The Works of Lord Byron Volume III Part 21

The bickering sabres' shivering jar; And pealing wide or ringing near Its echoes on the throbbing ear, The deathshot hissing from afar; The shock, the shout, the groan of war, 640 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![dp]

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 Upon the last embrace of foes, 650 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 joined till death!

With sabre shivered to the hilt, Yet dripping with the blood he spilt; Yet strained within the severed hand Which quivers round that faithless brand; His turban far behind him rolled, And cleft in twain its firmest fold; 660 His flowing robe by falchion torn, And crimson as those clouds of morn That, streaked with dusky red, portend The day shall have a stormy end; A stain on every bush that bore A fragment of his palampore;[100]

His breast with wounds unnumbered riven, His back to earth, his face to Heaven, Fall'n Ha.s.san lies--his unclosed eye Yet lowering on his enemy, 670 As if the hour that sealed his fate[101]

Surviving left his quenchless hate; And o'er him bends that foe with brow As dark as his that bled below.

"Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave, But his shall be a redder grave; Her spirit pointed well the steel Which taught that felon heart to feel.

He called the Prophet, but his power Was vain against the vengeful Giaour: 680 He called on Alla--but the word Arose unheeded or unheard.

Thou Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer Be pa.s.sed, and thine accorded there?

I watched my time, I leagued with these, The traitor in his turn to seize; My wrath is wreaked, the deed is done, And now I go--but go alone."

The browsing camels' bells are tinkling:[dq]

His mother looked from her lattice high--[102] 690 She saw the dews of eve besprinkling The pasture green beneath her eye, She saw the planets faintly twinkling: "'Tis twilight--sure his train is nigh."

She could not rest in the garden-bower, But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower.

"Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet, Nor shrink they from the summer heat; Why sends not the Bridegroom his promised gift?

Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift? 700 Oh, false reproach! yon Tartar now Has gained our nearest mountain's brow, And warily the steep descends, And now within the valley bends;[dr]

And he bears the gift at his saddle bow-- How could I deem his courser slow?[ds]

Right well my largess shall repay His welcome speed, and weary way."

The Tartar lighted at the gate, But scarce upheld his fainting weight![dt] 710 His swarthy visage spake distress, But this might be from weariness; His garb with sanguine spots was dyed, But these might be from his courser's side; He drew the token from his vest-- Angel of Death! 'tis Ha.s.san's cloven crest!

His calpac[103] rent--his caftan red-- "Lady, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed: Me, not from mercy, did they spare, But this empurpled pledge to bear. 720 Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt: Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt."

A Turban[104] carved in coa.r.s.est stone, A Pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown, Whereon can now be scarcely read The Koran verse that mourns the dead, Point out the spot where Ha.s.san fell A victim in that lonely dell.

There sleeps as true an Osmanlie As e'er at Mecca bent the knee; 730 As ever scorned forbidden wine, Or prayed with face towards the shrine, In orisons resumed anew At solemn sound of "Alla Hu!"[105]

Yet died he by a stranger's hand, And stranger in his native land; Yet died he as in arms he stood, And unavenged, at least in blood.

But him the maids of Paradise Impatient to their halls invite, 740 And the dark heaven of Houris' eyes On him shall glance for ever bright; They come--their kerchiefs green they wave,[106]

And welcome with a kiss the brave!

Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour Is worthiest an immortal bower.

But thou, false Infidel! shall writhe Beneath avenging Monkir's[107] scythe; And from its torments 'scape alone To wander round lost Eblis'[108] throne; 750 And fire unquenched, unquenchable, Around, within, thy heart shall dwell; Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell The tortures of that inward h.e.l.l!

But first, on earth as Vampire[109] sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent: Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; 760 Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse: Thy victims ere they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem.

But one that for thy crime must fall, The youngest, most beloved of all, Shall bless thee with a _father's_ name-- That word shall wrap thy heart in flame! 770 Yet must thou end thy task, and mark Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark, And the last gla.s.sy glance must view Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue; Then with unhallowed hand shalt tear The tresses of her yellow hair, Of which in life a lock when shorn Affection's fondest pledge was worn, But now is borne away by thee, Memorial of thine agony! 780 Wet with thine own best blood shall drip Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip;[110]

Then stalking to thy sullen grave, Go--and with Gouls and Afrits rave; Till these in horror shrink away From Spectre more accursed than they!

"How name ye yon lone Caloyer?[111]

His features I have scanned before In mine own land: 'tis many a year, Since, dashing by the lonely sh.o.r.e, 790 I saw him urge as fleet a steed As ever served a horseman's need.

But once I saw that face, yet then It was so marked with inward pain, I could not pa.s.s it by again; It breathes the same dark spirit now, As death were stamped upon his brow.[du]

"'Tis twice three years at summer tide Since first among our freres he came; And here it soothes him to abide 800 For some dark deed he will not name.

But never at our Vesper prayer, Nor e'er before Confession chair Kneels he, nor recks he when arise Incense or anthem to the skies, But broods within his cell alone, His faith and race alike unknown.

The sea from Paynim land he crost, And here ascended from the coast; Yet seems he not of Othman race, 810 But only Christian in his face: I'd judge him some stray renegade, Repentant of the change he made, Save that he shuns our holy shrine, Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine.

Great largess to these walls he brought, And thus our Abbot's favour bought; But were I Prior, not a day Should brook such stranger's further stay, Or pent within our penance cell 820 Should doom him there for aye to dwell.

Much in his visions mutters he Of maiden whelmed beneath the sea;[dv]

Of sabres clashing, foemen flying, Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying.

On cliff he hath been known to stand, And rave as to some b.l.o.o.d.y hand Fresh severed from its parent limb, Invisible to all but him, Which beckons onward to his grave, 830 And lures to leap into the wave."

Dark and unearthly is the scowl That glares beneath his dusky cowl: The flash of that dilating eye Reveals too much of times gone by; Though varying, indistinct its hue, Oft with his glance the gazer rue, For in it lurks that nameless spell, Which speaks, itself unspeakable, A spirit yet unquelled and high, 840 That claims and keeps ascendancy; And like the bird whose pinions quake, But cannot fly the gazing snake, Will others quail beneath his look, Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can brook.

From him the half-affrighted Friar When met alone would fain retire, As if that eye and bitter smile Transferred to others fear and guile: Not oft to smile descendeth he, 850 And when he doth 'tis sad to see That he but mocks at Misery.

How that pale lip will curl and quiver!

Then fix once more as if for ever; As if his sorrow or disdain Forbade him e'er to smile again.

Well were it so--such ghastly mirth From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth.

But sadder still it were to trace What once were feelings in that face: 860 Time hath not yet the features fixed, But brighter traits with evil mixed; And there are hues not always faded, Which speak a mind not all degraded Even by the crimes through which it waded: The common crowd but see the gloom Of wayward deeds, and fitting doom; The close observer can espy A n.o.ble soul, and lineage high: Alas! though both bestowed in vain, 870 Which Grief could change, and Guilt could stain, It was no vulgar tenement To which such lofty gifts were lent, And still with little less than dread On such the sight is riveted.

The roofless cot, decayed and rent, Will scarce delay the pa.s.ser-by; The tower by war or tempest bent, While yet may frown one battlement, Demands and daunts the stranger's eye; 880 Each ivied arch, and pillar lone, Pleads haughtily for glories gone!

"His floating robe around him folding, Slow sweeps he through the columned aisle; With dread beheld, with gloom beholding The rites that sanctify the pile.

But when the anthem shakes the choir, And kneel the monks, his steps retire; By yonder lone and wavering torch His aspect glares within the porch; 890 There will he pause till all is done-- And hear the prayer, but utter none.

See--by the half-illumined wall[dw]

His hood fly back, his dark hair fall, That pale brow wildly wreathing round, As if the Gorgon there had bound The sablest of the serpent-braid That o'er her fearful forehead strayed: For he declines the convent oath, And leaves those locks unhallowed growth, 900 But wears our garb in all beside; And, not from piety but pride, Gives wealth to walls that never heard Of his one holy vow nor word.

Lo!--mark ye, as the harmony[dx]

Peals louder praises to the sky, That livid cheek, that stony air Of mixed defiance and despair!

Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine![dy]

Else may we dread the wrath divine 910 Made manifest by awful sign.

If ever evil angel bore The form of mortal, such he wore; By all my hope of sins forgiven, Such looks are not of earth nor heaven!"

To Love the softest hearts are p.r.o.ne, But such can ne'er be all his own; Too timid in his woes to share, Too meek to meet, or brave despair; And sterner hearts alone may feel 920 The wound that Time can never heal.

The rugged metal of the mine Must burn before its surface shine,[dz][112]

But plunged within the furnace-flame, It bends and melts--though still the same; Then tempered to thy want, or will, 'Twill serve thee to defend or kill-- A breast-plate for thine hour of need, Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed; But if a dagger's form it bear, 930 Let those who shape its edge, beware!

Thus Pa.s.sion's fire, and Woman's art, Can turn and tame the sterner heart; From these its form and tone are ta'en, And what they make it, must remain, But break--before it bend again.

If solitude succeed to grief, Release from pain is slight relief; The vacant bosom's wilderness Might thank the pang that made it less.[113] 940 We loathe what none are left to share: Even bliss--'twere woe alone to bear; The heart once left thus desolate Must fly at last for ease--to hate.

It is as if the dead could feel[114]

The icy worm around them steal, And shudder, as the reptiles creep To revel o'er their rotting sleep, Without the power to scare away The cold consumers of their clay! 950 It is as if the desert bird,[115]

Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream To still her famished nestlings' scream, Nor mourns a life to them transferred, Should rend her rash devoted breast, And find them flown her empty nest.

The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed. 960 Who would be doomed to gaze upon A sky without a cloud or sun?

Less hideous far the tempest's roar, Than ne'er to brave the billows more--[ea]

Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er, A lonely wreck on Fortune's sh.o.r.e, 'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay, Unseen to drop by dull decay;-- Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock! 970