網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

Of sackcloth was thy wedding-garment made; The midland ocean breaks on him and me, Thy bridal's fruit is ashes: in the dust And from the Alban Mount we now behold The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid, Our friend of youth, that ocean , which The love of millions! How we did entrust

when we Faturity to her! and, though it must Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold Darken above our bones , yet fondly deem'd Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Ourchildren should obey herchild,and bless'd

Euxine rollid Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise

seem'd

Upon the blue Symplegades: long years-Like stars to shepherds' eyes :—'twas but a Long, though not very many, since have done meteor beam'd. Their work on both; some suffering and

some tears Woe unto us, not her; for she sleeps well: Have left us nearly where we had begun : The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run, Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, We have had our reward—and it is here; Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung That we can yet feel gladden'd by the sun, Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear Aations have arm'd in madness, the strange As if there were no man to trouble what fate

is clear. Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and

hath flung

Oh! that the Desert were my dwelling-place, Against their blind omnipotence a weight With one fair Spirit for my minister, Within the opposing scale, which crushes That I might all forget the human race,

soon or late, And, hating no one, love but only her!

Ye Elements !-in whose ennobling stir There might have been her destiny; but no, I feel myself exalted-Can ye not Our hearts deny it: and so young, so fair, Accord me such a being? Do I err Good without effort, great without a foe; In deeming such inhabit many a spot ? But now a bride and mother-and now there! Though with them to converse can rarely How many ties did that stern moment tear!

be our lot. From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's

breast

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, link'd the electric chain of that despair, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and There is society, where none intrudes,

opprest

By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: The land which loved thee so that none I love not Man the less, but Nature more, could love thee best. From these our interviews, in which I stcal

From all I may be, or have been before, Lo, Nemi! navell’d in the woody hills To mingle with the Universe, and feel So far, that the uprooting wind which tears What I can ne'er express, yet can not all The oak from his foundation,and which spills

conceal. The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares Roll onthou deep and dark blue ocean-roll! The oval mirror of thy glassy lake; Ten thousand flects sweep over thee in vain ; And, calm as cherish'd hate its surface wears Man marks the earth with ruin-his control A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake, Stops with the shore;-upon the watery plain All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain

the snake.

A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, Ind near Albano's scarce divided waves He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Shine from a sister-valley ;--and afar Without a grave, unknell’d, uncoffin'd, and The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves

unknown. The Latian coast where sprung the Epic war, - Arms and the Man," whose reascending star His steps are not upon thy paths,—thy fields Rose o'er an empire :- but beneath thy right | Are not a spoil for him,-thou dost arise Tully reposed" from Rome ;--and where And shake him from thee; the vile strength

he wields of girdling mountains intercepts the sight For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, The Sabine farm was tilld, the weary Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, bard's delight. And send'st him, shivering in thy playful

spray Bat I forget. My pilgrim's shrine is won, And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies And he and I must part, so let it be,- His petty hope in some near port or bay, His task and mine alike are nearly done; And dashest him again to earth:— there let Tet once more let us look opon the sea ;

him lay.

yon bar

The armaments which thunderstrike the And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy

walls

Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy And monarchs tremble in their capitals, I wanton'd with thy breakers—ther to me

The oak-leviathans, whose huge ribs make Were a delight, and if the freshening sea
Their clay-creator the vain title take Made them a terror—'twas a pleasing fear, I
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war: For I was as it were a child of thee,
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, And trusted to thy billows far and near,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar And laid my hand upon thy mane—as I do
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Tra-

here.
falgar.

My task is done-my song hath ceasedThy shores are empires, changed in all

save thee

Has died into an echo; it is fit Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what The spell should break of this protracted are they?

dreann. Thy waters wasted them while they were The torch shall be extinguish'd which free,

hath lit And many a tyrant since; their shores obey My midnight lamp-and what is writ, is The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay

writ. Has dried up realms to deserts:-not so thou, Would it were worthier! but I am not now Unchangeable save to thy wildwaves' play- That which I have been-and my visions flit Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, Less palpably before me—and the glow Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rol- Which in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, lest now.

faint, and low.

my theme

[ocr errors]

scene

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's Farewell! a word that must be, and hath form

been Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, A sound which makes us linger ;-yetCalm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or

farewell! storm,

Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving ; — boundless, endless, and which is his last, if in your memories dwell

sublimem A thought which once was his, if on ye swell The image of eternity—the throne A single recollection, not in vain Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain, Obeys thee; thou gocst forth, dread, fa- If such there were—with you, the moral of thomless, alone.

his strain !

THE GIAOUR,

A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALE:

“One fatal remembrance-one sorrow that throws
"Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes-
“To which Life nothing darker nor brighter can bring,
“For which joy hath no balm-and affliction no sting."

MOORE.

TO

OBLIGED AND AFFECTIONATE SERVANT,

enterprisc. The story, when entire, conSAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.

tained the adventures of a female slave, who

was thrown, in the Mussulman manner, AS A SLIGHT BUT MOST SINCERE TOKEN OP DMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS, RESPECT FOR HIS into the sea for infidelity, and avenged by GIBACTER, AND GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIEND

a young Venetian, her lover, at the time SHIP; THIS PRODUCTION 18 INSCRIBED BY HIS the Seven Islands were possessed by the Re

public of Venice, and soon after the Arnauts BYRON,

were beaten back from the Morea, which

they had ravaged for some time subsequent ADVERTISEMENT.

to the Russian invasion. The desertion of The Tale which these disjointed fragments the Mainotes, on being refused the plunder present, is founded upon circumstances now of Misitra, led to the abandonment of that less common in the East than formerly; enterprise and to the desolation of the Morea, either because the ladies are more circum- during which the cruelty exercised on all speet than in the "olden time;" or because sides was unparalleled even in the annals the Christians have better fortune, or less of the faithful.

No breath of air to break the wave By every breeze and season blest,
That rolls below the Athenian's grave, Returns the sweets by nature given
That tomb which, gleaming o'er the cliff, In softest incense back to heaven ;
First greets the homeward-veering skiff, And grateful yields that smiling sky
High o'er the land he saved in vain; Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh.
When shall such hero live again? And many a summer-flower is there,

And many a shade that love might share,
And inany a grotto, meant for rest,

That holds the pirate for a guest;
Fair clime! where every season smiles Whose bark in sheltering cove below
Benignant o'er those blessed isles, Lurks for the passing peaceful prow,
Which, seen from far Colonna's height, Till the gay mariner's guitar
Make glad the heart that hails the sight, Is heard, and seen the evening-star;
And lend to loneliness delight.

Then stealing with the muffled oar, There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek Far shaded by the rocky shore, Reflects the tints of many a peak Rush the night-prowlers on the prey, Caught by the laughing tides that lave And turn to groans his roundelay. These Edens of the eastern wave; Strange—that where Nature loved to trace, And if at times a transient breeze As if for Gods, a dwelling-place, Break the blue crystal of the seas, And every charm and grace hath mix'd Or sweep one blossom from the trees, Within the paradise she fix'd, How welcome is each gentle air

There man, enamourd of distress, That wakes and wafts the odours there! Should mar it into wilderness, For there—the Rose o'er crag or vale, And trample, brute-like, o’er each flower Saltana of the Nightingale,

That tasks not one laborious bour, The maid for whom his melody,

Nor claims the culture of his hand His thousand songs are heard on high, To bloom along the fairy-land, Blooms blushing to her lover's tale: But springs as to preclude his care, His queen, the garden-qneen, his Rose, And sweetly woos him-but to spare ! Unbent by winds, unchill'd by snows, Strange—that where all is peace beside Far from the winters of the west,

There passion riots in her pride,

And lust and rapine wildly reign That Tyranny shall quake to hear,
To darken o'er the fair domain.

And leave his sons a hope, a fame,
It is as though the fiends prevail'd Thev too will rather die than shame :
Against the seraphs they assail'd , For Freedom's battle once begun,
And, fix'd on heavenly thrones, should dwell Bequeath'd by bleeding Sire to Son,
The freed inheritors of hell;

Though baffled oft is ever won.
So soft the scene, so form’d for joy, Bear witness, Greece, thy living page,
So enrst the tyrants that destroy! Attest it many a deathless age!

While kings, in dusty darkness hid,

Have left a nameless pyramid,
He who hath bent him o'er the dead

Thy heroes, though the general doom
Ere the first day of death is fled,
The first dark day of nothingness,

Hath swept the column from their tomb, The last of danger and distress,

A mightier monument command,

The mountains of their native land! (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) The graves of those that cannot die!.

There points thy Muse to stranger's eye And mark'd the mild angelic air,

'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, The rapture of repose that's there,

Each step from splendour to disgrace;
The fix'd, yet tender traits that streak
The languor of the placid cheek,

Enough-no foreign foe could quell
And-but for that sad shrouded eye,

Thy soul, till from itself it fell;

Yes! Self-abasement paved the way
That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,

To villain-bonds and despot-sway.
And but for that chill changeless brow,
Where cold Obstruction's apathy
Appals the gazing mourner's heart,

What can he tell who treads thy shore? As if to him it could impart

No legend of thine olden time,
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; No theme on which the muse might soar,
Yes, but for these, and these alone, High as thine own in days of yore,
Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, When man was worthy of thy clime.
He still might doubt the tyrant's power; The hearts within thy valleys bred,
So fair, so calm, so softly seal’d,

The fiery souls that might have led
The first, last look by death reveald ! Thy sons to deeds sublime,
Such is the aspect of this shore ;

Now crawl from cradle to the grave,
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! Slaves-nay, the bondsmen of a slave,
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,

And callous, save to crime;
We start, for soul is wanting there. Stain'd with each evil that pollutes
Here is the loveliness in death,

Mankind, where least above the brutes;
That parts not quite with parting breath; Without even savage virtue blest,
But beauty with that fearful bloom, Without one free or valiant breast.
That hue which haunts it to the tomb, Still to the neighbouring ports they waft
Expression's last receding ray,

Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft; A gilded halo hovering round decay, In this the subtle Greek is found, The farewell beam of Feeling past away! For this, and this alone, renown'd. Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly In vain might Liberty invoke

birth,

The spirit to its bondage broke, Which gleams, but warms more its Or raise the neck that courts the yoke :

cherish'd earth! No more her sorrows I bewail,

Yet this will be a mournful tale,

And they who listen may believe, Clime of the unforgotten brave! Who heard it first had cause to grieve. Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty! can it be, That this is all remains of thee?

Far, dark, along the blue sea glancing,
Approach, thou craven crouching slave: The shadows of the rocks advancing,
Say, is not this Thermopylae ?

Start on the fisher's eye like boat
These waters blue that round you lave, Of island-pirate or Mainote;
Oh servile offspring of the free-

And fearful for his light caique,
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this? He shuns the near but doubtful creek ;
The gulf, the rock of Salamis !

Though worn and weary with his toil,
These scenes, their story not unknown, And cumber'd with his scaly spoil,
Arise, and make again your own; Slowly, yet strongly, plies the oar,
Snatch from the ashes of your sires Till Port Leone's safer shore
The embers of their former fires;

Receives him by the lovely light
And he who in the strife expires

That best becomes an Eastern night. Will add to theirs a name of fear

[ocr errors]

no

[ocr errors]

Who thundering comes on blackest steed, | As doubting to return or fly: With slacken'd bit and hoof of speed ? Impatient of his flight delay'd, Beneath the clattering iron's sound Here loud his raven charger neigh'dThe cavern'd echoes wake around Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd his h lash for lash, and bound for bound;

blade; The foam that streaks the courser's side That sound had burst his waking dream, Seems gather'd from the ocean-tide : As Slunnber starts at owlet's scream. Though weary waves are sunk to rest, The spur hath lanced his courser's sides; There's none within his rider's breast; Away, away, for life he rides : And though to-morrow's tempest lower, Swift as the hurl'd on high jerreed Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour ! Springs to the touch his startled steed; I know thee not, I loathe thy race, The rock is doubled, and the shore But in thy lineaments I trace

Shakes with the clattering tramp no more ; What time shall strengthen, not efface : The crag is won, no more is seen Though young and pale, that sallow front His Christian crest and haughty mien. k scathed by fiery passion's brunt; 'Twas but an instant he restrain'd Though bent on earth thine evil eye, That fiery barb so sternly rein'd ; As meteor-like thou glidest by,

'Twas but a moment that he stood, Right well I view and deem thee one Then sped as if by death pursued; Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun. But in that instant o'er his soul

Winters of Memory seem'd to 'roll,
On-on he hasten'd, and he drew And gather in that drop of time
My gaze of wonder as he flew :

A life of pain, an age of crime.
Though like a demon of the night O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears,
He pass'd and vanish'd from my sight,

Such moment pours the grief of years: His aspect and his air impress'd

What felt he then, at once opprest A troubled memory on my breast, By all that most distracts the breast ? And long upon my startled ear

That pause, which ponder'd o'er his fato, Rang his dark courser's hoofs of fear. Oh, who its dreary length shall date! He spurs his steed; he nears the steep, Though in Time's record nearly nought, That, jutting, shadows o'er the deep; It was Eternity to Thought! He winds around; he hurries by;

For infinite as boundless space The rock relieves him from mine eye; The thought that Conscience must embrace, For well I ween unwelcome he

Which in itself can comprehend Whose glance is fix'd on those that flee, Woe without name, or hope, or end. And not a star but shines too bright On him who takes such timeless flight. The hour is past, the Giaour is gono ; He wound along; but ere he pass'd

And did he fly or fall alone?
One glance he snatch'd, as if his last,

Woe to that hour he came or went !
A moment check'd his wheeling steed, The curse for Hassan's sin was sent
A moment breathed him from his speed, To turn a palace to a tomb :
A moment on his stirrup stood --

He came, he went, like the Simoom,
Why looks he o'er the olive-wood ?

That harbinger of fate and gloom, The crescent glimmers on the hill,

Beneath whose widely-wasting breath The Mosque's high lamps are quivering The very cypress droops to death

still:

Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is Though too remote for sound to wake

fled, In echoes of the far tophaike,

The only constant mourner o'er the dead! The flashes of each joyous peal Are seen to prove the Moslem’s zeal. To-night, set Rhamazani's sun;

The steed is vanish'd from the stall; To-night, the Bairam-feast's begon; No serf is seen in Hassan's hall; To-night-but who and what art thou The lonely Spider's thin grey pall or foreign garb and fearful brow? Waves slowly widening o'er the wall; And what are these to thine or thee, The Bat builds in his Haram-bower; That thou should'st either pause or flee? And in the fortress of his power He stood—some dread was on his face, The Owl usurps the beacon-tower; Soon Hatred settled in its place :

The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim, It rose not with the reddening flush With baffled thirst, and famine, grim; Of transient Anger's darkening blush, For the stream has shrunk from its marble But pale as inarble o'er the tomb,

bed, Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. Where the weeds and the desolate dust His brow was bent, his eye was glazed ;

are spread. He raised his arm, and fiercely raised, "I'was sweet of yore to see it play And sternly shook his hand on high, And chase the sultriness of day,

« 上一頁繼續 »