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They reach the grove of pine at last : "Bismillah! 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 courser's 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 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,
Nor of his little band a man
Resign'd carbine or ataghan,
Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun !4
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?

"Tis he! 'tis he! I know him now;

I know him by his pallid brow;
I know him by the evil eye 5
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,

Bismillah-" In the name of God; " the commencement of all the chapters of the Koran but one, and of prayer and thanksgiving.

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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 meet-
Thus 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 deathshot hissing from afar ;
The shock, the shout, the groan of war,
Reverberate along that vale,

More suited to the shepherd's tale:
Though few the numbers - theirs the strife,
That neither spares nor speaks for life!6
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,
When grappling in the fight they fold
Those arms that ne'er shall lose 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, 7

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:

were expected every moment to change their colour, but at last condescended to subside, which, probably, saved more heads than they contained hairs.

4"Amaun," quarter, pardon.

The "evil eye," a common superstition in the Levant, and of which the imaginary effects are yet very singular on those who conceive themselves affected.

["That neither gives nor asks for life."-MS.]

7 The flowered shawls generally worn by persons of rank.

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She saw the planets faintly twinkling:
"'Tis twilight-sure his train is nigh."
She could not rest in the garden-bower,
But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower:
"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: 4
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! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest!
His calpac 5 rent-his caftan red-
"Lady, a fearful bride thy son hath wed:

[This beautiful passage first appeared in the fifth edition. "If you send more proofs," writes Lord Byron to Mr. Murray (August 10th, 1813)," I shail never finish this infernal story. Ecce signum-thirty-three more lines enclosed! - to the utter discomfiture of the printer, and, I fear, not to your advantage."]

2 ["The mother of Sisera looked out at a window, and cried through the lattice, Why is his chariot so long in coming? why tarry the wheels of his chariot ?"- Judges, c. v. v. 28.]

3 [In the original draft

"His mother look'd from the lattice high,
With throbbing heart and eager eye;

The browsing camel bells are tinkling,
And the last beam of twilight twinkling,
'Tis eve; his train should now be nigh.
She could not rest in her garden bower,
And gazed through the loop of his steepest tower.
Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet,
And well are they train'd to the summer's heat.'"
Another copy begins-

"The browsing camel bells are tinkling,

And the first beam of evening twinkling;
His mother look'd from her lattice high,
With throbbing breast and eager eye-
'Tis twilight sure his train is nigh.""]
["The Tartar sped beneath the gate,

And flung to earth his fainting weight."- MS.] The calpac is the solid cap or centre part of the headdress; the shawl is wound round it, and forms the turban,

The turban, pillar, and inscriptive verse, decorate the tombs of the Osmanlies, whether in the cemetery or the wilderness. In the mountains you frequently pass similar

Me, not from mercy, did they spare,
But this empurpled pledge to bear.
Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt:
Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt."

A turban carved in coarsest stone,
A pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown,
Whereon can now be scarcely read
The Koran verse that mourns the dead,
Point out the spot where Hassan fell
A victim in that lonely dell.
There sleeps as true an Osmanlie
As e'er at Mecca bent the knee;

As ever scorn'd forbidden wine,

Or pray'd with face towards the shrine,
In orisons resumed anew

At solemn sound of "Alla Hu!"7
Yet died he by a stranger's hand,
And stranger in his native land;
Yet died he as in arms he stood,
And unavenged, at least in blood.
But him the maids of Paradise

Impatient to their halls invite,
And the dark heaven of Houris' eyes

On him shall glance for ever bright;
They come their kerchiefs green they wave, 8
And welcome with a kiss the brave!
Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour
Is worthiest an immortal bower.

But thou, false Infidel! shalt writhe
Beneath avenging Monkir's scythe;
And from its torment 'scape alone
To wander round lost Eblis' 10 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 11 sent,
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:

mementos; and on inquiry you are informed that they record some victim of rebellion, plunder, or revenge.

7 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 bells in Christendom. -[Valid the son of Abdalmalek, was the first who erected a minaret or turret; and this he placed on the grand mosque at Damascus, for the muezzin, or crier, to announce from it the hour of prayer. The practice is kept to this day. See D'Herbelot.]

The following is part of a battle song of the Turks :“I 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,'" &c.

9 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, 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.

10 Eblis, the Oriental Prince of Darkness. [D'Herbelot supposes this title to have been a corruption of the Greek Aiabolos. According to Arabian mythology, Eblis had suffered a degradation from his primeval rank for having refused to worship Adam, in conformity to the supreme command; alleging, in justification of his refusal, that himself had been formed of ethereal fire, whilst Adam was only a creature of clay. See Koran.]

11 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,"

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, And the last glassy glance must view Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue; Then with unhallow'd hand shalt tear The tresses of her yellow hair,

Of which in life a lock when shorn

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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;
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."

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Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip;
Then stalking to thy sullen grave,
Go-and with Gouls and Afrits rave;
Till these in horror shrink away
From spectre more accursed than they !?

"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.

at he calls them. The Romaic term is "Vardoulacha.” I collect a whole family being terrified by the scream of a bid, which they imagined must proceed from such a visit ton. The Greeks never mention the word without horror. I find that "Broucolokas" is an old legitimate Hellenic apallation at least is so applied to Arsenius, who, according to the Greeks, was after his death animated by the Devil.The moderns, however, use the word I mention.

The freshness of the face, and the wetness of the lip with blood, are the never-failing signs of a Vampire. The stories din Hungary and Greece of these foul feeders are singular, ad some of them most incredibly attested.

[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 frag

Dark and unearthly is the scowl
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.

ment. But every reader, we are sure, will agree with us in thinking, that the interest excited by the catastrophe is greatly heightened in 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 ["of foreign maiden lost at sea.”- MS.]

4 [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.]

But sadder still it were to trace
What once were feelings in that face:
Time hath not yet the features fix'd,
But brighter traits with evil mix'd;
And there are hues not always faded,
Which speak a mind not all degraded
Even by the crimes through which it waded :
The common crowd but see the gloom

Of wayward deeds, and fitting doom;
The close observer can espy

A noble soul, and lineage high:

Alas! though both bestow'd in vain,

Which Grief could change, and Guilt could stain,

It was no vulgar tenement

To which such lofty gifts were lent,
And still with little less than dread
On such the sight is riveted.
The roofless cot, decay'd and rent,

Will scarce delay the passer by;
The tower by war or tempest bent,
While yet may frown one battlement,
Demands and daunts the stranger's eye;
Each ivied arch, and pillar lone,
Pleads haughtily for glories gone!

"His floating robe around him folding,

Slow sweeps he through the column'd aisle ;
With dread beheld, with gloom beholding
The rites that sanctify the pile.
But when the anthem shakes the choir,
And kneel the monks, his steps retire;
By yonder lone and wavering torch
His aspect glares within the porch;
There will he pause till all is done-
And hear the prayer, but utter none.
See-by the half-illumined wall1
His hood fly back, his dark hair fall,
That pale brow wildly wreathing round,
As if the Gorgon there had bound
The sablest of the serpent-braid
That o'er her fearful forehead stray'd:
For he declines the convent oath,

And leaves those locks unhallow'd growth,
But wears our garb in all beside;
And, not from piety but pride,
Gives wealth to walls that never heard
Of his one holy vow nor word.
Lo!-mark ye, as the harmony
Peals louder praises to the sky,
That livid cheek, that stony air
Of mix'd defiance and despair!

Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine !
Else may we dread the wrath divine

Made manifest by awful sign.

If ever evil angel bore

The form of mortal, such he wore :

By all my hope of sins forgiven,

Such looks are not of earth nor heaven!"

["Behold-as turns he from the wall." - MS.] 2 ["Must burn before it smite or shine."— MS.

3 [Seeing himself accused of having, in this passage, too closely imitated Crabbe, Lord Byron wrote to a friend" I have read the British Review, and really think the writer in most points very right. The only mortifying thing is, the accusation of imitation. Crabbe's passage I never saw; and Scott I no further meant to follow than in his lyric measure, which is Gray's, Milton's, and any one's who likes it. The Giaour is certainly a bad character, but not dangerous; and I think his fate and his feelings will meet with few prose

To love the softest hearts are prone,
But such can ne'er be all his own;
Too timid in his woes to share,
Too meek to meet, or brave despair;
And sterner hearts alone may feel
The wound that time can never heal
The rugged metal of the mine,
Must burn before its surface shine, 2
But plunged within the furnace-flame,
It bends and melts-though still the same;
Then temper'd to thy want, or will,
"T will serve thee to defend or kill;
A breast-plate for thine hour of need,
Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed;
But if a dagger's form it bear,
Let those who shape its edge, beware!
Thus passion's fire, and woman's art,
Can turn and tame the sterner heart;
From these its form and tone are ta'en,
And what they make it, must remain,
But break- before it bend again.

If solitude succeed to grief,
Release from pain is slight relief;
The vacant bosom's wilderness
Might thank the pang that made it less.
We loathe what none are left to share:
Even bliss-'t were woe alone to bear;
The heart once thus left desolate
Must fly at last for ease—to hate.
It is as if the dead could feel
The icy worm around them steal,
And shudder, as the reptiles creep
To revel o'er their rotting sleep.
Without the power to scare away
The cold consumers of their clay :
It is as if the desert-bird, 4

Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream
To still her famish'd nestlings' screain,
Nor mourns a life to them transferr'd,
Should rend her rash devoted breast,
And find them flown her empty next.
The keenest pangs the wretched find

Are rapture to the dreary void.
The leafless desert of the mind,

The waste of feelings unemploy'd.
Who would be doom'd to gaze upon
A sky without a cloud or sun?
Less hideous far the tempest's roar
Than ne'er to brave the billows more-
Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er,
A lonely wreck on fortune's shore,

'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay,
Unseen to drop by dull decay; -
Better to sink beneath the shock

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Than moulder piecemeal on the rock!

lytes." The following are the lines of Crabbe which Lord Byron is charged with having imitated :

"These are like wax- apply them to the fire,
Melting, they take the impression you desire;
Easy to mould and fashion as you please,
And again moulded with an equal ease;
Like smelted iron these the forms retain,
But once impress'd will never melt again."

Crabbe's Works, vol. v. p. 163. ed. 1834] The pelican is, I believe, the bird so libelled, by the imputation of feeding her chickens with her blood.

'Father! thy days have pass'd in peace,
'Mid counted beads, and countless prayer;
To bid the sins of others cease,

Thyself without a crime or care,
Save transient ills that all must bear,
Has been thy lot from youth to age;
And thou wilt bless thee from the rage
Of passions fierce and uncontroll'd,
Such as thy penitents unfold,
Whose secret sins and sorrows rest
Within thy pure and pitying breast.

My days, though few, have pass'd below

In much of joy, but more of woe;
Yet still in hours of love or strife,
I've 'scaped the weariness of life:

Now leagued with friends, now girt by foes,
I loathed the languor of repose.
Now nothing left to love or hate,
No more with hope or pride elate,
I'd rather be the thing that crawls
Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls,
Than pass my dull, unvarying days,
Condemn'd to meditate and gaze.
Yet, lurks a wish within my breast
For rest-but not to feel 't is rest.
Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil;
And I shall sleep without the dream

Of what I was, and would be still,

Dark as to thee my deeds may seem
My memory now is but the tomb

Of joys long dead; my hope, their doom:
Though better to have died with those
Than bear a life of lingering woes.
My spirit shrunk not to sustain
The searching throes of ceaseless pain;
Nor sought the self-accorded grave
Of ancient fool and modern knave:
Yet death I have not fear'd to meet;
And in the field it had been sweet,
Had danger woo'd me on to move
The slave of glory, not of love.

I've braved it-not for honour's boast;

I smile at laurels won or lost;
To such let others carve their way,
For high renown, or hireling pay:
But place again before my eyes
Aught that I deem a worthy prize-
The maid I love, the man I hate-
And I will hunt the steps of fate,
To save or slay, as these require,
Through rending steel, and rolling fire:
Nor need'st thou doubt this speech from one
Who would but do what he hath done.
Death is but what the haughty brave,
The weak must bear, the wretch must crave;

["Though Hope hath long withdrawn her beam."-MS.] This superstition of a second hearing (for I never met with downright second-sight in the East) fell once under my observation. On my third journey to Cape Colonna, ry in 1811, as we passed through the defile that leads from the hamlet between Keratia and Colonna, I observed Dervish Tahiri riding rather out of the path, and leaning his head on his hand, as if in pain. I rode up and inquired. "We are in peril," he answered. "What peril? we are not now Albania, nor in the passes to Ephesus, Messalunghi, or Lepanto; there are plenty of us, well armed, and the Chorates have not courage to be thieves."-"True, Affendi, et nevertheless the shot is ringing in my ears." "The hot! not a tophaike has been fired this morning."-" I hear notwithstanding-Bom-Bom-as plainly as I hear your

Then let Life go to him who gave:
I have not quail'd to danger's brow
When high and happy- need I now?

"I loved her, Friar! nay, adored

But these are words that all can useI proved it more in deed than word; There's blood upon that dinted sword, A stain its steel can never lose : 'T was shed for her, who died for me,

It warm'd the heart of one abhorr'd: Nay, start not-no-nor bend thy knee, Nor midst my sins such act record; Thou wilt absolve me from the deed, For he was hostile to thy creed ! The very name of Nazarene Was wormwood to his Paynim spleen. Ungrateful fool! since but for brands Well wielded in some hardy hands, And wounds by Galileans given, The surest pass to Turkish heaven, For him his Houris still might wait Impatient at the Prophet's gate.

I loved her-love will find its way
Through paths where wolves would fear to prey;
And if it dares enough, 't were hard

If passion met not some reward
No matter how, or where, or why,
I did not vainly seek, nor sigh:
Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain

I wish she had not loved again.
She died-I dare not tell thee how;
But look-'t is written on my brow!
There read of Cain the curse and crime,
In characters unworn by time:
Still, ere thou dost condemn me, pause;
Not mine the act, though I the cause.
Yet did he but what I had done
Had she been false to more than one.
Faithless to him, he gave the blow;
But true to me, I laid him low:
Howe'er deserved her doom might be,
Her treachery was truth to me;
To me she gave her heart, that all
Which tyranny can ne'er enthrall;
And I, alas! too late to save!
Yet all I then could give, I gave,
'Twas some relief, our foe a grave.
His death sits lightly; but her fate
Has made me-what thou well may'st hate.
His doom was seal'd- he knew it well,
Warn'd by the voice of stern Taheer,
Deep in whose darkly boding ear 2
The deathshot peal'd of murder near,

As filed the troop to where they fell!

voice."-" Psha!"-" As you please, Affendi; if it is written, so will it be."-I left this quick-eared predestinarian, and rode up to Basili, his Christian compatriot, whose ears, though not at all prophetic, by no means relished the intelligence. We all arrived at Colonna, remained some hours, and returned leisurely, saying a variety of brilliant things, in more languages than spoiled the building of Babel, upon the mistaken seer. Romaic, Arnaout, Turkish, Italian, and English were all exercised, in various conceits, upon the unfortunate Mussulman. While we were contemplating the beautiful prospect, Dervish was occupied about the columns. I thought he was deranged into an antiquarian, and asked him if he had become a "Palao-castro" man? "No," said he," but these pillars will be useful in making a stand;" and added other remarks, which at least evinced his own belief

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