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George Gordon Byron - The Bride Of Abydos
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Know ye the land where cypress and myrtle 
  Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, 
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, 
  Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime? 
Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, 
Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; 
Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress`d with perfume, 
Wax faint o`er the gardens of Gúl in her bloom; 
Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 
And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; 
Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, 
In colour though varied, in beauty may vie, 
And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye; 
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, 
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? 
`Tis the clime of the East; `tis the land of the Sun-- 
Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? 
Oh! wild as the accents of lovers` farewell 
Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell. 

II. 
Begirt with many a gallant slave, 
Apparell`d as becomes the brave, 
Awaiting each his lord`s behest 
To guide his steps, or guard his rest, 
Old Giaffir sate in his Divan: 
  Deep thought was in his aged eye; 
And though the face of Mussulman 
  Not oft betrays to standers by 
The mind within, well skill`d to hide 
All but unconquerabl e pride, 
His pensive cheek and pondering brow 
Did more than he wont avow. 

III. 
"Let the chamber be clear`d." — The train disappear`d--
  "Now call me the chief of the Haram guard." 
With Giaffir is none but his only son, 
  And the Nubian awaiting the sire`s award. 
    "Haroun — when all the crowd that wait 
    Are pass`d beyond the outer gate, 
    (Woe to the head whose eye beheld 
    My child Zuleika`s face unveil`d!) 
    Hence, lead my daughter from her tower: 
    Her fate is fix`d this very hour: 
    Yet not to her repeat my thought; 
    By me alone be duty taught!" 
    "Pacha! to hear is to obey." 
    No more must slave to despot say-- 
    Then to the tower had ta`en his way, 
    But here young Selim silence brake, 
      First lowly rendering reverence meet! 
    And downcast look`d, and gently spake, 
      Still standing at the Pacha`s feet: 
    For son of Moslem must expire, 
    Ere dare to sit before his sire! 

    "Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide 
    My sister, or her sable guide, 
    Know--for the fault, if fault there be, 
    Was mine--then fall thy frowns on me-- 
    So lovelily the morning shone, 
      That--let the old and weary sleep-- 
    I could not; and to view alone 
      The fairest scenes of land and deep, 
    With none to listen and reply 
    To thoughts with which my heart beat high 
    Were irksome--for whate`er my mood, 
    In sooth I love not solitude; 
    I on Zuleika`s slumber broke, 
      And as thou knowest that for me 
      Soon turns the Haram`s grating key, 
    Before the guardian slaves awoke 
    We to the cypress groves had flown, 
    And made earth, main, and heaven our own! 
    There linger`d we, beguil`d too long 
    With Mejnoun`s tale, or Sadi`s song,  
    Till I, who heard the deep tambour  
    Beat thy Divan`s approaching hour, 
    To thee, and to my duty true, 
    Warn`d by the sound, to greet thee flew: 
    But there Zuleika wanders yet-- 
    Nay, father, rage not--nor forget 
    That none can pierce that secret bower 
    But those who watch the women`s tower." 

IV.
"Son of a slave"--the Pacha said--
"From unbelieving mother bred, 
Vain were a father`s hope to see 
Aught that beseems a man in thee. 
Thou, when thine arm should bend the bow, 
  And hurl the dart, and curb the steed, 
  Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed, 
Must pore where babbling waters flow, 
And watch unfolding roses blow. 
Would that yon orb, whose matin glow 
Thy listless eyes so much admire, 
Would lend thee something of his fire! 
Thou, who wouldst see this battlement 
By Christian cannon piecemeal rent; 
Nay, tamely view old Stamboul`s wall 
Before the dogs of Moscow fall, 
Nor strike one stroke for life or death 
Against the curs of Nazareth! 
Go--let thy less than woman`s hand 
Assume the distaff--not the brand. 
But, Haroun!--to my daughter speed: 
And hark--of thine own head take heed-- 
If thus Zuleika oft takes wing-- 
Thou see`st yon bow--it hath a string!" 

V. 
No sound from Selim`s lip was heard, 
  At least that met old Giaffir`s ear, 
But every frown and every word 
Pierced keener than a Christian`s sword. 
  "Son of a slave!--reproach`d with fear! 
  Those gibes had cost another dear. 
Son of a slave! and who my sire?" 
  Thus held his thoughts their dark career, 
And glances ev`n of more than ire 
  Flash forth, then faintly disappear. 
Old Giaffir gazed upon his son 
  And started; for within his eye 
He read how much his wrath had done; 
He saw rebellion there begun: 
  "Come hither, boy — what, no reply? 
I mark thee — and I know thee too; 
But there be deeds thou dar`st not do: 
But if thy beard had manlier length, 
And if thy hand had skill and strength, 
I`d joy to see thee break a lance, 
Albeit against my own perchance." 

As sneeringly these accents fell, 
On Selim`s eye he fiercely gazed: 
  That eye return`d him glance for glance, 
And proudly to his sire`s was raised, 
  Till Giaffir`s quail`d and shrunk askance-- 
And why--he felt, but durst not tell. 
"Much I misdoubt this wayward boy 
Will one day work me more annoy: 
I never loved him from his birth, 
And--but his arm is little worth, 
And scarcely in the chase could cope 
With timid fawn or antelope, 
Far less would venture into strife 
Where man contends for fame and life-- 
I would not trust that look or tone: 
No--nor the blood so near my own. 

That blood--he hath not heard--no more-- 
I`ll watch him closer than before. 
He is an Arab to my sight,
Or Christian crouching in the fight-- 
But hark!--I hear Zuleika`s voice; 
  Like Houris` hymn it meets mine ear: 
She is the offspring of my choice; 
  Oh! more than ev`n her mother dear, 
With all to hope, and nought to fear-- 
My Peri!--ever welcome here! 
Sweet, as the desert fountain`s wave, 
To lips just cool`d in time to save--
  Such to my longing sight art thou; 
Nor can they waft to Mecca`s shrine 
More thanks for life, than I for thine, 
  Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now." 

VI. 
Fair, as the first that fell of womankind, 
  When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling, 
Whose image then was stamp`d upon her mind--
  But once beguiled--and evermore beguiling; 
Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision 
  To Sorrow`s phantom-peopled slumber given, 
When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian, 
  And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven; 
Soft, as the memory of buried love; 
Pure as the prayer which Childhood wafts above, 
Was she--the daughter of that rude old Chief, 
Who met the maid with tears--but not of grief. 

Who hath not proved how feebly words essay 
To fix one spark of Beauty`s heavenly ray? 
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight 
Faints into dimness with its own delight, 
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess 
The might--the majesty of Loveliness? 
Such was Zuleika--such around her shone 
The nameless charms unmark`d by her alone; 
The light of love, the purity of grace, 
The mind, the Music breathing from her face, 
The heart whose softness harmonised the whole-- 
And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul! 

Her graceful arms in meekness bending 
  Across her gently-budding breast; 
At one kind word those arms extending 
  To clasp the neck of him who blest 
  His child caressing and carest, 
  Zuleika came--Giaffir felt 
  His purpose half within him melt; 
  Not that against her fancied weal 
  His heart though stern could ever feel; 
  Affection chain`d her to that heart; 
  Ambition tore the links apart. 

VII. 
"Zuleika! child of gentleness! 
  How dear this very day must tell, 
When I forget my own distress, 
  In losing what I love so well, 
  To bid thee with another dwell: 
  Another! and a braver man 
  Was never seen in battle`s van. 
We Moslems reck not much of blood; 
  But yet the line of Carasman 
Unchanged, unchangeable, hath stood 
  First of the bold Timariot bands 
That won and well can keep their lands. 
Enough that he who comes to woo 
Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou: 
His years need scarce a thought employ: 
I would not have thee wed a boy. 
And thou shalt have a noble dower: 
And his and my united power 
Will laugh to scorn the death-firman, 
Which others tremble but to scan, 
And teach the messenger what fate 
The bearer of such boon may wait, 
And now thy know`st thy father`s will; 
  All that thy sex hath need to know: 
`Twas mine to teach obedience still-- 
  The way to love, thy lord may show." 

VIII. 
In silence bow`d the virgin`s head; 
  And if her eye was fill`d with tears 
That stifled feeling dare not shed, 
And changed her cheek to pale to red, 
  And red to pale, as through her ears 
Those winged words like arrows sped, 
  What could such be but maiden fears? 
So bright the tear in Beauty`s eye, 
Love half regrets to kiss it dry; 
So sweet the blush of Bashfulness, 
Even Pity scarce can wish it less! 

Whate`er it was the sire forgot; 
Or if remember`d, mark`d it not; 
Thrice clapp`d his hands, and call`d his steed, 
  Resign`d his gem-adorn`d chibouque, 
And mounting featly for the mead, 
  With Maugrabee and Mamaluke, 
  His way amid his Delis took, 
To witness many an active deed 
With sabre keen, or blunt jerreed. 
The Kislar only and his Moors 
Watch well the Haram`s massy doors. 

IX. 
His head was leant upon his hand, 
  His eye look`d o`er the dark blue water 
That swiftly glides and gently swells 
Between the winding Dardanelles; 
But yet he saw nor sea nor strand, 
Nor even his Pacha`s turban`d band 
  Mix in the game of mimic slaughter, 
Careering cleave the folded felt 
With sabre stroke right sharply dealt; 
Nor mark`d the javelin-darting crowd, 
Nor heard their Ollahs wild and loud-- 
  He thought but of old Giaffir`s daughter! 

X. 
No word from Selim`s bosom broke; 
One sigh Zuleika`s thought bespoke: 
Still gazed he through the lattice grate, 
Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate. 
To him Zuleika`s eye was turn`d, 
But little from his aspect learn`d; 
Equal her grief, yet not the same: 
Her heart confess`d a gentler flame: 
But yet that heart, alarm`d, or weak, 
She knew not why, forbade to speak. 
Yet speak she must--but when essay? 
"How strange he thus should turn away! 
Not thus we e`er before have met; 
Not thus shall be our parting yet." 
Thrice paced she slowly through the room, 
  And watched his eye--it still was fix`d: 
  She snatch`d the urn wherein was mix`d 
The Persian Atar-gúl`s perfume,
And sprinkled all its odours o`er 
The pictured roof and marble floor: 
The drops, that through his glittering vest 
The playful girl`s appeal address`d, 
Unheeded o`er his bosom flew, 
As if that breast were marble too. 
"What sullen yet? it must not be--
Oh! gentle Selim, this from thee!" 
She saw in curious order set 
  The fairest flowers of Eastern land-- 
"He loved them once; may touch them yet 
  If offer`d by Zuleika`s hand." 
The childish thought was hardly breathed 
Before the Rose was pluck`d and wreathed; 
The next fond moment saw her seat 
Her fairy form at Selim`s feet: 
"This rose to calm my brother`s cares 
A message from the Bulbul bears; 
It says to-night he will prolong 
For Selim`s ear his sweetest song; 
And though his note is somewhat sad, 
He`ll try for once a strain more glad, 
With some faint hope his alter`d lay 
May sing these gloomy thoughts away. 

XI. 
"What! not receive my foolish flower? 
  Nay then I am indeed unblest: 
On me can thus thy forehead lower? 
  And know`st thou not who loves thee best? 
Oh, Selim dear! oh, more than dearest! 
Say is it me thou hat`st or fearest? 
Come, lay thy head upon my breast, 
And I will kiss thee into rest, 
Since words of mine, and songs must fail 
Ev`n from my fabled nightingale.
I knew our sire at times was stern, 
But this from thee had yet to learn: 
Too well I know he loves thee not; 
But is Zuleika`s love forgot? 
Ah! deem I right? the Pacha`s plan-- 
This kinsman Bey of Carasman 
Perhaps may prove some foe of thine: 
If so, I swear by Mecca`s shrine, 
If shrines that ne`er approach allow 
To woman`s step admit her vow, 
Without thy free consent, command, 
The Sultan should not have my hand! 
Think`st though that I could bear to part 
With thee, and learn to halve my heart? 
Ah! were I sever`d from thy side, 
Where were thy friend — and who my guide? 
Years have not seen, Time shall not see 
The hour that tears my soul from thee: 
Even Azrael, from his deadly quiver 
  When flies that shaft, and fly it must, 
That parts all else, shall doom for ever 
  Our hearts to undivided dust!" 

XII. 
He lived--he breathed--he moved--he felt; 
He raised the maid from where she knelt; 
His trance was gone--his keen eye shone 
With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt; 
With thoughts that burn--in rays that melt. 
As the streams late conceal`d 
  By the fringe of its willows, 
When it rushes reveal`d 
  In the light of its billows; 
As the bolt bursts on high 
  From the black cloud that bound it, 
Flash`d the soul of that eye 
Through the long lashes round it. 
A war-horse at the trumpet`s sound, 
A lion roused by heedless hound, 
A tyrant waked to sudden strife 
By graze of ill-directed knife, 
Starts not to more convulsive life 
Than he, who heard that vow, display`d, 
And all, before repress`d, betray`d: 

"Now thou art mine, for ever mine, 
With life to keep, and scarce with life resign; 
Now thou art mine, that sacred oath, 
Though sworn by one, hath bound us both. 
Yes, fondly, wisely hast thou done; 
That vow hath saved more heads than one: 
But blench not thou--thy simplest tress 
Claims more from me than tenderness; 
I would not wrong the slenderest hair 
That clusters round thy forehead fair, 
For all the treasures buried far 
Within the caves of Istakar. 
This morning clouds upon me lower`d, 
Reproaches on my head were shower`d, 
And Giaffir almost call`d me coward! 
Now I have motive to be brave; 
The son of his neglected slave-- 
Nay, start not, `twas the term he gave-- 
May shew, though little apt to vaunt, 
A heart his words nor deeds can daunt. 
His son, indeed!--yet, thanks to thee, 
Perchance I am, at least shall be! 
But let our plighted secret vow 
Be only known to us as now. 
I know the wretch who dares demand 
From Giaffir thy reluctant hand; 
More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul 
Holds not a Musselim`s control:  
Was he not bred in Egripo?  
A viler race let Israel show! 
But let that pass — to none be told 
Our oath; the rest let time unfold. 
To me and mine leave Osman Bey; 
I`ve partisans for peril`s day: 
Think not I am what I appear; 
I`ve arms, and friends, and vengeance near." 

XIII. 
"Think not thou art what thou appearest! 
  My Selim, thou art sadly changed: 
This morn I saw thee gentlest, dearest: 
  But now thou`rt from thyself estranged. 
My love thou surely knew`st before, 
It ne`er was less, nor can be more. 
To see thee, hear thee, near thee stay, 
  And hate the night, I know not why, 
Save that we meet not but by day; 
  With thee to live, with thee to die, 
  I dare not to my hope deny: 
Thy cheek, thine eyes, thy lips to kiss, 
Like this--and this--no more than this; 
For, Allah! Sure thy lips are flame: 
  What fever in thy veins is flushing? 
My own have nearly caught the same, 
  At least I feel my cheek too blushing. 
To soothe thy sickness, watch thy health, 
Partake, but never waste thy wealth, 
Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by, 
And lighten half thy poverty; 
Do all but close thy dying eye, 
For that I could not live to try; 
To these alone my thoughts aspire: 
More can I do? or thou require? 
But, Selim, thou must answer why 
We need so much of mystery? 
The cause I cannot dream nor tell, 
But be it, since thou say`st `tis well; 
Yet what thou mean`st by `arms` and `friends,` 
Beyond my weaker sense extends. 
I mean that Giaffir should have heard 
  The very vow I plighted thee; 
His wrath would not revoke my word: 
  But surely he would leave me free. 
  Can this fond wish seem strange in me, 
To be what I have ever been? 
What other hath Zuleika seen 
From simple childhood`s earliest hour? 
  What other can she seek to see 
Than thee, companion of her bower, 
  The partner of her infancy? 
These cherish`d thoughts with life begun, 
  Say, why must I no more avow? 
What change is wrought to make me shun 
  The truth; my pride, and thine till now? 
To meet the gaze of stranger`s eyes 
Our law, our creed, our God denies, 
Nor shall one wandering thought of mine 
At such, our Prophet`s will, repine: 
No! happier made by that decree! 
He left me all in leaving thee. 
Deep were my anguish, thus compell`d 
To wed with one I ne`er beheld: 
This wherefore should I not reveal? 
Why wilt thou urge me to conceal! 
I know the Pacha`s haughty mood 
To thee hath never boded good: 
And he so often storms at naught, 
Allah! forbid that e`er he ought! 
And why I know not, but within 
My heart concealment weighs like sin. 
If then such secresy be crime, 
  And such it feels while lurking here, 
Oh, Selim! tell me yet in time, 
  Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear. 
Ah! yonder see the Tchocadar,
My father leaves the mimic war: 
I tremble now to meet his eye--
Say, Selim, canst thou tell me why?" 

XIV. 
"Zuleika--to thy tower`s retreat 
Betake thee--Giaffir I can greet: 
And now with him I fain must prate 
Of firmans, imposts, levies, state. 
There`s fearful news from Danube`s banks, 
Our Vizier nobly thins his ranks, 
For which the Giaour may give him thanks! 
Our sultan hath a shorter way 
Such costly triumph to repay. 
But, mark me, when the twilight drum 
  Hath warn`d the troops to food and sleep, 
Unto thy cell will Selim come: 
  Then softly from the Haram creep 
  Where we may wander by the deep: 
  Our garden-battlements are steep; 
Nor these will rash intruder climb 
To list our words, or stint our time; 
And if he doth, I want not steel 
Which some have felt, and more may feel. 
Then shalt thou learn of Selim more 
Than thou hast heard or thought before: 
Trust me, Zuleika — fear not me! 
Thou know`st I hold a Haram key." 

  "Fear thee, my Selim! ne`er till now 
Did word like this — " 
                        "Delay not thou; 
I keep the key — and Haroun`s guard 
Have some, and hope of more reward. 
Tonight, Zuleika, thou shalt hear 
My tale, my purpose, and my fear: 
I am not, love! what I appear." 

         CANTO THE SECOND. 

I. 
The winds are high on Helle`s wave, 
  As on that night of stormy water, 
When Love, who sent, forgot to save 
The young, the beautiful, the brave, 
  The lonely hope of Sestos` daughter. 
Oh! when alone along the sky 
Her turret-torch was blazing high, 
Though rising gale, and breaking foam, 
And shrieking sea-birds warn`d him home; 
And clouds aloft and tides below, 
With signs and sounds, forbade to go, 
He could not see, he would not hear, 
Or sound or sign foreboding fear; 
His eye but saw the light of love, 
The only star it hail`d above; 
His ear but rang with Hero`s song, 
"Ye waves, divide not lovers long!"-- 
That tale is old, but love anew 
May nerve young hearts to prove as true. 

II. 
The winds are high, and Helle`s tide 
  Rolls darkly heaving to the main; 
And Night`s descending shadows hide 
  That field with blood bedew`d in vain, 
The desert of old Priam`s pride; 
  The tombs, sole relics of his reign, 
All--save immortal dreams that could beguile 
The blind old man of Scio`s rocky isle! 

III. 
Oh! yet--for there my steps have been! 
  These feet have press`d the sacred shore, 
These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne--
Minstrel! with thee to muse, to mourn, 
  To trace again those fields of yore, 
Believing every hillock green 
  Contains no fabled hero`s ashes, 
And that around the undoubted scene 
  Thine own "broad Hellespont" still dashes,
Be long my lot! and cold were he 
Who there could gaze denying thee! 

IV. 
The night hath closed on Helle`s stream, 
  Nor yet hath risen on Ida`s hill 
That moon, which shoon on his high theme: 
No warrior chides her peaceful beam, 
  But conscious shepherds bless it still. 
Their flocks are grazing on the mound 
  Of him who felt the Dardan`s arrow; 
That mighty heap of gather`d ground 
Which Ammon`s son ran proudly round, 
By nations raised, by monarchs crown`d, 
  Is now a lone and nameless barrow! 
  Within--thy dwelling-pla ce how narrow? 
Without--can only strangers breathe 
The name of him that was beneath: 
Dust long outlasts the storied stone; 
But Thou--thy very dust is gone! 

V. 
Late, late to-night will Dian cheer 
The swain, and chase the boatman`s fear; 
Till then--no beacon on the cliff 
May shape the course of struggling skiff; 
The scatter`d lights that skirt the bay, 
All, one by one, have died away; 
The only lamp of this lone hour 
Is glimmering in Zuleika`s tower. 
Yes! there is light in that lone chamber, 
  And o`er her silken Ottoman 
Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber, 
  O`er which her fairy fingers ran;
Near these, with emerald rays beset, 
(How could she thus that gem forget?) 
Her mother`s sainted amulet, 
Whereon engraved the Koorsee text, 
Could smooth this life, and win the next; 
And by her Comboloio lies  
A Koran of illumined dyes; 
And many a bright emblazon`d rhyme 
By Persian scribes redeem`d from time; 
And o`er those scrolls, not oft so mute, 
Reclines her now neglected lute; 
And round her lamp of fretted gold 
Bloom flowers in urns of China`s mould; 
The richest work of Iran`s loom, 
And Sheeraz` tribute of perfume; 
All that can eye or sense delight 
  Are gather`d in that gorgeous room: 
  But yet it hath an air of gloom. 
She, of this Peri cell the sprite, 
What doth she hence, and on so rude a night? 

VI. 
Wrapt in the darkest sable vest, 
  Which none save noblest Moslems wear, 
To guard from winds of heaven the breast 
  As heaven itself to Selim dear, 
With cautious steps the thicket threading, 
  And starting oft, as through the glade 
  The gust its hollow moanings made; 
Till on the smoother pathway treading, 
More free her timid bosom beat, 
  The maid pursued her silent guide; 
And though her terror urged retreat, 
  How could she quit her Selim`s side? 
  How teach her tender lips to chide? 

VII. 
They reach`d at length a grotto, hewn 
  By nature, but enlarged by art, 
Where oft her lute she wont to tune, 
  And oft her Koran conn`d apart: 
And oft in youthful reverie 
She dream`d what Paradise might be; 
Where woman`s parted soul shall go 
Her Prophet had disdain`d to show; 
But Selim`s mansion was secure, 
Nor deem`d she, could he long endure 
His bower in other worlds of bliss, 
Without her, most beloved in this! 
Oh! who so dear with him could dwell? 
What Houri soothe him half so well? 

VIII. 
Since last she visited the spot 
Some change seem`d wrought within the grot; 
It might be only that the night 
Disguised things seen by better light: 
That brazen lamp but dimly threw 
A ray of no celestial hue: 
But in a nook within the cell 
Her eye on stranger objects fell. 
There arms were piled, not such as wield 
The turban`d Delis in the field; 
But brands of foreign blade and hilt, 
And one was red--perchance with guilt! 
Ah! how without can blood be spilt? 
A cup too on the board was set 
That did not seem to hold sherbet. 
What may this mean? she turn`d to see 
Her Selim--"Oh! can this be he?" 

IX. 
His robe of pride was thrown aside, 
  His brow no high-crown`d turban bore 
But in its stead a shawl of red, 
  Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore: 
That dagger, on whose hilt the gem 
Were worthy of a diadem, 
No longer glitter`d at his waist, 
Where pistols unadorn`d were braced; 
And from his belt a sabre swung, 
And from his shoulder loosely hung 
The cloak of white, the thin capote 
That decks the wandering Candiote: 
Beneath--his golden plated vest 
Clung like a cuirass to his breast 
The greaves below his knee that wound 
With silvery scales were sheathed and bound. 
But were it not that high command 
Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand, 
All that a careless eye could see 
In him was some young Galiongée.  

X. 
"I said I was not what I seem`d; 
  And now thou see`st my words were true: 
I have a tale thou hast not dream`d, 
  If sooth--its truth must others rue. 
My story now `twere vain to hide, 
I must not see thee Osman`s bride: 
But had not thine own lips declared 
How much of that young heart I shared, 
I could not, must not, yet have shown 
The darker secret of my own. 
In this I speak not now of love; 
That, let time, truth, and peril prove: 
But first--oh! never wed another--
Zuleika! I am not thy brother!" 

XI. 
"Oh! not my brother!--yet unsay-- 
  God! am I left alone on earth 
To mourn--I dare not curse the day 
  That saw my solitary birth? 
Oh! thou wilt love me now no more! 
  My sinking heart foreboded ill; 
But know me all I was before, 
  Thy sister--friend--Zuleika still. 
Thou ledd`st me hear perchance to kill; 
  If thou hast cause for vengeance see 
My breast is offer`d--take thy fill! 
  Far better with the dead to be 
  Than live thus nothing now to thee; 
Perhaps far worse, for now I know 
Why Giaffir always seem`d thy foe; 
And I, alas! am Giaffir`s child, 
Form whom thou wert contemn`d, reviled. 
If not thy sister--wouldst thou save 
My life, oh! bid me be thy slave!" 

XII. 
"My slave, Zuleika!--nay, I`m thine; 
  But, gentle love, this transport calm, 
Thy lot shall yet be link`d with mine; 
I swear it by our Prophet`s shrine, 
  And be that thought thy sorrow`s balm. 
So may the Koran verse display`d 
Upon its steel direct my blade, 
In danger`s hour to guard us both, 
As I preserve that awful oath! 
The name in which thy heart hath prided 
  Must change; but, my Zuleika, know, 
That tie is widen`d, not divided, 
  Although thy Sire`s my deadliest foe. 
My father was to Giaffir all 
  That Selim late was deem`d to thee; 
That brother wrought a brother`s fall, 
  But spared, at least, my infancy; 
And lull`d me with a vain deceit 
That yet a like return may meet. 
He rear`d me, not with tender help, 
  But like the nephew of a Cain; 
He watch`d me like a lion`s whelp, 
  That gnaws and yet may break his chain. 
  My father`s blood in every vein 
Is boiling; but for thy dear sake 
No present vengeance will I take; 
  Though here I must no more remain. 
But first, beloved Zuleika! hear 
How Giaffir wrought this deed of fear. 

XIII. 
"How first their strife to rancour grew, 
  If love or envy made them foes, 
It matters little if I knew; 
In fiery spirits, slights, though few 
  And thoughtless, will disturb repose. 
In war Abdallah`s arm was strong, 
Remember`d yet in Bosniac song, 
And Paswan`s rebel hordes attest  
How little love they bore such guest: 
His death is all I need relate, 
The stern effect of Giaffir`s hate; 
And how my birth disclosed to me, 
Whate`er beside it makes, hath made me free. 

XIV. 
"When Paswan, after years of strife, 
At last for power, but first for life, 
In Widdin`s walls too proudly sate, 
Our Pachas rallied round the state; 
Nor last nor least in high command, 
Each brother led a separate band; 
They gave their horse-tails to the wind, 
  And mustering in Sophia`s plain 
Their tents were pitch`d, their posts assign`d; 
  To one, alas! assign`d in vain! 
What need of words? the deadly bowl, 
  By Giaffir`s order drugg`d and given, 
With venom subtle as his soul, 
  Dismiss`d Abdallah`s hence to heaven. 
Reclined and feverish in the bath, 
  He, when the hunter`s sport was up, 
But little deem`d a brother`s wrath 
  To quench his thirst had such a cup: 
The bowl a bribed attendant bore; 
He drank one draught, and nor needed more! 
If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt, 
Call Haroun--he can tell it out. 

XV. 
"The deed once done, and Paswan`s feud 
In part suppress`d, though ne`er subdued, 
  Abdallah`s Pachalic was gain`d:-- 
Thou know`st not what in our Divan 
Can wealth procure for worse than man-- 
  Abdallah`s honours were obtain`d 
By him a brother`s murder stain`d; 
`Tis true, the purchase nearly drain`d 
His ill got treasure, soon replaced. 
Wouldst question whence? Survey the waste, 
And ask the squalid peasant how 
His gains repay his broiling brow!-- 
Why me the stern usurper spared, 
Why thus with me the palace shared, 
I know not. Shame, regret, remorse, 
And little fear from infant`s force; 
Besides, adoption of a son 
Of him whom Heaven accorded none, 
Or some unknown cabal, caprice, 
Preserved me thus; but not in peace; 
He cannot curb his haughty mood, 
Nor I forgive a father`s blood! 

XVI. 
"Within thy father`s house are foes; 
  Not all who break his bread are true: 
To these should I my birth disclose, 
  His days, his very hours, were few: 
They only want a heart to lead, 
A hand to point them to the deed. 
But Haroun only knows--or knew-- 
  This tale, whose close is almost nigh: 
He in Abdallah`s palace grew, 
  And held that post in his Serai 
  Which holds he here--he saw him die: 
But what could single slavery do? 
Avenge his lord? alas! too late; 
Or save his son from such a fate? 
He chose the last, and when elate 
  With foes subdued, or friends betray`d, 
Proud Giaffir in high triumph sate, 
He led me helpless to his gate, 
  And not in vain it seems essay`d 
  To save the life for which he pray`d. 
The knowledge of my birth secured 
  From all and each, but most from me; 
Thus Giaffir`s safety was insured. 
  Removed he too from Roumelie 
To this our Asiatic side, 
Far from our seat by Danube`s tide, 
  With none but Haroun, who retains 
Such knowledge--and that Nubian feels 
  A tyrant`s secrets are but chains, 
From which the captive gladly steals, 
And this and more to me reveals: 
Such still to guilt just Allah sends-- 
Slaves, tools, accomplices--no friends! 

XVII. 
"All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds; 
  But harsher still my tale must be: 
Howe`er my tongue thy softness wounds, 
  Yet I must prove all truth to thee. 
  I saw thee start this garb to see, 
Yet is it one I oft have worn, 
  And long must wear: this Galiongée, 
To whom thy plighted vow is sworn, 
  Is leader of those pirate hordes, 
  Whose laws and lives are on their swords; 
To hear whose desolating tale 
Would make thy waning cheek more pale: 
Those arms thou see`st my band have brought, 
The hands that wield are not remote; 
This cup too for the rugged knaves 
  Is fill`d--once quaff`d, they ne`er repine: 
Our Prophet might forgive the slaves; 
  They`re only infidels in wine! 

XVIII. 
"What could I be? Proscribed at home, 
And taunted to a wish to roam; 
And listless left--for Giaffir`s fear 
Denied the courser and the spear-- 
Though oft--oh, Mohammed! how oft!-- 
In full Divan the despot scoff`d, 
As if my weak unwilling hand 
Refused the bridle or the brand: 
He ever went to war alone, 
And pent me here untried--unknown; 
To Haroun`s care with women left, 
By hope unblest, of fame bereft. 
While thou--whose softness long endear`d, 
Though it unmann`d me, still had cheer`d-- 
To Brusa`s walls for safety sent, 
Awaited`st there the field`s event. 
Haroun, who saw my spirit pining 
  Beneath inaction`s sluggish yoke, 
His captive, though with dread, resigning, 
  My thraldom for a season broke, 
On promise to return before 
The day when Giaffir`s charge was o`er. 
`Tis vain--my tongue can not impart 
My almost drunkenness of heart, 
When first this liberated eye 
Survey`d Earth, Ocean, Sun and Sky, 
As if my spirit pierced them through, 
And all their inmost wonders knew! 
One word alone can paint to thee 
That more than feeling--I was Free! 
Ev`n for thy presence ceased to pine; 
The World--nay--Heaven itself was mine! 

XIX. 
"The shallop of a trusty Moor 
Convey`d me from this idle shore; 
I long`d to see the isles that gem 
Old Ocean`s purple diadem: 
I sought by turns, and saw them all: 
  But when and where I join`d the crew, 
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; 
With them hath found--may find--a place: 
But open speech, and ready hand, 
Obedience to their chief`s command; 
A soul for every enterprise, 
That never sees with terror`s eyes; 
Friendship for each, and faith to all, 
And vengeance vow`d for those who fall, 
Have made them fitting instruments 
For more than ev`n my own intents. 
And some — and I have studied all 
  Distinguish`d from the vulgar rank, 
But chiefly to my council call 
  The wisdom of the cautious Frank-- 
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 of freedom too. 
Ay! let me like the ocean-Patria rch roam,  
Or only known 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, 
Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life! 
The evening beam that smiles the cloud 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 
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 resign`d for cares--for joys like these: 
Not blind to fate, I see, where`er I rove, 
Unnumber`d perils--but one only love! 
Yet well my toils shall that fond beast repay, 
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 assign`d 
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 
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-- 
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