Think me not thankless-but this grief 'In earlier days, and calmer hours, I would remind him of my end; And I have smiled-I then could smileWhen Prudence would his voice assume, And warn-I reck'd not what-the while: But now remembrance whispers o'er Those accents scarcely mark'd before. Say-that his bodings came to pass, And he will start to hear their truth, But Heaven in wrath would turn away, Such cold request might sound like scorn; 'Tell me no more of fancy's gleam; No, father, no, 'twas not a dream : Alas! the dreamer first must sleep, I only watch'd, and wish'd to weep, The monk's sermon is omitted. It seems to have had so Hittle effect upon the patient, that it could have no hopes from the reader. It may be sufficient to say, that it was of a customary length (as may be perceived from the interruptions and uneasiness of the patient), and was delivered in the usual tone of all orthodox preachers. But could not, for my burning brow Throbb'd to the very brain as now : I wish'd but for a single tear, As something welcome, new, and dear: I saw him buried where he fell; 'Such is my name, and such my tale. Confessor! to thy secret ear ⚫'Symar,' a shroud. I breathe the sorrows I bewail, And thank thee for the generous tear This glazing eye 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.' 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 he knew Of her he loved, or him he slew.* 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 Arnaut 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 Easter, 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 Bibliothèque Orientale, but for the cor. rectness 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 As an Eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow a translation. before it; his Happy Valley' will not bear a comparison with the Hall of Eblis." ་ KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? [turtle, Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime ! Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; [perfume, Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl in her bloom;* Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute: Gúl,' the rose. BYRON Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, In colour though varied, in beauty may vie. And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done?* 'Souls made of fire, and children of the Sun, With whom revenge is virtue.' YOUNG'S Revenge 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, 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.' Pacha! to hear is to obey.' First lowly rendering reverence meet; 'Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide That-let the old and weary sleep- The fairest scenes of land and deep, To thoughts with which my heart beat high, I on Zuleika's slumber broke, And, as thou knowest that for me • Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sali, 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 : IV. 'Son of a slave !'-the Pacha said- Nor strike one stroke for life and death V. No sound from Selim's lips was heard, 'Son of a slave !'-reproach'd with fear Flash forth, then faintly disappear And started; for within his eye 'Come hither, boy-what! no reply? That eye return'd him glance for glance, • Tambour,' Turkish drum, which sounds at sur and twilight. Till Giaffir's quail'd and shrunk askance-The heart whose softness harmonized the whole; 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 Or Christian crouching in the fight; Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear: She is the offspring of my choice: Oh! more than ev'n her mother dear, Such to my longing sight art thou: Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now.' VI. Fair as the first that fell of womankind, And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven: Soft as the memory of buried love; Fure as the prayer which Childhood wafts above, And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul! VII. 'Zuleika! child of gentleness! His years need scarce a thought employ : VIII. In silence bow'd the virgin's head; And if her eye was fill'd with tears, 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 suggested the idea; for this passage is not drawn from imagination but alone-memory, that mirror which Affliction dashes to the earth, and looking down upon the fragments, only beholds the reflection multiplied! The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the compliment a hundredfold) even more than they hate the Christians. tThis 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 this line, I shall be sorry for us both. For an eloquent 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 Carasman Oglu, or Kara Osman Oglou, is the principal landholder in Turkey; he governs Magnesia. Those who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess land on condition of servíce, are called Timariots; they serve as Spahis, according to the extent of territory, and bring a certain number into the field, generally cavalry. 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 bowstrung 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 Bagdad, a brave young man, cut off by treachery, after a desperate resistance. That stifled feeling dare not shed, Whate'er it was the sire forgot; Resign'd his gem-adorn'd chibouque, t 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; 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. MaugraLee,' 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 Ollahs, 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 'n the field, and gravity in the chamber, with their pipes and comboloios, form an amusing contrast. Yet speak she must-but when essay? As if that breast were marble too. 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 XI. 'What! not receive my foolish flower? And know'st thou not who loves thee best? Since words of mine and songs must fail 1 knew our sire at times was stern, 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. 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. |