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 show, 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 shall 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."

"Think not thou art what thou appearst! My Selim, thou art sadly changed: This morn I saw thee gentlest, dearest; But now thou'rt from thyself es tranged.

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 unmurinuring 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 meant 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 bath 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 nought,
Allah! forbid that e'er he ought!
And why I know not, but within
My heart concealment weighs like sin.
If then such secrecy 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 eyeSay, Selim, canst thou tell me why?"

“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-ana Haroun's guard Have some, and hope of more reward. To-night, Zuleika, thou shalt hear My tale, my purpose, and my fear: I am not, love! what I appear."

CANTO THE SECOND

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 that 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.

The winds are high, and Helle's tide Rolls darkly heaving to the main ;

Be long my lot! and cold were he
Who there could gaze denying thee!

The night hath closed on Helle's stream,
Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill
That 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 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-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!

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?

Wrapt in the darkest sable vest,

Which none save noblest Moslem 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?

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?

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?"

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.1
"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 't were 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!"

"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,

1 A Turkish sailor.

Thy sister-friend-Zuleika still. Thou led'st me here 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 alway seem'd thy foe;
And I, alas! am Giaffir's child,

For whom thou wert contemn'd, reviled.
If not thy sister--wouldst thou save
My 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 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 watched 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.

"How first their strife to rancor 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.

"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 1 to the wind,
And mustering in Sophia's plain
Their tents were pitch'd, their post as-
sign'd;

To one, alas! assign'd in vain !
What need of words! the deadly bowl,

By Giaffir's order drugged 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, nor needed more! If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt, Call Haroun-he can tell it out.

"The deed once done, and Paswan's feud
In part suppress'd, though ne'er subdued,
Abdallah's Pachalick was gain'd:-
Thou know'st not what in our Divan
Can wealth procure for worse than man-
Abdallah's honors were obtain'd

By him a brother's murder stain'd;
T is 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 his palace shared,
I know not. Shame, regret, remorse,
And little fear from infant's force;
Besides, adoption as a son

By 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.

"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 seats 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 Alla 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. 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.

By hope unblest, of fame bereft, While thou-whose softness long en dear'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 resign-
ing,

My thraldom for a season broke,
On promise to return before
The ay when Giaffir's charge was o'er.
'T is vain-my tongue cannot 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!
E'en for thy presence ceased to pine;
The World-nay, Heaven itself was
mine!

"The shallop of a trusty Moor
Convey'd me from this idle shore;
I longed 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, 't will then be time more meet To tell thee, when the tale's complete.

46

"'T is 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 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 FrankAnd some to higher thoughts aspire, The last of Lambro's patriots there Anticipated freedom share;

And oft around the cavern fire