Puslapio vaizdai
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Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide

ly 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-
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;
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 secret bower
But those who watch the woman's
tower."

"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 eves 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 Stambol'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 heedIf thus Zuleika oft takes wingThou see'st yon bow-it hath a string!"

No sound from Selim's lip 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 :

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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,

Till Giaffir's quail'd and shrunk askance

And why-he felt, but durst not tell.
Much I misdoubt this wayward boy
Will one day work me more annoy :
I never loved him from his birth,
And--but his arm is little worth,
And scarcely in the chase could cope
With timid fawn or antelope,
Far less would venture into strife
Where man contends for fame and life-
I would not trust that look or tone:
No-nor the blood so near my own.
That blood--he hath not heard-no

more

I'll watch him closer than before.
He is an Arab to my sight,
Or Christian crouching in the fight-
But hark!--I hear Zuleika's voice;

Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear; She is the offspring of my choice;

Oh! more than ev'n her mother dear, With all to hope, and nought to fearMy Peri! ever welcome here! Sweet, as the desert fountain's wave To lips just cool'd in time to save

Such to my longing sight art thou ; Nor can they waft to Mecca's shrine More thanks for life, than I for thine, Who blest thy birth and bless thee now."

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wander'd;

My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;

On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd,

As daily I strode through the pinecover'd glade ;

I sought not my home till the day's dying glory

Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ;

For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,

Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.

"Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices

Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?

Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,

And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale.

Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers,

Winter presides in his cold icy car: Clouds there encircle the forms of my

fathers;

They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.

'Ill-starr'd, though brave, did no visiens foreboding

Tell you that fate had forsaken you cause?"

Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden Victory crown'd not your fall with applause:

Still were you happy in death's earthly slumber,

You rest with your clan in the caves of
Braemar;

The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number,

Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch

na Garr.

Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you,

Years must elapse ere I tread you again :

Nature of verdure and flow'rs has bereft

you,

Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain. England thy beauties are tame and

domestic

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MAID of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,
Ζώη μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ,

The dates for Byron's poems are made up chiefly from the very full accounts of their writ ing and publication given in the notes to E. H. Coleridge's splendid edition.

By those tresses unconfined,
Wood by each Egean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe

BYRON

Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge:

By those wild eyes like the roe,

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ASD thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though Earth received them in her bed
Andoer the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There's an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where thou liest low,
Ye gaze upon the spot;

There dowers or weeds at will may grow,

So Hehold them not :
Itsgh for me to prove

That what I loved, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
Tome there needs no stone to tell,
Ts Nothing that I loved so well.

Yet did I love thee to the last
A fervently as thou,

Who didst not change through all the

past,

And canst not alter now.

The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Not falsehood disavow :

And, what were worse, thou canst not

Or wag, or change, or fault in me.

171

The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine;
The sun that cheers, the storm that
lowers,

Shall never more be thine.

The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine,

That all those charms have pass'd away;
I might have watch'd through long
decay.

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch`d
Must fall the earliest prey;

Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck'd to-day ;

Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair,

I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last;

Extinguish'd, not decay'd;

As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,

My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,

And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years.
February, 1812. 1812.

WHEN WE TWO PARTED

WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,

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And the voice of the nightingale never is mute:

Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,

In color though varied, in beauty may vie,

And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye;

Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,

And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? 'T is the clime of the East; 't is the land of the Sun

Can he smile on such deeds as his chil dren have done?

Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell

Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.

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.

"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 spak.
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 meSo lovelily the morning shone,

That-let the old and weary sleepI 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;
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 secret bower
But those who watch the woman's
tower."

"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, Mast pore where babbling waters flow, Aud 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 Stambol'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 heedIf thus Zuleika oft takes wing

hou see'st yon bow-it hath a string!"

No sound from Selim's lip 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,

Till Giaffir's quail'd and shrunk as

kance

And why-he felt, but durst not tell.

Much I misdoubt this wayward boy
Will one day work me more annoy:
I never loved him from his birth,
And--but his arm is little worth,
And scarcely in the chase could cope
With timid fawn or antelope,

Far less would venture into strife
Where man contends for fame and life-
I would not trust that look or tone:
No-nor the blood so near my own.
That blood--he hath not heard-no

more

I'll watch him closer than before.
He is an Arab to my sight,
Or Christian crouching in the fight-
But hark!--I hear Zuleika's voice;

Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear; She is the offspring of my choice;

Oh! more than ev'n her mother dear, With all to hope, and nought to fearMy Peri! ever welcome here! Sweet, as the desert fountain's wave To lips just cool'd in time to save

Such to my longing sight art thou; Nor can they waft to Mecca's shrine More thanks for life, than I for thine, Who blest thy birth and bless thee now."

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