Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell, Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.

II.

Begirt with many a gallant slave,'
Apparell'd as becomes the brave,
Awaiting each his lord's behest,
To guide his steps, or guard his rest,
Old Giaffir sate in his divan:

Deep thought was in his aged eye; And though the face of Mussulman

Not oft betrays to standers by The mind within, well skill'd to hide All but unconquerable pride,

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.
'Haroun when all the crowd that wait
Are pass'd beyond the outer gate,
(Woe to the head whose eye beheld
My child Zuleika's face unveil'd!)
Hence, lead my daughter from her tower;
Her fate is fix'd this very hour:
Yet not to her repeat my thought;
By me alone be duty taught!'

'Pacha! to hear is to obey.'
No more must slave to despot say-
Then to the tower had ta'en his way.
But here young Selim silence brake,

First lowly rendering reverence meet;
And downcast look'd, and gently spake,
Still standing at the Pacha's feet:
For son of Moslem must expire,
Ere dare to sit before his sire!
'Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide
My sister, or her sable guide,
Know-for the fault, if fault there be,
Was mine, then fall thy frowns on me-
So lovelily the morning shone,

That-let the old and weary sleep-
I could not; and to view alone

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,
We to the cypress groves had flown,
And made earth, main, and heaven our own!
There linger'd we, beguiled too long

With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song;

Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia.

Till I, who heard the deep tambour
Beat thy Divan's approaching hour, :
To thee, and to my duty true,
Warn'd by the sound, to greet thee flew :
But there Zuleika wanders yet-
Nay, Father, rage not-nor forget
That none can pierce that sacred bower
But those who watch the women's tower.'

IV.

'Son of a slave !'-the Pacha said—
'From unbelieving mother bred,
Vain were a father's hope to see
Aught that beseems a man in thee.
Thou, when thine arm should bend the bow,
And hurl the dart, and curb the steed,
Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed,
Must pore where babbling waters flow,
And watch unfolding roses blow.
Would that yon orb, whose matin glow
Thy listless eyes so much admire,
Would lend thee something of his fire!
Thou, who wouldst see this battlement
By Christian cannon piecemeal rent;
Nay, tamely view old Stamboul's wall
Before the dogs of Moscow fall,
Nor strike one stroke for life and death
Against the curs of Nazareth!
Go-let thy less than woman's hand
Assume the distaff-not the brand.
But Haroun ! to my daughter speed!
And hark-of thine own head take heed-
If thus Zuleika oft takes wing-
Thou seest yon bow-it hath a string!'

V.

No sound from Selim's lips was heard,
At least that met old Giaffir's ear;
But every frown and every word
Pierced keener than a Christian's sword.
'Son of a slave !'-reproach'd with fear!
Those gibes had cost another dear.
'Son of a slave !-and who my sire?'
Thus held his thoughts their dark career;
And glances ev'n of more than ire

Flash forth, then faintly disappear
Old Giaffir gazed upon his son,

And started; for within his eye
He read how much his wrath had done;
He saw rebellion there begun :

'Come hither, boy-what! no reply?
I mark thee-and I know thee too;
But there be deeds thou dar'st not do:
But if thy beard had manlier length,
And if thy hand had skill and strength,
I'd joy to see thee break a lance,
Albeit against my own perchance.'

As sneeringly these accents fell,
On Selim's eye he fiercely gazed;

That eye return'd him glance for glance, And proudly to his sire's was raised,

'Tambour,' Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, noon and twilight.

That stifled feeling dare not shed,
And changed her cheek from pale to red
And red to pale, as through her ears
Those winged words like arrows sped,
What could such be but maiden fears?
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,
Love half regrets to kiss it dry;
So sweet the blush of Bashfulness,
Even Pity scarce can wish it less!

Whate'er it was the sire forgot;
Or if remember'd, mark'd it not;
Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd his
steed,

Resign'd his gem-adorn'd chibouque,†
And mounting featly for the mead,
With Maugrabee‡ and Mamaluke,
His way amid his Delis took,§

To witness many an active deed
With sabre keen, or blunt jerreed.
The Kislar only and his Moors
Watch well the Haram's massy doors.

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 || With sabre stroke right sharply dealt; Nor mark'd the javelin-darting crowd, Nor heard their Ollahs ¶ wild and loudHe thought but of old Giaffir's daughter!

X.

No word from Selim's bosom broke;
One sigh Zuleika's thought bespoke :
Still gazed he through the lattice grate,
Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate.
To him Zuleika's eye was turn'd,
But little from his aspect learn'd;
Equal her grief, yet not the same:
Her heart confess'd a gentler flame :
But yet that heart, alarm'd, or weak,
She knew not why, forbade to speak.

Clapping of the hands calls the servants. The Turks hate a superfluous expenditure of voice, and they have no bells.

+ Chibouque,' the Turkish pipe, of which the amber mouthpiece, and sometimes the ball which contains the leaf, is adorned with precious stones, if in possession of the wealthier orders.

Mangrabee,' Moorish mercenaries.

Delis, bravoes who form the forlorn hope of the cavalry, and always begin the action.

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

Olah Alla il Allah, the 'Leilies,' as the Spanish poets call them; the second 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 animation in the field, and gravity in the chamber, with their pipes and comboloios, form an amusing contrast.

Yet speak she must-but when essay?
'How strange he thus should turn away!
Not thus we e'er before have met ;
Not thus shall be our parting yet.'
Thrice paced she slowly through the room,
And watch'd his eye-it still was fix'd :
She snatch'd the urn wherein was mix'd
The Persian Atar-gúl's perfume, *
And sprinkled all its odours o'er
The pictured roof and marble floor: +
The drops, that through his glittering vest
The playful girl's appeal address'd,
Unheeded o'er his bosom flew,

As if that breast were marble too.
'What, sullen yet? it must not be--
Oh! gentle Selim, this from thee!'
She saw in curious order set

The fairest flowers of Eastern land'He loved them once; may touch them yet,

If offer'd by Zuleika's hand.'

The childish thought was hardly breathed
Before the rose was pluck'd and wreathed;
The next fond moment saw her seat
Her fairy form at Selim's feet:
'This rose to calm my brother's cares
A message from the Bulbul bears; +
It says to-night he will prolong
For Selim's ear his sweetest song;
And though his note is somewhat sad,
He'll try for once a strain more glad,
With some faint hope his alter'd lay
May sing these gloomy thoughts away.

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?
Oh, Selim dear! oh more than dearest !
Say, is it me thou hat'st or fearest ?
Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest,
Since words of mine and songs must fail
Ev'n from my fabled nightingale.

I knew our sire at times was stern,
But this from thee had yet to learn:
Too well I know he loves thee not;
But is Zuleika's love forgot?

Ah, deem I right? the Pacha's plan-
This kinsman Bey of Carisman
Perhaps may prove some foe of thine:
If so, I swear by Mecca's shrine-
If shrines that ne'er approach allow
To woman's step admit her vow-

'Atar-gül,' ottar of roses. The Persian is the finest. The ceiling and wainscots, or rather walls, of the Mussul man 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.

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,

Without thy free consent, command,
The Sultan should not have my hand!
Think'st thou that I could bear to part
With thee, and learn to halve my heart?
Ah! were I sever'd from thy side,
Where were thy friend-and who my guide?]
Years have not seen, Time shall not see,
The hour that tears my soul from thee:
Even Azrael, from his deadly quiver

When flies that shaft, and fly it must,
That parts all else, shall doom for ever.
Our hearts to undivided dust!'

XII.

He lived--he breathed-he moved-he felt ;| He raised the maid from where she knelt : His trance was gone-his keen eye shone With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt ;| With thoughts that burn-in rays that melt. As the stream late conceal'd

By the fringe of its willows, When it rushes reveal'd

In the light of its billows; As the bolt bursts on high

From the black cloud that bound it, Flash'd the soul of that eye

Through the long lashes round it.
A war-horse at the trumpet's sound,
A lion roused by heedless hound,
A tyrant waked to sudden strife
By graze of ill-directed knife,
Starts not to more convulsive life
Than he, who heard that vow, display'd,
And all, before repress'd, betray'd:
'Now thou art mine, for ever mine,
With life to keep, and scarce with life resign;
Now thou art mine, that sacred oath,
Though sworn by one, hath bound us both.
Yes, fondly, wisely hast thou done,
That vow hath saved more heads than one:
But blench not thou-thy simplest tress
Claims more from me than tenderness;
I would not wrong the slenderest hair
That clusters round thy forehead fair,
For all the treasures buried far
Within the caves of Istakar. †
This morning clouds upon me lower'd,
Reproaches on my head were shower'd,
And Giaffir almost call'd me coward!
Now I have motive to be brave;
The son of his neglected slave---
Nay, start not, 'twas the term he gave―
May show, though little apt to vaunt,
A heart his words nor deeds can daunt.
His son, indeed !-yet thanks to thee,
Perchance I am, at least shall be;
But let our plighted secret vow
Be only known to us as now.

I know the wretch who dares demand
From Giaffir thy reluctant hand;

Azrael,' the angel of death.

More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul,
Holds not a Musselim's control:
Was he not bred in Egripo? +
A viler race let Israel show!
But let that pass-to none be told
Our oath; the rest shall time unfold.
To me and mine leave Osman Bey;
I've partisans for peril's day:
Think not I am what I appear;

I've arms, and friends, and vengeance ne.ir.

XIII.

"Think not thou art what thou appearest?
My Selim, thou art sadly changed:
This morn I saw thee gentlest, dearest ;
But now thou'rt from thyself estranged.
My love thou surely knew'st before,
It ne'er was less, nor can be more.
To see thee, hear thee, near thee stay,
And hate the night, I know not why,
Save that we meet not but by day;
With thee to live, with thee to die,
I dare not to my hope deny :
Thy cheek, thine eyes, thy lips to kiss,
Like this-and this-no more than this;
For, Allah! sure thy lips are flame;

What fever in thy veins is flushing?
My own have nearly caught the same,

At least I feel my cheek too blushing. To soothe thy sickness, watch thy health, Partake, but never waste thy wealth, Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by, And lighten half thy poverty; Do all but close thy dying eye, For that I could not live to try; To these alone my thoughts aspire : More can I do? or thou require? But, Selim, thou must answer why We need so much of mystery? The cause I cannot dream nor tell, But be it, since thou say'st 'tis well; Yet what thou mean'st by "arms" and "friends,"

Beyond my weaker sense extends.

I meant that Giaffir should have heard
The very vow I plighted thee;
His wrath would not revoke my word:
But surely he would leave me free.
Can this fond wish seem strange in me,
To be what I have ever been?
What other hath Zuleika seen
From simple childhood's earliest hour?
What other can she seek to see
Than thee, companion of her bower,
The partner of her infancy?
These cherish'd thoughts with life begun,
Say, why must I no more avow?
What change is wrought to make me shun

The truth; my pride, and thine till now?

'Musselim,' a governor, the next in rank after a Pacha; a Waywode is the third; and then come the Agas.'

Egripo-the Negropont. According to the proverb, the

Athens, are the worst of their respective races.

To meet the gaze of stranger's eyes,
Our law, our creed, our God denies ;
Nor shall one wandering thought of mine
At such, our Prophet's will, repine:
No! happier made by that decree,
He left me all in leaving thee.
Deep were my anguish, thus compell'd
To wed with one I ne'er beheld:
This wherefore should I not reveal?
Why wilt thou urge me to conceal?
I know the Pacha's haughty mood
To thee hath never boded good;
And he so often storms at nought,
Allah! forbid that e'er he ought!
And why I know not, but within
My heart concealment weighs like sin.
If then such secrecy be crime,

And such it feels while lurking here; Oh, Selim! tell me yet in time,

Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear. Ah! yonder see the Tchocadar, My father leaves the mimic war; I tremble now to meet his eyeSay, Selim, canst thou tell me why? XIV.

Zuleika !-to thy tower's retreat Betake thee-Giaffir I can greet:

•⚫Tchocadar,' one of the attendants who precedes a man of authority.

And now with him I fain must prate
Of firmans, imposts, levies, state.
There's fearful news from Danube's banks,
Our Vizier nobly thins his ranks,

For which the Giaour may give him thanks!
Our Sultan hath a shorter way
Such costly triumph to repay.

But, mark me, when the twilight drum
Hath warn'd the troops to food and sleep,
Unto thy cell will Selim come:
Then softly from the Haram creep
Where we may wander by the deep :
Our garden-battlements are steep;
Nor these will rash intruder climb
To list our words, or stint our time;
And if he doth, I want not steel
Which some have felt, and more may feel.
Then shalt thou learn of Selim more
Than thou hast heard or thought before:
Trust me, Zuleika-fear not me!
Thou know'st I hold a Haram key.'
'Fear thee, my Selim! ne'er till now
Did word like this-'

'Delay not thou;
I keep the key-and Haroun's guard
Have some, and hope of more reward.
To-night, Zuleika, thou shalt hear
My tale, my purpose, and my fear:
I am not, love! what I appear.'

I.

THE winds are high on Helle's wave,
As on that night of stormy water,
When Love, who sent, forgot to save,
The young, the beautiful, the brave,

The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
Oh! when alone along the sky
Her turret-torch was blazing high,
Though rising gale, and breaking foam,
And shrieking sea-birds warn'd him home;
And clouds aloft and tides below,
With signs and sounds, forbade to go,
He could not see, he would not hear,
Or sound or sign foreboding fear;
His eye but saw the light of love,

The only star it hail'd above;

His ear but rang with Hero's song,
'Ye waves, divide not lovers long!'-
That tale is old, but love anew

May nerve young hearts to prove as true.

II.

The winds are high, and Helle's tide Rolls darkly heaving to the main ; And Night's descending shadows hide The field with blood bedew'd in vain, The desert of old Priam's pride;

The tombs, sole relics of his reign,

All-save immortal dreams that could beguile The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle !

III.

Oh! yet-for there my steps have been ;

These feet have press'd the sacred shore, These limbs that buoyant wave hath borneMinstrel with thee to muse, to mourn,

To trace again those fields of yore, Believing every hillock green

Contains no fabled hero's ashes,
And that around the undoubted scene
Thine own broad Hellespont' still
dashes,*

Be long my lot! and cold were he
Who there could gaze denying thee!

The wrangling about this epithet, the broad Hellespont,' or the boundless Hellespont, whether it means one or the other, or what it means at all, has been beyond all possibility of detail. I have even heard it disputed on the spot; and not foreseeing a speedy conclusion to the controversy, amused myself with swimming across it in the mean time, and probably may again, before the point is settled. Indeed, the question as to the truth of the tale of Troy divine' still continues, much of it resting upon the talismanic word anеipos. Probably Homer had the same notion of distance that a coquette has of time; and when he talks of boundless, means half a mile; as the latter, by a like figure, when she says eternal attachment, simply specifies three weeks.