Selected Poems

by Byron

  It was Eternity to Thought!

  For infinite as boundless space

  The thought that Conscience must embrace,

  275

  Which in itself can comprehend

  Woe without name, or hope, or end.

  The hour is past, the Giaour is gone;

  And did he fly or fall alone?

  Woe to that hour he came or went!

  280

  The curse for Hassan’s sin was sent

  To turn a palace to a tomb;

  He came, he went, like the Simoom,1

  That harbinger of fate and gloom,

  Beneath whose widely-wasting breath

  285

  The very cypress droops to death –

  Dark tree, still sad when others’ grief is fled,

  The only constant mourner o’er the dead!

  The steed is vanish’d from the stall;

  No serf is seen in Hassan’s hall;

  290

  The lonely Spider’s thin gray pall

  Waves slowly widening o’er the wall;

  The Bat builds in his Haram bower

  And in the fortress of his power

  The Owl usurps the beacon-tower;

  295

  The wild-dog howls o’er the fountain’s brim,

  With baffled thirst, and famine, grim;

  For the stream has shrunk from its marble bed,

  Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread.

  ‘Twas sweet of yore to see it play

  300

  And chase the sultriness of day,

  As springing high the silver dew

  In whirls fantastically flew,

  And flung luxurious coolness round

  The air, and verdure o’er the ground.

  305

  ‘Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright,

  To view the wave of watery light,

  And hear its melody by night.

  And oft had Hassan’s Childhood play’d

  Around the verge of that cascade;

  310

  And oft upon his mother’s breast

  That sound had harmonized his rest;

  And oft had Hassan’s Youth along

  Its bank been soothed by Beauty’s song;

  And softer seem’d each melting tone

  315

  Of Music mingled with its own.

  But ne’er shall Hassan’s Age repose

  Along the brink at Twilight’s close:

  The stream that fill’d that font is fled –

  The blood that warm’d his heart is shed!

  320

  And here no more shall human voice

  Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice.

  The last sad note that swell’d the gale

  Was woman’s wildest funeral wail:

  That quench’d in silence, all is still,

  325

  But the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill:

  Though raves the gust, and floods the rain,

  No hand shall close its clasp again.

  On desert sands ’twere joy to scan

  The rudest steps of fellow man,

  330

  So here the very voice of Grief

  Might wake an Echo like relief –

  At least ’t would say, ‘All are not gone;

  There lingers Life, though but in one’–

  For many a gilded chamber’s there,

  335

  Which Solitude might well forbear;

  Within that dome as yet Decay

  Hath slowly work’d her cankering way –

  But gloom is gather’d o’er the gate,

  Nor there the Fakir’s self will wait;

  340

  Nor there will wandering Dervise stay,

  For bounty cheers not his delay;

  Nor there will weary stranger halt

  To bless the sacred ‘bread and salt.’1

  Alike must Wealth and Poverty

  345

  Pass heedless and unheeded by,

  For Courtesy and Pity died

  With Hassan on the mountain side.

  His roof, that refuge unto men,

  Is Desolation’s hungry den.

  350

  The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour,

  Since his turban was cleft by the infidel’s sabre!2

  *

  I hear the sound of coming feet,

  But not a voice mine ear to greet;

  More near – each turban I can scan,

  355

  And silver-sheathed ataghan;3

  The foremost of the band is seen

  An Emir by his garb of green:4

  ‘Ho! who art thou?’ – ‘This low salam5

  Replies of Moslem faith I am. ‘—

  360

  ‘The burthen ye so gently bear

  Seems one that claims your utmost care,

  And, doubtless, holds some precious freight,

  My humble bark would gladly wait.’

  ‘Thou speakest sooth: thy skiff unmoor,

  365

  And waft us from the silent shore;

  Nay, leave the sail still furl’d, and ply

  The nearest oar that’s scatter’d by,

  And midway to those rocks where sleep

  The channel’d waters dark and deep.

  370

  Rest from your task – so – bravely done,

  Our course has been right swiftly run;

  Yet ’tis the longest voyage, I trow,

  That one of—

  ’

  Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank,

  375

  The calm wave rippled to the bank;

  I watch’d it as it sank, methought

  Some motion from the current caught

  Bestirr’d it more, – ‘twas but the beam

  That checker’d o’er the living stream:

  380

  I gazed, till vanishing from view,

  Like lessening pebble it withdrew;

  Still less and less, a speck of white

  That gemm’d the tide, then mock’d the sight;

  And all its hidden secrets sleep,

  385

  Known but to Genii of the deep,

  Which, trembling in their coral caves,

  They dare not whisper to the waves.

  *

  As rising on its purple wing

  The insect-queen1 of eastern spring,

  390

  O’er emerald meadows of Kashmeer

  Invites the young pursuer near,

  And leads him on from flower to flower

  A weary chase and wasted hour,

  Then leaves him, as it soars on high,

  395

  With panting heart and tearful eye:

  So Beauty lures the full-grown child,

  With hue as bright, and wing as wild;

  A chase of idle hopes and fears,

  Begun in folly, closed in tears.

  400

  If won, to equal ills betray’d,

  Woe waits the insect and the maid;

  A life of pain, the loss of peace,

  From infant’s play, and man’s caprice:

  The lovely toy so fiercely sought

  405

  Hath lost its charm by being caught,

  For every touch that woo’d its stay

  Hath brush’d its brightest hues away,

  Till charm, and hue, and beauty gone,

  ‘Tis left to fly or fall alone.

  410

  With wounded wing, or bleeding breast,

  Ah! where shall either victim rest?

  Can this with faded pinion soar

  From rose to tulip as before?

  Or Beauty, blighted in an hour,

  415

  Find joy within her broken bower?

  No: gayer insects fluttering by

  Ne’er droop the wing o’er those that die,

  And lovelier things have mercy shown

&
nbsp; To every failing but their own,

  420

  And every woe a tear can claim

  Except an erring sister’s shame.

  *

  The Mind, that broods o’er guilty woes,

  Is like the Scorpion girt by fire,

  In circle narrowing as it glows,

  425

  The flames around their captive close,

  Till inly search’d by thousand throes,

  And maddening in her ire,

  One sad and sole relief she knows,

  The sting she nourish’d for her foes,

  430

  Whose venom never yet was vain,

  Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,

  And darts into her desperate brain;

  So do the dark in soul expire,

  Or live like Scorpion girt by fire;1

  435

  So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven,

  Unfit for earth, undoom’d for heaven,

  Darkness above, despair beneath,

  Around it flame, within it death!

  *

  Black Hassan from the Haram flies,

  440

  Nor bends on woman’s form his eyes;

  The unwonted chase each hour employs,

  Yet shares he not the hunter’s joys.

  Not thus was Hassan wont to fly

  When Leila dwelt in his Serai.

  445

  Doth Leila there no longer dwell?

  That tale can only Hassan tell:

  Strange rumours in our city say

  Upon that eve she fled away

  When Rhamazan’s2 last sun was set,

  450

  And flashing from each minaret

  Millions of lamps proclaim’d the feast

  Of Bairam through the boundless East.

  ‘Twas then she went as to the bath,

  Which Hassan vainly search’d in wrath;

  455

  For she was flown her master’s rage

  In likeness of a Georgian page,

  And far beyond the Moslem’s power

  Had wrong’d him with the faithless Giaour.

  Somewhat of this had Hassan deem’d;

  460

  But still so fond, so fair she seem’d,

  Too well he trusted to the slave

  Whose treachery deserved a grave:

  And on that eve had gone to mosque,

  And thence to feast in his kiosk.

  465

  Such is the tale his Nubians tell,

  Who did not watch their charge too well;

  But others say, that on that night,

  By pale Phingari’s1 trembling light,

  The Giaour upon his jet black steed

  470

  Was seen, but seen alone to speed

  With bloody spur along the shore,

  Nor maid nor page behind him bore.

  *

  Her eye’s dark charm ’t were vain to tell,

  But gaze on that of the Gazelle,

  475

  It will assist thy fancy well;

  As large, as languishingly dark,

  But Soul beam’d forth in every spark

  That darted from beneath the lid,

  Bright as the jewel of Giamschid.2

  480

  Yea, Soul, and should our prophet say

  That form was nought but breathing clay,

  By Alla! I would answer nay;

  Though on Al-Sirat’s3 arch I stood,

  Which totters o’er the fiery flood,

  485

  With Paradise within my view,

  And all his Houris beckoning through.

  Oh! who young Leila’s glance could read

  And keep that portion of his creed,

  Which saith that woman is but dust,

  490

  A soulless toy for tyrant’s lust?1

  On her might Muftis gaze, and own

  That through her eye the Immortal shone;

  On her fair cheek’s unfading hue

  The young pomegranate’s2 blossoms strew

  495

  Their bloom in blushes ever new;

  Her hair in hyacynthine3 flow,

  When left to roll its folds below,

  As midst her handmaids in the hall

  She stood superior to them all,

  500

  Hath swept the marble where her feet

  Gleam’d whiter than the mountain sleet

  Ere from the cloud that gave it birth

  It fell, and caught one stain of earth.

  The cygnet nobly walks the water;

  505

  So moved on earth Circassia’s daughter,

  The loveliest bird of Franguestan!4

  As rears her crest the ruffled Swan,

  And spurns the wave with wings of pride,

  When pass the steps of stranger man

  510

  Along the banks that bound her tide;

  Thus rose fair Leila’s whiter neck:–

  Thus arm’d with beauty would she check

  Intrusion’s glance, till Folly’s gaze

  Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise.

  515

  Thus high and graceful was her gait;

  Her heart as tender to her mate;

  Her mate – stern Hassan, who was he?

  Alas! that name was not for thee!

  *

  Stern Hassan hath a journey ta’en

  520

  With twenty vassals in his train,

  Each arm’d, as best becomes a man,

  With arquebuss and ataghan;

  The chief before, as deck’d for war,

  Bears in his belt the scimitar

  525

  Stain’d with the best of Arnaut blood,

  When in the pass the rebels stood,

  And few return’d to tell the tale

  Of what befell in Parne’s vale.

  The pistols which his girdle bore

  530

  Were those that once a pasha wore,

  Which still, though gemm’d and boss’d with gold,

  Even robbers tremble to behold.

  ‘Tis said he goes to woo a bride

  More true than her who left his side;

  535

  The faithless slave that broke her bower,

  And, worse than faithless, for a Giaour!

  *

  The sun’s last rays are on the hill,

  And sparkle in the fountain rill,

  Whose welcome waters, cool and clear,

  540

  Draw blessings from the mountaineer:

  Here may the loitering merchant Greek

  Find that repose ’t were vain to seek

  In cities lodged too near his lord,

  And trembling for his secret hoard –

  545

  Here may he rest where none can see,

  In crowds a slave, in deserts free;

  And with forbidden wine may stain

  The bowl a Moslem must not drain.

  *

  The foremost Tartar’s in the gap,

  550

  Conspicuous by his yellow cap;

  The rest in lengthening line the while

  Wind slowly through the long defile:

  Above, the mountain rears a peak,

  Where vultures whet the thirsty beak,

  555

  And theirs may be a feast to-night,

  Shall tempt them down ere morrow’s light;

  Beneath, a river’s wintry stream

  Has shrunk before the summer beam,

  And left a channel bleak and bare,

  560

  Save shrubs that spring to perish there:

  Each side the midway path there lay

  Small broken crags of granite gray,

  By time, or mountain lightning, riven

  From summits clad in mists of heaven;

  565

  For where is he that hath beheld

  The peak of Liakura unve
il’d?

  *

  They reach the grove of pine at last:

  ‘Bismillah!1 now the peril’s past;

  For yonder view the opening plain,

  570

  And there we’ll prick our steeds amain:’

  The Chiaus spake, and as he said,

  A bullet whistled o’er his head;

  The foremost Tartar bites the ground!

  Scarce had they time to check the rein,

  575

  Swift from their steeds the riders bound;

  But three shall never mount again:

  Unseen the foes that gave the wound,

  The dying ask revenge in vain.

  With steel unsheath’d, and carbine bent,

  580

  Some o’er their courser’s harness leant,

  Half shelter’d by the steed;

  Some fly behind the nearest rock,

  And there await the coming shock,

  Nor tamely stand to bleed

  585

  Beneath the shaft of foes unseen,

  Who dare not quit their craggy screen.

  Stern Hassan only from his horse

  Disdains to light, and keeps his course,

  Till fiery flashes in the van

  590

  Proclaim too sure the robber-clan

  Have well secured the only way

  Could now avail the promised prey;

  Then curl’d his very beard1 with ire,

  And glared his eye with fiercer fire:

  595

  ‘Though far and near the bullets hiss,

  I’ve scaped a bloodier hour than this.’

  And now the foe their covert quit,

  And call his vassals to submit;

  But Hassan’s frown and furious word

  600

  Are dreaded more than hostile sword,

  Nor of his little band a man

  Resign’d carbine or ataghan,

  Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun!2

  In fuller sight, more near and near,

  605

  The lately ambush’d foes appear,

  And, issuing from the grove, advance

  Some who on battle-charger prance.

  Who leads them on with foreign brand,

  Far flashing in his red right hand?

  610

  “Tis he! ‘tis he! I know him now;

  I know him by his pallid brow;

  I know him by the evil eye3

  That aids his envious treachery;

  I know him by his jet-black barb:

  615

  Though now array’d in Arnaut garb,

  Apostate from his own vile faith,

  It shall not save him from the death:

  ‘Tis he! well met in any hour,

  Lost Leila’s love, accursed Giaour!’

  620

  As rolls the river into ocean,

  In sable torrent wildly streaming;

  As the sea-tide’s opposing motion,

  In azure column proudly gleaming,

  Beats back the current many a rood,

  625

  In curling foam and mingling flood,

  While eddying whirl, and breaking wave,

  Roused by the blast of winter, rave;

  Through sparkling spray, in thundering clash,