Selected Poems

by Byron

  And crooked glaive; the lively, supple Greek;

  520

  And swarthy Nubia’s mutilated son;

  The bearded Turk, that rarely deigns to speak,

  Master of all around, too potent to be meek,

  LIX

  Are mix’d conspicuous: some recline in groups,

  Scanning the motley scene that varies round;

  525

  There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops,

  And some that smoke, and some that play, are found;

  Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground;

  Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate;

  Hark! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound,

  530

  The Muezzin’s call doth shake the minaret,

  ‘There is no god but God! – to prayer – lo! God is great!’

  L Χ

  Just at this season Ramazani’s fast

  Through the long day its penance did maintain:

  But when the lingering twilight hour was past,

  535

  Revel and feast assumed the rule again:

  Now all was bustle, and the menial train

  Prepared and spread the plenteous board within;

  The vacant gallery now seem’d made in vain,

  But from the chambers came the mingling din,

  540

  As page and slave anon were passing out and in.

  LXI

  Here woman’s voice is never heard: apart,

  And scarce permitted, guarded, veil’d, to move,

  She yields to one her person and her heart,

  Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove:

  545

  For, not unhappy in her master’s love,

  And joyful in a mother’s gentlest cares,

  Blest cares! all other feelings far above!

  Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears,

  Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares.

  LXII

  550

  In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring

  Of living water from the centre rose,

  Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling,

  And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose,

  ALI reclined, a man of war and woes:

  555

  Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace,

  While Gentleness her milder radiance throws

  Along that aged venerable face,

  The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace.

  LXIII

  It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard

  560

  Ill suits the passions which belong to youth;

  Love conquers age – so Hafiz hath averr’d,

  So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth –

  But crimes that scorn the tender voice of Ruth,

  Beseeming all men ill, but most the man

  565

  In years, have mark’d him with a tiger’s tooth;

  Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span,

  In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began.

  LXIV

  ‘Mid many things most new to ear and eye

  The pilgrim rested here his weary feet,

  570

  And gazed around on Moslem luxury,

  Till quickly wearied with that spacious seat

  Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retreat

  Of sated Grandeur from the city’s noise:

  And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet;

  575

  But Peace abhorreth artificial joys,

  And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys.

  LXV

  Fierce are Albania’s children, yet they lack

  Not virtues, were those virtues more mature.

  Where is the foe that ever saw their back?

  580

  Who can so well the toil of war endure?

  Their native fastnesses not more secure

  Than they in doubtful time of troublous need:

  Their wrath how deadly! but their friendship sure,

  When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed,

  585

  Unshaken rushing on where’er their chief may lead.

  LXVI

  Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain’s tower

  Thronging to war in splendour and success;

  And after view’d them, when, within their power,

  Himself awhile the victim of distress;

  590

  That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press:

  But these did shelter him beneath their roof,

  When less barbarians would have cheer’d him less,

  And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof – 1

  In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof!

  LXVII

  595

  It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark

  Full on the coast of Suli’s shaggy shore,

  When all around was desolate and dark;

  To land was perilous, to sojourn more;

  Yet for a while the mariners forbore,

  600

  Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk:

  At length they ventured forth, though doubting sore

  That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk

  Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work.

  LXVIII

  Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch’d the welcome hand,

  605

  Led them o’er rocks and past the dangerous swamp,

  Kinder than polish’d slaves though not so bland,

  And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments damp,

  And fill’d the bowl, and trimm’d the cheerful lamp,

  And spread their fare; though homely, all they had:

  610

  Such conduct bears Philanthropy’s rare stamp –

  To rest the weary and to soothe the sad,

  Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad.

  LXIX

  It came to pass, that when he did address

  Himself to quit at length this mountain-land,

  615

  Combined marauders half-way barr’d egress,

  And wasted far and near with glaive and brand;

  And therefore did he take a trusty band

  To traverse Acarnania’s forest wide.

  In war well season’d, and with labours tann’d,

  620

  Till he did greet white Achelous‘ tide,

  And from his further bank Ætolia’s wolds espied.

  LXX

  Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove,

  And weary waves retire to gleam at rest,

  How brown the foliage of the green hill’s grove,

  625

  Nodding at midnight o’er the calm bay’s breast,

  As winds come lightly whispering from the west,

  Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep’s serene: –

  Here Harold was received a welcome guest;

  Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene,

  630

  For many a joy could he from Night’s soft presence glean.

  LXXI

  On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed,

  The feast was done, the red wine circling fast,1

  And he that unawares had there ygazed

  With gaping wonderment had stared aghast;

  635

  For ere night’s midmost, stillest hour was past,

  The native revels of the troop began;

  Each Palikar2 his sabre from him cast,

  And bounding hand in hand, man link’d to man,

  Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced the kirtled clan.

  LXXII

  640

  Childe Harold at a little distance stood

  And view’d, but not displeased, the revelrie,

  Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude:
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  In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see

  Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee;

  645

  And, as the flames along their faces gleam’d,

  Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free,

  The long wild locks that to their girdles stream’d,

  While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half scream’d: –3

  I

  Tambourgi! Tambourgi!1 thy ’larum afar

  650

  Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war;

  All the sons of the mountains arise at the note,

  Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote!2

  2

  Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote,

  In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote?

  655

  To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock,

  And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock.

  3

  Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive

  The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live?

  Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego?

  660

  What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe?

  4

  Macedonia sends forth her invincible race;

  For a time they abandon the cave and the chase;

  But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before

  The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o’er.

  5

  665

  Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves

  And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves,

  Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar,

  And track to his covert the captive on shore.

  6

  I ask not the pleasures that riches supply,

  670

  My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy;

  Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair,

  And many a maid from her mother shall tear.

  7

  I love the fair face of the maid in her youth,

  Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall soothe;

  675

  Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyre,

  And sing us a song on the fall of her sire.

  8

  Remember the moment when Previsa fell,1

  The shrieks of the conquer’d, the conquerors’ yell;

  The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared,

  680

  The wealthy we slaughter’d, the lovely we spared.

  9

  I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear;

  He neither must know who would serve the Vizier:

  Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne’er saw

  A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw.

  10

  685

  Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped,

  Let the yellow-hair’d2 Giaours3 view his horse-tail4 with dread;

  When his Delhis5 come dashing in blood o’er the banks,

  How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks!

  II

  Selictar!6 unsheathe then our chief’s scimitar:

  690

  Tambourgi! thy ’larum gives promise of war.

  Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore,

  Shall view us as victors, or view us no more!

  LXXIII

  Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!1

  Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great!

  695

  Who now shall lead thy scatter’d children forth,

  And long accustom’d bondage uncreate?

  Not such thy sons who whilome did await,

  The hopeless warriors of a willing doom,

  In bleak Thermopylae’s sepulchral strait –

  700

  Oh! who that gallant spirit shall resume,

  Leap from Eurotas’ banks, and call thee from the tomb?

  LXXIV

  Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle’s brow2

  Thou sat’st with Thrasybulus and his train,

  Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now

  705

  Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain?

  Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain,

  But every carle can lord it o’er thy land;

  Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain,

  Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand,

  710

  From birth till death enslaved; in word, in deed, unmann’d.

  LXXV

  In all save form alone, how changed! and who

  That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye,

  Who but would deem their bosoms burn’d anew

  With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty!

  715

  And many dream withal the hour is nigh

  That gives them back their fathers’ heritage:

  For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh,

  Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage,

  Or tear their name defiled from Slavery’s mournful page.

  LXXVI

  720

  Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not

  Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?

  By their right arms the conquest must be wrought?

  Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye? no!

  True, they may lay your proud despoilers low,

  725

  But not for you will Freedom’s altars flame.

  Shades of the Helots! triumph o’er your foe!

  Greece! change thy lords, thy state is still the same;

  Thy glorious day is o’er, but not thine years of shame.

  LXXVII

  The city won for Allah from the Giaour,

  730

  The Giaour from Othman’s race again may wrest;

  And the Serai’s impenetrable tower

  Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest;1

  Or Wahab’s rebel brood who dared divest

  The prophet’s2 tomb of all its pious spoil,

  735

  May wind their path of blood along the West;

  But ne’er will freedom seek this fated soil,

  But slave succeed to slave through years of endless toil.

  LXXVIII

  Yet mark their mirth – ere lenten days begin,

  That penance which their holy rites prepare

  740

  To shrive from man his weight of mortal sin,

  By daily abstinence and nightly prayer;

  But ere his sackcloth garb Repentance wear,

  Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all,

  To take of pleasaunce each his secret share,

  745

  In motley robe to dance at masking ball,

  And join the mimic train of merry Carnival.

  LXXIX

  And whose more rife with merriment than thine,

  Oh Stamboul! once the empress of their reign?

  Though turbans now pollute Sophia’s shrine,

  750

  And Greece her very altars eyes in vain:

  (Alas! her woes will still pervade my strain!)

  Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng,

  All felt the common joy they now must feign,

  Nor oft I’ve seen such sight, nor heard such song,

  755

  As woo’d the eye, and thrill’d the Bosphorus along.

  LXXX

  Loud was the lightsome tumult on the shore,

  Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone,

  And timely echo’d back the measured oar,

  And rippling waters made a pleasant moan:

  760

  The Queen of tides on high consenting shone,

  And when a transient breeze swept o’er the wave,

  ‘Twas, as if darting from her heavenly throne,

  A brighter glance her form reflected gave,

  Till sparkling
billows seem’d to light the banks they lave.

  LXXXI

  765

  Glanced many a light caique along the foam,

  Danced on the shore the daughters of the land,

  Ne thought had man or maid of rest or home,

  While many a languid eye and thrilling hand

  Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand,

  770

  Or gently prest, return’d the pressure still:

  Oh Love! young Love! bound in thy rosy band,

  Let sage or cynic prattle as he will,

  These hours, and only these, redeem Life’s years of ill!

  LXXXII

  But, midst the throng in merry masquerade,

  775

  Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain,

  Even through the closest searment half betray’d?

  To such the gentle murmurs of the main

  Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain;

  To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd

  780

  Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain:

  How do they loathe the laughter idly loud,

  And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud!

  LXXXIII

  This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece,

  If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast:

  785

  Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace,

  The bondsman’s peace, who sighs for all he lost,

  Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost,

  And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword:

  Ah! Greece! they love thee least who owe thee most;

  790

  Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record

  Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde!

  LXXXIV

  When riseth Lacedemon’s hardihood,

  When Thebes Epaminondas rears again,

  When Athens’ children are with hearts endued,

  795

  When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men,

  Then may’st thou be restored; but not till then.

  A thousand years scarce serve to form a state;

  An hour may lay it in the dust: and when

  Can man its shatter’d splendour renovate,

  800

  Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate?

  LXXXV

  And yet how lovely in thine age of woe,

  Land of lost gods and godlike men! art thou!

  Thy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow,1

  Proclaim thee Nature’s varied favourite now;

  805

  Thy fanes, thy temples to thy surface bow,

  Commingling slowly with heroic earth,

  Broke by the share of every rustic plough:

  So perish monuments of mortal birth,

  So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth;

  LXXXVI

  810

  Save where some solitary column mourns

  Above its prostrate brethren of the cave1

  Save where Tritonia’s airy shrine adorns

  Colonna’s cliff,2 and gleams along the wave;