Poetry: Lord Byron - The bride of Abydos - A Turkish tale - Canto the second - Links to more LB

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         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, [23]
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, [24]
By nations raised, by monarchs crown'd,
  Is now a lone and nameless barrow!
  Within -- thy dwelling-place 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; [25]
Near these, with emerald rays beset,
(How could she thus that gem forget?)
Her mother's sainted amulet, [26]
Whereon engraved the Koorsee text,
Could smooth this life, and win the next;
And by her Comboloio lies [27]
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. [28]

               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 [29]
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; [30]
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 [31]
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, [32]
  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! [33]
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: [34]
  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 [35]
  Anticipated freedom share;
And oft around the cavern fire
On visionary schemes debate,
To snatch the Rayahs from their fate. [36]
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-Patriarch roam, [37]
Or only known on land the Tartar's home! [38]
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. [39]
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 --
Away suspicion! -- /not/ Zuleika's name!
But life is hazard at the best; and here
No 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:
No danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest,
Their steps till roving, but their hearts at rest.
With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms;
Earth -- sea alike -- our world within our arms!
Ay -- 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
No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!
The war of elements no fears impart
To 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.
Few 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?

              XXI.

  "His head and faith from doubt and death
  Return'd in time my guard to save;
  Few heard, none told, that o'er the wave
From isle to isle I roved the while:
And since, though parted from my band
Too seldom now I leave the land,
No deed they've done, nor deed shall do,
Ere I have heard and doom'd 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 here
We leave behind but hate and fear.
To-morrow Osman with his train
Arrives -- to-night must break thy chain:
And wouldst thou save that haughty Bey,
  Perchance, /his/ life who gave the thine,
With me this hour away -- away!
  But yet, though thou art plighted mine,
Wouldst thou recall thy willing vow,
Appall'd by truth imparted now,
Here rest I -- not to see thee wed:
But be that peril on /my/ head!"





             XXII.

Zuleika, mute and motionless,
Stood like that statue of distress,
When, her last hope for ever gone,
The mother harden'd into stone;
All in the maid that eye could see
Was but a younger Niobè.
But ere her lip, or even her eye,
Essay'd to speak, or look reply,
Beneath the garden's wicket porch
Far flash'd on high a blazing torch!
Another -- and another -- and another --
"Oh! -- no more -- yet now my more than brother!"
Far, wide, through every thicket spread,
The fearful lights are gleaming red;
Nor these alone -- for each right hand
Is ready with a sheathless brand.
They part, pursue, return, and wheel
With 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?

              XXIII.

Dauntless he stood -- "'Tis come -- soon past --
One kiss, Zuleika -- 'tis my last:
  But yet my band not far from shore
May 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 benumb'd her breast and eye! --
  "They hear me not, or if they ply
  Their 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 perchance
Some erring blade or ball should glance.
  Fear'st though for him? -- may I expire
  If in this strife I seek thy sire!
No -- though by him that poison pour'd:
No -- though again he call me coward!
But tamely shall I meet their steel?
No -- as each crest save /his/ may feel!"

               XXIV.

One bound he made, and gain'd the sand:
  Already at his feet hath sunk
The foremost of the prying band,
  A gasping head, a quivering trunk:
Another falls -- but round him close
  A 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;
We -- wild -- unwearied to the strand
They struggle -- now they touch the land!
They come -- 'tis but to add to slaughter --
His heart's best blood is on the water!

              XXV.

Escaped from shot, unharm'd by steel,
Or scarcely grazed its force to feel,
Had Selim won, betray'd, 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 look
  For her his eye but sought in vain?
That pause, that fatal gaze he took,
  Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd 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, hiss'd 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 aim'd 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 essay'd to groan,
The rushing billows choked the tone!

              XXVI.

Morn slowly rolls the clouds away;
  Few trophies of the fight are there:
The shouts that shook the midnight-bay
Are silent; but some signs of fray
  That strand of strife may bear,
And fragments of each shiver'd brand;
Steps stamp'd; and dash'd into the sand
The print of many a struggling hand
  May there be mark'd; nor far remote
  A broken torch, an oarless boat;
And tangled on the weeds that heap
The beach where shelving to the deep
  There lies a white capote!
'Tis rent in twain -- one dark-red stain
The 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 sweep
Their burthen round Sigæum's steep,
    And cast on Lemnos' shore:
The sea-birds shriek above the prey,
O'er which their hungry beaks delay,
As shaken on his restless pillow,
His head heaves with the heaving billow;
That hand, whose motion is not life,
Yet feebly seems to menace strife,
Flung by the tossing tide on high,
    Then levell'd with the wave --
What recks it, though that corse shall lie
    Within a living grave?
The bird that tears that prostrate form
Hath only robb'd the meaner worm:
The only heart, the only eye
Had bled or wept to see him die,
Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed,
  And mourn'd above his turban-stone, [40]
That heart hath burst -- that eye was closed --
    Yea -- closed before his own!

               XXVII.

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 hear
The loud Wul-wulleh warn his distant ear? [41]
  Thy handmaids weeping at the gate,
  The Koran-chanters of the hymn of fate,
  The 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 cave
      Thy heart grew chill:
He was thy hope -- thy joy -- thy love -- thine all --
  And that last thought on him thou couldst not save
      Sufficed 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 force
Of absence, shame, pride, hate, revenge, remorse!
And, oh! that pang where more than madness lies!
The 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 doth 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,
      Thy Daughter's dead!
  Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,
  The star hath set that shone on Helle's stream.
What quench'd its ray? -- the blood that thou hast shed!
Hark! to the hurried question of Despair:
"Where is my child?" -- an Echo answers -- "Where?" [42]

             XVIII.

Within the place of thousand tombs
  That shine beneath, while dark above
The sad but living cypress glooms,
  And withers not, though branch and leaf
Are stamp'd 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 there
  Its lonely lustre, meek and pale:
It looks as planted by Despair --
  So white -- so faint -- the slightest gale
Might whirl the leaves on high;
  And yet, though storms and blight assail,
And hands more rude than wintry sky
  May 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 deem
That this can be no earthly flower,
Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,
  And buds unshelter'd by a bower;
Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower,
  Nor woos the summer beam:
To it the livelong night there sings
  A bird unseen -- but not remote:
Invisible his airy wings,
But soft as harp that Houri strings
  His long entrancing note!
It were the Bulbul; but his throat,
  Though mournful, pours not such a strain:
For they who listen cannot leave
The spot, but linger there and grieve,
  As if they loved in vain!
And yet so sweet the tears they shed,
'Tis sorrow so unmix'd with dread,
They scarce can bear the morn to break
  That melancholy spell,
And longer yet would weep and wake,
  He sings so wild and well!
But when the day-blush bursts from high
Expires that magic melody.
And some have been who could believe,
(So fondly youthful dreams deceive,
  Yet harsh be they that blame,)
That note so piercing and profound
Will shape and syllable its sound
  Into Zuleika's name. [43]
'Tis from her cypress' summit heard,
That melts in air the liquid word;
'Tis from her lowly virgin earth
That 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 bore
That deep fixed pillar to the shore;
For there, as Helle's legends tell,
Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell;
Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave
Denied his bones a holier grave:
And there by night, reclined, 'tis said,
Is seen a ghastly turban'd head:
And hence extended by the billow,
'Tis named the "Pirate-phantom's pillow!"
Where first it lay that mourning flower
Hath flourish'd; flourisheth this hour,
Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale;
As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's tale.





(1) "Gúl," the rose.

(2) "Souls made of fire, and children of the Sun,
    With whom revenge is virtue." -- YOUNG'S "REVENGE."

(3) Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, the moral set of Persia.

(4) "Tambour," Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, none, and twilight.

(5) The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the compliment a hundred-fold) even more than they hate the Christians.

(6) This expression has met with objections. I will not refer to "Him who hath not Music in his soul," but merely request the reader to recollect, for ten seconds, the features of the woman whom he believes to be the most beautiful; and if he then does not comprehend fully what is feebly expressed in the above line, I shall be sorry for us both. For an eloquent passage in the latest work of the first female writer of this, perhaps of any age, on the analogy (and the immediate comparison excited by that analogy) between "painting and music," see vol. iii. cap. 10, "De L'Allemagne." And is not this connexion still stronger with the original than the copy? with the colouring of Nature than of Art? After all, this is rather to be felt than described; still, I think there are some who will understand it, at least they would have done had they beheld the countenance whose speaking harmony suggested the idea; for this passage is not drawn from imagination but memory, that mirror which Affliction dashes to the earth, and looking down upon the fragments, only beholds the reflection multiplied.

(7) Carasman Oglou, or Kara Osman Oglou, is the principle landholder in Turkey; he governs Magnesia. Those who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess land on condition of service, are called Timariots; they serve as Spahis, according to the extent of territory, and bring a certain number into the field, generally cavalry.

(8) When a Pacha is sufficiently strong to resist, the single messenger, who is always the first bearer of the order for his death, is strangled instead, and sometimes five or six, one after the other, on the same errand, by command of the refractory patient; if, on the contrary, he is weak or loyal, he bows, kisses the Sultan's respectable signature, and is bowstrung with great complacency. In 1810, several of "these presents" were exhibited in the niche of the Seraglio gate: among others, the head of the Pacha of Bagdad, a brave young man, cut off by treachery, after a desperate resistance.

(9) Clapping of the hands calls the servants. The Turks hate a superfluous expenditure of voice, and they have no bells.

(10) "Chibouque," the Turkish pipe, of which the amber mouth-piece, and sometimes the ball which contains the leaf, is adorned with precious stones, if in possession of the wealthier orders.

(11) "Maugrabee," Moorish mercenaries.

(12) "Delis," bravoes who form the forlorn-hope of the cavalry, and always begin the action.

(13) A twisted fold of felt is used for scimitar practice by the Turks, and few but Mussulman arms can cut through it at a single stroke: sometimes a tough turban is used for the same purpose. The jerreed is a game of blunt javelins, animated and graceful.

(14) "Ollahs," Alla il Allah, the "Leilles," as the Spanish poets call them; the sound is Ollah; a cry of which the Turks, for a silent people, are somewhat profuse, particularly during the jerreed, or in the chase, but mostly in battle. Their animation in the field, and gravity in the chamber, with their pipes and comboloios, form an amusing contrast.

(15) "Atar-gúl," ottar of roses. The Persian is the finest.

(16) The ceiling and wainscots, or rather walls, of the Mussulman apartments are generally painted, in great houses, with one eternal and highly-coloured view of Constantinople, wherein the principle feature is a noble contempt of perspective; below, arms, scimitars, &c., are generally fancifully and not inelegantly disposed.

(17) It has been much doubted whether the notes of this "Lover of the rose are sad or merry; and Mr Fox's remarks on the subject have provoked some learned controversy as to the opinions of the ancients on the subject. I dare not venture a conjecture on the point, though a little inclined to the "errare [m?]alleum," &c., /if/ Mr Fox /was/ mistaken.

[Transcriber's note: the print impression I am working from is poor and in places not entirely intelligible.]

(18) "Azrael," the angel of death.

(19) The treasures of the Pre-Adamite Sultans. See D'Herbelot, article /Istakar./

(20) "Musselim," a governor, the next in rank after a Pacha; a Waywode is the third; and then come the Agas.

(21) "Egripo" -- the Negropont. According to the proverb, the Turks of Egrip, the Jews of Salonica, and the Greeks of Athens are the worst of their respective races.

(22) "Tchocadar," one of the attendants who precedes a man of authority.

(23) The wrangling about this epithet, "the broad Hellespont," or the "boundless Hellespont," whether it means one or the other, or what it means at all, has been beyond all possibility of detail. I have even heard it disputed on the spot; and not foreseeing a speedy conclusion to the controversy, amused myself by swimming across it in the meantime, and probably may again, before the point is settled. Indeed, the question as to the truth of "the tale of Troy divine" still continues, much of it resting upon the word {'ápeiros} [in Greek]: probably Homer had the same notion of distance that a coquette has of time, and when he talks of the boundless, means half a mile; as the latter, by a like figure, when she says /eternal/ attachment, simply specifies three weeks.

(24) Before his Persian invasion, and crowned the altar with laurel, &c. He was afterwards imitated by Caracalla in his race. It is believed that the last also poisoned a friend, named Festus, for the sake of new Patroclan games. I have seen the sheep feeding on the tombs of Æsietes and Antilochos: the first is in the center of the plain.

(25) When rubbed, the amber is susceptible of a perfume, which is slight but not disagreeable.

(26) The belief in amulets engraved on gems, or enclosed in gold boxes, containing scraps from the Koran, worn round the neck, wrist, or arm, is still universal in the East. The Koorsee (throne) verse in the second chapter of the Koran describes the attributes of the Most High, and is engraved in this manner, and worn by the pious, as the most esteemed and sublime of all sentences.

(27) "Comboloio," a Turkish rosary. The MSS., particularly those of the Persians, are richly adorned and illuminated. The Greek females are kept in utter ignorance; but many of the Turkish girls are highly accomplished, though not actually qualified for a Christian coterie. Perhaps some of our own /"blues"/ might not be the worse for /bleaching./

(28) "Galiongée," or Galiongi, a sailor, that is, a Turkish sailor; the Greeks navigate, the Turks work the guns. Their dress is picturesque; and I have seen the Capitan Pacha more than once wearing it as a kind of /incog./ Their legs, however, are generally naked. The buskins described in the text as sheathed behind with silver are those of an Arnaut robber, who was my host (he had quitted the profession) at his Pyrgo, near Gastouni in the Morea; they were plated in scales one over the other, like the back of an armadillo.

(29) The characters on all Turkish scimitars contain sometimes the name of the place of their manufacture, but more generally a text from the Koran, in letters of gold. Amongst those in my possession is one with a blade of singular construction; it is very broad, and the edge notched into serpentine curves like the ripple of water, or the wavering of flame. I asked the Armenian who sold it what possible use such a figure could add: he said, in Italian, that he did not know; but the Mussulmans had an idea that those of this form gave a severer wound; and liked it because it was "piu feroce." I did not much admire the reason, but bought it for its peculiarity.

(30) It is to be observed, that every allusion to anything or personage in the Old Testament, such as the Ark, or Cain, is equally the privilege of Mussulman and Jew: indeed, the former profess to be much better acquainted with the lives, true and fabulous, of the patriarchs, than is warranted by our own sacred writ; and not content with Adam, they have a biography of Pre-Adamites. Solomon is the monarch of all necromancy, and Moses a prophet inferior only to Christ and Mohammed. Zuleika is the Persian name of Potiphar's wife; and her amour with Joseph constitutes one of the finest poems in their language. It is, therefore, no violation of costume to put the names of Cain, or Noah, into the mouth of a Moslem.

(31) Paswan Oglou, the rebel of Widdin; who, for the last years of his life, set the whole power of the Porte at defiance.

(32) "Horse-tail," the standard of a Pacha.

(33) Giaffir, Pacha of Argyro Castro, or Scutari, I am not sure which, was actually taken off by the Albanian Ali, in the manner described in the text. Ali Pacha, while I was in the country, married the daughter of his victim, some years after the event had taken place at a bath in Sophia, or Adrianople. The poison was mixed in the cup of coffee, which is presented before the sherbet by the bath-keeper, after dressing.

(34) The Turkish notions of almost all islands are confined to the Archipelago, the sea alluded to.

(35) Lambro Canzani, a Greek, famous for his efforts in 1789-90, for the independence of his country. Abandoned by the Russians, he became a pirate, and the Archipelago was the scene of his enterprises. He is said to be still alive at St Petersburg. He and Riga are the two most celebrated of the Greek revolutionists.

(36) "Rayahs," all who pay the capitation tax, called the "Haratch."

(37) This first of voyages is one of the few with which the Mussulmans profess much acquaintance.

(38) The wandering life of the Arabs, Tartars, and Turkomans, will be found well detailed in any book of Eastern travels. That it possesses a charm peculiar to itself, cannot be denied. A young French renegado confessed to Chateaubriand, that he never found himself alone, galloping in the desert, without a sensation approaching to rapture, which was indescribable.

(39) "Jannat al Aden," the perpetual abode, the Mussulman paradise.

(40) A turban is carved in stone above the graves of /men/ only.

(41) The death-song of the Turkish women. The "silent slaves" are the men, whose notions of decorum forbid complain in /public./

(42) "I came to the place of my birth, and cried, 'The friends of my youth, where are they?' and an Echo answered, 'Where are they?'" -- /From an Arabic MS./

The above quotation (from which the idea in the text is taken) must be already familiar to every reader -- it is given in the first annotation, p. 67, of "The Pleasures of Memory;" a poem so well known as to render a reference almost superfluous; but to whose pages all will be delighted to recur.

(43) "And airy tongues that /syllable/ men's names." -- MILTON.

For a belief that the souls of the dead inhabit the form of birds, we need not travel to the East. Lord Lyttleton's ghost story, the belief of the Duchess of Kendal, that George I. flew into her window in the shape of a raven (see Orford's "Reminiscences"), and many other instances, bring this superstition nearer home. The most singular was the whim of a Worcester lady, who, believing her daughter to exist in the shape of a singing bird, literally furnished her pew in the cathedral with cages full of the kind; and as she was rich, and a benefactress in beautifying the church, no objection was made to her harmless folly. For this anecdote, see Orford's "Letters."







Childe Harold's Pilgrimage


Hebrew Melodies

Manfred


The Vision Of Judgment

The bride of Abydos


Theatre
Cain
Heaven and Earth:


Italiano:





Poetry: Lord Byron - The bride of Abydos - A Turkish tale - Canto the second - Links to more LB





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Music: Los Fronterizos - con Eduardo Madeo - Canción del jangadero - Acuarela del río - Lyrics - Folk argentino

Posted by ricardo marcenaro | Posted in | Posted on 19:44

0





Los Fronteizos
Argentina




video


Acuarela del río


Canción del jangadero

Río abajo voy llevando la jangada*
río abajo por el Alto Paraná
es el peso de la sombra derrumbada
que buscando horizonte bajará.

Río abajo, río abajo, río abajo
a flor de agua voy sangrando mi canción
en el sueño de la vida y el trabajo
se me vuelve camalote el corazón.

Jangadero... jangadero
mi destino sobre el río es derivar
desde el fondo del obraje maderero
con el anhelo del agua que se va.

Padre río, tus escamas de oro vivo
son el sueño que nos lleva más allá
vamos tras el horizonte fugitivo
y la sangre con el agua se nos va.

Banda a banda, sol y luna, cielo y agua
espejismo que no acaba de pasar
piel de barro, fabulosa lampalagua
me devora la pasión de navegar.

Jangadero... jangadero...

*jangada:
s. f. Amér. Almadía (conjunto de troncos unidos a modo de balsa y puestos a flote para transportarlos por un río).



video


Guitarra Trasnochada - Zamba

Letra y Musica: Arsenio Aguirre

La noche me está envolviendo
con su lunita color de plata.
De lejos me trae el río
un rumor suave de agüita clara.

¡Qué noche, vieras qué noche!
La cordillera, toda nevada.
La luna se hace pedazos
sobre las cumbres de la montaña.

¡Ay!, guitarra trasnochada,
canta conmigo mis añoranzas.
Bis Contale cuánto la quiero,
 a la que espera, mi enamorada.

Semilla, te has hecho árbol;
flores y nidos fueron tus ramas.
El tiempo quiso traerte
hasta mis manos hecha guitarra.

Amiga, mi leal amiga,
que con mi alma lloras o cantas.
La noche se está volviendo
puro recuerdo, pura nostalgia





video




Acuarela del río

Un canilla poí una balsa,
una guaina, una flor en el río,
un paisaje de cielo
reflejan las aguas del gran Paraná.
Más allá, un camalote va flotando
hacia la orilla que arbolada de sauces
Nos invita a soñar...

Acuarela del río que pintas de luces
mi dulce reomance.
En el mundo no hay marco más divino
y bello para nuestro amor, son su sol,
Con sus fúlgidos matices
con su brisa perfumada
en mágico arrebol
de un lento atardecer...

A la deriva el bote va
con mi amada por el río.
Meciéndonos con su vaivén
que acompasa nuestro amor.
Y apoyada en mi hombro
me musita al oído
mientras beso sus manos
completan mi dicha
aromas de azahar.








Music: Los Fronterizos - con Eduardo Madeo - Canción del jangadero - Acuarela del río - Lyrics - Folk argentino





Ricardo M Marcenaro - Facebook

Blogs in operation of The Solitary Dog:
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Para:
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My blogs are an open house to all cultures, religions and countries. Be a follower if you like it, with this action you are building a new culture of tolerance, open mind and heart for peace, love and human respect.

Thanks :)

Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano.

Gracias :)


Drawing - Dibujo: Ilene Meyer - Part 1 - 15 images - Bio data - Link

Posted by ricardo marcenaro | Posted in | Posted on 19:55

0

001 Ilene Meyer Plumsand Frogs
 
002 Ilene Meyer Silken

 
003 Ilene Meyer Transcendent Evolution

 
004 Ilene Meyer Ten Note Whirl
 
005 Ilene Meyer Nocturne
 
006 Ilene Meyer Allina Nights Work
 
007 Ilene Meyer Adamand Eve

 
008 Ilene Meyer A Placein Time
 
009 Ilene Meyer Equinox
 
010 Ilene Meyer Dogwood
 
011 Ilene Meyer Wart Hogs
 
012 Ilene Meyer Delicious Applesand Grapes
 
013 Ilene Meyer Illuminatae
 
014 Ilene Meyer Africa
 
015 Ilene Meyer Space Bugs   

  



Born     December 30, 1939
Seattle, Washington
Died     June 3, 2009 (aged 69)
Gig Harbor, Washington

Ilene Meyer was a self-trained oil painter whose works combined realism and fantasy.
Biography

At the age of seven she contributed work to a time capsule at Alki Point, Seattle.[1] She made her career as an oil painter in the 1970s with her first solo exhibition in 1979.[2]

Her early work was based on the fruit and flowers she used as models, with real and imagined animals joining these as time progressed.[3] Her work became popular in the fantasy art world, gracing the cover of books by James K. Morrow, Philip K. Dick, Marion Zimmer Bradley and other science fiction and fantasy authors. FX Schmid produced puzzles based on her paintings. She also became more popular in Japan than in her home country.[2]


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ilene_Meyer



Drawing - Dibujo: Ilene Meyer - Part 1 - 15 images - Bio data - Link



 


Ricardo M Marcenaro - Facebook

Blogs in operation of The Solitary Dog:
Solitary Dog Sculptor:
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http://byricardomarcenaroi.blogspot.com

Para:
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enviar materiales para publicar,
propuestas comerciales:
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Diario La Nación
Argentina
Cuenta Comentarista en el Foro:
Capiscum

My blogs are an open house to all cultures, religions and countries. Be a follower if you like it, with this action you are building a new culture of tolerance, open mind and heart for peace, love and human respect.

Thanks :)

Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano.

Gracias :)