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Her rounded arm show'd white and bare: The feverish glow of his brow was gone, And ere yet she made reply,

And his heart sank so still that it felt like Once she raised her hand on high;

stone, It was so wan, and transparent of hue, As he look'd on the face, and beheld its hue You might have seen the moon, shine So deeply changed from what he knew :


Fair but faint - without the ray
Of mind, that made each feature play

Like sparkling waves on a sunny day;
"I come from my rest to him I love best, And her motionless lips lay still as death,
That I may be happy, and he may be blest. And her words came forth without her
I have pass'd the guards, the gate, the


And there rose not a heave o'er her boSought thee in safety through foes and all.

som's swell, 'Tis said the lion will turn and flee

And there seem'd not a pulse in her veins From a maid in the pride of her purity;

to dwell. And the power on high, that can shield Though her eye shone out, yet the lids the good

were fix'd, Thus from the tyrant of the wood,

And the glance that it gave was wild and Hath extended its mercy to guard me as

unmix'd well

With aught of change, as the eyes may From the hands of the leaguering infidel. I come, and if I come in vain,

of the restless who walk in a troubled Never, oh never, we meet again!

dream; Thou hast done a fearful deed

Like the figures on arras, that gloomily In falling away from thy father's creed :

glare, But dash that turban to earth, and sign

Stirr'd by the breath of the wintry air, The sign of the cross, and for ever be So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light,


Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight; Wring the black drop from thy heart,

As they seem, through the dimness, about And to-morrow unites us no more to part.”

to come down

From the shadowy wall where their images “And where should our bridal couch be

frown; spread?

Fearfully flitting to and fro, In the midst of the dying and the dead ?

As the gusts on the tapestry come and go. For to-morrow we give to the slaughter

and flame

“If not for love of me be given The sons and the shrines of the Christian Thus much, then, for the love of heaven,

Again I say--that turban tear None sare thon and thine, I've sworn, From off thy faithless brow, and swear Shall be left upon the morn:

Thine injured country's sons to spare, But thee will I bear to a lovely spot, Or thou art lost; and never shalt see, Where our hands shall be join'd, and our Not earth—that's past-but heaven or ine.

sorrow forgot. If this thou dost'accord, albeit There thou yet shalt be my bride, A heavy doom 'tis thine to meet, When once again I've quellid the pride That doom shall half absolve thy sin, Of Venice; and her hated race

And mercy's gate may receive thee within : Have felt the arm they would debase

But pause one moment more, and take Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those The curse of Him thou didst forsake; Whom vice and envy made my foes.” And look once more to heaven, and see

Its love for ever shut from thee. Upon his hand she laid her own

There is a light cloud by the moonLight was the touch, but it thrill'd to the Tis passing, and will pass full soon–

If, by the time its vapoury sail bone,

Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil, And shot a chillness to his heart, Which fix'd him beyond the power to start. Thy heart within thee is not changed, Though slight was that grasp so mortal Then God and man are both avenged;


Dark will thy doom be, darker still He could not loose him from its hold;

Thine immortality of ill." But never did clasp of one so dear Strike on the pulse with such feeling of Alp look’d to heaven, and saw on high


The sign she spake of in the sky;
As those thin fingers, long and white, But his heart was swollen, and turn'd aside,
Froze through his blood by their touch By deep interminable pride.

that night.
This first false passion of his breast


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ire :

Roll'd like a torrent o'er the rest.

Forins in his phalanx each Janizar; He sue for mercy! He dismay'd

Alp at their head; his right arm is bare, By wild words of a timid maid !

So is the blade of his scimitar; He, wrong’d by Venice, vow to save The khan and the pachas are all at their Her sons devoted to the grave!

post; No—though that cloud were thunder's | The vizier himself at the head of the host.


When the calverin's signal is fired, then on; And charged to crush him - let it burst! Leave not in Corinth a living one

A priest at her aliars, a chief in her halls,

A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her He look'd upon it earnestly,

walls. Without an accent of reply;

God and the prophet-Alla Hu! He watch'd it passing; it is flown: Up to the skies with that wild halloo! Full on his eye the clear moon shonc, “I'here the breach lies for passage, the And thus he spake—“Whate'er my fate,

ladder to scale; I am no changeling—'tis too late :

And your hands on your sabres, and how The reed in storms may bow and quiver,

should ye fail ? Then rise again; the tree must shiver. He who first downs with the red cross What Venice made me, I must be

may crave Her foe in all, save love to thee :

His heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, But thou art safe: oh, fly with me!”

and have!” He turn'd, but she is gone!

Thus utter'd Coumourgi, the dauntless Nothing is there but the column-stone.

vizier; Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air? | The reply was the brandish of sabre and He saw not, he knew not; but nothing is

spear, there.

And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous The night is past, and shines the sun Silence-hark to the signal--fire! As if that morn were a jocund one. Lightly and brightly breaks away The Morning from her mantle gray,

As the wolves, that headlong go And the Noon will look on a sultry day.

On the stately buffalo, Hark to the trump, and the drum,

Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar, And the mournful sound of the barbarous And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore,


He tramples on carth, or tosses on high And the flap of the banners, that flit as

The foremost, who rush on his strength

but to die : they're borne, And the neigh of the steed, and the mul- Thus against the wall they went,

titude's hun,

Thus the first were backward bent ; And the clash, and the shout, “they come, Strew'd the earth like broken glass,

Many a bosom, sheath'd in brass,

they come! The horsetails are pluck'd from the ground, The ground whereon they moved no more:

Shiver'd by the shot, that tore

and the sword From its sheath ; and they form, and but Even as they fell, in files they lay,

wait for the word.

Like the mower's grass at the close of day,

When his work is done on the levellid Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, Strike your tents, and throng to the van;

plain ;

Such was the fall of the foremost slain. Mount ye, spur ye, skirr the plain, That the fugitive may flee in vain, When he breaks from the town; and none As the spring-tides, with heavy plash,


From the cliffs invading dash Aged or young, in the Christian shape; Huge fragments, sapp'd by the ceaseless While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,

flow, Bloodstain the breach through which they Till white and thundering down they go;


Like the avalanche's snow The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the On the Alpine vales below :


Thus at length, outbreathed and worn, Curved is each neck, and flowing each Corinth's sons were downward borne


By the long and oft renewd White is the foam of their champ on the charge of the Moslem multitude.


In firmness they stood, and in masses they The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;

fell, The cannon are pointed and ready to roar, Heap'd by the host of the infidel, And crush the wall they have crumbled Hand to hand, and foot to foot:


Nothing there, sare death, was mute ;

their graves;


Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry Patroclus' spirit less was pleased
For quarter, or for victory,

Than his, Minotti's son, who died
Mingle there with the volleying thunder, Where Asia's bounds and ours divide.
Which makes the distant cities wonder Buried he lay, where thonsands before
How the sounding battle goes,

For thousands of years were inhumed on If with them, or for their foes ;

the shore; If they must mourn, or may rejoice What of them is left, to tell In that annihilating voice,

Where they lie, and how they fell? Which pierces the deep hills through and Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in

through With an echo dread and new :

But they live in the verse that immortally You might have heard it, on that day, O'er Salamis and Megara; (We have heard the hearers say,)

Hark to the Allah shout! a band Even unto Piraeus bay.

Of the Mussulman bravest and best is at

hand : From the point of encountering blades Their leader's nervous arm is bare,

to the hilt,

Swifter to smite, and never to spareSabres and swords with blood were gilt; Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them on; But the rampart is won, and the spoil Thus in the fight is he ever known:


Others a gaudier garb may show,
And all but the after-carnage done. To tempt the spoil of the greedy foe;
Shriller shrieks now mingling come Many a hand's on a richer hilt,
From within the plunder'd dome:

But none on a steel more ruddily gilt: Hark to the haste of flying feet,

Many a loftier turban may wear, -That splash in the blood of the slippery Alp is but known by the white arm bare;


Look through the thick of the fight, 'tis But here and there, where 'vantage-ground

there! Against the foe may still be found,

There is not a standard on that shore Desperate groups, of twelve or ten, So well advanced the ranks before; Make a pause, and turn again –

There is not a banner in Moslem war
With banded backs against the wall, Will lure the Delhis half so far ;
Fiercely stand, or fighting fall.

It glances like a falling star!
Where'er that mighty arm is seen,

| The bravest be, or late have been ; There stood an old man--his hairs were There the craven cries for quarter


Vainly to the vengeful Tartar;
But his veteran arm was full of might : Or the hero, silent lying,
So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray, Scorns to yield a groan in dying ;
The dead before him on that day
In a semicircle lay;

Mustering his last feeble blow

'Gainst the nearest levellid foe, Still he combated unwounded,

Though faint beneath the mutual wound, Though retreating, unsurrounded.

Grappling on the gory ground.
Many a scar of former fight
Lurked beneath his corslet bright;
But of every wound his body bore,

Still the old man stood erect,
Each and all had been ta'en before : And Alp's career a moment check'd.
Thongh aged he was, so iron of limb, "Yield thee, Minotti; quarter take,
Few of our youth could cope with him; For thine own, thy daughter's sake.”
And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay,
Outnumber'd his thin hairs of silver-gray.

“Never, renegado, never!
From right to left his sabre swept:
Many an Othman mother wept

Though the life of thy gift would last for

ever." Sons that were unborn, when dipp'd His weapon first in Moslem gore, Ere his years could count a score.

"Francesca!- Oh my promised bride! Of all he might have been the sire

Must she too perish by thy pride?"
Who fell that day beneath his ire :
For, sonless left long years ago,

“She is safe.”_"Where? where?" j"In His wrath made many a childless foe;

heaven, And since the day, when in the strait From whence thy traitor-soul is drivenHis only boy had met his fate,

Far from thee, and undefiled." His parent's iron band did doom

Grimly then Minotti smiled, More than a human hecatomb.

As he saw Alp staggering how If shades by carnage be appeased.

Before his words, as with a blow.

“Oh God! when died she?” “Yester- Brief breathing-time! the turban'd host,


With added ranks and raging boast, Nor weep I for her spirit's flight: Press onwards with such strength and heat, None of my pure race shall be

Their numbers balk their own retreat; Slaves to Mahomet and thee

For narrow the way that led to the spot Come on!”—That challenge is in vain Where still the Christians yielded not; Alp's already with the slain!

And the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try While Minotti's words were wreaking Through the massy column to turn and fly; More revenge in bitter speaking

They perforce must do or die. Than his falchion's point had found, They die; but, ere their eyes could close, Had the time allow'd to wound,

Avengers o'er their bodies rose; From within the neighbouring porch Fresh and furious, fast they fill Of a long defended church,

The ranks unthinn'd, though slaughter'd Where the last and desperate few

still; Would the failing fight renew,

And faint the weary Christians wax
The sharp shot dash'd Alp to the ground; Before the still renewid attacks:
Ere an eye could view the wound

And now the Othmans gain the gate;
That crash'd through the brain of the insidel, Still resists its iron weight,
Round he spun, and down he fell; And still, all deadly aim'd and hot,
A Aash like fire within his eyes

From every crevice comes the shot;
Blazed, as he bent no more to rise,

From every shatter'd window pour And then eternal darkness sunk

The volleys of the sulphurous shower : Through all the palpitating trunk; But the portal wavering grows and weak Nought of life left, save a quivering The iron yields, the hinges creakWhere his limbs were slightly shivering: It bends-it falls--and all is o'er; They turn'd him on his back; his breast Lost Corinth may resist no more! And brow were staind with gore and

dust, And through his lips the life-blood oozed,

Darkly, sternly, and all alone,

Minotti stood o'er the altar-stone:
From its deep veins lately loosed ;
But in his pulse there was no throb,

Madonna's face upon him shone,
Nor on his lips one dying sob;

Painted in heavenly hues above, Sigh, nor word, nor struggling breath

With eyes of light and looks of love; Heralded his way to death ;

And placed upon that holy shrine Ere his very thought could pray,

To fix our thoughts on things divine, Unaneal'd he pass'd away,

When pictured there, we kneeling see Without a hope from mercy's aid,

Her, and the Boy-God on her knee,
To the last a renegade.

Smiling sweetly on each prayer
To heaven, as if to waft it there.

Still she smiled; even now she smiles, Fearfully the yell arose

Though slaughter streams along her aisles:

Minotti listed his aged eye, Of his followers, and his foes;

And made the These in joy, in fury those:

gn of a cross with a sigh, Then again in conflict mixing,

Then seized a torch which blazed thereby; Clashing swords, and spears transfixing,

And still he stood, while, with steel and

flame, Interchanged the blow and thrust,

Inward and onward the Mussulman came. Hurling warriors in the dust. Street by street, and foot by foot, Siill Minotti dares dispute

The vaults beneath the mosaic stone The latest portion of the land

Contain'd the dead of agés gone; Left beneath his high command ;

Their names were on the graven floor, With him, aiding heart and hand, But now illegible with gore ; The remnant of his gallant band.

The carved crests, and curious hues Still the church is tenable,

The varied marble's veins diffuse, Whence issued late the fated ball

Were smear'd, and slippery-stain'd, and That half avenged the city's fall,

strown When Alp, her fierce assailant, fell: With broken swords, and helins o'erthrown: Thither bending sternly back,

There were dead above, and the dead below They leave before a bloody track; Lay cold in many a coffin'd row; And, with their faces to the foe,

You might see them piled in sable state, Dealing wounds with every blow,

By a pale light through a gloomy grate: The chief, and his retreating train, But War had enter'd their dark caves, Join to those within the fane:

And stored along the vaulted graves There they yet may breathe awhile, Her sulphurons treasures, thickly spread Shelter'd by the massy pile.

In masses by the fleshless dead;

Here, throughout the siege, had been Proclaim'd the desperate conflict o'er
The Christians' chiefest magazine; On that too long afflicted shore:
To these a late form'd train now led, Up to the sky like rockets go
Minotti's last and stern resource

All that mingled there below:
Against the foe's o’erwhelming force. Many a tall and goodly man,

Scorch'd and shrivell’d to a span,

When he fell to earth again The foe came on, and few remain

Like a cinder strew'd the plain:
To strive, and those must strive in vain :

Down the ashes shower like rain ;
For lack of further lives, to slake
The thirst of vengeance now awake,

Some fell in the gulf, which received the

sprinkles With barbarous blows they gash the dead,

With a thousand circling wrinkles; And lop the already lifeless head,

Some fell on the shore, but far away, And fell the statues from their niche,

Scatter'd o'er the isthmus lay; And spoil the shrines of offerings rich,

Christian or Moslem, which be they? And from each other's rude hands wrest

Let their mothers see and say ! The silver vessels saints had bless’d.

When in cradled rest they lay,
To the high altar on they go;

And each nursing mother smiled
Oh, but it made a glorious show!
On its table still behold

On the sweet sleep of her child,

Little deem'd she such a day
The cup of consecrated gold;

Would rend those tender limbs away.
Massy and deep, a glittering prize,
Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes : Could discern their offspring more ;

Not the matrons that them bore
That morn it held the holy wine,
Converted by Christ to his blood 'so divine, That one moment left no trace

More of human form or face
Which his worshippers drank at the break

of day,

Save a scatter'd scalp or bone: To shrive their souls ere they join'd in the And down came blazing rafters, strown


Around, and many a falling stone, Still a few drops within it lay;

Deeply dinted in the clay, And round the sacred table glow

All blacken'd there and reeking lay. Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row,

All the living things that heard From the purest metal cast;

That deadly earth-shock disappear'd :

The wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled, A spoil—the richest, and the last.

And howling left the unburied dead;

The camels from their keepers broke; So near they came, the nearest stretch'a The distant steer forsook the yokeTo grasp the spoil he almost reach'd, The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain, When old Minotti's hand

And burst his girth, and tore his rein; Touch'd with the torch the train - The bull-frog's note, from out the marsh, Tis fired!

Deep-mouth'd arose, and doubly harsh ;
Spire, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain, The wolves yell’d on the cavern'd hill,
The turban’d victors, the Christian band, Where echo roll'd in thunder still;
All that of living or dead remain,

The jackal's troop, in gather'd cry,
Hurl'd on high with the shiver'd fane, Bay'd from afar complainingly,
In one wild roar expired!

With a mix'd and mournful sound,
The shatter'd town – the walls thrown Like crying babe, and beaten hound:


With sudden wing, and ruffled breast, The waves a moment backward bent- The eagle left his rocky nest, The hills that shake, although unrent, And mounted nearer to the sun, As if an earthquake passid

The clouds beneath him seem'd so dun; The thousand shapeless things all driven Their smoke assail'd his startled beak, In cloud and fame athwart the heaven, And made him higher soar and shriekBy that tremendous blast

Thus was Corinth lost and won!

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