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Me, not from mercy, did they spare,
But this empurpled pledge to bear.
Peace to tbe brave! whose blood is spilt:
Woe to the Giaour ! for his the guill"

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The browsing camels' bells are tinkling : 1 His Mother look'd from her lattice high

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.”3 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,

or shrink they from the summer heat; Why sends not the Bridegroom his promised gift ? Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift ? Oh, false reproach! yon Tartar now Ilas gain'd our nearest mountain's brow, And warily the steep descends, And now within the valley bends ; And he bears the gift at his saddle bow How could I deem his courser slow? Right sell my largess shall repay His welcome speed, and weary way."

A turban 6 carved in coarsest 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 Hassan fell
A victim in that lonely dell.
There sleeps as true an Osmanlie
As e'er at Mecca bent the knee ;
As ever scorn'd forbidden wine,
Or pray'd with face towards the shrine,
In orisons resumed anew
At solemn sound of “ Alla Hu!"7
Yet died be 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,
And the dark Heaven of Houris' eyes

On him shall glance for ever bright; They come — their kerchiefs green they wave, * And welcome with a kiss the brave ! Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour Is worthiest an immortal bower.

But thou, false Infidel ! shalt writhe Beneath venging Monkir's scythe ; And from its torment 'scape alone To wander round lost Eblis' 10 throne; And fire unquench'd, unquenchable, Around, within, thy heart shall dwell ; Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell The tortures of that inward hell! But first, on earth as Vampire il sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:

The Tartar lighted at the gate, But scarce upheld his fainting weight:4 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 vestAngel of Death! 't is Hassan's cloven crest! His calpac 5 rent - his caftan red “ Lady, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed: [This beautiful passage first appeared in the fifth edition. “ If you send more proois," writes Lord Byron to Mr. Murray (August 10th, 1813), “I shail never finish this internal story. Ecce signum - thirty-three more lines enclosed !- to the utter discomfiture of the printer, and, I fear, not to your advantage."]

(" The mother of Sisera looked out at a window, and cried through the lattice, Why is his chariot so long in coming? why tarry the wheels of his chariot." — Judges, C. V, v. 28.] 3 [In the original draft “ His mother look'd from the lattice high, With throbbing heart and eager eye;

The browsing camel bells are tinkling,

And the last beam of twilight twinkling,
'Tis eve; his train should now be nigh.
She could not rest in her garden bower,
And gazed through the loop of his steepost tower.
• Why comes he not ? his steeds are feet,

And well are they train'd to the summer's heat.''
Another copy begins-

"The browsing camel bells are tinkling,

And the first beam of evening twinkling;
His mother look'd from her lattice high,
With throbbing breast and eager eye-

' 'Tis twilight -- sure his train is nigh.'"] • [“ The Tartar sped beneath the gate,

And flung to earth his fainting weight." - MS.] * The calpac is the solid cap or centre part of the head. dress; the shawl is wound round it, and forms the turban,

6 The turban, pillar, and inscriptive verse, decorate the tombs of the Osmanlies, whether in the ceinetery or the wilderness. In the mountains you frequently pass similar

mementos; and on inquiry you are informed that they record some victim of rebellion, plunder, or revenge.

7 " Alla Hu!" the concluding words of the Muezziu's call to prayer from the highest gallery on the exterior of the Minaret. On a still evening, when the Muezzin has a fine voice, which is frequently the case, the effect is solemn and beautiful beyond all the bells in Christendom. – [Valid, the son of Abdalmalek, was the first who erected a minaret or turret; and this he placed on the grand mosque at Damascus, for the muezzin, or crier, to announce from it the hour of prayer. The practice is kept to this day. See D'Herbelot.)

# The following is part of a battle song of the Turks :“ I see - I see a dark-eyed girl of Paradise, and she waves a handkerchief, a kerchief of green ; and cries aloud, Come, kiss ine, for I love thee,'" &c.

9 Monkir and Nekir are the inquisitors of the dead, before whom the corpsc undergoes a slight noviciate and preparatory training for damnation. If the answers are none of the clearest, he is hauled up with a scythe and thumped down with a red hot mace till properly seasoned, with a variety of subsidiary probations. The office of these angels is no sinecure; there are but two, and the nuruber of orthodox deceased being in a small proportion to the remainder, their hands are always full. See Relig. Ceremon. and Sale's Koran.

10 Eblis, the Oriental Prince of Darkness. — (D'Herbelot supposes this title to have been a corruption of the Greek Alcohos. According to Arabian mythology, Eblis had suffered a degradation from his primeval rank for having refused to worship. Adam, in conformity to the supreme command ; alleging, in justitication of his refusal, that himself had been formed of ethereal fire, wbilst Adam was only a creature of clay. See Koran.)

11 The Vampire superstition is still general in the Levant. Honest Tournefort tells a long story, which Mr. Southey, in the notes on Thalaba, quotes, about these " Vroucoloclias,”

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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 ;
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 thein,
Thy flowers are wither'd 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 !
Yet must thou end thy task, and mark
Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,
And the last glassy glance must view
Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue;
Then with unhallow'd 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 !
Wet with thine own best blood shall drip
Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip ;
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 !

The sea from Paynim land he crost,
And here ascended from the coast;
Yet seems he not of Othman race,
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
Should doom him there for aye to dwell.
Much in his visions mutters he
Of maiden whelm'l beneath the sea ;3
Of sabres clashing, foemen flying,
Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying.
On cliff he hath been known to stand,
And rave as to some bloody hand
Fresh sever'd from its parent limb,
Invisible to all but him,
Which beckons onward to his grave,
And lures to leap into the wave.

1

“ How name ye yon lone Caloyer ?

His features I have scann'd before
In mine own land : 't is many a year,

Since, dashing by the lonely shore,
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 mark'd with inward pain,
I could not pass it by again ;
It breathes the same dark spirit now,
As death were stamp'd upon his brow.

Dark and unearthly is the scowl 4
That glares beneath his dusky cowl :
· The flash of that dilating eye
Reveals too much of tiincs gone by ;
Though varying, indistinct its hue,
Oft will his glance the gazer rue,
For in it lurks that nameless spell,
Which speaks, itself unspeakable,
A spirit yet unquell'd and high,
That claims and keeps ascendency;
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
Transferr'd to others fear and guile :
Not oft to smile descendeth he,
And when he doth 't is 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 sinile again.
Well were it so - such ghastly '

mirth
From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth.

" 'T is twice three years at summer tide

Since first among our freres he came;
And here it soothes him to abide

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.

as he calls them. The Romaic term is “ Vardoulacha." I ment. But every reader, we are sure, will agree with us in recollect a whole family being terrified by the scream of a thinking, that the interest excited by the catastrophe is child, which they imagined must proceed from such a visit- greatly heightened in the modern poem; and that the impre. ation. The Greeks never mention the word without horror. cations of the Turk against the “ accursed Giaour," are intro. I find that “ Broucolokas" is an old legitimate Hellenic ap- duced with great judgment, and contribute much to the pellation – at least is so applied to Arsenius, who, according dramatic effect of the narrative. The remainder of the poem, to the Greeks, was after his death animated by the Devil. -- we think, would have been more properly printed as a second The moderns, however, use the word I mention.

canto; because a total change of scene, and a chasm of no

less than six years in the series of events, can scarcely fail to I The freshness of the face, and the wetness of the lip with

occasion some little confusion in the mind of the reader.blood, are the never failing signs of a Vampire. The stories GEORGE Ellis.) told in Hungary and Greece of these foul feeders are singular, and some of them most incredibly attested

3 [" of foreign maiden lost at sea." – MS.) : (With the death of Hassan, or with his interment on the + [The remaining lines, about five hundred in number, place wbere he fell, or with some moral reflections on his mere, with the exception of the last sixteen, all added to the fate, we may presume that the original narrator concluded poem, either during its first progress through the press, or in the tale of which Lord Byron has professed to give us a frag. subsequent editions.)

Put sadder still it were to trace
What once were feelings in that face :
Time hath not get the features fix'd,
But brighter traits with evil mix'd;
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 noble soul, and lineage high :
Alas! though both bestow'd in vain,
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, decay'd and rent,

Will scarce delay the passer by;
The tower by war or tempest bent,
While yet may frown one battlement,

Demands and daunts the stranger's cye ;
Each ivied arch, and pillar lone,
Pleads haughtily for glories gone !

To love the softest hearts are prone,
But such can ne'er be all his own ;
Too timid in his woes to share,
Too mcek to meet, or brave despair ;
And sterner hearts alone may feel
The wound that time can never heal
The rugged metal of the mine,
Must burn before its surface shine,
But plunged within the furnace-fame,
It bends and melts — though still the same ;S
Then temper'd to thy want, or will,
'T will 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,
Let those who shape its edge, beware !
Thus passion'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.

“ His floating robe around him folding,

Slow sweeps he through the column'd 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;
There will he pause till all is done
And hear the prayer, but utter none.
See — by the half-illumined wall!
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 stray'd :
For he declines the convent oath,
And leaves those locks unhallow'd growth,
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
Peals louder praises to the sky,
That livid cheek, that stony air
Of mix'd defiance and despair !
Saint Francis, keep hin from the shrine !
Else may we dread the wrath divine
Made manifest by awful sign.
If ever evil angel bore
The form of niortal, such he wore :
By ail my bope of sins forgiven,
Such looks are not of earth nor heaven!"

If solitude succeed to grief,
Release from pain is slight relief;
The vacant bosom's wilderness
Might thank the pang that made it less.
We loathe what none are left to share :
Even bliss — 't were 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
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 !
It is as if the desert-bird, +

Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream

To still her famish'd nestlings' scream, Nor mourns a lite to them transferrid, 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 unemploy'd.
Who would be doom'd 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 -
Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er,
A lonely wreck on fortune's shore,
'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay,
Unseen to drop by dull decay; -
Better to sink beneath the shock
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock!

(" Behold – as turns he from the wall." – MS.) 3 [" Must burn before it smite or shine." – MS.

[Seeing himself accused of having, in this passage, too closely imitated Crabbe, Lord Byron wrote to a friend - "I hare read the British Review, and really think the writer in most points very right. The only mortifying thing is, the accusation of imitation. Crabbe's passage I never saw; and Scott I no further meant to follow than in his lyric measure, which is Gray's, Milton's, and any one's who likes it. The Giaour is certainly a bad character, but not dangerous ; and I think his fate and his feelings will meet with few prose

iytes." The following are the lines of Crabbe which Lord Byron is charged with haring imitated :

“ These are like wax - apply them to the fire,

Melting, they take the impression you desire;
Easy to mould and fashion as you please,
And again moulded with an equal ease ;
Like smelted iron these the forms retain,
But once impressd will never melt again." -

Crabbe's Works, vol. v. p. 163. ed. 1934. ) • The pelican is, I believe, the bird so libelled, by the im. pulation of feeding her chickens with her blood.

Then let Life go to him wbo gave :
I have not quail'd to danger's brow
When high and happy — need I now ?

« Father! thy days have pass'd in peace,

'Mid counted beads, and countless prayer ; To bid the sins of others cease,

Thyself without a crime or care, Save transient ills that all must bear, Has been thy lot from youth to age ; And thou wilt bless thee from the rage Of passions fierce and uncontrollid, Such as thy penitents unfold, Whose secret sins and sorrows rest Within thy pure and pitying breast. My days, though few, have pass'd below In much of joy, but more of woe ; Yet still in hours of love or strife, I've 'scaped the weariness of life : Now leagued with friends, now girt by foes, I loathed the languor of repose. Now nothing left to love or hate, No more with hope or pride elate, I'd rather be the thing that crawls Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls, Than pass my dull, unvarying days, Condemn'd to meditate and gaze. Yet, lurks a wish within my breast For rest — but not to feel 't is rest. Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil;

And I shall sleep without the dream of what I was, and would be still,

Dark as to thee my deeds may seem : My memory now is but the tomb Of joys long dead; my hope, their doom : Though better to have died with those Than bear a life of lingering woes. My spirit shrunk not to sustain The searching throes of ceaseless pain; Nor sought the self-accorded grave Of ancient fool and modern knave : Yet death I have not fear'd to meet ; And in the field it had been sweet, Had danger woo'd me on to move The slave of glory, not of love. I've braved it- not for honour's boast; I smile at laurels won or lost ; To such let others carve their way, For bigh renown, or hireling pay : But place again before my eyes Aught that I deem a worthy prize ; The maid I love, the man I hate, And I will hunt the steps of fate, To save or slay, as these require, Through rending steel, and rolling fire : Nor need'st thou doubt this speech from one Who would but do -- what he hath done. Death is but what the haughty brave, The weak must bear, the wretch must crave;

1

“ I loved her, Friar! nay, adored

But these are words that all can use I proved it more in deed than word; There's blood upon that dinted sword,

A stain its steel can never lose : 'Twas shed for her, who died for me,

It warm'd the heart of one abhorr'd: Nay, start not-no- nor bend thy knee,

Nor midst my sins such act record;
Thou wilt absolve me from the deed,
For he was hostile to thy creed !
The very name of Nazarene
Was wormwood to his Paynim spleen.
Ungrateful fool ! since but for brands
Well wielded in some hardy hands,
And wounds by Galileans given,
The surest pass to Turkish heaven,
For him his Houris still might wait
Impatient at the Prophet's gate.
I loved her love will find its way
Through paths where wolves would fear to prey ;
And if it dares enough, 't were hard
If passion met not some reward
No matter how, or where, or why,
I did not vainly seek, nor sigh:
Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain
I wish she had not loved again.
She died - I dare not tell thee how;
But look — 't is written on my brow!
There read of Cain the curse and crime,
In characters unworn by time:
Still, ere thou dost condemn me, pause;
Not mine the act, though I the cause.
Yet did he but what I had done
Had she been false to more than one.
Faithless to him, he gave the blow;
But true to me, I laid him low :
Howe'er deserved her doom might be,
Her treachery was truth to me;
To me she gave her heart, that all
Which tyranny can ne'er enthrall;
And I, alas ! too late to save !
Yet all I then could give, I gave,
"T was some relief, our foe a grave.
His death sits lightly ; but her fate
Has made me what thou well may'st hate.

His doom was seald - he knew it well,
Warn'd by the voice of stern Taheer,
Deep in whose darkly boding ear?
The deathshot peal'd of murder near,

As filed the troop to where they fell !

[" Though Hope hath long withdrawn her beam."-MS.)

This superstition of a second hearing (for I never met with downright second-sight in the East) fell once under my O® observation. On my third journey to Cape Colonna, early in 1811, as we passed through the detile that leads from the hamlet betweep keratia and Colonna, I observed Dervish Tahiri riding rather out of the path, and leaning his head upon his hand, as if in pain. I rode up and inquired. “We are in peril," he answered. " What peril? we are not now in Albania, nor in the passes to Ephesus, Messalunghi, or Lepanto; there are pleniy of us, well armed, and the Choriates have not courage to be thieves."-" True, Affendi, but nevertheless the shot is ringing in my ears." -" The shot ! not a tophaike has been fired this morning."-" I hear it notwithstanding - Bom - Bom – as plainly as I hear your

voice." -“Psha!"-"As you please, Affendi; if it is written, so will it be."-l left this quick-eared predestinarian, and rode up to Basili, his Christian coinpatriot, whose cars, though not at all prophetic, by no means relished the intelligence. We all arrived at Colonna, remained some hours, and returned leisurely, saying a variety of brilliant things, in more languages than spoiled the building of Babel, upon the mistaken seer. Romaic, Arnaout, Turkish, Italian, and English were all exercised, in various conceits, upon the un. fortunate Mussulman. While we were contemplating the beautiful prospect, Dervish was occupied about the columns. I thought he was deranged into an antiquarian, and asked him if he had become a Palao-castro" man? “ No," said he, “but these pillars will be useful in making a stand ; " and added other reinarks, which at least evinced his own belief

He died too in the battle broil,
A time that heeds nor pain nor toil;
One cry to Mahomet for aid,
Onc prayer to Alla all he made :
He knew and cross'd me in the fray -
I gazed upon him where he lay,
And watch'd his spirit ebb away :
Though pierced like pard by hunters' steel,
He felt not half that now I feel.
I search'd, but vainly search'd, to find
The workings of a wounded mind;
Each feature of that sullen corse
Betray'd his rage, but no remorse.
Oh, what had Vengeance given to trace
Despair upon his dying face !
The late repentance of that hour,
When Penitence hath lost her power
To tear one terror from the grave,
And will not soothe, and cannot save.

“ The cold in clime are cold in blood,

Their love can scarce deserve the name ; But mine was like a lava flood

That boils in Ætna's breast of flame. I cannot prate in puling strain Oi ladye-love, and beauty's chain : If changing cheek, and scorching vein, ' Lips taught to writhe, but not complain, If bursting heart, and maddning brain, And daring deed, and vengeful steel, And all that I have felt, and feel, Betoken love — that love was mine, And shown by many a bitter sign. 'Tis true, I could not whine nor sigh, I knew but to obtain or die. I die but first I have possess'd, And come what may, I have been bless' Shall I the doom I sought upbraid ? No-reft of all, yet undismay'd ?

in his troublesome faculty of fore-hearing. On our retarn to Athens we heard from Leoné (a prisoner set ashore some days after) of the intended attack on the Mainotes, mentioned, with the cause of its not taking place, in the notes to Childe Harold, Canto 2d. I was at some pains to question the man, and he described the dresses, arms, and marks of the horses of our party so accurately, that, with other circumstances, we could not doubt of his having been in "villanous company," and ourselves in a bad neighbourhood. Dervish became a soothsayer for life, and I dare say is now hearing more musketry than ever will be tired, to the great relreshment of the Arnaouts of Berat, and his native mountains. - I shall mention oce trait more of this singular race. In March, 1811, a remarkably stout and active Arnaout came (I believe the filtieth on the same errand) to offer himself as an attendant, which was declined: “Well, Affendi," quoth be, “may you live! - you would have found me useful I shall leave the town for the hills to-inorrow, in the winter I return, perhaps you will then receive me." - Dervish, who was present, remarked as a thing of course, and of no consequence,“ in the mean time he will join the Klephtes" (robbers), which was true to the letter. If not cut off, they come down in the winter, and pass it unmolested in some town, where they are often as well known as their exploits. [“ I cannot prate in puling strain

1

But for the thought of Lcila slain,
Give me the pleasure with the pain,
So would I live and love again.
I grieve, but not, my holy guide !
For him who dies, but her who died :
She sleeps beneath the wandering wave –
Ab! had she but an earthly grave,
This breaking heart and throbbing head
Should seek and share her narrow bed. 3.
She was a form of life and light,
That, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose, where'er I turned minc eye,
The Morning-star of Memory!

“ Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven;"

A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shared, by Alla given,

To lift from earth our low desire. S
Devotion wafts the mind above,
But Heaven itself descends in love ;
A feeling from the Godhead caught,
To wean from self each sordid thought;
A Ray of him who form'd the whole ;
A Glory circling round the soul !
I grant my love imperfect, all
That mortals by the name miscall;
Then deem it evil, what thou wilt ;
But say, oh say, hers was not guilt!
She was my life's unerring light:
That quench'd, what beam shall break my night ? 0
Oh! would it shone to lead me still,
Although to death or deadliest ill!
Why marvel ye, if they who lose

This present joy, this future hope,

No more with sorrow meekly cope ;
In phrensy then their fate accuse :
In madness do those fearful deeds

That seem to add but guilt to woe ?
Alas! the breast that inly bleeds

Hath nought to dread from outward blow;

“ Yes

Love indeed be born

fire,

or bursting heart and maddening brain,

*Aud fire that raged in every vein." - Ms.] * [“ Even now alone, set undismay'd,

I know no friend and ask no aid." - MS.] 3 [These, in our opinion, are the most beautiful passages of the poem; and some of them of a beauty wbich it would not be easy to eclipse by many citations in the language. JEFFREY.)

+ [The hundred and twenty-six lines which follow, down to" Tell me no more of fancy's gleam,” first appeared in the finth edition. In returning the proof to Mr. Siurray, Lord

Byron says: -" I have, but with some difficulty, not added any more to this snake of a poem, which has been lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being more than a canto and a half of Childe Harold. The last lines Hodgson likes. It is not often he does; and when he don't, he tells me with great energy, and I frel, and alter. have thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel; and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself. Do you know any body who can stop - I mean, point – commas, and so forth ? for I am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation."

[Among the Giaour MSS. is the first draught of this pas. sage, which we subjoin :

doth spring

descend from heaven ; is ŝ

immortal
A spark of that eternal

Zcelestial
To human hearts in mercy given,

To list from earth our low desire.
A feeling from the Godhead caught,
To wean from sell{ euch sordid thought ;

Devotion sends the soul above,

But Heaven itself descends to love.
Yet marvel not, if they who love

This present joy, this future hope,

Which taught them with all ill to cope,
In madness, then, their fate accuse -

in madness do those fearful deeds
That seem
to add but guilt to

woe.
but to augment their
heart

that inly bleeds,
Has nought to dread from outward foe," &c.)
o ['Tis quench'd, and I am lost in night." - MS.]

Alas! the {

breast }

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