'd him forth along the sand,
housand sleepers strew'd the strand.
flow'd them? and why should he
keful than the humblest be!

re their peril, worse their toil,
they fearless dream of spoil;
he alone, where thousands passed
sleep, perchance their last,
dy vigil wander'd on,
ied all he gazed upon.

this soul become more light
h the freshness of the night.
as the silent sky, though calm,
thed his brow with airy balm:
the camp-before him lay,
va winding creek and bay,
is gulf: and, on the brow
hi's hill, unshaken snow,
nd eternal, such as shone

h thousand summers brightly gone,
the gulf, the mount, the clime;
not melt, like man, to time:
and slave are swept away,
rm'd to wear before the ray;

white veil, the lightest, frailest,
on the mighty mount thou hailest,
tower and tree are torn and rent,
der its craggy battlement;
*a peak, in height a cloud,
ure like a hovering shroud,
high by parting Freedom spread,
her fond abode she fled,
inger'd on the spot, where long
rophet-spirit spake in song.
all her step at moments falters
ither'd fields, and ruin'd altars,
ain would wake, in souls too broken,
inting to each glorious token.
ain her voice, till better days
in these yet remember'd rays
shone upon the Persian flying,
saw the Spartan smile in dying.

Their phalanx marshall'd on the plain,
Whose bulwarks were not then in vain.
They fell devoted, but undying;
The very gale their names seem'd sighing:
The waters murmur'd of their name;
The woods were peopled with their fame;
The silent pillar, lone and gray,
Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay;
Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain,
Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain;
The meanest rill, the mightiest river
Roll'd mingling with their fame for ever.
Despite of every yoke she bears,
That land is glory's still and theirs!
'Tis still a watch-word to the earth:
When man would do a deed of worth
He points to Greece, and turns to tread,
So sanction'd, on the tyrant's head:
He looks to her, and rushes on
Where life is lost, or freedom won.

Still by the shore Alp mutely mused, And woo'd the freshness Night diffused. There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea, Which changeless rolls eternally;

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So that wildest of waves, in their angriest

mood,

Scarce break on the bounds of the land for
a rood;

And the powerless moon beholds them flow,
Heedless if she come or go:
Calm or high, in main or bay,
On their course she hath no sway.
The rock unworn its base doth bare,
And looks o'er the surf, but it comes not
there:

success were sacrilege. The chiefs whose dust around him slumhad those his fancy number'd,

ber'd;

And the fringe of the foam may be seen below,
On the line that it left long ages ago:
A smooth short space of yellow sand
Between it and the greener land.

Till within the range of a carbine's reach
He wander'd on, along the beach,
Of the leaguer'd wall; but they saw him not,
Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot?
Did traitors lurk in the Christian's hold?
Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts
wax'd cold?

I know not, in sooth; but from yonder wall
There flash'd no fire, and there hiss'd no ball,
Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown,
That flank'd the sea-ward gate of the town;
Though he heard the sound, and could
almost tell

The sullen words of the sentinel,
As his measured step on the stone below
Clank'd, as he paced it to and fro;
And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall
Hold o'er the dead their carnival,
Gorging and growling o'er carcase and limb;
They were too busy to bark at him!
From a Tartar's skull they had stripp'd the

flesh,
As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh:

And their white tusks crunch'd o'er the O'er that which hath been, and o'er th whiter skull, which must be What we have seen, our sons shall see; Remnants of things that have pass'd awa Fragments of stone, rear'd by creatures clay!

As it slipp'd through their jaws, when their
edge grew dull,
As they lazily mumbled the bones of the
dead,

When they scarce could rise from the spot
where they fed;
So well had they broken a lingering fast
With those who had fallen for that night's

repast.

And Alp knew, by the turbans that roll'd on the sand,

The foremost of these were the best of his band:

Crimson and green were the shawls of their

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He sate him down at a pillar's base,
Like one in dreary musing mood,
And pass'd his hand athwart his face;
Declining was his attitude;
His head was drooping on his breast,
Fever'd, throbbing, and opprest;
And o'er his brow, so downward bent,
Oft his beating fingers went,
Hurriedly, as you may see
Your own run over the ivory key,

Ere the measured tone is taken
By the chords you would awaken.
There he sate all heavily,
Was it the wind, through some holl
As he heard the night-wind sigh.

stone,

Sent that soft and tender moan?

But it was unrippled as glass may be;
He lifted his head, and he look'd on the s
He look'd on the long grass - it waved r

a blade;

How was that gentle sound convey'd?
He look'd to the banners-each flag lay sti
So did the leaves on Cithaeron's hill,
And he felt not a breath come over 1
cheek;

What did that sudden sound bespeak?
He turn'd to the left-is he sure of sigh
There sate a lady, youthful and bright!

He started up with more of fear
Than if an armed foe were near.
Who art thou, and wherefore sent
"God of my fathers! what is here?

So near a hostile armament?"
His trembling hands refused to sign
The cross he deem'd no more divine:
He had resumed it in that hour,
But conscience wrung away the power.
He gazed, he saw: he knew the face
Of beauty, and the form of grace;
It was Francesca by his side,
The maid who might have been his brit

The rose was yet upon her cheek,
But mellow'd with a tenderer streak:
Where was the play of her soft lips fled
Gone was the smile that enliven'd their re
The ocean's calm within their view,
Beside her eye had less of blue;
But like that cold wave it stood still,
And its glance, though clear, was chill
Around her form a thin robe twining,
Nought conceal'd her bosom shining;
Through the parting of her hair,
Floating darkly downward there,

Her rounded arm show'd white and bare:
And ere yet she made reply,
Once she raised her hand on high;
It was so wan, and transparent of hue,
You might have seen the moon shine
through.

"I come from my rest to him I love best, That I may be happy, and he may be blest. I have pass'd the guards, the gate, the wall;

Sought thee in safety through foes and all.
To aid the lion will turn and flee
From a maid in the pride of her purity;
And the power on high, that can shield
the good

The from the tyrant of the wood,
Hath extended its mercy to guard me as
well

From the hands of the leaguering infidel.
Iene-and if I come in vain,
lever, oh never, we meet again!
Then hast done a fearful deed

falling away from thy father's creed:
Bat dash that turban to earth, and sign
The sign of the cross, and for ever be
mine;

Fring the black drop from thy heart,
And to-morrow unites us no more to part."

And where should our bridal couch be spread?

h the midst of the dying and the dead? For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame

The sons and the shrines of the Christian

name:

Vine save thou and thine, I've sworn,
Sall be left upon the morn:

thee will I bear to a lovely spot,
Where our hands shall be join'd, and our
sorrow forgot.
There thou yet shalt be my bride,
When once again I've quell'd the pride
Venice; and her hated race
He felt the arm they would debase
Sarge, with a whip of scorpions, those
Whom vice and envy made my foes."

Upon his hand she laid her own—

The feverish glow of his brow was gone,
And his heart sank so still that it felt like
stone,

As he look'd on the face, and beheld its hue
So deeply changed from what he knew:
Fair but faint without the ray
Of mind, that made each feature play
And her motionless lips lay still as death,
Like sparkling waves on a sunny day;
And her words came forth without her
breath,

And there rose not a heave o'er her bo-
som's swell,
And there seem'd not a pulse in her veins
to dwell.

Though her eye shone

out, yet the lids were fix'd, And the glance that it gave was wild and unmix'd as the eyes may

With aught of change,

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"If not for love of me be given
Thus much, then, for the love of heaven,—
Again I say that turban tear

From off thy faithless brow, and swear
Thine injured country's sons to spare,
Or thou art lost; and never shalt see,
Not earth—that's past—but heaven or me.
If this thou dost accord, albeit
A heavy doom 'tis thine to meet,
That doom shall half absolve thy sin,
And mercy's gate may receive thee within:
But pause one moment more, and take
The curse of Him thou didst forsake;
And look once more to heaven, and see
Its love for ever shut from thee.
There is a light cloud by the moon--

Light was the touch, but it thrill'd to the Tis passing, and will pass full soon

bone,

And shot a chillness to his heart,
Which fix'd him beyond the power to start.
Thangh slight was that grasp so mortal

cold,

He could not loose him from its hold;
Bet never did clasp of one so dear
Strike on the pulse with such feeling of

fear,

As those thin fingers, long and white,
Fraze through his blood by their touch
that night.

If, by the time its vapoury sail
Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil,
Thy heart within thee is not changed,
Then God and man are both avenged;
Dark will thy doom be, darker still
Thine immortality of ill."

Alp look'd to heaven, and saw on high
The sign she spake of in the sky;
But his heart was swollen, and turn'd aside,
By deep interminable pride.

This first false passion of his breast

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