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O'er which their hungry beaks delay,
Then levell’d with the wave-
lie Within a living grave? The bird that tears that prostrate form Hath only robb’d the meaner worm; The only heart, the only eye Had bled or wept to see him die, Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed,
And mourn'd above his turban-stone, That heart hath burst-that eye was
His jaod are plunging in the bay,
For her his eye but sought in vain ? That pause, that fatal gaze he took, Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd his
chain. Sad proof, in peril and in pain, How late will Lover's hope remain! His back was to the dashing spray : Behind, but close, his comrades lay, When, at the instant, hiss'd the ball* So may the foes of Giaför fall!” Whose voice is heard? wliose carbine
rang? Whose bullet through the night-air sang, Too nearly, deadly aim'd to err? 'Tis thine-Abdallali's Murderer! The father slowly rued thy hate, The son hath found a quicker fate: Fast from his breast the blood is bub
bling, The whiteness of the sea-foam troub
Few trophies of the fight are there : The shouts that shook the midnight-bay Are silent; but some signs of fray
That strand of strife may bear, And fragments of each shiver'd brand Steps stamp'd ; and dash d into the sand The print of many a struggling hand
May there be mark'l; nor far remote
A bioken torch, an oarless boat ; And tangled on the weeds that heap The beach where shelving to the deep
There lies a white capote ! "T is rent in twain--one dark-red stain The wave yet ripples o'er in vain;
But where is he who wore ? Ye! who would o'er his relics weep, Go, seek them where the surges sweep Their burthen round Sigæum's steep
And cast on Lemnos' shore : The sea-birds shriek above the prey,
By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail!
Can he not hear
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
Tell him thy tale !
That fearful moment when he left the
Thy heart grew chill: He was thy hope—thy joy—thy love
thine all, And that last thought on him thou
couldst not save
Sufficed to kill ; Burst forth in one wild cry-and all was
still. Peace to thy broken heart, and virgin
grave! Ah! happy ! but of life to lose the worst ! That grief-though deep-though fatal
was thy first! Thrice happy ne'er to feel nor fear the
force Of absence, shame, pride, hate, revenge,
remorse! And, oh! that pang where more than
The worm that will not sleep-and never Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly
night, That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes
the light, That winds around, and tears the quiver
ing heart! Ah! wherefore not consume it-and
depart ! Woe to thee, raslı 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
Thy Daughter's dead! Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely
beam, The Star hath set that shoue on Helle's
stream. What quench'd its ray ?-the blood that
thou diast shell ! Hark! to the hurried question of Despair : “ Where is my child ?”-an Echo an
swers—" Where?” Within the place of thousand tombs
That shine beneath, while dark above The sail but living cypress glooms And withers not, though branch and
Like early unrequited Love,
Evin in that deally grove-
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 inore rude than wintry sky May wring it from the stem-in vain
To-morrow sees it bloom again : whe stalk soine 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 bei
A bird unseen-but not remote :
His long entrancing mote!
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. Aud 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 place:l-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; Lashid 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 pil
low !" Where first it lay that mourning Power
Hath flourish'd ; tourisheth this hour, Alove and dewy, coldly pure and pale ; As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's
tale ! November, 1813. November 29, 1813.
And now thou art a nameless thing :
So abject-yet alive!
Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind
Who bow'd so low the knee?
Thou taught'st the rest to see.
save,Thine only gift hath been the grave,
To those that worshipp'll thee ;
Nor till thy fall could mortals guess Ambition's less than littleness !
Thanks for that lesson-It will teach
To after-warriors more,
And vainly preach'd before.
That led them to adore Those Pagod things of sabre sway With fronts of brass, and feet of clay.
The Roman, when his burning heart
Was slaked with blood of Rome, Threw down the dagger-dared depart,
In savage grandeur, home-
Yet left him such a doom !
Had lost its quickening spell,
An empire for a cell ;
His dotage trifled well:
The thunderbolt is wrung-
To which thy weakness clung;
To see thine own unstrung ;
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.
Nor written thus in vain
Or deepen every stain :
To shame the world again-
Is vile as vulgar clay ;
To all that pass away :
The triumph and the vanity,
The rapture of the strife-
To thee the breath of life ;
Wherewith renown was rifeAll quell'd !-Dark Spirit! what must be The madness of thy memory! The Desolator desolate !
The Victor overtlırown! The Arbiter of others' fate
A Suppliant for his own!
Or dread of cleath alone ?
Dream'd not of the rebound:
Alone-how look'd he round?
And darker fate hast found :
1 The Emperor Charles V
Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make
mirth Of these, the Conquerors of the earth. And she, proud Austria's mournful
flower, Thy still imperial bride ; How bears her breast the torturing
hour? Still clings she to thy side ? Must she too bend, must she too share Thy late repentance, long despair,
Thou throneless Homicide ? If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,”T is worth thy vanish'd diadem!
But thou forsooth must be a king,
And don the purple vest,
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, 1814.
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY
Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
And gaze upon the sea;
It ne'er was ruled by thee!
That Earth is now as free!
What thoughts will there be thine,
But one-" The world was mine!"
Life will not long confine
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
His vulture and his rock! Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst, And that last act, though not thy worst,
The very Fiend's archi 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
Uusated to resign
And gilded thy decline,
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in lier 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
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
June 12, 1814. 1815.
OHI 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, And feed deep thought with many a
1 Dionysius the younger, tyrant of Syracuse, who after his second banishment earued his living by teaching, in Corinth.
dream, And lingering pause and lightly
tread : Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb'd
the dead ! Away ! we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears dis
tress : Will this unteach us to complain ?
Or make one mourner weep the less ? And thou-who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
1814 or 1815. April 23, 1815. THE DESTRUCTION OF
SENNACHERIB THE Assyrian came down like the wolf
on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in pur
ple and gold : And the sheen of their spears was like
stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightıy on
And the tents were all silent, the ban
ners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet un
blown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in
their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of
Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote
by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !
February 17, 1815. 1815.
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST
WARRIORS and chiefs ! should the shaft
or the sword Pierce me in leading the host of the
Lord, Heed not the corse, though a king's, in
your path : Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
Like the leaves of the forest when Sum
mer is green, That host with their banners at sunset
were seen : Like the leares of the forest when Au
tumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd
Thou who art bearing my buckler and
bow, Should the soldiers of Saul look away
from the foe, Stretch me that moment in blood at thy
feet ! Mine be the doom which they dared not
to meet. Farewell to others, but never we part, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! Bright is the diadem, boundless the
sway: Or kingly the death, which awaits us today!
For the Angel of Death spread his wings
on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as
he pass'd ; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd
deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and
for ever grew still !
STANZAS FOR MUSIC
"O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater
And there lay the steed with his nostril
all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath
of his pride ; And the foam of his gasping lay white
on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beat
THERE's not a joy the world can give like
that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines
in feeling's dull decay ; 'T is not on youth's smooth cheek the
blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere
youth itself be past. Then the few whose spirits float above the
wreck of happiness
And there lay the rider distorted and
pale. With the dew on his brow, and the rust
on his mail :