by Lord Byron
‘Tis vain — my tongue can not impart
My almost drunkenness of heart,
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;
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 patriots there
Anticipated freedom share;
And oft around the cavern fire
On visionary schemes debate,
To snatch the Rayahs 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 roam, 870
Or only know on land the Tartar’s home!
My tent on shore, my galley on the sea,
Are more than cities and Serais to me:
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!
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!
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,
Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.
For thee in those bright isles is built a bower 890
Blooming as Aden in its earliest hour.
A thousand swords, with Selim’s heart and hand,
Wait — wave — defend — destroy — at thy command!
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,
Blend every thought, do all — but disunite!
Once free, ‘tis mine our horde again to guide;
Friends to each other, foes to aught beside:
Yet there we follow but the bent assigned 910
By fatal Nature to man’s warring kind:
Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease!
He makes a solitude, and calls it — peace!
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
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:
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,
So that those arms cling closer round my neck:
The deepest murmur of this lip shall be,
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.
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 —
“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, 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
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,
As shaken on his restless pillow,
His head heaves with the heaving billow;
That hand, whose motion is not life,
Yet feebly seems to menace strife, 1090
Flung by the tossing tide on high,
Then levelled with the wave —
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, 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 warn his distant ear?
Thy handmaids weeping at the gate, 1110
The Koran-chanters of the Hymn of Fate,
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
&nbs
p; 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:
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! 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:
“Where is my child?” — an Echo answers — “Where?”
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 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,