If aught his lips essayed to groan,

The rushing billow 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,

1065

1070

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;

1075

And tangled on the weeds that heap
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 Sigaeum's steep

And cast on Lemnos' shore:

The sea birds shriek above the prey,

O'er which their hungry beaks delay,

1080

1085

The bird that tears that prostrate from
Hath only robbed the meaner worm;

The only heart, the only eye

Had bled or wept to see him die,

1095

Had seen those scattered limbs composed, 1100 And mourned above his turban - stone, o

That heart hath burst-that eye was closedclosed before his own!

Yea

XXVII.

By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail!
And woman's eye is wet

man's cheek is pale:

1106

Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race,

Thy destined lord is come too late;

The loud Wul-wulleh 41 warn his distant ear? 1110

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:

1115

He was thy hope-thy joy-thy love-thine allAnd that last thought on him thou could'st not

Peace to thy broken heart, and virgin grave!
Ah! happy! but of life to lose the worst!
That grief- though deep- though fatal
thy first!

was

1125

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, 1150
That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light,
That winds around, and tears the quiv'ring heart!
Ah! wherefore not consume it and depart!

Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting chief!

Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head, 1135 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!

1140

Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam, The Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream. What quenched its ray?-the blood that thou hast shed!

Hark! to the hurried question of Despair;

"Where is my child?" an Echo answers

"Where?” 42

1145

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 1150 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

1155

THE BRIDE OP ABYDOS.

It's lonely lustre, meek and pale:

It looks as planted by Despair

Canto II.

So white so faint the slightest gale

Might whirl the leaves on high;

And yet, though storms and blight assail, 1160 And hands more rude than wintry sky

in vain

1155

May wring it from the stem 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 unsheltered by a bower;

Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower, 1170 Nor woos the summer beam:

To it the livelong night there sings

A bird unseen

Invisible his airy wings,

But soft as harp that Houri strings

His long entrancing note!

It were the Bulbul; but his throat,

1175

Though mournful, pours not such a strain:

For they who listen cannot leave

The spot, but linger there and grieve

1180