1 Which now I gaze on, as on her, And art thou, dearest, changed so much, I care not; so my arms enfold They shrink upon my lonely breast; I saw him buried where he fell; He comes not, for he cannot break From earth; why then art thou awake? 1 ["Which now I view with trembling spark."- MS.] 2 The circumstance to which the above story relates was not very uncommon in Turkey. A few years ago the wife of Muchtar Pacha complained to his father of his son's supposed infidelity; he asked with whom, and she had the barbarity to give in a list of the twelve handsomest women in Yanina They were seized, fastened up in sacks, and drowned in the lake the same night! One of the guards who was present informed me, that not one of the victims uttered a cry, or showed a symptom of terror at so sudden a "wrench from all we know, from all we love." The fate of Phrosine, the fairest of this sacrifice, is the subject of many a Romaic and Arnaout ditty. The story in the text is one told of a young Venetian many years ago, and now nearly forgotten. I heard it by accident recited by one of the coffee-house story-tellers who abound in the Levant, and sing or recite their narratives. The additions and interpolations by the translator will be easily distinguished from the rest, by the want of Eastern imagery; and I regret that my memory has retained so few fragments of the original. For the contents of some of the notes I am indebted partly to D'Herbelot, and partly to that most Eastern, and, as Mr. Weber justly entitles it, "sublime tale," the "Caliph Vathek." I do not know from what source the author of that singular volume may have drawn his materials; some of his incidents are to be found in the "Biblio They told me wild waves roll'd above Or farther with thee bear my soul "Such is my name, and such my tale. Confessor to thy secret ear I breathe the sorrows I bewail, And thank thee for the generous tear This glazing cye could never shed. Then lay me with the humblest dead, And, save the cross above my head, Be neither name nor emblem spread, By prying stranger to be read, Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread. "2 He pass'd-nor of his name and race Hath left a token or a trace, Save what the father must not say Who shrived him on his dying day : This broken tale was all we knew 3 Of her he loved, or him he slew. 4 thèque Orientale;" but for correctness of costume, beauty of description, and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imitations; and bears such marks of originality, that those who have visited the East will find some difficulty in believing it to be more than a translation. As an Eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it; his "Happy Valley" will not bear a comparison with the "Hall of Eblis." 3" Nor whether most he mourn'd none knew, For her he loved, or him he slew."— MS.] [In this poem, which was published after the two first cantos of Childe Harold, Lord Byron began to show his powers. He had now received encouragement which set free his daring hands, and gave his strokes their natural force. Here, then, we first find passages of a tone peculiar to Lord Byron; but still this appearance was not uniform: he often returned to his trammels, and reminds us of the manner of some favourite predecessor: among these, I think we some. times catch the notes of Sir Walter Scott. But the internal tempest the deep passion, sometimes buried, and sometimes blazing from some incidental touch the intensity of agonising reflection, which will always distinguish Lord Byron from other writers - now began to display themselves. — SIR EGERTON BRYDGES.] Asow ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 3 ye the land of the cedar and vine, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl+ in her bloom; Tis the clime of the East; 'tis the land of the SunCan be smile on such deeds as his children have done? 5 [The Bride of Abydos" was published in the beginning of December, 1813. The mood of mind in which it was struck of is thus stated by Lord Byron, in a letter to Mr. Gifford : -You have been good enough to look at a thing of mine in MS-a Turkish story- and I should feel gratified if you would do it the same favour in its probationary state of printing. It was written, I cannot say for amusement, nor obliged by hunger and request of friends,' but in a state of mind, from circumstances which occasionally occur to us youth,' that rendered it necessary for me to apply my mind something, any thing, but reality; and under this not very trilliant inspiration it was composed. Send it either to the fames, or · A hundred hawkers' load, On wings of winds to fly or fall abroad.' It deserves no better than the first, as the work of a week, and scribbled 'stans pede in uno' (by the bye, the only foot I have to stand on); and I promise never to trouble you again under forty cantos, and a voyage between each."] Begirt with many a gallant slave, Deep thought was in his aged eye; His pensive cheek and pondering brow Did more than he was wont avow. III. "Let the chamber be clear'd.". The train disappear'd "Now call me the chief of the Haram guard.” With Giaffir is none but his only son, And the Nubian awaiting the sire's award. 2" Murray tells me that Croker asked him why the thing is called the Bride of Abydos? It is an awkward question, being unanswerable: she is not a bride; only about to be one. I don't wonder at his finding out the Bull; but the detection is too late to do any good. I was a great fool to have made it, and am ashamed of not being an Irishman.”— - Byron Diary, Dec. 6. 1813.] 3 [To the Bride of Abydos, Lord Byron made many additions during its progress through the press, amounting to about two hundred lines; and, as in the case of the Giaour, the passages so added will be seen to be some of the most splendid in the whole poem. These opening lines, which are among the new insertions, are supposed to have been suggested by a song of Goethe's "Kennst du das Land wo die citronen blühn."] 4" Gúl," the rose. "Souls made of fire, and children of the Sun, With whom revenge is virtue."-YOUNG's Revenge. Hence, lead my daughter from her tower; Her fate is fix'd this very hour: Yet not to her repeat my thought; "Pacha! to hear is to obey." No more must slave to despot say- First lowly rendering reverence meet; "Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide My sister, or her sable guide, Know for the fault, if fault there be, That let the old and weary sleep- The fairest scenes of land and deep, With none to listen and reply To thoughts with which my heart beat high Were irksome-for whate'er my mood, In sooth I love not solitude; I on Zuleika's slumber broke, And, as thou knowest that for me Soon turns the Haram's grating key, Before the guardian slaves awoke And made earth, main, and heaven our own! "From unbelieving mother bred, Nor strike one stroke for life and death Go-let thy less than woman's hand 1 Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia. "Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, noon, and twilight. No sound from Selim's lip was heard, Son of a slave ! - and who my sire?" Flash forth, then faintly disappear. And started; for within his eye "Come hither, boy-what, no reply? Whose image then was stamp'd upon her mind — But once beguiled — and ever more beguiling; Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision To Sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given, Then heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian, And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven; Soft, as the memory of buried love; Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above, Was she-the daughter of that rude old Chief, Who met the maid with tears — but not of grief. Who hath not proved how feebly words essay 1 To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray ? Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess The might― the majesty of Loveliness? 1 Such was Zuleika — such around her shone The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music 2 breathing from her face,3 The heart whose softness harmonized the whole, And oh ! that eye was in itself a Soul! Her graceful arms in meekness bending VII. "Zuleika! child of gentleness! How dear this very day must tell, When I forget my own distress, These twelve fine lines were added in the course of printing.] This expression has met with objections. I will not refer to "Him who hath not Music in his soul," but merely request the reader to recollect, for ten seconds, the features of the woman whom he believes to be the most beautiful; and, if he then does not comprehend fully what is feebly expressed in the above line, I shall be sorry for us both. For an elo. quent passage in the latest work of the first female writer of this, perhaps of any, age, on the analogy (and the immediate comparison excited by that analogy) between " painting and music," see vol. iii. cap. 10. DE L'ALLEMAGNE. And is not this connection still stronger with the original than the copy? with the colouring of Nature than of Art? After all, this is rather to be felt than described; still I think there are some who will understand it, at least they would have done had they beheld the countenance whose speaking harmony sug gested the idea; for this passage is not drawn from magination but memory, that mirror which Affliction dashes to the earth, and looking down upon the fragments, only beholds the reflection multiplied!-[" This morning, a very pretty billet from the Staël. She has been pleased to be pleased with my slight eulogy in the note annexed to the Bride.' This is to be accounted for in several ways: firstly, all women like all, or any praise; secondly, this was unexpected, because I have never courted her; and, thirdly, as Scrub says, those who have been all their lives regularly praised by regular critics, like a little variety, and are glad when any one goes out of his way to say a civil thing; and, fourthly, she a a very good-natured creature, which is the best_reason, after all, and, perhaps, the only one."-B. Diary, Dec. 7. 1813.] [Among the imputed plagiarisms so industriously hunted out in his writings, this line has been, with somewhat more plausibility than is frequent in such charges, included; the lyric poet Lovelace having, it seems, written "The melody and music of her face." Sir Thomas Browne, too, in his Eeligio Medici, says, "There is music even in beauty." The 3 In losing what I love so well, His years need scarce a thought employ : In silence bow'd the virgin's head; Whate'er it was the sire forgot; Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd his steed, 6 coincidence, no doubt, is worth observing, and the task of "tracking thus a favourite writer in the snow (as Dryden expresses it) of others," is sometimes not unamusing; but to those who found upon such resemblances a general charge of plagiarism, we may apply what Sir Walter Scott says: "It is a favourite theme of laborious dulness to trace such coincidences, because they appear to reduce genius of the higher order to the usual standard of humanity, and of course to bring the author nearer to a level with his critics." It is not only curious, but instructive, to trace the progress of this passage to its present state of finish. Having at first written"Mind on her lip and music in her face," he afterwards altered it to "The mind of music breathing in her face"— but this not satisfying him, the next step of correction brought the line to what it is at present. - MOORE.] 4 Carasman Oglou, or Kara Osman Oglou, is the principal landowner in Turkey; he governs Magnesia: those who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess land on condition of service, are called Timariots: they serve as Spahis, according to the extent of territory, and bring a certain number into the field, generally cavalry. 5 When a Pacha is sufficiently strong to resist, the single messenger, who is always the first bearer of the order for his death, is strangled instead, and sometimes five or six, one after the other, on the same errand, by command of the refractory patient; if, on the contrary, he is weak or loyal, he bows, kisses the Sultan's respectable signature, and is bow. strung with great complacency. In 1810, several of these presents were exhibited in the niche of the Seraglio gate; among others, the head of the Pacha of Bagdat, a brave young man, cut off by treachery, after a desperate resistance. Clapping of the hands calls the servants. The Turks hate a superfluous expenditure of voice, and they have no bells. 7" Chibouque," the Turkish pipe, of which the amber And mounting featly for the mead, IX. His head was leant upon his hand, His eye look'd o'er the dark blue water That swiftly glides and gently swells Between the winding Dardanelles ; But yet he saw nor sea nor strand, Nor even his Pacha's turban'd band Mix in the game of mimic slaughter, Careering cleave the folded felt 3 With sabre stroke right sharply dealt; Nor mark'd the javelin-darting crowd, Nor heard their Ollahs 4 wild and loudHe thought but of old Giaffir's daughter! X. No word from Selim's bosom broke; mouth-piece, and sometimes the ball which contains the leaf, is adorned with precious stones, if in possession of the wealthier orders. 1 "Maugrabee," Moorish mercenaries. 2 "Delis," bravos who form the forlorn hope of the cavalry, and always begin the action. 3 A twisted fold of felt is used for scimitar practice by the Turks, and few but Mussulman arms can cut through it at a single stroke: sometimes a tough turban is used for the same purpose. The jerreed is a game of blunt javelins, animated and graceful. "Ollahs," Alla il Allah, the "Leilies," as the Spanish poets call them, the sound is Ollah; a cry of which the Turks, for a silent people, are somewhat profuse, particularly during the jerreed, or in the chase, but mostly in battle. Their ani The next fond moment saw her seat XI. "What! not receive my foolish flower? Nay then I am indeed unblest : On me can thus thy forehead lower? And know'st thou not who loves thee best? Since words of mine, and songs must fail, I knew our sire at times was stern, When flies that shaft, and fly it must, mation in the field, and gravity in the chamber, with their pipes and comboloios, form an amusing contrast. 5" Atar-gul," ottar of roses. The Persian is the finest. The ceiling and wainscots, or rather walls, of the Mussulman apartments are generally painted, in great houses, with one eternal and highly coloured view of Constantinople, wherein the principal feature is a noble contempt of perspective; below, arms, scimitars, &c. are in general fancifully and not inelegantly disposed. 7 It has been much doubted whether the notes of this "Lover of the rose" are sad or merry; and Mr. Fox's remarks on the subject have provoked some learned controversy as to the opinions of the ancients on the subject. I dare not venture a conjecture on the point, though a little inclined to the "errare mallem," &c. if Mr. Fox was mistaken. 8 "Azrael," the angel of death. |