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The arınaments which thunderstrike the And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
of youthful sports was on thy breast to be of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy And monarchs tremble in their capitals, I wanton'd with thy breakers—they to me The oak-leviathans, whose huge ribs make Were a delight, and if the freshening sea Their clay-creator the vain title take Made them a terror—'twas a pleasing fear, Of lord of thee, und
iter of war:
For I was as it were a child of thee, These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, And trusted to thy billows far and near, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar And laid my hand upon thy mane—as I do Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Tra
My task is done—my song hath ceased Thy shores are empires, changed in all
Has died into an echo; it is fit Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what The pell should break of this protracted are they?
dream. Thy waters wasted them while they were The torch shall be extinguish'd which free,
hath lit And many a tyrant since; their shores obey My midnight lamp-and what is writ, is The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
writ.Has dried up realms to deserts:--not so thou, Would it were worthier! but I am not now Unchangeable save to thy wildwaves' play- That which I have been- and my visions flit Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, Less palpably before me--and the glow Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rol. Which in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, lest now.
faint, and low.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's Farewell! a word that must be, and hath form
been Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, A sound which makes us linger ;-yetCalm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or
Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving ; boundless, endless, and which is his last, if in your memories dwell
sublime- A thought which once was his, if on ye swell The image of eternity—the throne A single recollection, not in vain of the Invisible; even from out thy slime He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain, Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fa- If such there were—with you, the moral of thomless, alone.
his strain !
THE GIA 0 U R,
A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALE.
"One fatal remembrance--one sorrow that throws
SLIGHT BUT MOST SINCERE TOKEN OF
OBLIGED AND AFFECTIONATE SERVANT,
enterprisc. The story, when entire, conSAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
tained the adventures of a female slave, who
was thrown, in the Mussulman manner, ADMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS, RESPECT FOR H18 into the sea for infidelity, and avenged by CHARACTER, AND GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIEND
a young Venetian, her lover, at the time SUIP; THIS PRODUCTION 18 INSCRIBED BY HIS the Seven Islands were possessed by the Re
public of Venice, and soon after the Arnauts BYRON.
were beaten back from the Morea, which
they had ravaged for some time subsequent ADVERTISEMENT.
to the Russian invasion. The desertion of Trx Tale which these disjointed fragments the Mainotes, on being refused the plunder present, is founded upon circumstances now of Misitra, led to the abandonment of that less common in the East than formerly; enterprise and to the desolation of the Morea, either because the ladies are more circum- during which the cruelty exercised on all spect than in the "olden time;" or because sides was unparalleled even in the annals the Christians have better fortune, or less of the faithful.
No breath of air to break the wave By every breeze and season blest,
And many a shade that love might share,
That holds the pirate for a guest;
Then stealing with the muffled oar, There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek Far shaded by the rocky shore, Reflects the tints of many a peak Rush the night-prowlers on the prey, Caught by the laughing iides that lave And turn to groans his roundelay. These Edens of the eastern wave; Strange-that where Nature loved to trace, And if at times a transient breeze As if for Gods, a dwelling-place, Break the blue crystal of the seas, And every charm and grace hath mix'd Or sweep one blossom from the trees, Within the paradise she fix'd, How welcome is each gentle air
There man, enamour'd of distress, That wakes and wafts the odours there! Should inar it into wilderness, For there-the Rose o'er crag or vale, And trample, brute-like, n'er each flower Sultana of the Nightingale,
That tasks not one laborious hour, The maid for whom his melody,
Nor claims the culture of his hand His thousand songs are heard on high, To bloom along the fairy-land, Blooms blushing to her lover's tale: But springs as to preclude his care, His
queen, the garden-queen, his Rose, And sweetly woos him—but to spare ! Unbent by winds, unchill'd by snows, Strange—that where all is peace beside Far from the winters of the west,
There passion riots in her pride,
And lust and rapine wildly reign That Tyranny shall quake to hear,
And leave his sons a hope, a fame,
For Freedom's battle once begun, And, fix'd on heavenly thrones, should dwell Bequeath'd by bleeding Sire to Son, The freed inheritors of hell;
Though baffled oft is ever won. So soft the scene, so form'd for joy, Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, So curst the tyrants that destroy! Attest it many a deathless age!
While kings, in dusty darkness hid, He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Have left a nameless pyramid, Ere the first day of death is filed,
Thy heroes, though the general doom The first dark day of nothingness,
Haih swept the column from their tomb, The last of danger and distress,
A mightier monument command,
The mountains of their native land! (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) The graves of those that cannot
There points thy Muse to stranger's eye And mark'd the mild angelic air, The rapture of repose that's there,
'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, The fix’d, yet tender traits that streak
Each step from splendour to disgrace; The languor of the placid cheek,
Enough-no foreign foe could quell And-but for that sad shrouded eye,
Thy soul, till from itself it fell;
Yes! Self-abasement paved the way
To villain-bonds and despot-sway.
No legend of thine olden time,
The fiery souls that might have led
Now crawl from cradle to the grave, Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! Slaves—nay, the bondsmen of a slave, So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
And callous, save to crime;
Mankind, where least above the brutes;
Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft ; A gilded halo hovering round decay, In this the subtle Greek is found, The farewell beam of Feeling past away! For this, and this alone, renown'd. Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly In vain might Liberty invoke
The spirit to its bondage broke, Which gleams, but warms no more its Or raise the neck that courts the yoke :
cherish'd earth! No more her sorrows I bewail,
Yet this will be a mournful tale,
And they who listen may believe, Clime of the unforgotten brave!
Who heard it first had cause to grieve. Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty! can it be, That this is all remains of thee?
Far, dark, along the blue sea glancing,
Start on the fisher's eye like boat
And fearful for his light caique, Pronounce what sea, what shore is this? He shuns the near but doubtful creek : The gulf, the rock of Salamis !
Though worn and weary with his toil, These scenes, their story not unknown, And cumberd with his scaly spoil, Arise, and make again your own; Slowly, yet strongly, plies the oar, Snatch from the ashes of your sires Till Port Leone's safer shore The embers of their former fires;
Receives him by the lovely light And he who in the strife expires
That best becomes an Eastern night. Will add to theirs a name of fear
Who thundering comes on blackest steed, | As doubting to return or fly: With slacken'd bit and hoof of speed ? Impatient of his flight delay'd, Beneath the clattering iron's sound Here loud his raven charger neighdThe cavernd echoes wake around Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd his In lash for lash, and bound for bound;
blade; The foam that streaks the courser's side That sound had burst his waking dream, Seems gather'd from the ocean-tide : As Slumber starts at owlet's scream Though weary waves are sunk to rest, The spur hath lanced his courser's sides; There's none within his rider's breast; Away, away, for life he rides : And though to-morrow's tempest lower, Swift as the hurld on high jerreed Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour! Springs to the touch his startled steed; I know thee not, I loathe thy race,
The rock is doubled, and the shore But in thy lineaments I trace
Shakes with the clattering tramp no more ; What time shall strengthen, not efface : The crag is won, no more is seen Though young and pale, that sallow front His Christian crest and haughty mien. Is scathed by fiery passion's brunt; 'Twas but an instant he restrain d Though bent on earth thine evil eye, That fiery barb so sternly rein'd; As meteor-like thou glidest by,
'Twas but a moment that he stood, Right well I view and deem thee one Then sped as if by death pursued; Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun. But in that instant o'er his soul
Winters of Memory seem'd to roll, On-on he hasten'd, and he drew And gather in that drop of time My gaze of wonder as he flew :
A life of pain, an age of crime. Though like a demon of the night O’er him who loves, or hates, or fears, He pass'd and vanish'd from my sight,
Such moment pours the grief of years: His aspect and his air impress'd
What felt he then, at once opprest A troubled memory on my breast, By all that most distracts the breast? And long upon my startled ear
That pause, which ponder'd o'er his fate, Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear. Oh, who its dreary length shall date! He spurs his steed; he nears the steep, Though in Time's record nearly nought, That, jutting, shadows o'er the deep; It was Eternity to Thought! He winds around; he hurries by;
For infinite as boundless space The rock relieves him from mine eye; The thought that Conscience must embrace, For well I ween unwelcome he
Which in itself can comprehend Whose glance is fix'd on those that flee, Woe without name, or hope, or end. And not a star but shines too bright On him who takes such timeless flight. The hour is past, the Giaour is gone; He wound along; but ere he pass'd
And did he fly or fall alone? One glance he snatch'd, as if his last,
Woe to that hour he came or went!
The curse for Hassan's sin was sent
He came, he went, like the Simoom, Why looks he o'er the olive-wood ?
.That harbinger of fate and gloom, The crescent glimmers on the hill,
Beneath whose widely-wasting breath The Mosque's high lamps are quivering The very cypress droops to death
Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is Though too remote for sound to wake
fled, la echoes of the far tophaike,
The only constant mourner o'er the dead! The flashes of each joyous peal Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal. To-night, set Rhamazani's sun ;
The steed is vanish'd from the stall; To-night, the Bairam-feast's began; No serf is seen in Hassan's hall; To-night-but who and what art thou The lonely Spider's thin grey pall Of foreign garb and fearful brow? Waves slowly widening o'er the wall; And what are these to thine or thee, The Bat builds in his Haram-bower; That thou should'st either pause or flee? And in the fortress of his power He stood-some dread was on his face, The Owl usurps the beacon-tower; Soon Hatred settled in its place:
The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's briin, It rose not with the reddening flush With baffled thirst, and famine, grim of transient Anger's darkening blush, For the stream has shrunk from its marble But pale as marble o'er the tomb,
bed, Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. Where the weeds and the desolate dust His brow was bent, his eye was glazed ;
are spread. He raised his arm, and fiercely raised, 'Twas sweet of yore to see it play And sternly shook his hand on high, And chase the sultriness of day,
As springing high the silver-dew The burthen yo so gently bear,
Seems one that claims your utmost care,
“Thou speakest sooth, thy skiff unmoor, To view the waves of watery light, And wast us froin the silent shore; And hear its melody by night.
Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply And oft had Hassan's Childhood play'd
The nearest oar that's scatter'd by, Around the verge of that cascade;
And midway to those rocks where sleep And oft upon his mother's breast
The channel'd waters dark and deep. That sound had harmonized his rest;
Rest from your task --S0—bravely done, And oft had Hassan's Youth along
Our course has been right swiftly ran; Its bank been soothed by Beauty's song ; Yet 'tis the longest voyage, I trow, And softer seem'd each melting tone That one of Of Music mingled with its own. But ne'er shall Hassan's Age reposo Along the brink at Twilight's close: The stream that fillid that font is fled
Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank, The blood that warm'd his heart is shed! The calm wave rippled to the bank; And here no more shall human voice
I watch'd it as it sank, methought Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice.
Some motion from the current caught The last sad note that swell’d the gale
Bestirred it more,-'twas but the beam Was woman's wildest funeral wail: That chequered o'er the living stream : That quenched in silence, all is still,
I gazed, till vanishing from view, But the lattice that flaps when the wind Like lessening pebble it withdrew;
Still less and less, a speck of white Though raves the gust, and floods the rain, That gemm’d the tide, then mock'd the No hand shall close its clasp again.
sight; On desert sands 'twere joy to scan
And all its hidden secrets sleep, The rudest steps of fellow-man:
known but to Genii of the deep, So here the very voice of Grief
Which, trembling in their coral caves, Might wake an Echo like relief- They dare not whisper to the waves. At least 'twould say, "all are not gone ; There lingers Life, though but in oneFor many a gilded chamber's there,
As rising on its purple wing Which Solitude might well forbear ; The insect-queen of eastern spring, Within that dome as yet Decay
O’er emerald-mendows of Kashineer Hath slowly work'd her cankering way-Invites the young pursuer near, But gloom is gather'd o'er the gate, And leads him on from flower to flower Nor there the Fakir's self will wait, A weary chase and wasted hour, Nor there will wandering Dervise stay, Then leaves him, as it soars on high, For Bounty cheers not his delay; With panting heart and tearful eye: Nor there will weary stranger halt So Beauty lures the full-grown child, To bless the sacred “bread and salt." With hue as bright, and wing as wild ; Alike must Wealth and Poverty
A chase of idle hopes and fears, Pass heedless and unheeded by,
Begun in folly, closed in tears.
If won, to equal ills betray'd,
A life of pain, the loss of peace,
From infant's play, and man's caprice: The guest flies the hall, and the vassal The lovely toy so fiercely sought
from labour, Hath lost its charm by being caught. Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's For every touch that wooed its stay
Hath brush'd its brightest hues away,
'T'is left to fly or fall alone.
From rose to tulip as before ? The foremost of the band is seen,
Or Beauty, blighted in an hour, An Emir by his garb of green :
Find joy within her broken bower? Ho! who art thou ?--this low salam No: gayer insects futtering by Replies of Moslem faith I am.
Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that dic,