The Bride of Abydos: Canto II

The winds are high on Helle's wave,As on that night of stormy waterWhen Love, who sent, forgot to saveThe young--the beautiful--the brave--The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.Oh! when alone along the skyHer turret-torch was blazing high,Though rising gale, and breaking foam,And shrieking sea-birds warned 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 that light of Love,The only star it hailed above;His ear but rang with Hero's song,"Ye waves, divide not lovers long!"--That tale is old, but Love anewMay nerve young hearts to prove as true.

The winds are high and Helle's tideRolls darkly heaving to the main;And Night's descending shadows hideThat field with blood bedewed in vain,The desert of old Priam's pride;The tombs, sole relics of his reign,All--save immortal dreams that could beguileThe blind old man of Scio's rocky isle!

Oh! yet--for there my steps have been;These feet have pressed 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 greenContains no fabled hero's ashes,And that around the undoubted sceneThine own "broad Hellespont" still dashes,Be long my lot! and cold were heWho there could gaze denying thee!

The Night hath closed on Helle's stream,Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hillThat Moon, which shone on his high theme:No warrior chides her peaceful beam,But conscious shepherds bless it still.Their flocks are grazing on the MoundOf him who felt the Dardan's arrow:That mighty heap of gathered groundWhich Ammon's son ran proudly round,By nations raised, by monarchs crowned,Is now a lone and nameless barrow!Within--thy dwelling-place how narrow!Without--can only strangers breatheThe name of him that was beneath:Dust long outlasts the storied stone;But Thou--thy very dust is gone!

Late, late to-night will Dian cheerThe swain, and chase the boatman's fear;Till then--no beacon on the cliffMay shape the course of struggling skiff;The scattered lights that skirt the bay,All, one by one, have died away;The only lamp of this lone hourIs glimmering in Zuleika's tower.Yes! there is light in that lone chamber,And o'er her silken ottomanAre 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 liesA Koran of illumined dyes;And many a bright emblazoned rhymeBy Persian scribes redeemed from Time;And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,Reclines her now neglected lute;And round her lamp of fretted goldBloom 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 delightAre gathered 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?

Wrapt in the darkest sable vest,Which none save noblest Moslem wear,To guard from winds of Heaven the breastAs Heaven itself to Selim dear,With cautious steps the thicket threading,And starting oft, as through the gladeThe 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?

They reached at length a grotto, hewnBy nature, but enlarged by art,Where oft her lute she wont to tune,And oft her Koran conned apart;And oft in youthful reverieShe dreamed what Paradise might be:Where Woman's parted soul shall goHer Prophet had disdained to show;gfBut Selim's mansion was secure,Nor deemed she, could he long endureHis bower in other worlds of blissWithout her, most beloved in this!Oh! who so dear with him could dwell?What Houri soothe him half so well?

Since last she visited the spotSome change seemed wrought within the grot:It might be only that the nightDisguised things seen by better light:That brazen lamp but dimly threwA ray of no celestial hue;But in a nook within the cellHer eye on stranger objects fell.There arms were piled, not such as wieldThe turbaned Delis in the field;But brands of foreign blade and hilt,And one was red--perchance with guilt!ggAh! how without can blood be spilt?A cup too on the board was setThat did not seem to hold sherbet.What may this mean? she turned to seeHer Selim--"Oh! can this be he?"gh

His robe of pride was thrown aside,His brow no high-crowned turban bore,But in its stead a shawl of red,Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore:That dagger, on whose hilt the gemWere worthy of a diadem,No longer glittered at his waist,Where pistols unadorned were braced;And from his belt a sabre swung,And from his shoulder loosely hungThe cloak of white, the thin capoteThat decks the wandering Candiote;Beneath--his golden plated vestClung like a cuirass to his breast;The greaves below his knee that woundWith silvery scales were sheathed and bound.But were it not that high commandSpake in his eye, and tone, and hand,All that a careless eye could seeIn him was some young Galiongee.

"I said I was not what I seemed;And now thou see'st my words were true:I have a tale thou hast not dreamed,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 declaredHow much of that young heart I shared,I could not, must not, yet have shownThe 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!"

"Oh! not my brother!--yet unsay--God! am I left alone on earthTo mourn--I dare not curse--the daygiThat 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 led'st me here perchance to kill;If thou hast cause for vengeance, see!My breast is offered--take thy fill!Far better with the dead to beThan live thus nothing now to thee:Perhaps far worse, for now I knowWhy Giaffir always seemed thy foe;And I, alas! am Giaffir's child,For whom thou wert contemned, reviled.If not thy sister--would'st thou saveMy life--Oh! bid me be thy slave!"

"My slave, Zuleika!--nay, I'm thine:But, gentle love, this transport calm,Thy lot shall yet be linked with mine;I swear it by our Prophet's shrine,gjAnd be that thought thy sorrow's balm.So may the Koran verse displayedUpon 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 pridedMust change; but, my Zuleika, know,That tie is widened, not divided,Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe.My father was to Giaffir allThat Selim late was deemed to thee;That brother wrought a brother's fall,But spared, at least, my infancy!And lulled me with a vain deceitThat yet a like return may meet.He reared me, not with tender help,But like the nephew of a Cain;He watched me like a lion's whelp,That gnaws and yet may break his chain.My father's blood in every veinIs boiling! but for thy dear sakeNo present vengeance will I take;Though here I must no more remain.But first, beloved Zuleika! hearHow Giaffir wrought this deed of fear.

"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 fewAnd thoughtless, will disturb repose.In war Abdallah's arm was strong,Remembered yet in Bosniac song,And Paswan's rebel hordes attestHow 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,gkWhate'er beside it makes, hath made me free.

"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;Not 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 plainTheir tents were pitched, their post assigned;To one, alas! assigned in vain!What need of words? the deadly bowl,By Giaffir's order drugged and given,With venom subtle as his soul,glDismissed Abdallah's hence to heaven.Reclined and feverish in the bath,He, when the hunter's sport was up,But little deemed a brother's wrathTo quench his thirst had such a cup:The bowl a bribed attendant bore;He drank one draught, nor needed more!If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt,Call Haroun--he can tell it out.

"The deed once done, and Paswan's feudIn part suppressed, though ne'er subdued,Abdallah's Pachalick was gained:--Thou know'st not what in our DivanCan wealth procure for worse than man--Abdallah's honours were obtainedBy him a brother's murder stained;'Tis true, the purchase nearly drainedHis ill-got treasure, soon replaced.Would'st question whence? Survey the waste,And ask the squalid peasant howHis gains repay his broiling brow!--Why me the stern Usurper spared,Why thus with me his palace spared,I know not. Shame--regret--remorse--And little fear from infant's force--Besides, adoption as a sonBy him whom Heaven accorded none,Or some unknown cabal, caprice,Preserved me thus:--but not in peace:He cannot curb his haughty mood,gmNor I forgive a father's blood.

"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 knewThis tale, whose close is almost nigh:He in Abdallah's palace grew,And held that post in his SeraiWhich 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 elateWith foes subdued, or friends betrayed,Proud Giaffir in high triumph sate,He led me helpless to his gate,And not in vain it seems essayedTo save the life for which he prayed.The knowledge of my birth securedFrom all and each, but most from me;Thus Giaffir's safety was ensured.Removed he too from RoumelieTo this our Asiatic side,Far from our seats by Danube's tide,With none but Haroun, who retainsSuch knowledge--and that Nubian feelsA 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!

"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."gnI saw thee start this garb to see,Yet is it one I oft have worn,And long must wear: this Galiongee,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 taleWould 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 knavesIs filled--once quaffed, they ne'er repine:Our Prophet might forgive the slaves;They're only infidels in wine.

"What could I be? Proscribed at home,And taunted to a wish to roam;And listless left--for Giaffir's fearDenied the courser and the spear--Though oft--Oh, Mahomet! how oft!--In full Divan the despot scoffed,As if my weak unwilling handRefused the bridle or the brand:He ever went to war alone,And pent me here untried--unknown;To Haroun's care with women left,goBy hope unblest, of fame bereft,While thou--whose softness long endeared,Though it unmanned me, still had cheered--To Brusa's walls for safety sent,Awaited'st there the field's event.Haroun who saw my spirit pininggpBeneath inaction's sluggish yoke,His captive, though with dread resigning,My thraldom for a season broke,On promise to return beforeThe day when Giaffir's charge was o'er.'Tis vain--my tongue can not impartgqMy almost drunkenness of heart,When first this liberated eyeSurveyed Earth--Ocean--Sun--and Sky--As if my Spirit pierced them through,And all their inmost wonders knew!One word alone can paint to theeThat more than feeling--I was Free!E'en for thy presence ceased to pine;The World--nay, Heaven itself was mine!

"The shallop of a trusty MoorConveyed me from this idle shore;I longed to see the isles that gemOld Ocean's purple diadem:I sought by turns, and saw them all;But when and where I joined the crew,With whom I'm pledged to rise or fall,When all that we design to doIs done,'twill then be time more meetTo tell thee, when the tale's complete.

"'Tis true, they are a lawless brood,But rough in form, nor mild in mood;And every creed, and every race,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 vowed for those who fall,Have made them fitting instrumentsFor more than e'en my own intents.And some--and I have studied allDistinguished from the vulgar rank,But chiefly to my council callThe wisdom of the cautious Frank:--And some to higher thoughts aspire.The last of Lambro's patriots thereAnticipated freedom share;And oft around the cavern fireOn visionary schemes debate,To snatch the Rayahs from their fate.So let them ease their hearts with prateOf equal rights, which man ne'er knew;I have a love for freedom too.Aye! let me like the ocean-Patriarch roam,Or only know 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 clouds away,And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!Blest--as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wallTo 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,grShall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.For thee in those bright isles is built a bowerBlooming as Aden in its earliest hour.A thousand swords, with Selim's heart and hand,Wait--wave--defend--destroy--at thy command!gsGirt by my band, Zuleika at my side,The spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride.The Haram's languid years of listless easeAre well resigned for cares--for joys like these:Not blind to Fate, I see, where'er I rove,Unnumbered perils,--but one only love!Yet well my toils shall that fond breast 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,gtBlend 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 assignedBy fatal Nature to man's warring kind:guMark! where his carnage and his conquests cease!He makes a solitude, and calls it--peace!gvI like the rest must use my skill or strength,But ask no land beyond my sabre's length:Power sways but by division--her resourcegwThe blest alternative of fraud or force!Ours be the last; in time Deceit may comeWhen cities cage us in a social home:There ev'n thy soul might err--how oft the heartCorruption 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--Away suspicion!--not Zuleika's name!But life is hazard at the best; and hereNo more remains to win, and much to fear:Yes, fear!--the doubt, the dread of losing thee,By Osman's power, and Giaffir's stern decree.That dread shall vanish with the favouring gale,Which Love to-night hath promised to my sail:gxNo danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest,Their steps still roving, but their hearts at rest.With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms;Earth--sea alike--our world within our arms!Aye--let the loud winds whistle o'er the deck,So that those arms cling closer round my neck:The deepest murmur of this lip shall be,gyNo sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!The war of elements no fears impartTo Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art:There lie the only rocks our course can check;Here moments menace--there are years of wreck!But hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape!This hour bestows, or ever bars escape.gzFew words remain of mine my tale to close;Of thine but one to waft us from our foes;Yea--foes--to me will Giaffir's hate decline?And is not Osman, who would part us, thine?

"His head and faith from doubt and deathReturned in time my guard to save;Few heard, none told, that o'er the waveFrom isle to isle I roved the while:And since, though parted from my bandToo seldom now I leave the land,No deed they've done, nor deed shall do,Ere I have heard and doomed it too:I form the plan--decree the spoil--Tis fit I oftener share the toil.But now too long I've held thine ear;Time presses--floats my bark--and hereWe leave behind but hate and fear.To-morrow Osman with his trainArrives--to-night must break thy chain:And would'st thou save that haughty Bey,--Perchance his life who gave thee thine,--With me this hour away--away!But yet, though thou art plighted mine,Would'st thou recall thy willing vow,Appalled by truths imparted now,Here rest I--not to see thee wed:But be that peril on my head!"

Zuleika, mute and motionless,Stood like that Statue of Distress,When, her last hope for ever gone,The Mother hardened into stone;All in the maid that eye could seeWas but a younger Niobe.But ere her lip, or even her eye,Essayed to speak, or look reply,Beneath the garden's wicket porchFar flashed on high a blazing torch!Another--and another--and another--"Oh! fly--no more--yet now my more than brother!"Far, wide, through every thicket spreadThe fearful lights are gleaming red;Nor these alone--for each right handIs ready with a sheathless brand.They part--pursue--return, and wheelWith searching flambeau, shining steel;And last of all, his sabre waving,Stern Giaffir in his fury raving:And now almost they touch the cave--Oh! must that grot be Selim's grave?

Dauntless he stood--"'Tis come--soon past--One kiss, Zuleika--'tis my last:But yet my band not far from shoreMay hear this signal, see the flash;Yet now too few--the attempt were rash:No matter--yet one effort more."Forth to the cavern mouth he stept;His pistol's echo rang on high,Zuleika started not, nor wept,Despair benumbed her breast and eye!--"They hear me not, or if they plyTheir oars,'tis but to see me die;That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh.Then forth my father's scimitar,Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war!Farewell, Zuleika!--Sweet! retire:Yet stay within--here linger safe,At thee his rage will only chafe.Stir not--lest even to thee perchanceSome erring blade or ball should glance.Fear'st them for him?--may I expireIf in this strife I seek thy sire!No--though by him that poison poured;No--though again he call me coward!But tamely shall I meet their steel?No--as each crest save his may feel!"

One bound he made, and gained the sand:Already at his feet hath sunkThe foremost of the prying band,A gasping head, a quivering trunk:Another falls--but round him closeA swarming circle of his foes;From right to left his path he cleft,And almost met the meeting wave:His boat appears--not five oars' length--His comrades strain with desperate strength--Oh! are they yet in time to save?His feet the foremost breakers lave;His band are plunging in the bay,Their sabres glitter through the spray;Wet--wild--unwearied to the strandThey struggle--now they touch the land!They come--'tis but to add to slaughter--His heart's best blood is on the water.

Escaped from shot, unharmed by steel,Or scarcely grazed its force to feel,haHad Selim won, betrayed, beset,To where the strand and billows met;There as his last step left the land,And the last death-blow dealt his hand--Ah! wherefore did he turn to lookhbFor her his eye but sought in vain?That pause, that fatal gaze he took,Hath doomed his death, or fixed his chain.Sad proof, in peril and in pain,How late will Lover's hope remain!His back was to the dashing spray;Behind, but close, his comrades lay,When, at the instant, hissed the ball--"So may the foes of Giaffir fall!"Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang?Whose bullet through the night-air sang,Too nearly, deadly aimed to err?'Tis thine--Abdallah's Murderer!The father slowly rued thy hate,The son hath found a quicker fate:Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling,The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling--If aught his lips essayed to groan,The rushing billows choked the tone!

Morn slowly rolls the clouds away;Few trophies of the fight are there:The shouts that shook the midnight-bayAre silent; but some signs of frayThat strand of strife may bear,And fragments of each shivered brand;Steps stamped; and dashed into the sandThe print of many a struggling handMay there be marked; nor far remoteA broken torch, an oarless boat;And tangled on the weeds that heapThe beach where shelving to the deepThere lies a white capote!'Tis rent in twain--one dark-red stainThe wave yet ripples o'er in vain:But where is he who wore?Ye! who would o'er his relics weep,Go, seek them where the surges sweepTheir burthen round Sigaeum's steepAnd cast on Lemnos' shore:The sea-birds shriek above the prey,O'er which their hungry beaks delay,hcAs shaken on his restless pillow,His head heaves with the heaving billow;That hand, whose motion is not life,hdYet feebly seems to menace strife,Flung by the tossing tide on high,Then levelled with the wave--What recks it, though that corse shall lieWithin a living grave?The bird that tears that prostrate formHath only robbed the meaner worm;The only heart, the only eyeHad bled or wept to see him die,Had seen those scattered limbs composed,And mourned above his turban-stone,That heart hath burst--that eye was closed--Yea--closed before his own!

By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail!And Woman's eye is wet--Man's cheek is pale:Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race,Thy destined lord is come too late:He sees not--ne'er shall see thy face!Can he not hearThe loud Wul-wulleh warn his distant ear?Thy handmaids weeping at the gate,The Koran-chanters of the Hymn of Fate,heThe silent slaves with folded arms that wait,Sighs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale,Tell him thy tale!Thou didst not view thy Selim fall!That fearful moment when he left the caveThy heart grew chill:He was thy hope--thy joy--thy love--thine all,And that last thought on him thou could'st not saveSufficed to kill;Burst forth in one wild cry--and all was still.Peace to thy broken heart--and virgin grave!Ah! happy! but of life to lose the worst!That grief--though deep--though fatal--was thy first!Thrice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the forceOf absence--shame--pride--hate--revenge--remorse!And, oh! that pang where more than Madness liesThe Worm that will not sleep--and never dies;Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night,That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light,That winds around, and tears the quivering heart!Ah! wherefore not consume it--and depart!Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting Chief!Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head,Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread:By that same hand Abdallah--Selim bled.Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief:Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed,She, whom thy Sultan had but seen to wed,hfThy Daughter's dead!Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,The Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream.What quenched its ray?--the blood that thou hast shed!Hark! to the hurried question of Despair:"Where is my child?"--an Echo answers--"Where?"

Within the place of thousand tombsThat shine beneath, while dark aboveThe sad but living cypress gloomshgAnd withers not, though branch and leafAre stamped with an eternal grief,Like early unrequited Love,One spot exists, which ever blooms,Ev'n in that deadly grove--A single rose is shedding thereIts lonely lustre, meek and pale:It looks as planted by Despair--So white--so faint--the slightest galeMight whirl the leaves on high;And yet, though storms and blight assail,And hands more rude than wintry skyMay wring it from the stem--in vain--To-morrow sees it bloom again!The stalk some Spirit gently rears,And waters with celestial tears;For well may maids of Helle deemThat this can be no earthly flower,Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,And buds unsheltered by a bower;Nor droops, though Spring refuse her shower,Nor woos the Summer beam:To it the livelong night there singsA Bird unseen--but not remote:Invisible his airy wings,But soft as harp that Houri stringsHis long entrancing note!It were the Bulbul; but his throat,Though mournful, pours not such a strain:For they who listen cannot leaveThe spot, but linger there and grieve,As if they loved in vain!And yet so sweet the tears they shed,'Tis sorrow so unmixed with dread,They scarce can bear the morn to breakThat melancholy spell,And longer yet would weep and wake,He sings so wild and well!But when the day-blush bursts from highhhExpires that magic melody.And some have been who could believe,hi(So fondly youthful dreams deceive,Yet harsh be they that blame,)That note so piercing and profoundWill shape and syllable its soundInto Zuleika's name.'Tis from her cypress summit heard,That melts in air the liquid word:'Tis from her lowly virgin earthThat white rose takes its tender birth.There late was laid a marble stone;Eve saw it placed--the Morrow gone!It was no mortal arm that boreThat deep fixed pillar to the shore;For there, as Helle's legends tell,Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell;Lashed by the tumbling tide, whose waveDenied his bones a holier grave:And there by night, reclined, 'tis said.Is seen a ghastly turbaned head:And hence extended by the billow,'Tis named the "Pirate-phantom's pillow!"Where first it lay that mourning flowerHath flourished; flourisheth this hour,Alone and dewy--coldly pure and pale;As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's tale!hj