Selected Poems (37 page)

When left to roll its folds below,

As midst her handmaids in the hall

She stood superior to them all,

500

Hath swept the marble where her feet

Gleam’d whiter than the mountain sleet

Ere from the cloud that gave it birth

It fell, and caught one stain of earth.

The cygnet nobly walks the water;

505

So moved on earth Circassia’s daughter,

The loveliest bird of Franguestan!
⁴

As rears her crest the ruffled Swan,

And spurns the wave with wings of pride,

When pass the steps of stranger man

510

Along the banks that bound her tide;

Thus rose fair Leila’s whiter neck:–

Thus arm’d with beauty would she check

Intrusion’s glance, till Folly’s gaze

Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise.

515

Thus high and graceful was her gait;

Her heart as tender to her mate;

Her mate – stern Hassan, who was he?

Alas! that name was not for thee!

* * * * *

Stern Hassan hath a journey ta’en

520

With twenty vassals in his train,

Each arm’d, as best becomes a man,

With arquebuss and ataghan;

The chief before, as deck’d for war,

Bears in his belt the scimitar

525

Stain’d with the best of Arnaut blood,

When in the pass the rebels stood,

And few return’d to tell the tale

Of what befell in Parne’s vale.

The pistols which his girdle bore

530

Were those that once a pasha wore,

Which still, though gemm’d and boss’d with gold,

Even robbers tremble to behold.

‘Tis said he goes to woo a bride

More true than her who left his side;

535

The faithless slave that broke her bower,

And, worse than faithless, for a Giaour!

* * * * *

The sun’s last rays are on the hill,

And sparkle in the fountain rill,

Whose welcome waters, cool and clear,

540

Draw blessings from the mountaineer:

Here may the loitering merchant Greek

Find that repose ’t were vain to seek

In cities lodged too near his lord,

And trembling for his secret hoard –

545

Here may he rest where none can see,

In crowds a slave, in deserts free;

And with forbidden wine may stain

The bowl a Moslem must not drain.

* * * * *

The foremost Tartar’s in the gap,

550

Conspicuous by his yellow cap;

The rest in lengthening line the while

Wind slowly through the long defile:

Above, the mountain rears a peak,

Where vultures whet the thirsty beak,

555

And theirs may be a feast to-night,

Shall tempt them down ere morrow’s light;

Beneath, a river’s wintry stream

Has shrunk before the summer beam,

And left a channel bleak and bare,

560

Save shrubs that spring to perish there:

Each side the midway path there lay

Small broken crags of granite gray,

By time, or mountain lightning, riven

From summits clad in mists of heaven;

565

For where is he that hath beheld

The peak of Liakura unveil’d?

* * * * *

They reach the grove of pine at last:

‘Bismillah!
¹
now the peril’s past;

For yonder view the opening plain,

570

And there we’ll prick our steeds amain:’

The Chiaus spake, and as he said,

A bullet whistled o’er his head;

The foremost Tartar bites the ground!

Scarce had they time to check the rein,

575

Swift from their steeds the riders bound;

But three shall never mount again:

Unseen the foes that gave the wound,

The dying ask revenge in vain.

With steel unsheath’d, and carbine bent,

580

Some o’er their courser’s harness leant,

Half shelter’d by the steed;

Some fly behind the nearest rock,

And there await the coming shock,

Nor tamely stand to bleed

585

Beneath the shaft of foes unseen,

Who dare not quit their craggy screen.

Stern Hassan only from his horse

Disdains to light, and keeps his course,

Till fiery flashes in the van

590

Proclaim too sure the robber-clan

Have well secured the only way

Could now avail the promised prey;

Then curl’d his very beard
¹
with ire,

And glared his eye with fiercer fire:

595

‘Though far and near the bullets hiss,

I’ve scaped a bloodier hour than this.’

And now the foe their covert quit,

And call his vassals to submit;

But Hassan’s frown and furious word

600

Are dreaded more than hostile sword,

Nor of his little band a man

Resign’d carbine or ataghan,

Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun!
²

In fuller sight, more near and near,

605

The lately ambush’d foes appear,

And, issuing from the grove, advance

Some who on battle-charger prance.

Who leads them on with foreign brand,

Far flashing in his red right hand?

610

“Tis he! ‘tis he! I know him now;

I know him by his pallid brow;

I know him by the evil eye
³

That aids his envious treachery;

I know him by his jet-black barb:

615

Though now array’d in Arnaut garb,

Apostate from his own vile faith,

It shall not save him from the death:

‘Tis he! well met in any hour,

Lost Leila’s love, accursed Giaour!’

620

As rolls the river into ocean,

In sable torrent wildly streaming;

As the sea-tide’s opposing motion,

In azure column proudly gleaming,

Beats back the current many a rood,

625

In curling foam and mingling flood,

While eddying whirl, and breaking wave,

Roused by the blast of winter, rave;

Through sparkling spray, in thundering clash,

The lightnings of the waters flash

630

In awful whiteness o’er the shore,

That shines and shakes beneath the roar;

Thus – as the stream and ocean greet,

With waves that madden as they meet –

Thus join the bands, whom mutual wrong,

635

And fate, and fury, drive along.

The bickering sabres’ shivering jar;

And pealing wide or ringing near

Its echoes on the throbbing ear,

The deathshot hissing from afar;

640

The shock, the shout, the groan of war,

Reverberate along that vale,

More suited to the shepherd’s tale:

Though few the numbers – theirs the strife,

That neither spares nor speaks for life!

645

Ah! fondly youthful hearts can press,

To seize and share the dear caress:

But Love itself could never pant

For all that Beauty sighs to grant

With half the fervour Hate bestows

650

Upon the last embrace of foes,

When grappling in the fight they fold

Those arms that ne’er shall lose their hold:

Friends meet to part; Love laughs at faith;

True foes, once met, are join’d till death!

* * * * *

655

With sabre shiver’d to the hilt,

Yet dripping with the blood he spilt;

Yet strain’d within the sever’d hand

Which quivers round that faithless brand;

His turban far behind him roll’d,

660

And cleft in twain its firmest fold;

His flowing robe by falchion torn,

And crimson as those clouds of morn

That, streak’d with dusky red, portend

The day shall have a stormy end;

665

A stain on every bush that bore

A fragment of his palampore,
¹