Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Byron

  Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed,

  Must pore where babbling waters flow,

  And watch unfolding roses blow.

  Would that yon Orb, whose matin glow 90

  Thy listless eyes so much admire,

  Would lend thee something of his fire!

  Thou, who woulds’t see this battlement

  By Christian cannon piecemeal rent;

  Nay, tamely view old Stambol’s wall

  Before the dogs of Moscow fall,

  Nor strike one stroke for life and death

  Against the curs of Nazareth!

  Go — let thy less than woman’s hand

  Assume the distaff — not the brand. 100

  But, Haroun! — to my daughter speed:

  And hark — of thine own head take heed —

  If thus Zuleika oft takes wing —

  Thou see’st yon bow — it hath a string!”

  V.

  No sound from Selim’s lip was heard,

  At least that met old Giaffir’s ear,

  But every frown and every word

  Pierced keener than a Christian’s sword.

  “Son of a slave! — reproached with fear!

  Those gibes had cost another dear. 110

  Son of a slave! — and who my Sire?”

  Thus held his thoughts their dark career;

  And glances ev’n of more than ire

  Flash forth, then faintly disappear.

  Old Giaffir gazed upon his son

  And started; for within his eye

  He read how much his wrath had done;

  He saw rebellion there begun:

  “Come hither, boy — what, no reply?

  I mark thee — and I know thee too; 120

  But there be deeds thou dar’st not do:

  But if thy beard had manlier length,

  And if thy hand had skill and strength,

  I’d joy to see thee break a lance,

  Albeit against my own perchance.”

  As sneeringly these accents fell,

  On Selim’s eye he fiercely gazed:

  That eye returned him glance for glance,

  And proudly to his Sire’s was raised,

  Till Giaffir’s quailed and shrunk askance — 130

  And why — he felt, but durst not tell.

  “Much I misdoubt this wayward boy

  Will one day work me more annoy:

  I never loved him from his birth,

  And — but his arm is little worth,

  And scarcely in the chase could cope

  With timid fawn or antelope,

  Far less would venture into strife

  Where man contends for fame and life —

  I would not trust that look or tone: 140

  No — nor the blood so near my own.

  That blood — he hath not heard — no more —

  I’ll watch him closer than before.

  He is an Arab to my sight,

  Or Christian crouching in the fight —

  But hark! — I hear Zuleika’s voice;

  Like Houris’ hymn it meets mine ear:

  She is the offspring of my choice;

  Oh! more than ev’n her mother dear,

  With all to hope, and nought to fear — 150

  My Peri! ever welcome here!

  Sweet, as the desert fountain’s wave

  To lips just cooled in time to save —

  Such to my longing sight art thou;

  Nor can they waft to Mecca’s shrine

  More thanks for life, than I for thine,

  Who blest thy birth and bless thee now.”

  VI.

  Fair, as the first that fell of womankind,

  When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling,

  Whose Image then was stamped upon her mind — 160

  But once beguiled — and ever more beguiling;

  Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision

  To Sorrow’s phantom-peopled slumber given,

  When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian,

  And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven;

  Soft, as the memory of buried love;

  Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above;

  Was she — the daughter of that rude old Chief,

  Who met the maid with tears — but not of grief.

  Who hath not proved how feebly words essay 170

  To fix one spark of Beauty’s heavenly ray?

  Who doth not feel, until his failing sight

  Faints into dimness with its own delight,

  His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess

  The might — the majesty of Loveliness?

  Such was Zuleika — such around her shone

  The nameless charms unmarked by her alone —

  The light of Love, the purity of Grace,

  The mind, the Music breathing from her face,

  The heart whose softness harmonized the whole, 180

  And oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!

  Her graceful arms in meekness bending

  Across her gently-budding breast;

  At one kind word those arms extending

  To clasp the neck of him who blest

  His child caressing and carest,

  Zuleika came — and Giaffir felt

  His purpose half within him melt:

  Not that against her fancied weal

  His heart though stern could ever feel; 190

  Affection chained her to that heart;

  Ambition tore the links apart.

  VII.

  “Zuleika! child of Gentleness!

  How dear this very day must tell,

  When I forget my own distress,

  In losing what I love so well,

  To bid thee with another dwell:

  Another! and a braver man

  Was never seen in battle’s van.

  We Moslem reck not much of blood: 200

  But yet the line of Carasman

  Unchanged, unchangeable hath stood

  First of the bold Timariot bands

  That won and well can keep their lands.

  Enough that he who comes to woo

  Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou:

  His years need scarce a thought employ;

  I would not have thee wed a boy.

  And thou shalt have a noble dower:

  And his and my united power 210

  Will laugh to scorn the death-firman,

  Which others tremble but to scan,

  And teach the messenger what fate

  The bearer of such boon may wait.

  And now thou know’st thy father’s will;

  All that thy sex hath need to know:

  ‘Twas mine to teach obedience still —

  The way to love, thy Lord may show.”

  VIII.

  In silence bowed the virgin’s head;

  And if her eye was filled with tears 220

  That stifled feeling dare not shed,

  And changed her cheek from pale to red,

  And red to pale, as through her ears

  Those wingéd words like arrows sped,

  What could such be but maiden fears?

  So bright the tear in Beauty’s eye,

  Love half regrets to kiss it dry;

  So sweet the blush of Bashfulness,

  Even Pity scarce can wish it less!

  Whate’er it was the sire forgot: 230

  Or if remembered, marked it not;

  Thrice clapped his hands, and called his steed,

  Resigned his gem-adorned chibouque,

  And mounting featly for the mead,

  With Maugrabeel and Mamaluke,

  His way amid his Delis took,

  To witness many an active deed

  With sabre keen, or blunt jerreed.

  The Kislar only and his Moors

&n
bsp; Watch well the Haram’s massy doors. 240

  IX.

  His head was leant upon his hand,

  His eye looked o’er the dark blue water

  That swiftly glides and gently swells

  Between the winding Dardanelles;

  But yet he saw nor sea nor strand,

  Nor even his Pacha’s turbaned band

  Mix in the game of mimic slaughter,

  Careering cleave the folded felt

  With sabre stroke right sharply dealt;

  Nor marked the javelin-darting crowd, 250

  Nor heard their Ollahs wild and loud —

  He thought but of old Giaffir’s daughter!

  X.

  No word from Selim’s bosom broke;

  One sigh Zuleika’s thought bespoke:

  Still gazed he through the lattice grate,

  Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate.

  To him Zuleika’s eye was turned,

  But little from his aspect learned:

  Equal her grief, yet not the same;

  Her heart confessed a gentler flame: 260

  But yet that heart, alarmed or weak,

  She knew not why, forbade to speak.

  Yet speak she must — but when essay?

  “How strange he thus should turn away!

  Not thus we e’er before have met;

  Not thus shall be our parting yet.”

  Thrice paced she slowly through the room,

  And watched his eye — it still was fixed:

  She snatched the urn wherein was mixed

  The Persian Atar-gul’s perfume, 270

  And sprinkled all its odours o’er

  The pictured roof and marble floor:

  The drops, that through his glittering vest

  The playful girl’s appeal addressed,

  Unheeded o’er his bosom flew,

  As if that breast were marble too.

  “What, sullen yet? it must not be —

  Oh! gentle Selim, this from thee!”

  She saw in curious order set

  The fairest flowers of Eastern land — 280

  “He loved them once; may touch them yet,

  If offered by Zuleika’s hand.”

  The childish thought was hardly breathed

  Before the rose was plucked and wreathed;

  The next fond moment saw her seat

  Her fairy form at Selim’s feet:

  “This rose to calm my brother’s cares

  A message from the Bulbul bears;

  It says to-night he will prolong

  For Selim’s ear his sweetest song; 290

  And though his note is somewhat sad,

  He’ll try for once a strain more glad,

  With some faint hope his altered lay

  May sing these gloomy thoughts away.

  XI.

  “What! not receive my foolish flower?

  Nay then I am indeed unblest:

  On me can thus thy forehead lower?

  And know’st thou not who loves thee best?

  Oh, Selim dear! oh, more than dearest!

  Say, is it me thou hat’st or fearest? 300

  Come, lay thy head upon my breast,

  And I will kiss thee into rest,

  Since words of mine, and songs must fail,

  Ev’n from my fabled nightingale.

  I knew our sire at times was stern,

  But this from thee had yet to learn:

  Too well I know he loves thee not;

  But is Zuleika’s love forgot?

  Ah! deem I right? the Pacha’s plan —

  This kinsman Bey of Carasman 310

  Perhaps may prove some foe of thine.

  If so, I swear by Mecca’s shrine, —

  If shrines that ne’er approach allow

  To woman’s step admit her vow, —

  Without thy free consent — command —

  The Sultan should not have my hand!

  Think’st thou that I could bear to part

  With thee, and learn to halve my heart?

  Ah! were I severed from thy side,

  Where were thy friend — and who my guide? 320

  Years have not seen, Time shall not see,

  The hour that tears my soul from thee:

  Ev’n Azrael, from his deadly quiver

  When flies that shaft, and fly it must,

  That parts all else, shall doom for ever

  Our hearts to undivided dust!”

  XII.

  He lived — he breathed — he moved — he felt;

  He raised the maid from where she knelt;

  His trance was gone, his keen eye shone

  With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt; 330

  With thoughts that burn — in rays that melt.

  As the stream late concealed

  By the fringe of its willows,

  When it rushes reveal’d

  In the light of its billows;

  As the bolt bursts on high

  From the black cloud that bound it,

  Flashed the soul of that eye

  Through the long lashes round it.

  A war-horse at the trumpet’s sound, 340

  A lion roused by heedless hound,

  A tyrant waked to sudden strife

  By graze of ill-directed knife,

  Starts not to more convulsive life

  Than he, who heard that vow, displayed,

  And all, before repressed, betrayed:

  “Now thou art mine, for ever mine,

  With life to keep, and scarce with life resign;

  Now thou art mine, that sacred oath,

  Though sworn by one, hath bound us both. 350

  Yes, fondly, wisely hast thou done;

  That vow hath saved more heads than one:

  But blench not thou — thy simplest tress

  Claims more from me than tenderness;

  I would not wrong the slenderest hair

  That clusters round thy forehead fair,

  For all the treasures buried far

  Within the caves of Istakar.

  This morning clouds upon me lowered,

  Reproaches on my head were showered, 360

  And Giaffir almost called me coward!

  Now I have motive to be brave;

  The son of his neglected slave,

  Nay, start not,’twas the term he gave,

  May show, though little apt to vaunt,

  A heart his words nor deeds can daunt.

  His son, indeed! — yet, thanks to thee,

  Perchance I am, at least shall be;

  But let our plighted secret vow

  Be only known to us as now. 370

  I know the wretch who dares demand

  From Giaffir thy reluctant hand;

  More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul

  Holds not a Musselim’s control;

  Was he not bred in Egripo?

  A viler race let Israel show!

  But let that pass — to none be told

  Our oath; the rest shall time unfold.

  To me and mine leave Osman Bey!

  I’ve partisans for Peril’s day: 380

  Think not I am what I appear;

  I’ve arms — and friends — and vengeance near.”

  XIII.

  “Think not thou art what thou appearest!

  My Selim, thou art sadly changed:

  This morn I saw thee gentlest — dearest —

  But now thou’rt from thyself estranged.

  My love thou surely knew’st before,

  It ne’er was less — nor can be more.

  To see thee — hear thee — near thee stay —

  And hate the night — I know not why, 390

  Save that we meet not but by day;

  With thee to live, with thee to die,

  I dare not to my hope deny:

  Thy cheek �
�� thine eyes — thy lips to kiss —

  Like this — and this — no more than this;

  For, Allah! sure thy lips are flame:

  What fever in thy veins is flushing?

  My own have nearly caught the same,

  At least I feel my cheek, too, blushing.

  To soothe thy sickness, watch thy health, 400

  Partake, but never waste thy wealth,

  Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by,

  And lighten half thy poverty;

  Do all but close thy dying eye,

  For that I could not live to try;

  To these alone my thoughts aspire:

  More can I do? or thou require?

  But, Selim, thou must answer why

  We need so much of mystery?

  The cause I cannot dream nor tell, 410

  But be it, since thou say’st ‘tis well;

  Yet what thou mean’st by ‘arms’ and ‘friends,’

  Beyond my weaker sense extends.

  I meant that Giaffir should have heard

  The very vow I plighted thee;

  His wrath would not revoke my word:

  But surely he would leave me free.

  Can this fond wish seem strange in me,

  To be what I have ever been?

  What other hath Zuleika seen 420

  From simple childhood’s earliest hour?

  What other can she seek to see

  Than thee, companion of her bower,

  The partner of her infancy?

  These cherished thoughts with life begun,

  Say, why must I no more avow?

  What change is wrought to make me shun

  The truth — my pride, and thine till now?

  To meet the gaze of stranger’s eyes

  Our law — our creed — our God denies; 430

  Nor shall one wandering thought of mine

  At such, our Prophet’s will, repine:

  No! happier made by that decree,

  He left me all in leaving thee.

  Deep were my anguish, thus compelled

  To wed with one I ne’er beheld:

  This wherefore should I not reveal?

  Why wilt thou urge me to conceal?

  I know the Pacha’s haughty mood

  To thee hath never boded good; 440

  And he so often storms at nought,

  Allah! forbid that e’er he ought!

  And why I know not, but within

  My heart concealment weighs like sin.

  If then such secrecy be crime,

  And such it feels while lurking here;

  Oh, Selim! tell me yet in time,

  Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear.

  Ah! yonder see the Tchocadar,

  My father leaves the mimic war; 450

  I tremble now to meet his eye —

  Say, Selim, canst thou tell me why?”

  XIV.

  “Zuleika — to thy tower’s retreat

  Betake thee — Giaffir I can greet:

  And now with him I fain must prate