As 'midst her handmaids in the hall
She stood superior to them all,
Hath swept the marble where her feet
Gleam'd whiter than the mountain sleet,
Ere from the cloud that gave it birth
It fell, and caught one stain of earth.
The cygnet nobly walks the water;
So moved on earth Circassia's daughter,
The loveliest bird of Franguestan! (1)
As rears her crest the ruffled swan,

And spurns the wave with wings of pride, When pass the steps of stranger man

Along the banks that bound her tide; Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck :Thus arm'd with beauty would she check Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise Thus high and graceful was her gait; Her heart as tender to her mate; Her mate-stern Hassan, who was he? Alas! that name was not for thee!

Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en
With twenty vassals in his train,
Each arm'd, as best becomes a man,
With arquebuss and ataghan;
The chief before, as deck'd for war,
Bears in his belt the scimitar

Stain'd with the best of Arnaut blood.
When in the pass the rebels stood,
And few return'd to tell the tale
Of what befell in Parna's vale.

The pistols which his girdle bore
Were those that once a pasha wore,

Which still, though gemm'd and boss'd with gold,

Even robbers tremble to behold.

'Tis said he goes to woo a bride
More true than her who left his side;

The faithless slave that broke her bower
And, worse than faithless, for a Giaour!

The foremost Tartar 's in the gap, Conspicuous by his yellow cap; The rest in lengthening line the while Wind slowly through the long defile: Above, the mountain rears a peak Where vultures whet the thirsty beak, And theirs may be a feast to-night Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light; Beneath, a river's wintry stream Has shrunk before the summer beam, And left a channel bleak and bare, Save shrubs that spring to perish there: Each side the midway path there lay Small broken crags of granite grey, By time, or mountain lightning, riven From summits clad in mists of heaven; For where is he that hath beheld The peak of Liakura unveil'd?

They reach the grove of pine at last; "Bismillah! (2) now the peril's past; For yonder view the opening plain, And there we 'll prick our steeds amain :" The chiaus spake, and, as he said, A bullet whistled o'er his head; The foremost Tartar bites the ground!

Scarce had they time to check the rein, Swift from their steeds the riders bound; But three shall never mount again : Unseen the foes that gave the wound, The dying ask revenge in vain. With steel unsheath'd, and carbine bent, Some o'er their coursers' harness leant, Half shelter'd by the steed; Some fly behind the nearest rock, And there await the coming shock,

Nor tamely stand to bleed
Beneath the shaft of foes unseen,

Who dare not quit their craggy screen,
Stern Hassan only from his horse
Disdains to light, and keeps his course,
Till fiery flashes in the van
Proclaim too sure the robber-clan
Have well secured the only way
Could now avail the promised prey;
Then curl'd his very beard (3) with ire,
And glared his eye with fiercer fire:
"Though far and near the bullets hiss,
I've scaped a bloodier hour than this."

And now the foe their covert quit,
And call his vassals to submit;
But Hassan's frown and furious word
Are dreaded more than hostile sword,

(3) A phenomenon not uncommon with an angry Mussulma In 1809, the Capitan Pacha's whiskers at a diplomatic audien were no less lively with indignation than a tiger-cat's, to the ho ror of all the dragomans; the portentous mustachios twiste

Nor of his little band a man
Resign'd carbine or ataghan,

Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun! (1)
In fuller sight, more near and near,
The lately-ambush'd foes appear,
And, issuing from the grove, advance
Some who on battle-charger prance.
Who leads them on, with foreign brand
Far-flashing in his red right hand?
"T is he! 't is he! I know him now;
I know him by his pallid brow;
I know him by the evil eye (2)
That aids his envious treachery;
I know him by his jet-black barb :
Though now array'd in Arnaut garb,
Apostate from his own vile faith,

It shall not save him from the death:
'Tis he! well met in any hour,
Lost Leila's love, accursed Giaour!"

As rolls the river into ocean,
In sable torrent wildly streaming;

As the sea-tide's opposing motion, In azure column proudly gleaming, Beats back the current many a rood, In curling foam and mingling flood, While eddying whirl, and breaking wave, Roused by the blast of winter, rave; Through sparkling spray, in thundering clash, The lightnings of the waters flash In awful whiteness o'er the shore, That shines and shakes beneath the roar; Thus as the stream and ocean greet, With waves that madden as they meetThus join the bands, whom mutual wrong, And fate, and fury, drive along. The bickering sabres' shivering jar; And pealing wide or ringing near Its echoes on the throbbing ear, The death shot hissing from afar; The shock, the shout, the groan of war, Reverberate along that valeMore suited to the shepherd's tale. Though few the numbers-theirs the strife That neither spares nor speaks for life! Ah! fondly youthful hearts can press, To seize and share the dear caress : But Love itself could never pant For all that Beauty sighs to grant With half the fervour Hate bestows Upon the last embrace of foes,

they stood erect of their own accord, and were expected every moment to change their colour, but at last condescended to sub| side, which, probably, saved more heads than they contained hairs.

(1) Amaun," quarter, pardon.

When grappling in the fight they fold
Those arms that ne'er shall loose their hold:
Friends meet to part; Love laughs at faith;
True foes once met, are join'd till death!

With sabre shiver'd to the hilt, Yet dripping with the blood he spilt; Yet strain'd within the sever'd hand Which quivers round that faithless brand; His turban far behind him roll'd, And cleft in twain its firmest fold, His flowing robe by falchion torn, And crimson as those clouds of morn That, streak'd with dusky red, portend The day shall have a stormy end;

A stain on every bush that bore

A fragment of his palampore, (3)

His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven,
His back to earth, his face to heaven,
Fall'n Hassan lies-his unclosed eye
Yet lowering on his enemy,

As if the hour that seal'd his fate
Surviving left his quenchless hate;
And o'er him bends that foe with brow
As dark as his that bled below.—

"Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave,
But his shall be a redder grave;
Her spirit pointed well the steel
Which taught that felon heart to feel.
He call'd the Prophet, but his power
Was vain against the vengeful Giaour ;
He call'd on Alla-but the word
Arose unheeded or unheard.
Thou Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer
Be pass'd, and thine accorded there ?

I watch'd my time, I leagued with these,
The traitor in his turn to seize;
My wrath is wreak'd, the deed is done,
And now I go-but go alone.”

The browsing camels' bells are tinkling: (4) His mother look'd from her lattice high, She saw the dews of eve besprinkling The pasture green beneath her eye,

She saw the planets faintly twinkling: "T is twilight-sure his train is nigh." She could not rest in the garden-bower,

But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower:

(3) The flowered shawls generally worn by persons of rank (4) This beautiful passage first appeared in the third edition. "If you send more proofs," writes Lord Byron to Mr. Murray (August 10th, 1813), "I shall never finish this infernal story. Ecce signum-thirty-three more lines inclosed! to the utter discomfiture of the printer, and, I fear, not to your advantage."

"Why comes he not ? his steeds are fleet,
Nor shrink they from the summer heat;
Why sends not the bridegroom his promised gift?
Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift?

Oh! false reproach! yon Tartar now
Has gain'd our nearest mountain's brow,
And warily the steep descends,

And now within the valley bends;
And he bears the gift at his saddle-bow-
How could I deem his courser slow?
Right well my largess shall repay
His welcome speed, and weary way."
The Tartar lighted at the gate,

But scarce upheld his fainting weight:
His swarthy visage spake distress,
But this might be from weariness;
His garb with sanguine spots was dyed,
But these might be from his courser's side;
He drew the token from his vest-
Angel of Death! 't is Hassan's cloven crest!
His calpac (1) rent-his caftan red-

(1) The "calpac" is the solid cap or centre part of the headdress; the shawl is wound round it, and forms the turban.

(2) The turban, pillar, and inscriptive verse, decorate the tombs of the Osmanlies, whether in the cemetery or the wilder. ness. In the mountains you frequently pass similar mementos: and on inquiry you are informed that they record some victim of rebellion, plunder, or revenge.

(3) "Alla Hu!" the concluding words of the muezzin's call to prayer from the highest gallery on the exterior of the minaret. On a still evening, when the muezzin has a fine voice, which is frequently the case, the effect is solemn and beautiful beyond all the bel's in Christendom.-[Valid, the son of Abdalmalek, was the first who erected a minaret or turret; and this be placed on the grand mosque at Damascus, for the muezzin, or crier, to announce from it the hour of prayer. This practice has constantly been kept up to this day. See D'Herbelot.-E.]

(4) The following is part of a battle-song of the Turks:-"1 see I see a dark-eyed girl of Paradise, and she waves a handkerchief, a kerchief of green; and cries aloud, Come, kiss me, for I love thee,"" etc.

(5) Monkir and Nekir are the inquisitors of the dead, before whom the corpse undergoes a slight noviciate and preparatory training for damnation. If the answers are none of the clearest,

But thou, false Infidel! shalt writhe Beneath avenging Monkir's (5) scythe; And from its torment 'scape alone To wander round lost Eblis' (6) throne; And fire unquench'd, unquenchable, Around, within, thy heart shall dwell; Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell The tortures of that inward hell! But first, on earth as vampire (7) sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent: Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life ; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse : Thy victims, ere they yet expire, Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are wither'd on the stem. But one that for thy crime must fall, The youngest, most beloved of all, Shall bless thee with a father's name-That word shall wrap thy heart in flame! Yet must thou end thy task, and mark Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,

he is hauled up with a scythe and thumped down with a red-hot mace till properly seasoned, with a variety of subsidiary probations. The office of these angels is no sinecure; there are but two, and the number of orthodox deceased being in a small proportion to the remainder, their hands are always full. See Relig. Ceremon. and Sale's Koran.

(6) Eblis, the Oriental Prince of Darkness.-[D'Herbelot sup poses this title to have been a corruption of the Greek Atoλ05. It was the appellation conferred by the Arabians upon the prince of the apostate angels. According to Arabian mythology, Eblis had suffered a degradation from his primeval rank for having refused to worship Adam, in conformity to the Supreme com mand; alleging, in justification of his refusal, that himself had been formed of etherial fire, whilst Adam was only a creature of clay. See Koran.-E.]

(7) The vampire superstition is still general in the Levant. Honest Tournefort tells a long story, which Mr. Southey, in the notes on Thalaba, quotes, about these "Vroucolochas," as he calls them. The Romaic term is "Vardoulacha." I recollect a whole family being terrified by the scream of a child, which they imagined must proceed from such a visitation. The Greek never mention the word without horror. I find that "Brouco lokas" is an old legitimate Hellenic appellation-at least is s

"How name ye yon lone Caloyer?

His features I have scann'd before In mine own land: 't is many a year, Since, dashing by the lonely shore, I saw him urge as fleet a steed As ever served a horseman's need. But once I saw that face, yet then It was so mark'd with inward pain, I could not pass it by again; It breathes the same dark spirit now, As death were stamp'd upon his brow."

"Tis twice three years at summer tide Since first among our freres he came; And here it soothes him to abide

For some dark deed he will not name.

But never at our vesper prayer,
Nor e'er before confession-chair
Kneels he, nor recks he when arise
Incense or anthem to the skies,
But broods within his cell alone,
His faith and race alike unknown.
The sea from Paynim land he crost,
And here ascended from the coast;
Yet seems he not of Othman race,
But only Christian in his face:
I'd judge him some stray renegade,
Repentant of the change he made,
Save that he shuns our holy shrine,
Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine.
Great largess to these walls he brought,
And thus our abbot's favour bought;

applied to Arsenius, who, according to the Greeks, was after his death animated by the devil. The moderns, however, use the word I mention.

(1) The freshness of the face, and the wetness of the lip with blood, are the never-failing signs of a vampire. The stories told in Hungary and Greece of these foul feeders are singular, and some of them most incredibly attested.

(2) "With the death of Hassan, or with his interment on the place where he fell, or with some moral reflections on his fate, we may presume that the original narrator concluded the tale of which Lord Byron has professed to give us a fragment. But every reader, we are sure, will agree with us in thinking, that the interest excited by the catastrophe is greatly heightened in

But were I prior, not a day

Should brook such stranger's further stay,
Or, pent within our penance cell,
Should doom him there for aye to dwell.
Much in his visions mutters he

Of maiden whelm'd beneath the sea;
Of sabres clashing, foemen flying,
Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying.
On cliff he hath been known to stand,
And rave as to some bloody hand
Fresh sever'd from its parent limb,
Invisible to all but him,

Which beckons onward to his grave,
And lures to leap into the wave."

*

Dark and unearthly is the scowl (3)
That glares beneath his dusky cowl:
The flash of that dilating eye
Reveals too much of times gone by;
Though varying, indistinct its hue,
Oft will his glance the gazer rue,
For in it lurks that nameless spell,
Which speaks, itself unspeakable,
A spirit yet unquell'd and high,
That claims and keeps ascendency;
And like the bird whose pinions quake,
But cannot fly the gazing snake,
Will others quail beneath his look,

Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can brook.
From him the half-affrighted friar
When met alone would fain retire,
As if that eye and bitter smile
Transferr'd to others fear and guile:
Not oft to smile descendeth he,
And when he doth 't is sad to see
That he but mocks at Misery.
How that pale lip will curl and quiver!
Then fix once more as if for ever;
As if his sorrow or disdain
Forbade him e'er to smile again.
Well were it so-such ghastly mirth
From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth.
But sadder still it were to trace
What once were feelings in that face:
Time hath not yet the features fix'd,

the modern poem; and that the imprecations of the Turk, against the accursed Giaour,' are introduced with great judgment, and contribute much to the dramatic effect of the narrative. The remainder of the poem, we think, would have been more properly printed as a second canto; because a total change of scene, and a chasm of no less than six years in the series of events, can scarcely fail to occasion some little confusion in the mind of the reader." George Ellis.

(3) The remaining lines, about five hundred in number, were, with the exception of the last sixteen, all added to the poem, either during its first progress through the press, or in subsequent editions.-E.