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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
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
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
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,
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
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 ;
The armaments which thunderstrike the And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
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
My task is done-my song hath ceasedThy shores are empires, changed in all
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.
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
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 !
A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALE:
“One fatal remembrance-one sorrow that throws
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,
And many a shade that love might share,
That holds the pirate for a guest;
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,
And leave his sons a hope, a fame,
Though baffled oft is ever won.
While kings, in dusty darkness hid,
Have left a nameless pyramid,
Thy heroes, though the general doom
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;
Enough-no foreign foe could quell
Thy soul, till from itself it fell;
Yes! Self-abasement paved the way
To villain-bonds and despot-sway.
What can he tell who treads thy shore? As if to him it could impart
No legend of thine olden time,
The fiery souls that might have led
Now crawl from cradle to the grave,
And callous, save to crime;
Mankind, where least above the brutes;
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
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,
Start on the fisher's eye like boat
And fearful for his light caique,
Though worn and weary with his toil,
Receives him by the lovely light
That best becomes an Eastern night. Will add to theirs a name of fear
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,
A life of pain, an age of crime.
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?
Woe to that hour he came or went !
He came, he went, like the Simoom,
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
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,