And like the soil beneath it, will bring forth: Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower; But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source. Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray, Like summer clouds, all silvery, smooth, and fair, Till slowly charged with thunder they display Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, Had held till now her soft and milky way; But overwrought with passion and despair, The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins, Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains. The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore, And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down; His blood was running on the very floor Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own; Thus much she viewed an instant and no more--Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan; On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd. A vein had burst-and her sweet lips' pure dyes Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er; And her head droop'd as when the lily lies O'ercharged with rain; her summon'd handmaids Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes; [bore Of herbs and cordials they produced their store, Days lay she in that state, unchanged, though chill, Corruption came not, in each mind to kill All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul, She had so much, earth could not claim the whole. The ruling passion, such as marble shows When exquisitely chiselled, still lay there, Their energy like life forms all their fame, She woke at length-but not as sleepers wake- She looked on many a face with vacant eye, Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not; Her father watch'd—she turn'd her eyes away She recognized no being, and no spot, However dear or cherish'd in their day; They changed from room to room, but all forgot, And yet those eyes, which they would fain be weaning At last a slave bethought her of a harp : On him her flashing eyes a moment bent; Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent, And he began a long low island song, Of ancient days-ere tyranny grew strong. Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, And sung of love; the fierce name struck through all Her recollection; on her flashed the dream Of what she was, and is, if ye could call To be so, being, in a gushing stream The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain, Short solace!-vain relief!-thought came too quick, Although her paroxysm drew towards its close: Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense; Nothing could make her meet her father's face, Though on all other things with looks intense She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence And they who watch'd her nearest could not know The very instant, till the change that cast Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, But closed its little being without light, The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love. Thus lived-thus died she; never more on her Shall sorrow light, or shame.-She was not made Through years or moons the inner weight to bear, Which colder hearts endure till they are laid By age in earth; her days and pleasures were Brief, but delightful-such as had not staid Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell. That isle is now all desolate and bare, Its dwellings down-its tenants passed away; None but her own and father's grave is there, And nothing outward tells of human clay; Ye could not know where lies a thing so fairNo stone is there to show-no tongue to say What was; no dirge, except the hollow seas, Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades. But many a Greek maid, in a loving song, Sighs o'er her name: and many an islander With her sire's story makes the night less long; Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her: If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrong— A heavy price must all pay who thus err, In some shape; let none think to fly the danger, For soon or late Love is his own avenger. HEBREW MELODIES. She walks in beauty, like the night One shade the more, one ray the less, And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, A mind at peace with all below, |