When at the instant, hissed the ball,

"So may the foes of Giaffir fall!"

Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang
Whose bullet through the night-air sang?

Too nearly-deadly aimed to err-
'Tis thine-Abdallah's Murderer!

The father slowly rued thy hate,

The son hath found a quicker fate-
Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling,
The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling,
If aught his lips essayed to groan

The rushing billows choaked the tone!

XXVI.

Morn slowly rolls the clouds away-
Few trophies of the fight are there-
The shouts that shook the midnight-bay
Are silent-but some signs of fray

That strand of strife may bear

And fragments of each shivered brand-
Steps stamped and dashed into the sand
The print of many a struggling hand
May there be marked-nor far remote
A broken torch-an oarless boat--
And tangled on the weeds that heap

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590

The beach where shelving to the deep

There lies a white Capote !

"Tis rent in twain-one dark-red stain

The wave yet ripples o'er in vain—
But where is he who wore ?

Ye! who would o'er his relics weep
Go-seek them where the surges sweep
Their burthen round Sigæum's steep

And cast on Lemnos' shore:

The sea-birds shriek above the prey,
O'er which their hungry beaks delay-
As shaken on his restless pillow,

His head heaves with the heaving billow--
That hand-whose motion is not life-

Yet feebly seems to menace strife

Flung by the tossing tide on high,

Then levelled with the wave

What recks it? though that corse shall lie

Within a living grave?

The bird that tears that prostrate form

Hath only robbed the meaner worm!

The only heart-the only eye

Had bled or wept to see him die,

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610

Had seen those scattered limbs composed,

40

And mourned above his turban-stoneThat heart hath burst-that eye was closed

Yea-closed before his own!

620

XXVII.

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 destin❜d lord is come too late

He sees not-ne'er shall see thy face!

Can he not hear

The loud Wul-wulleh 4 warn his distant ear?
Thy handmaids weeping at the gate,

The Koran-chaunters of the hymn of fate-
The silent slaves with folded arms that wait,
Sighs in the hall-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

630

And that last thought on him thou could'st not save

Sufficed to kill—

Burst forth in one wild cry-and all was still

Peace to thy broken heart—and virgin grave! Ah! happy! but of life to lose the worst,

640

That grief-though deep-though fatal-was thy first!
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 quivʼring heart—
Ah! wherefore not consume it-and depart!

Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting chief!

Vainly thou heap'st 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

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She-whom thy sultan had but seen to wed-
Thy Daughter's dead!

Hope of thine age-thy twilight's lonely beamThe Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream- 660 What quench'd its ray?—the blood that thou hast shed! Hark-to the hurried question of Despair!

"Where is my child?"-an Echo answers-" Where?" 42

XXVIII.

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,

Ev'n in that deadly grove.

A single rose is shedding there

It's lonely lustre, meek and pale,
It looks as planted by Despair-
So white so faint-the slightest gale
Might whirl the leaves on high;

670