"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: 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!”

Zuleika, mute and motionless, Stood like that statue of distress, When, her last hope for ever gone, The mother harden'd into stone: All in the maid that eye could see Was but a younger Niobê.

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!

64

Another-and another-and another 'Oh! fly-no more-yet now my than brother!" Far, wide, through every thicket The fearful lights are gleaming Nor these alone-for each right Is ready with a sheathless brand. They part, pursue, return, and With searching flambeau. shining se And last of all, his sabre waving, Stern Giaffir in his fury raving: And now almost they touch the c Oh! must that grot be Selim's gra

Dauntless he stood-" "Tis come past-

One kiss, Zuleika-'tis my last : But yet my band not far from May hear this signal, see the flash: Yet now too few-the attempt rash:

No matter-yet one effort more." Forth to the cavern mouth he stept: His pistol's echo rang on high, Zuleika started not, nor wept, Despair benumb'd her breast eye!

"They hear me not, or if they ply Their oars 'tis but to see me die: That sound hath drawn my foes m

nigh.

sand:

ware

The worm that will not sleep-and never dies;

Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night,

That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light,

That winds around, and tears the quivering heart!

Ah! wherefore not consume it-and depart !

Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting chief! Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head.

Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread:

By that same hand Abdallah-Selim: bled.

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!

Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,

The Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream.

What quench'd 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 stamp'd with an eternal grief,

Like early unrequited Love,
One spot exists, which ever blooms,
Ev'n 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 vain-
To-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 unshelter'd by a bower;

Nor droops though Spring refuse her shower,

Nor woos the summer beam:
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 if they loved in vain!

And yet so sweet the tears they shed,
'Tis sorrow so unmix'd 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-fix'd pillar to the shore;
For there, as Helle's legends tell,
Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell.
Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave
Denied his bones a holier grave;
And there by night, reclined, 't is said.
Is seen a ghastly turban'd head :

And hence extended by the billow,
'Tis named the "Pirate-phantom's p
low!"

Where first it lay that mourning lower Hath flourish'd; flourisheth this hot. Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale ; As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrows tale!

November, 1813. November 29, 1813.

The triumph and the vanity,
The rapture of the strife-
The earthquake voice of Victory,
To thee the breath of life;

The sword, the sceptre, and that sway
Which man seem'd made but to obey,
Wherewith renown was rife-

All quell'd-Dark Spirit! what must be The madness of thy memory!

The Desolator desolate!

The Victor overthrown!

The Arbiter of others' fate

A Suppliant for his own!
Is it some yet imperial hope

That with such change can calmly cope?
Or dread of death alone?
To die a prince-or live a slave-
Thy choice is most ignobly brave!

He who of old would rend the oak,
Dream'd not of the rebound:
Chain'd by the trunk he vainly broke-
Alone-how look'd he round?
Thou, in the sternness of thy strength,
An equal deed hast done at length,

And darker fate hast found:
He fell, the forest prowlers' prey;
But thou must eat thy heart away!

The Roman, when his burning heart
Was slaked with blood of Rome,
Threw down the dagger-dared depart,
In savage grandeur, home-
He dared depart in utter scorn
Of men that such a yoke had borne,
Yet left him such a doom!
His only glory was that hour
Of self-upheld abandon'd power.

The Spaniard,1 when the lust of sway
Had lost its quickening spell,
Cast crowns for rosaries away,
An empire for a cell;

A strict accountant of his beads,
A subtle disputant on creeds,
His dotage trifled well:

Yet better had he neither known
A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne.

But thou-from thy reluctant hand
The thunderbolt is wrung-

Too late thou leav'st the high command
To which thy weakness clung;
All Evil Spirit as thou art,

It is enough to grieve the heart

To see thine own unstrung;

To think that God's fair world hath been
The footstool of a thing so mean;

And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,
Who thus can hoard his own!
And Monarchs bow'd the trembling
limb,

And thank'd him for a throne!
Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear

In humblest guise have shown.
Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind!
Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,
Nor written thus in vain-
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,
Or deepen every stain:

If thou hadst died as honor dies,
Some new Napoleon might arise,

To shame the world again—
But who would soar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night?

Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust
Is vile as vulgar clay ;*
Thy scales, Mortality! are just

To all that pass away:

But yet methought the living great
Some higher sparks should animate,
To dazzle and dismay:

1 The Emperor Charles V.

Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
And gaze upon the sea;
That element may meet thy smile-
It ne'er was ruled by thee!
Or trace with thine all idle hand
In loitering mood upon the sand

That Earth is now as free!
That Corinth's pedagogue 1 hath now
Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow.

Thou Timour! in his captive's cage

What thoughts will there be thine,
While brooding in thy prison'd rage?
But one "The world was mine!"
Unless, like he of Babylon,
All sense is with thy sceptre gone,
Life will not long confine
That spirit pour'd so widely forth-
So long obey'd-so little worth!

Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
And share with him, the unforgiven,
His vulture and his rock!
Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst,
And that last act, though not thy worst,
The very Fiend's arch mock;
He in his fall preserved his pride
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died!

There was a day-there was an hour,
While earth was Gaul's-Gaul thine-
When that immeasurable power
Unsated to resign

Had been an act of purer fame
Than gathers round Marengo's name,
And gilded thy decline,
Through the long twilight of all time,
Despite some passing clouds of crime.

1 Dionysius the younger. tyrant of Syracuse, who after his second banishment earned his living by teaching, in Corinth.

But thou forsooth must be a king, And don the purple vest, As if that foolish robe could wring Remembrance from thy breast. Where is that faded garment? where The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear The star, the string, the crest? Vain froward child of empire! say, Are all thy playthings snatched away

Where may the wearied eye repose When gazing on the Great; Where neither guilty glory glows, Nor despicable state? Yes-one-the first-the last-the bestThe Cincinnatus of the West,

Whom envy dared not hate, Bequeath'd the name of Washington. To make man blush there, was but one April 9-10, 1814. April 16, 19

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

SHE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less

Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling
place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that
glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

June 12, 1814 1815

OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN
BEAUTY'S BLOOM

OH! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom. On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year And the wild cypress wave in tender

gloom :

And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,