Chapter X: Canto THE SECOND: ge

I.

The winds are high on Helle's wave,
As on that night of stormy water
When Love, who sent, forgot to save
The young--the beautiful--the brave--
The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
Oh! when alone along the sky
Her turret-torch was blazing high,
Though rising gale, and breaking foam, 490
And shrieking sea-birds warned him home;
And clouds aloft and tides below,
With signs and sounds, forbade to go,
He could not see, he would not hear,
Or sound or sign foreboding fear;
His eye but saw that light of Love,
The only star it hailed above;
His ear but rang with Hero's song,
"Ye waves, divide not lovers long!"--
That tale is old, but Love anew[152] 500
May nerve young hearts to prove as true.

II.

The winds are high and Helle's tide
Rolls darkly heaving to the main;
And Night's descending shadows hide
That field with blood bedewed in vain,
The desert of old Priam's pride;
The tombs, sole relics of his reign,
All--save immortal dreams that could beguile
The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle!

III.

Oh! yet--for there my steps have been; 510
These feet have pressed the sacred shore,
These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne--
Minstrel! with thee to muse, to mourn,
To trace again those fields of yore,
Believing every hillock green
Contains no fabled hero's ashes,
And that around the undoubted scene
Thine own "broad Hellespont"[153] still dashes,
Be long my lot! and cold were he
Who there could gaze denying thee! 520

IV.

The Night hath closed on Helle's stream,
Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill
That Moon, which shone on his high theme:
No warrior chides her peaceful beam,
But conscious shepherds bless it still.
Their flocks are grazing on the Mound
Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow:
That mighty heap of gathered ground
Which Ammon's son ran proudly round,[154]
By nations raised, by monarchs crowned, 530
Is now a lone and nameless barrow!
Within--thy dwelling-place how narrow![155]
Without--can only strangers breathe
The name of him that _was_ beneath:
Dust long outlasts the storied stone;
But Thou--thy very dust is gone!

V.

Late, late to-night will Dian cheer
The swain, and chase the boatman's fear;
Till then--no beacon on the cliff
May shape the course of struggling skiff; 540
The scattered lights that skirt the bay,
All, one by one, have died away;
The only lamp of this lone hour
Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower.
Yes! there is light in that lone chamber,
And o'er her silken ottoman
Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber,
O'er which her fairy fingers ran;[156]
Near these, with emerald rays beset,[157]
(How could she thus that gem forget?) 550
Her mother's sainted amulet,[158]
Whereon engraved the Koorsee text,
Could smooth this life, and win the next;
And by her Comboloio[159] lies
A Koran of illumined dyes;
And many a bright emblazoned rhyme
By Persian scribes redeemed from Time;
And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,
Reclines her now neglected lute;
And round her lamp of fretted gold 560
Bloom flowers in urns of China's mould;
The richest work of Iran's loom,
And Sheeraz[160] tribute of perfume;

All that can eye or sense delight
Are gathered in that gorgeous room:
But yet it hath an air of gloom.
She, of this Peri cell the sprite,
What doth she hence, and on so rude a night?

VI.

Wrapt in the darkest sable vest,
Which none save noblest Moslem wear, 570
To guard from winds of Heaven the breast
As Heaven itself to Selim dear,
With cautious steps the thicket threading,
And starting oft, as through the glade
The gust its hollow moanings made,
Till on the smoother pathway treading,
More free her timid bosom beat,
The maid pursued her silent guide;
And though her terror urged retreat,
How could she quit her Selim's side? 580
How teach her tender lips to chide?

VII.

They reached at length a grotto, hewn
By nature, but enlarged by art,
Where oft her lute she wont to tune,
And oft her Koran conned apart;
And oft in youthful reverie
She dreamed what Paradise might be:
Where Woman's parted soul shall go
Her Prophet had disdained to show;[gf][161]
But Selim's mansion was secure, 590
Nor deemed she, could he long endure
His bower in other worlds of bliss
Without _her_, most beloved in this!
Oh! who so dear with him could dwell?
What Houri soothe him half so well?

VIII.

Since last she visited the spot
Some change seemed wrought within the grot:
It might be only that the night
Disguised things seen by better light:
That brazen lamp but dimly threw 600
A ray of no celestial hue;
But in a nook within the cell
Her eye on stranger objects fell.
There arms were piled, not such as wield
The turbaned Delis in the field;
But brands of foreign blade and hilt,
And one was red--perchance with guilt![gg]
Ah! how without can blood be spilt?
A cup too on the board was set
That did not seem to hold sherbet. 610
What may this mean? she turned to see
Her Selim--"Oh! can this be he?"[gh]

IX.

His robe of pride was thrown aside,
His brow no high-crowned turban bore,
But in its stead a shawl of red,
Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore:
That dagger, on whose hilt the gem
Were worthy of a diadem,
No longer glittered at his waist,
Where pistols unadorned were braced; 620
And from his belt a sabre swung,
And from his shoulder loosely hung
The cloak of white, the thin capote
That decks the wandering Candiote;
Beneath--his golden plated vest
Clung like a cuirass to his breast;
The greaves below his knee that wound
With silvery scales were sheathed and bound.
But were it not that high command
Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand, 630
All that a careless eye could see
In him was some young Galiongée.[162]

X.

"I said I was not what I seemed;
And now thou see'st my words were true:
I have a tale thou hast not dreamed,
If sooth--its truth must others rue.
My story now 'twere vain to hide,
I must not see thee Osman's bride:
But had not thine own lips declared
How much of that young heart I shared, 640
I could not, must not, yet have shown
The darker secret of my own.
In this I speak not now of love;
That--let Time--Truth--and Peril prove:
But first--Oh! never wed another--
Zuleika! I am not thy brother!"

XI.

"Oh! not my brother!--yet unsay--
God! am I left alone on earth
To mourn--I dare not curse--the day[gi]
That saw my solitary birth? 650
Oh! thou wilt love me now no more!
My sinking heart foreboded ill;
But know _me_ all I was before,
Thy sister--friend--Zuleika still.
Thou led'st me here perchance to kill;
If thou hast cause for vengeance, see!
My breast is offered--take thy fill!
Far better with the dead to be
Than live thus nothing now to thee:
Perhaps far worse, for now I know 660
Why Giaffir always seemed thy foe;
And I, alas! am Giaffir's child,
For whom thou wert contemned, reviled.
If not thy sister--would'st thou save
My life--Oh! bid me be thy slave!"

XII.

"My slave, Zuleika!--nay, I'm thine:
But, gentle love, this transport calm,
Thy lot shall yet be linked with mine;
I swear it by our Prophet's shrine,[gj]
And be that thought thy sorrow's balm. 670
So may the Koran[163] verse displayed
Upon its steel direct my blade,
In danger's hour to guard us both,
As I preserve that awful oath!
The name in which thy heart hath prided
Must change; but, my Zuleika, know,
That tie is widened, not divided,
Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe.
My father was to Giaffir all
That Selim late was deemed to thee; 680
That brother wrought a brother's fall,
But spared, at least, my infancy!
And lulled me with a vain deceit
That yet a like return may meet.
He reared me, not with tender help,
But like the nephew of a Cain;[164]
He watched me like a lion's whelp,
That gnaws and yet may break his chain.
My father's blood in every vein
Is boiling! but for thy dear sake 690
No present vengeance will I take;
Though here I must no more remain.
But first, beloved Zuleika! hear
How Giaffir wrought this deed of fear.

XIII.

"How first their strife to rancour grew,
If Love or Envy made them foes,
It matters little if I knew;
In fiery spirits, slights, though few
And thoughtless, will disturb repose.
In war Abdallah's arm was strong, 700
Remembered yet in Bosniac song,[165]
And Paswan's[166] rebel hordes attest
How little love they bore such guest:
His death is all I need relate,
The stern effect of Giaffir's hate;
And how my birth disclosed to me,[gk]
Whate'er beside it makes, hath made me free.

XIV.

"When Paswan, after years of strife,
At last for power, but first for life,
In Widdin's walls too proudly sate, 710
Our Pachas rallied round the state;
Not last nor least in high command,
Each brother led a separate band;
They gave their Horse-tails[167] to the wind,
And mustering in Sophia's plain
Their tents were pitched, their post assigned;
To one, alas! assigned in vain!
What need of words? the deadly bowl,
By Giaffir's order drugged and given,
With venom subtle as his soul,[gl]
Dismissed Abdallah's hence to heaven. 720
Reclined and feverish in the bath,
He, when the hunter's sport was up,
But little deemed a brother's wrath
To quench his thirst had such a cup:
The bowl a bribed attendant bore;
He drank one draught,[168] nor needed more!
If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt,
Call Haroun--he can tell it out.

XV.

"The deed once done, and Paswan's feud 730
In part suppressed, though ne'er subdued,
Abdallah's Pachalick was gained:--
Thou know'st not what in our Divan
Can wealth procure for worse than man--
Abdallah's honours were obtained
By him a brother's murder stained;
'Tis true, the purchase nearly drained
His ill-got treasure, soon replaced.
Would'st question whence? Survey the waste,
And ask the squalid peasant how 740
His gains repay his broiling brow!--
Why me the stern Usurper spared,
Why thus with me his palace spared,
I know not. Shame--regret--remorse--
And little fear from infant's force--
Besides, adoption as a son
By him whom Heaven accorded none,
Or some unknown cabal, caprice,
Preserved me thus:--but not in peace:
He cannot curb his haughty mood,[gm] 750
Nor I forgive a father's blood.

XVI.

"Within thy Father's house are foes;
Not all who break his bread are true:
To these should I my birth disclose,
His days-his very hours were few:
They only want a heart to lead,
A hand to point them to the deed.
But Haroun only knows, or knew
This tale, whose close is almost nigh:
He in Abdallah's palace grew, 760
And held that post in his Serai
Which holds he here--he saw him die;
But what could single slavery do?
Avenge his lord? alas! too late;
Or save his son from such a fate?
He chose the last, and when elate
With foes subdued, or friends betrayed,
Proud Giaffir in high triumph sate,
He led me helpless to his gate,
And not in vain it seems essayed 770
To save the life for which he prayed.
The knowledge of my birth secured
From all and each, but most from me;
Thus Giaffir's safety was ensured.
Removed he too from Roumelie
To this our Asiatic side,
Far from our seats by Danube's tide,
With none but Haroun, who retains
Such knowledge--and that Nubian feels
A Tyrant's secrets are but chains, 780
From which the captive gladly steals,
And this and more to me reveals:
Such still to guilt just Allah sends--
Slaves, tools, accomplices--no friends!

XVII.

"All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds;
But harsher still my tale must be:
Howe'er my tongue thy softness wounds,
Yet I must prove all truth to thee."[gn]
I saw thee start this garb to see,
Yet is it one I oft have worn, 790
And long must wear: this Galiongée,
To whom thy plighted vow is sworn,
Is leader of those pirate hordes,
Whose laws and lives are on their swords;
To hear whose desolating tale
Would make thy waning cheek more pale:
Those arms thou see'st my band have brought,
The hands that wield are not remote;
This cup too for the rugged knaves
Is filled--once quaffed, they ne'er repine: 800
Our Prophet might forgive the slaves;
They're only infidels in wine.

XVIII.

"What could I be? Proscribed at home,
And taunted to a wish to roam;
And listless left--for Giaffir's fear
Denied the courser and the spear--
Though oft--Oh, Mahomet! how oft!--
In full Divan the despot scoffed,
As if _my_ weak unwilling hand
Refused the bridle or the brand: 810
He ever went to war alone,
And pent me here untried--unknown;
To Haroun's care with women left,[go]
By hope unblest, of fame bereft,
While thou--whose softness long endeared,
Though it unmanned me, still had cheered--
To Brusa's walls for safety sent,
Awaited'st there the field's event.
Haroun who saw my spirit pining[gp]
Beneath inaction's sluggish yoke, 820
His captive, though with dread resigning,
My thraldom for a season broke,
On promise to return before
The day when Giaffir's charge was o'er.
'Tis vain--my tongue can not impart[gq]
My almost drunkenness of heart,[169]
When first this liberated eye
Surveyed Earth--Ocean--Sun--and Sky--
As if my Spirit pierced them through,
And all their inmost wonders knew! 830
One word alone can paint to thee
That more than feeling--I was Free!
E'en for thy presence ceased to pine;
The World--nay, Heaven itself was mine!

XIX.

"The shallop of a trusty Moor
Conveyed me from this idle shore;
I longed to see the isles that gem
Old Ocean's purple diadem:
I sought by turns, and saw them all;[170]
But when and where I joined the crew, 840
With whom I'm pledged to rise or fall,
When all that we design to do
Is done,'twill then be time more meet
To tell thee, when the tale's complete.

XX.

"'Tis true, they are a lawless brood,
But rough in form, nor mild in mood;
And every creed, and every race,
With them hath found--may find a place:
But open speech, and ready hand,
Obedience to their Chief's command; 850
A soul for every enterprise,
That never sees with Terror's eyes;
Friendship for each, and faith to all,
And vengeance vowed for those who fall,
Have made them fitting instruments
For more than e'en my own intents.
And some--and I have studied all
Distinguished from the vulgar rank,
But chiefly to my council call
The wisdom of the cautious Frank:-- 860
And some to higher thoughts aspire.
The last of Lambro's[171] patriots there
Anticipated freedom share;
And oft around the cavern fire
On visionary schemes debate,
To snatch the Rayahs[172] from their fate.
So let them ease their hearts with prate
Of equal rights, which man ne'er knew;
I have a love for freedom too.
Aye! let me like the ocean-Patriarch[173] roam, 870
Or only know on land the Tartar's home![174]
My tent on shore, my galley on the sea,
Are more than cities and Serais to me:[175]
Borne by my steed, or wafted by my sail,
Across the desert, or before the gale,
Bound where thou wilt, my barb! or glide, my prow!
But be the Star that guides the wanderer, Thou!
Thou, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark;
The Dove of peace and promise to mine ark![176]
Or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife, 880
Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray![177]
Blest--as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall
To pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call;
Soft--as the melody of youthful days,
That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise;
Dear--as his native song to Exile's ears,[gr]
Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.
For thee in those bright isles is built a bower 890
Blooming as Aden[178] in its earliest hour.
A thousand swords, with Selim's heart and hand,
Wait--wave--defend--destroy--at thy command![gs]
Girt by my band, Zuleika at my side,
The spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride.
The Haram's languid years of listless ease
Are well resigned for cares--for joys like these:
Not blind to Fate, I see, where'er I rove,
Unnumbered perils,--but one only love!
Yet well my toils shall that fond breast repay, 900
Though Fortune frown, or falser friends betray.
How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill,
Should all be changed, to find thee faithful still!
Be but thy soul, like Selim's firmly shown;
To thee be Selim's tender as thine own;
To soothe each sorrow, share in each delight,[gt]
Blend every thought, do all--but disunite!
Once free, 'tis mine our horde again to guide;
Friends to each other, foes to aught beside:[179]
Yet there we follow but the bent assigned 910
By fatal Nature to man's warring kind:[gu]
Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease!
He makes a solitude, and calls it--peace![gv][180]
I like the rest must use my skill or strength,
But ask no land beyond my sabre's length:
Power sways but by division--her resource[gw]
The blest alternative of fraud or force!
Ours be the last; in time Deceit may come
When cities cage us in a social home:
There ev'n thy soul might err--how oft the heart 920
Corruption shakes which Peril could not part!
And Woman, more than Man, when Death or Woe,
Or even Disgrace, would lay her lover low,
Sunk in the lap of Luxury will shame--
Away suspicion!--_not_ Zuleika's name!
But life is hazard at the best; and here
No more remains to win, and much to fear:
Yes, fear!--the doubt, the dread of losing thee,
By Osman's power, and Giaffir's stern decree.
That dread shall vanish with the favouring gale, 930
Which Love to-night hath promised to my sail:[gx]
No danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest,
Their steps still roving, but their hearts at rest.
With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms;
Earth--sea alike--our world within our arms!
Aye--let the loud winds whistle o'er the deck,[181]
So that those arms cling closer round my neck:
The deepest murmur of this lip shall be,[gy][182]
No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!
The war of elements no fears impart 940
To Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art:
_There_ lie the only rocks our course can check;
_Here_ moments menace--_there_ are years of wreck!
But hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape!
This hour bestows, or ever bars escape.[gz]
Few words remain of mine my tale to close;
Of thine but _one_ to waft us from our foes;
Yea--foes--to me will Giaffir's hate decline?
And is not Osman, who would part us, thine?

XXI.

"His head and faith from doubt and death 950
Returned in time my guard to save;
Few heard, none told, that o'er the wave
From isle to isle I roved the while:
And since, though parted from my band
Too seldom now I leave the land,
No deed they've done, nor deed shall do,
Ere I have heard and doomed it too:
I form the plan--decree the spoil--
Tis fit I oftener share the toil.
But now too long I've held thine ear; 960
Time presses--floats my bark--and here
We leave behind but hate and fear.
To-morrow Osman with his train
Arrives--to-night must break thy chain:
And would'st thou save that haughty Bey,--
Perchance _his_ life who gave thee thine,--
With me this hour away--away!
But yet, though thou art plighted mine,
Would'st thou recall thy willing vow,
Appalled by truths imparted now, 970
Here rest I--not to see thee wed:
But be that peril on _my_ head!"

XXII.

Zuleika, mute and motionless,
Stood like that Statue of Distress,
When, her last hope for ever gone,
The Mother hardened into stone;
All in the maid that eye could see
Was but a younger Niobé.
But ere her lip, or even her eye,
Essayed to speak, or look reply, 980
Beneath the garden's wicket porch
Far flashed on high a blazing torch!
Another--and another--and another--[183]
"Oh! fly--no more--yet now my more than brother!"
Far, wide, through every thicket spread
The fearful lights are gleaming red;
Nor these alone--for each right hand
Is ready with a sheathless brand.
They part--pursue--return, and wheel
With searching flambeau, shining steel; 990
And last of all, his sabre waving,
Stern Giaffir in his fury raving:
And now almost they touch the cave--
Oh! must that grot be Selim's grave?

XXIII.

Dauntless he stood--"'Tis come--soon past--
One kiss, Zuleika--'tis my last:
But yet my band not far from shore
May hear this signal, see the flash;
Yet now too few--the attempt were rash:
No matter--yet one effort more." 1000
Forth to the cavern mouth he stept;
His pistol's echo rang on high,
Zuleika started not, nor wept,
Despair benumbed her breast and eye!--
"They hear me not, or if they ply
Their oars,'tis but to see me die;
That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh.
Then forth my father's scimitar,
Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war!
Farewell, Zuleika!--Sweet! retire: 1010
Yet stay within--here linger safe,
At thee his rage will only chafe.
Stir not--lest even to thee perchance
Some erring blade or ball should glance.
Fear'st them for him?--may I expire
If in this strife I seek thy sire!
No--though by him that poison poured;
No--though again he call me coward!
But tamely shall I meet their steel?
No--as each crest save _his_ may feel!" 1020

XXIV.

One bound he made, and gained the sand:
Already at his feet hath sunk
The foremost of the prying band,
A gasping head, a quivering trunk:
Another falls--but round him close
A swarming circle of his foes;
From right to left his path he cleft,
And almost met the meeting wave:
His boat appears--not five oars' length--
His comrades strain with desperate strength-- 1030
Oh! are they yet in time to save?
His feet the foremost breakers lave;
His band are plunging in the bay,
Their sabres glitter through the spray;
Wet--wild--unwearied to the strand
They struggle--now they touch the land!
They come--'tis but to add to slaughter--
His heart's best blood is on the water.

XXV.

Escaped from shot, unharmed by steel,
Or scarcely grazed its force to feel,[ha] 1040
Had Selim won, betrayed, beset,
To where the strand and billows met;
There as his last step left the land,
And the last death-blow dealt his hand--
Ah! wherefore did he turn to look[hb]
For her his eye but sought in vain?
That pause, that fatal gaze he took,
Hath doomed his death, or fixed his chain.
Sad proof, in peril and in pain,
How late will Lover's hope remain! 1050
His back was to the dashing spray;
Behind, but close, his comrades lay,
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: 1060
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 choked 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; 1070
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
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? 1080
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,[hc]
As shaken on his restless pillow,
His head heaves with the heaving billow;
That hand, whose motion is not life,[hd]
Yet feebly seems to menace strife, 1090
Flung by the tossing tide on high,
Then levelled with the wave--[184]
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,
Had seen those scattered limbs composed,
And mourned above his turban-stone,[185] 1100
That heart hath burst--that eye was closed--
Yea--closed before his own!

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 destined lord is come too late:
He sees not--ne'er shall see thy face!
Can he not hear
The loud Wul-wulleh[186] warn his distant ear?
Thy handmaids weeping at the gate, 1110
The Koran-chanters of the Hymn of Fate,[he][187]
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,
And that last thought on him thou could'st not save
Sufficed to kill; 1120
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!
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, 1130
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:[188]
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,[hf]
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:[189]
"Where is my child?"--an Echo answers--"Where?"[190]

XXVIII.

Within the place of thousand tombs
That shine beneath, while dark above
The sad but living cypress glooms[hg]
And withers not, though branch and leaf
Are stamped with an eternal grief, 1150
Like early unrequited Love,
One spot exists, which ever blooms,
Ev'n in that deadly grove--
A single rose is shedding there
Its 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 1160
May wring it from the stem--in vain--
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,
Nor woos the Summer beam: 1170
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! 1180
And yet so sweet the tears they shed,
'Tis sorrow so unmixed 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[hh]
Expires that magic melody.
And some have been who could believe,[hi]
(So fondly youthful dreams deceive, 1190
Yet harsh be they that blame,)
That note so piercing and profound
Will shape and syllable[191] its sound
Into Zuleika's name.
'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! 1200
It was no mortal arm that bore
That deep fixed pillar to the shore;
For there, as Helle's legends tell,
Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell;
Lashed by the tumbling tide, whose wave
Denied his bones a holier grave:
And there by night, reclined, 'tis said.
Is seen a ghastly turbaned head:[192]
And hence extended by the billow,
'Tis named the "Pirate-phantom's pillow!" 1210
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![hj][193]

NOTE TO _THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS_.