To Love, whose deadliest bane is human art:
There lie the only rocks our course can check;
Here moments menace there are years of wreck!
But hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape!
This hour bestows, or ever bars escape.

Few words remain of mine my tale to close;
Of thine but one to waft us from our foes;
Yea-foes to me will Giaffir's hate decline?
And is not Osman, who would part us, thine ?

THE DEATH OF ZULEIKA.

By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail! And woman's eye is wet-man's cheek is pale: Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race,

Thy destined lord is come too late;
He sees not-ne'er shall see thy face!
Can he not hear

The lond Wul-wulleh * warn his distant ear p
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 halls and shrieks upon the gale,
Tell him thy tale!

Thou didst not view thy Selim fall!

That fearful moment when he left the cave
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!

* Death-song of the Turkish women.

[first!

Ah! happy! but of life to lose the worst!
That grief-though deep-though fatal-was thy
Thrice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the force
Of absence, shame, pride, hate, revenge, remorse!
And, oh! that pang where more than madness lies!
The worm that will not sleep-and never dies;
Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night,
That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light,
That winds around, and tears the quivering heart!
Ah! wherefore not consume it-and depart!
Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting chief!

Vainly thou heapest 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 wed,

Thy daughter's dead!

Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam, The Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream. What quench'd its ray ?-the blood that thou hast Hark to the hurried question of Despair: [shed! "Where is my child?" an Echo answers- "Where ?"

Within the place of thousand tombs

That shine beneath, while dark above The sad but living cypress glooms

And withers not, though branch and leaf Are stamped with an eternal grief

Like early, unrequited Love,

One spot exists, which ever blooms,
Even in that deadly grove-
A single rosé is shedding there
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 more rude than wintry sky May wring it from the stem-in vain— To-morrow sees it bloom again! The stalk some 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 her shower, Nor woos the Summer beam. To it the live-long night there sings

A bird unseen-but not remote: Invisible his airy wings,

But soft as harp that Houri strings

His long entrancing note!

It were the Bulbul; but his throat,

Though mournful, pours not such a 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 unmixed 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.

66

And 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 placed the Morrow gone!
It was no mortal arm that bore
That deep-fixed pillar to the shore ;
For there, as Helle's legends tell,

Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell;
Lashed by the tumbling tide, whose wave
Denied his bones a holier grave;
And there by night, reclined, 'tis said,
Is seen a ghastly turban'd head:
And hence, extended by the billow,
'Tis named the "Pirate-phantom's pillow!"
Where first it lay that mourning flower
Hath flourish'd-flourisheth this hour,
Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale;
As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's tale!

SPEECH ON THE NOTTINGHAM FRAME-
BREAKING BILL.

My Lords,

"The subject now submitted to your Lordships, for the first time, though new to the House, is by no means new to the country. I believe it had occupied the serious thoughts of all descriptions of

persons long before its introduction to the notice of that Legislature whose interference alone could be of real service. As a person in some degree connected with the suffering county, though a stranger, not only to this House in general, but to almost every individual whose attention I presume to solicit, I must claim some portion of your Lordships' indulgence, whilst I offer a few observations on a question in which I confess myself deeply interested. To enter into any detail of these riots would be superfluous; the House is already aware that every outrage short of actual bloodshed has been perpetrated, and that the proprietors of the frames obnoxious to the rioters, and all persons supposed to be connected with them, have been liable to insult and violence. During the short time I recently passed in Notts, not twelve hours elapsed without some fresh act of violence; and, on the day I left the county, I was informed that forty frames had been broken the preceding evening, as usual, without resistance and without detection. Such was then the state of that county, and such I have reason to believe it to be at this moment. But whilst these outrages must be admitted to exist to an alarming extent, it cannot be denied that they have arisen from circumstances of the most unparalleled distress. The perseverance of these miserable men in their proceedings tends to prove that nothing but absolute want could have driven a large and once honest and industrious body of the people into the commission of excesses so hazardous to themselves, their families, and the community. At the time to which I allude, the town and county were burdened with large detachments of the military; the police was in motion, the magistrates assembled, yet