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

XXVII.

Helle's stream there is a voice of wail!

And woman's eye is wet-man's cheek is pale: aleika! last of Giaffir's race,

Thy destined lord is come too late;
e 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-chanters of the hymn of fate,
The silent slaves with folded arms that wait,
gls in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale,
Tell him thy tale!

hou didst not view thy Selim fall!

That fearful moment when he left the cave

Thy heart grew chill;

was thy hope-thy joy-thy love-thine all

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!

That grief-though deep-though fatal-was thy first!
Price 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 quivering 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,
She, whom thy sultan had but seen to wed,
Thy daughter's dead!

Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,
The Star hath set that shone on Helle's streain.
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? » 4

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 stamp'd with an eternal grief,
Like early unrequited love,
One spot exists, which ever blooms,
Even 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;

And yet, though storms and blight assail, And hands more rude than wintry sky May wring it from the stem-in vainTo-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 unshelter'd by a bower;

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

To it the livelong night there sings

A bird unseen-but not remote:
Invisible his airy wings,

But soft as harp that Houri strings.
His long entrancing note!

It were the bulbul; but his throat,

Though mournful, pours not such a strain: For they who listen cannot leave

The spot, but linger there and grieve

As if they loved in vain!

And yet so sweet the tears they shed,
Tis sorrow so unmix'd with dread,
They scarce can bear the morn to break
That melancholy spell,

And longer yet would weep and wake,
He sings so wild and well!

But when the day-blush bursts from high
Expires that magic melody.

VOL. IV.

And some have been who could believe (So fondly youthful dreams deceive,

Yet harsh be they that blame)
That note so piercing and profound
Will shape and syllable its sound
Into Zuleika's name, 43

'Tis from her cypress' summit heard,
That melts in air the liquid word:
'Tis from her lowly virgin earth
That white rose takes its tender birth.
There late was laid a marble stone;
Eve saw it placed-the morrow gone!
It was no mortal arm that bore
That deep-fix'd pillar to the shore;
For there, as Helle's legends tell,

Next morn 't was found where Selim fell;
Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave
Denied his bones a holier grave:
And there, by night, reclined, 'tis said,
Is seen a ghastly turban'd head:
And hence extended by the billow,
'Tis named the « Pirate-phantom's pillow!»>
Where first it lay that mourning flower
Hath flourished; flourisheth this hour,
Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale;
As weeping beauty's cheek at sorrow's tale!

Can be 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.

Note 3. Page 73, line 26.

With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song.

Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia.

Note 4. Page 73, line 27.

Till I, who heard the deep tambour.

Tambour, Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, noon, and twilight.

Note 5. Page 76, line 11.

He is an Arab to my sight.

The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the compliment a hundred fold) even more than they hate the Christians.