J*-^-&---fi*~*~^>z, 2^. My THE SIEGE OF CORINTH PARISINA. T. DAVISON, Lombard-street, WhitcihacB, London. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. A POEM. PARISINA. A POEM. SECOND EDITION. LONDON* PRINTED FOR JOHN MURRAY. ALBEMARLE-STREET. 1816. Treasure Room THE SIEGE OF CORINTH " Guns, Trumpets, Blunderbusses, Drums, and Thunder." 349974 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Duke University Libraries http://archive.org/details/siegeofcorinthpo02byro TO JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY HIS FRIEND. Jan. 11, IS\6. B 2 249974 ADVERTISEMENT. "The grand army of the Turks (in 1715), under the " Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into the " heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli di " Romania, the most considerable place in all that coun- " try*, thought it best in the first place to attack Corinth, " upon which they made several storms. The garrison " being weakened, and the governor seeing it was impos- " sible to hold out against so mighty a force, thought fit " to beat a parley : but while they were treating about u the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish camp, " wherein they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew * Napoli di Romania is not now the most considerable place in the Me- rea, but Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and maintains his government. Napoli is near Argos. I visited all three in 1810-1 1 ; and in the course of journeying through the country from my first arrival in 1809, I crossed the Isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to the Morea, over the moun- tains, or in the other direction, when passing from the Gulf of Athens to that of Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beautiful, though very different: that by sea has more sameness, bat the voyage being always within sight of land, and often very near it, presents many attractive views of the islands Salamis, JEgina, Foro, &c. and the coast of the continent. ADVERTISEMENT. " up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men te were killed : which so enraged the infidels, that they " would not grant any capitulation, but stormed the lt place with so much fury, that they took it, and put tl most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the gover- " nor, to the sword. The rest, with Antonio Bembo, " proveditor extraordinary, were made prisoners of war." History of the Turks, vol. iii. p. 1.51. THK SIEGE OF COBINTEE. I. Many a vanished year and age, And tempest's breath, and battle's rage, Have swept o'er Corinth ; yet she stands A fortress formed to Freedom's hands. The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock, 5 Have left untouched her hoary rock, The keystone of a land, which still, Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill, The land-mark to the double tide That purpling rolls on either side, 10 As if their waters chafed to meet, Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet. But could the blood before her shed Since first Timoleon's brother bled, THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. Or baffled Persia's despot fled, 15 Arise from out the earth which drank The stream of slaughter as it sank, That sanguine ocean would o'erflow Her isthmus idly spread below : Or could the bouts of all the slain, 20 Who perished there, be piled again, That rival pyramid would rise More mountain-like, through those clear skies, Than yon tower-capt Acropolis Which seems the very clouds to kiss. '&5 II. On dun Cithaeron's ridge appears The gleam of twice ten thousand spears; And downward to the Isthmian plain From shore to shore of either main, The tent is pitched, the crescent shines 30 Along the Moslem's Ira. tiering lines; And the dusk Spahi's bands advance Beneath each bearded pasha's glance; And far and wide as eye can reach The turbaned cohorts throng the beach ; 35 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 9 And there the Arab's camel kneels, And there his steed the Tartar wheels ; The Turcoman hath left his herd 1 , The sabre round his loins to gird ; And there the volleying thunders pour, 40 Till waves grow smoother to the roar. The trench is dug, the cannon's breath Wings the far hissing globe of death ; Fast whirl the fragments from the wall, Which crumbles with the ponderous ball ; 4.5 And from that wall the foe replies, O'er dusty plain and smoky skies, With fires that answer fast and well The summons of the Infidel. III. But near and nearest to the wall 50 Of those who wish and work its fall, With deeper skill in war's black art Than Othman's sons, and high of heart As any chief that ever stood Triumphant in the fields of blood ; 55 From post to post, and deed to deed, Fast spurring on his. reeking steed, 10 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. Where sallying ranks the trench assail, And make the foremost Moslem quail ; Or where the battery guarded well, 60 Remains as yet impregnable, Alighting cheerly to inspire The soldier slackening in his fire ; The first and freshest of the host Which Stamboul's sultan there can boast, 65 To guide the follower o'er the field, To point the tube, the lance to wield, Or whirl around the bickering blade ; — Was Alp, the Adrian renegade ! IV. From Venice — once a race of worth 70 His gentle sires — he drew his birth ; But late an exile from her shore, Against his countrymen he bore The arms they taught to bear ; and now The turban girt his shaven brow. 75 Through many a change had Corinth passed With Greece to Venice' rule at last; And here, before her walls, with those To Greece and Venice equal foes, THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 1 1 He stood a foe, with all the zeal 80 Which young and fiery converts feel, Within whose heated bosom throngs The memory of a thousand wrongs. To him had Venice ceased to be Her ancient civic boast — " the Free;" 85 And in the palace of St. Mark Unnamed accusers in the dark Within the " Lion's mouth" had placed A charge against him uneffaced: He fled in time, and saved his life, 90 To waste his future years in strife, That taught his land how great her loss In him who triumphed o'er the Cross, 'Gainst which he reared the Crescent high, And battled to avenge or die. 95 V. Coumourgi 2 — he whose closing scene Adorned the triumph of Eugene, When on Carlowitz' bloody plain The last and mightiest of the slain He sank, regretting not to die, 100 But curst the Christian's victory — 12 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. Coumourgi — can his glory cease, That latest conqueror of Greece, Till Christian hands to Greece restore The freedom Venice gave of yore ? 1 0.5 A hundred years have rolled away Since he refixed the Moslem's sway ; And now he led the Mussulman, And gave the guidance of the van To Alp, who well repaid the trust 1 1 By cities levelled with the dust ; And proved, by many a deed of death, How firm his heart in novel faith. VI. The walls grew weak; and fast and hot Against them poured the ceaseless shot, 1 1 5 With unabating fury sent JFrom battery to battlement; And thunder-like the pealing din Rose from each heated culverin ; And here and there some crackling dome 120 Was fired before the exploding bomb: And as the fabric sank beneath The shattering shell's volcanic breath, THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 13 In red and wreathing columns flashed The flame, as loud the ruin crashed, 125 Or into countless meteors driven, Its earth-stars melted into heaven ; Whose clouds that day grew doubly dun, Impervious to the hidden sun, With volumed smoke that slowly grew 130 To one wide sky of sulphurous hue. VII. But not for vengeance, long delayed, Alone, did Alp, the renegade, The Moslem warriors sternly teach His skill to pierce the promised breach: 135 Within these walls a maid was pent His hope would win, without consent Of that inexorable sire, Whose heart refused him in its ire, When Alp, beneath his Christian name, .140 Her virgin hand aspired to claim. In happier mood, and earlier time, While unimpeached for traitorous crime, Gayest in gondola or hall, He glittered through the Carnival ; 145 14 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. And tuned the softest serenade That e'er on Adria's waters played At midnight to Italian maid. VIII. And many deemed her heart was won ; For sought by numbers, given to none, ] 50 Had young Francesca's hand remained Still by the church's bonds unchained : And when the Adriatic bore Lanciotto to the Paynim shore, Her wonted smiles were seen to fail, 15.5 And pensive waxed the maid and pale ; More constant at confessional, More rare at masque and festival ; Or seen at such, with downcast eyes, Which conquered hearts they ceased to prize : 160 With listless look she seem9 to gaze ; With humbler care her form arrays ; Her voice less lively in the song ; Her step, though light, less fleet among The pairs, on whom the'Morning's glance 165 Breaks, yet unsated with the dance. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 15 IX. Sent by the state to guard the land, (Which, wrested from the Moslem's hand, While Sobieski tamed his pride By Buda's wall and Danube's side, 170 The chiefs of Venice wrung away From Patra to Euboea's bay,) Minotti held in Corinth's towers The Doge's delegated powers, While yet the pitying eye of Peace 1 75 Smiled o'er her long forgotten Greece : And ere that faithless truce was broke Which freed her from the Unchristian yoke, With him his gentle daughter came ; Nor there, since Menelaus' dame 180 Forsook her lord and land, to prove What woes await on lawless love, Had fairer form adorned the shore Than she, the matchless stranger, bore. X. The wall is rent, the rains yawn ; 185 And, with to-fnorrWs earliest dawn, 1G THE SIEGE OF CORINTH, O'er the disjointed mass shall vault The foremost of the fierce assault* The bands are ranked; the chosen van Of Tartar and of Mussulman, 150 The full of hope, misnamed " forlorn," Who hold the thought of death in scorn, And win their way with falchions' force, Or pave the path with many a corse, O'er which the following brave may rise, 195 Their stepping-stone — the last who dies! XI. , 'Tis midnight : on the mountain's brown The cold, round moon shines deeply down ; Blue roll the waters, blue the sky Spreads like an ocean hung on high, 200 Bespangled with those isles of light, So wildly, spiritually bright ; Who ever gazed upon them shining, And turned to earth without repining, Nor wished for wings to flee away, 205 And mix with their eternal ray ? The waves on either shore lay there Calm, clear, and azure as the air; THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 17 And scarce their foam the pebbles shook, But murmured meekly as the brook. 210 The winds were pillowed on the waves ; The banners drooped along their staves, And, as they fell around them furling, Above them shone the crescent curling ; And that deep silence was un broke, 215 Save where the watch his signal spoke, Save where the steed neighed oft and shrill, And echo answered from the hill, And the wide hum of that wild host Rustled like leaves from coast to coast, 220 As rose the Muezzin's voice in air In midnight call to wonted prayer ; It rose, that chaunted mournful strain, Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain : 'Twas musical, but sadly sweet, 225 Such as when winds and harp-strings meet, And take a long unmeasured tone, To mortal minstrelsy unknown. It seemed to those within the wall A cry prophetic of their fall : 230 It struck even the besieger's ear With something ominous and drear, 18 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. An undefined and sudden thrill, Which makes the heart a moment still, Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed 235 Of that strange sense it's silence framed ; Such as a sudden passing-bell Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell XII. The tent of Alp was on the shore ; The sound was hushed, the prayer was o'er; 240 The watch was set, the night-round made, All mandates issued and obeyed : 'Tis but another anxious night, His pains the morrow may requite With all revenge and love can pay, £4/3 In guerdon for their long delay. Few hours remain, and he hath need Of rest, to nerve for many a deed Of slaughter ; but within his soul The thoughts like troubled waters roll. 250 He stood alone among the hdst ; Not his the loud fanatic boast To plant the crescent o'er the cross, Or risk a life with little loss, THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 19 Secure in paradise to be 255 By Houris loved immortally : Nor his, what burning patriots feel, The stern exaltedness of zeal, Profuse of blood, untired in toil, When battling on the parent soil. 260 He stood alone — a renegade Against the country he betrayed ; He stood alone amidst his band, Without a trusted heart or hand : They followed him, for he was brave, 265 And great the spoil he got and gave ; They crouched to him, for he had skill To warp and wield the vulgar will : But still his Christian origin With them was little less than sin. 270 They envied even the faithless fame He earned beneath a Moslem name ; Since he, their mightiest chief, had been In youth a hitter Nazarene. They did not know how pride can stoop, 275 When baffled feelings withering droop; They did not know how hate can burn In hearts once changed from soft to stern ; e 2 20 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. Nor all the false and fatal zeal The convert of revenge can feel. 280 He ruled them — man may rule the worst, By ever daring to be first : So lions o'er the jackal sway; The jackal points, he fells the prey, Then on the vulgar yelling press, 285 To gorge the relics of success. XIII. His head grows fevered, and his pulse The quick successive throbs convulse ; In vain from side to side he throws His form, in courtship of repose ; 290 Or if he dozed, a sound, a start Awoke him with a sunken heart. The turban on his hot brow pressed, The mail weighed lead-like on his breast, Though oft and long beneath its weight 295 Upon his eyes had slumber sate, Without or couch or canopy, Except a rougher field and sky Than now might yield a warrior's bed, Than now along the heaven was spread. 300 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 21 He could not rest, he could not stay Within his tent to wait for day, But walked him forth along the sand, Where thousand sleepers strewed the strand. What pillowed them ? and why should he 305 More wakeful than the humblest be ? Since more their peri], worse their toil, And yet they fearless dream of spoil ; While he alone, where thousands passed A night of sleep, perchance their last, 310 In sickly vigil wandered on, And envied all he gazed upon. XIV. He felt his soul become more light Beneath the freshness of the night. Cool was the silent sky, though calm, 315 And bathed his brow with airy balm : Behind, the camp — before him lay, In many a winding creek and bay, Lepanto's gulf; and, on the brow Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow, 320 High and eternal, such as shone Through thousand summers brightly gone, 22 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. Along the gulf, the mount, the clime ; It will not melt, like man, to time : Tyrant and slave are swept away, 336 Less formed to wear before the ray ; But that white veil, the lightest, frailest, Which on the mighty mount thou hailcst, While tower and tree are torn and rent, Shines o'er its craggy battlement ; 330 In form a peak, in height a cloud, In texture like a hovering shroud, Thus high by parting Freedom spread, As from her fond abode she fled, And lingered on the spot, where long 335 Her prophet spirit spake in song. Oh, still her step at moments falters O'er withered fields, and ruined altars, And fain would wake, in souls too broken, By pointing to each glorious token. 340 But vain her voice, till better days Dawn in those yet remembered rays Which shone upon the Persian flying, And saw the Spartan smile in dying. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. gg XV. Not mindless of these mighty times 345 Was Alp, despite his flight and crimes ; And through this night, as on he wandered, And o'er the past and present pondered, And thought upon the glorious dead Who there in better cause had bled, 350 He felt how faint and feebly dim The fame that could accrue to him, Who cheered the band, and waved the sword, A traitor in a turbaned horde ; And led them to the lawless siege, 355 Whose best success were sacrilege. Not so had those his fancy numbered, The chiefs whose dust around him slumbered ; Their phalanx marshalled on the plain, Whose bulwarks were not then in vain. 360 They fell devoted, but undying ; The very gale their names seemed sighing : The waters murmured of their name ; The woods were peopled with their fame ; The silent pillar, lone and gray, 365 Claimed kindred with their sacred clay; 24 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain, Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain ; The meanest rill, the mightiest river Rolled mingling with their fame for ever. 370 Despite of every yoke she bears, That land is glory's still and theirs ! 'Tis still a watch- word to the earth. When man would do a deed of worth, He points to Greece, and turns to tread, 375 So sanctioned, on the tyrant's head : He looks to her, and rushes on Where life is lost, or freedom won. XVI. Still by the shore Alp mutely mused, And wooed the freshness Night diffused. 380 There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea 3 , Which changeless rolls eternally ; So that wildest of waves, in their angriest mood, Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a rood ; And the powerless moon beholds them flow, 385 Heedless if she come or go : Calm or high, in main or bay, On their course she hath no sway. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 25 The rock unworn its base doth bare, And looks o'er the surf, but it comes not there; 390 And the fringe of the foam may be seen below, On the line that it left long ages ago: A smooth short space of yellow sand Between it and the greener land. He wandered on, along the beach, 395 Till within the range of a carbine's reach Of the leaguered wall; but they saw him not, Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot ? Did traitors lurk in the Chilians' hold ? Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts waxed cold ? 400 I know not, in sooth; but from yonder wall There flashed no fire, and there hissed no ball, Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown, That flanked the sea-ward gate of the town; Though lie heard the sound, and could almost tell The sullen words of the sentinel, 406 As his measured step on the stone below Clanked, as he paced it to and fro ; And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall Hold o'er the dead their carnival, 410 26 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. Gorging and growling o'er carcase and limb ; They were too busy to bark at him ! From a Tartar's skull they had stripped the flesh, As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh ; 414 And their white tusks crunched o'er the whiter skull*, As it slipped through their jaws, when their edge grew dull, As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed ; So well had they broken a lingering fast With those who had fallen for that night's repast. 420 And Alp knew, by the turbans that rolled on the sand, The foremost of these were the best of his band : Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear, And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair 6 , All the rest was shaven and bare. 42.5 The scalps were in the wild dog's maw, The hair was tangled round his jaw. But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf, There sat a vulture flapping a wolf, Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away, 430 Scared by the dogs, from the human prey ; THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 27 But he seized on his share of a steed that lay, Picked by the birds, on the sands of the bay. XVII. Alp turned him from the sickening sight : Never had shaken his nerves in fight ; 435 But he better could brook to behold the dying, Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying, Scorched with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain, Than the perishing dead who are past all pain. There is something of pride in the perilous hour, 440 Whate'er be the shape in which death may lower ; For Fame is there to say who bleeds, And Honour's eye on daring deeds ! But when all is past, it is humbling to tread O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead, 445 And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air, Beasts of the forest, all gathering there ; All regarding man as their prey, All rejoicing in his decay. XVIII. There is a temple in ruin stands, 450 Fashioned by long forgotten hands ; 28 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. Two or three columns, and many a stone, Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown! Out upoii Time ! it will leave no more Of the things to come than the things before ! 455 Out upon Time! who for ever will leave But enough of the past for the future to grieve O'er that which hath been, and o'er that which must be : What we have seen, our sons shall see ; Remnants of things that have passed away, 46() Fragments of stone, reared by creatures of clay ! XIX. He sate him down at a pillar's base, And passed his hand athwart his face ; Like one in dreary musing mood, Declining was his attitude; 465 His head was drooping on his breast, Fevered, throbbing, and opprest ; And o'er his brow, so downward bent, Oft his beating fingers went, Hurriedly, as you may see 470 Your own run over the ivory key, Ere the measured tone is taken By the chords you would awaken. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 39 There he sate all heavily, As he heard the night- wind sigh. 475 Was it the wind, through some hollow stone 6 , Sent that soft and tender moan ? He lifted his head, and he looked on the sea, But it was unrippled as glass may be ; He looked on the long grass — it waved not a blade ; How was that gentle sound conveyed ? 481 He looked to the banners — each flag lay still, So did the leaves on Cithaeron's hill, And he felt not a breath come over his cheek ; What did that sudden sound bespeak ? 485 He turned to the left — is he sure of sight ? There sate a lady, youthful and bright ! XX. He started up with more of fear Than if an armed foe were near. " God of my fathers ! what is here ? 490 " Who art thou, and wherefore sent (i So near a hosiile armament:" His trembling hands refused to sign The cross he deemed no more divine : 90 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. He had resumed it in that hour, 495 But conscience wrung away the power. He gazed, he saw : he knew the face Of beauty, and the form of grace; It was Francesca by his side, The maid who might have been his bride ! 500 The rose was yet upon her cheek, But mellowed with a tenderer streak : Where was the play of her soft lips fled ? Gone was the smile that enlivened their red. The ocean's calm within their view, 50.5 Beside her eye had less of blue ; But like that cold wave it stood still, And its glance, though clear, was chill. Around her form a thin robe twining, Nought concealed her bosom shining; 510 Through the parting of her hair, Floating darkly downward there, Her rounded arm showed white and bare : And ere yet she made reply, Once she raised her hand on high ; 51 5 It was so wan, and transparent of hue, You might have seen the moon shine tlirough. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 31 XXI. I come from my rest to him I love best, " That I may be happy, and he may be blest. " I have passed the guards, the gate, the wall; 520 '* Sought thee in safety through foes and all. " 'Tis said the lion will turn and flee " From a maid in the pride of her purity ; '* And the Power on high, that can shield the good " Thus from the tyrant of the wood, 305 u Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well " From the hands of the leaguering infidel. " I come — and if I come in vain, " Never, oh never, we meet again ! " Thou hast done a fearful deed 530 " In falling away from thy father's creed : " But dash that turban to earth, and sign " The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine ; " Wring the black drop from thy heart, " And to-morrow unites us no more to part." 535 " And where should our bridal couch be spread ? " In the 'midst of the dying and the dead ? 32 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. il For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame '* The sons and the shrines of the Christian name. " None, save thou and thine, I've sworn • 540 " Shall be left upon the morn : " But thee will I bear to a lovely spot, " Where our hands shall be joined, and our sorrow forgot. " There thou yet shalt be my bride, " When once again I've quelled the pride 545 " Of Venice ; and her hated race u Have felt the arm they would debase ** Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those " Whom vice and envy made my foes." Upon his hand she laid her own- — 550 Light was the touch, but it thrilled to the bone, And shot a dullness to his heart, Which fixed him beyond the power to start. Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold, He could not loose him from its hold; 555 But never did clasp of one so dear Strike on the pulse with such feeling of fear, As those thin fingers, long and white, Froze through his blood by their touch that night. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 33 The feverish glow of his brow was gone, 560 And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone, As he looked on the face, and beheld its hue So deeply changed from what he knew : Fair but faint — without the ray Of mind, that made each feature play 565 Like sparkling waves on a sunny day ; And her motionless lips lay still as death, And her words came forth without her breath, And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell, And there seemed not a pulse in her veins to dwell. Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fixed, 571 And the glance that it gave was wild and unmixed With aught of change, as the eyes may seem Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream ; Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare 575 Stirred by the breath of the wintry air, So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light, Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight; As they seem, through the dimness, about to come down From the shadowy wall where their images frown ; D 34 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. Fearfully flitting to and fro, 581 As the gusts on the tapestry come and go. " If not for love of me be given " Thus much, then, for the love of heaven,— " Again I say — that turban tear 585 " From off thy faithless brow, and swear " Thine injured country's sons to spare, " Or thou art lost ; and never shalt see " Not earth — that's past — but heaven or me. " If this thou dost accord, albeit 590 " A heavy doom 'tis thine to meet, " That doom shall half absolve thy sin, - " And mercy's gate may receive thee within : " But pause one moment more, and take " The curse of him thou didst forsake ; 595 " And look once more to heaven, and see " Its love for ever shut from thee. " There is a light cloud by the moon — 7 " 'Tis passing, and will pass full soon — " If, by the time its vapoury sail 600 " Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil, " Thy heart within thee is not changed, " Then God and man are both avenged ; THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 35 " Dark will thy doom be, darker still " Thine immortality of ill." 605 Alp looked to heaven, and saw on high The sign she spake of in the sky ; But his heart was swollen, and turned aside, By deep interminable pride. This first false passion of his breast 610 Rolled like a torrent o'er the rest. He sue for mercy ! He dismayed By wild words of a timid maid ! He, wronged by Venice, vow to save Her sons, devoted to the grave ! .615 No — though that cloud were thunder's worst, And charged to crush him — let it burst! He looked upon it earnestly, Without an accent of reply ; He watched it passing ; it is flown : 620 Full on his eye the clear moon shone, And thus he spake — " Whate'er my fate, u I am no changtling — 'tis too late : " The reed in storms may bow and quiver, " Then rise again ; the tree must shiver. 625 n 2 36 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. " What Venice made me, I must be, u Her foe in all, save love to thee : " But thou art safe : oh, fly with me !" He turned, but she is gone ! Nothing is there but the column stone. 630 Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air? He saw not, he knew not ; but nothing is there. XXII. The night is past, and shines the sun As if that morn were a jocund one. Lightly and brightly breaks away €35 The Morning from her mantle grey, And the Noon will look on a sultry day. Hark to the trump, and the drum, And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn, 639 And the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne, And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum, And the clash, and the shout, ' they come, they come!' The horsetails 8 are plucked from the ground, and the sword From its sheath ; and they form, and but wait for the word. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 37 Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, 645 Strike your tents, and throng to the van ; Mount ye, spur ye, skirr the plain, That the fugitive may flee in vain, When he breaks from the town ; and none escape, Aged or young, in the Christian shape ; 650 While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass, Bloodstain the breach through which they pass. The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein ; Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane ; White is the foam of their champ on the bit : 655 The spears are uplifted ; the matches are lit ; The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar, And crush the wall they have crumbled before : Forms in his phalanx each Janizar; Alp at their head ; his right arm is bare, 660 So is the blade of his scimitar ; The khan and the pachas are all at their post ; The vizier himself at the head of the host. When the culverin's signal is fired, then on j Leave not in Corinth a living one — 665 A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls, A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls. 38 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. God and the prophet — Alia Hu ! Up to the skies with that wild halloo ! " There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale ; 670 " And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail ? " He who first downs with the red cross may crave " His heart's dearest wish ; let him ask it, and have!" Thus uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier ; The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear, 675 And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire : — Silence— hark to the signal— fire ! XXIII. As the wolves, that headlong go On the stately buffalo, Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar, 680 And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore, He tramples on earth, or tosses on high The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die : Thus against the wall they went, Thus the first were backward bent ; 685 Many a bosom, sheathed in brass, Strewed the earth like broken glass, THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 39 Shivered by the shot, that tore The ground whereon they moved no more : Even as they fell, in files they lay, 690 Like the mower's grass at the close of day, When his work is done on the levelled plain ; Such was the fall of the foremost slain. XXIV. As the spring-tides, with heavy plash, From the cliffs invading dash 695 Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow, Till white and thundering down they go, Like the avalanche's snow On the Alpine vales below ; Thus at length, outbreathed and worn, 700 Corinth's sons were downward borne By the long and oft renewed Charge of the Moslem multitude. In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell, Heaped, by the host of the infidel, 705 Hand to hand, and foot to foot : Nothing there, save death, was mute ; Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry For quarter, or for victory 40 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. Mingle therewith the volleying thunder, 710 Which makes the distant cities wonder How the sounding battle goes, If with them, or for their foes ; If they must mourn, or may rejoice In that annihilating voice, 715 Which pierces the deep hills through and through With an echo dread and new : You might have heard it, on that day, O'er Salamis and Megara ; (We have heard the hearers say,) 720 Even unto Piraeus bay. XXV. From the point of encountering blades to the hilt, Sabres and swords with blood were gilt : But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun, And all but the after carnage done. 725 Shriller shrieks now mingling come From within the plundered dome : Hark to the haste of flying feet, That splash in the blood of the slippery street ; But here and there, where 'vantage ground 730 Against the foe may still be found, THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 41 Desperate groups, of twelve or ten, Make a pause, and turn again — With bandied backs against the wall, Fiercely stand, or fighting fall. 735 There stood an old man — his hairs were white, But his veteran arm was full of might : So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray, The dead before him, on that day, In a semicircle lay ; 740 Still he combated unwounded, Though retreating, unsurrounded. Many a scar of former fight Lurked beneath his corslet bright ; 745 But of every wound his body bore, Each and all had been ta'en before : Though aged he was, so iron of limb, Few of our youth could cope with him ; And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay, Outnumbered his thin hairs of silver gray. 750 From right to left his sabre swept: Many an Othman mother wept Sons that were unborn, when dipped 42 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. His weapon first in Moslem gore, Ere his years could count a score. 755 Of all he might have been the sire Who fell that day beneath his ire : For, sonless left long years ago, His wrath made many a childless foe; And since the day, when in the strait 9 760 His only boy had met his fate, His parent's iron hand did doom More than a human hecatomb. If shades by carnage be appeased, Patroclus' spirit less was pleased 765 Than his, Minotti's son, who died Where Asia's bounds and ours divide. Buried he lay, where thousands before For thousands of years were inhumed on the shore : What of them is left, to tell 770 Where they lie, and how they fell ? Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves; But they live in the verse that immortally saves. XXVI. Hark to the Allah shout ! a band Of the Mussulman bravest and best is at hand : 775 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 43 Their leader's nervous arm is bare, Swifter to smite, and never to spare — Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them on ; Thus in the fight is he ever known : Others a gaudier garb may show, 780 To tempt the spoil of the greedy foe ; Many a hand's on a richer hilt, But none on a steel more ruddily gilt; Many a loftier turban may wear, — Alp is but known by the white arm bare ; 785 Look through the thick of the fight, 'tis there ! There is not a standard on that shore So well advanced the ranks before ; There is not a banner in Moslem war Will lure the Delhis half so far ; 790 It glances like a falling star ! Where'er that mighty arm is seen, The bravest be, or late have been; There the craven cries for quarter Vainly to the vengeful Tartar ; 7 Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, 10 And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure, Which follows the decline of day, As twilight melts beneath the moon away. 1 64 PAllISINA. II. But it is not to list to the waterfall ] 5 That Parisina leaves her hall, And it is not to gaze on the heavenly light That the lady walks in the shadow of night ; And if she sits in Este's bower, 'Tis not for the sake of its full-blown flower — 20 She listens — but not for the nightingale — Though her ear expects as soft a tale. There glides a step through the foliage thick, And her cheek grows pale— and her heart beats quick. There whispers a voice through the rustling leaves, And her blush returns, and her bosom heaves : 26 A moment more — and they shall meet — Tis past — her lover's at her feet, III. And what unto them is the world beside With all its change of time and tide ? 30 Its living things — its earth and sky — Are nothing to their mind and eye. And heedless as the dead are they Of aught around, above, beneath; PARISINA. 65 As if all else had passed away, 35 They only for each other breathe ; Their very sighs are full of joy So deep, that did it not decay, That happy madness would destroy The hearts which feel its fiery sway : 40 Of guilt, of peril, do they deem In that tumultuous tender dream ? Who that have felt that passion's power, Or paused, or feared in such an hour ? Or thought how brief such moments last : 45 But yet — they are already past ! Alas ! we must awake before We know such vision comes no more. IV. With many a lingering look they leave The spot of guilty gladness past ; 50 And though they hope, and vow, they grieve, As if that parting were the last. The frequent sigh — the long embrace — The lip that there would cling for ever, While gleams on Parisina's face 55 The Heaven she fears will not forgive her, f,6 PARI SIN A. As if each calmly conscious star Beheld her frailty from afar — The frequent sigh, the long embrace, Yet binds them to their trysting-place. 60 But it must come, and they must part In fearful heaviness of heart, With all the deep and shuddering chill Which follows fast the deeds of ill. V. And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed, 65 To covet there another's bride ; But she must lay her conscious head A husband's trusting heart beside. But fevered in her sleep she seems, And red her cheek with troubled dreams, 70 And mutters she in her unrest A name she dare not breathe by day, And clasps her Lord unto the breast Which pants for one away : And he to that embrace awakes, 75 And, happy in the thought, mistakes That dreaming sigh, and warm caress, For such as he w r as wont to bless; PARISINA. 67 And could in very fondness weep O'er her who loves him even in sleep. 80 VI. He clasped her sleeping to his heart, And listened to each broken word : He hears — Why doth Prince Azo start, As if the Archangel's voice he heard ? And well he may — a deeper doom 85 Could scarcely thunder o'er his tomb, When he shall wake to sleep no more, And stand the eternal throne before. And well he may — his earthly peace Upon that sound is doomed to cease. 90 That sleeping whisper of a name Bespeaks her guilt and Azo's shame. And whose that name ? that o'er his pillow Sounds fearful as the breaking billow, Which rolls the plank upon the shore, 95 And dashes on the pointed rock The wretch who sinks to rise no more, — So came upon his soul the shock. And whose that name ? 'tis Hugo's, — his — In sooth he had not deemed of this !— 100 f 2 6 8 PARIS1NA. 'Tis Hugo's, — he, the child of one He loved — his own all-evil son — The offspring of his wayward youth, When he betrayed Bianca's truth, The maid whose folly could confide 105 In him who made her not his bride. VII. He plucked his poignard in its sheath, But sheathed it ere the point was bare — Howe'er unworthy now to breathe, He could not slay a thing so fair — 1 10 At least, not smiling — sleeping — there — Nay, more : — he did not wake her then, But gazed upon her with a glance Which, had she roused her from her trance, Had frozen her sense to sleep again — 1 15 And o'er his brow the burning lamp Gleamed on the dew-drops big and damp. She spake no more — but still she slumbered — While, in his thought, her days are numbered. 1>ARIS1NA. VIII. And with the morn he sought, and found, 120 In many a tale from those around, The proof of all he feared to know, Their present guilt, his future woe; The long-conniving damsels seek To save themselves, and would transfer 125 The guilt — the shame — the doom — to her : Concealment is no more — they speak All circumstance which may compel Full credence to the tale they tell : And Azo's tortured heart and ear 1 SO Have nothing more to feel or hear. IX. He was not one who brooked delay t Within the chamber of his state, The chief of Este's ancient sway Upon his throne of judgment sate ; 135 His nobles and his guards are there, — Before him is the sinful pair ; Both young, — and one how passing fair! 70 PAR1SINA. With swordless belt, and fettered hand, Oh, Christ ! that thus a son should stand 1 40 Before a father's face! Yet thus must Hugo meet his sire, And hear the sentence of his ire, The tale of his disgrace ! And yet he seems not overcome, 145 Although, as yet, his voice be dumb. X. And still, and pale, and silently Did Parisina wait her doom ; How changed since last her speaking eye Glanced gladness round the glittering room, 1.50 Where high-born men were proud to wait — Where Beauty watched to imitate Her gentle voice — her lovely mien — And gather from her air and gait The graces of it's queen : 155 Then, — had her eye in sorrow wept, A thousand warriors forth had leapt, A thousand swords had sheathless shone, And made her quarrel all their own. PARISINA. J I Now, — what is she ? and what are they ? J 60 Can she command, or these obey ? All silent and unheeding now, With downcast eyes and knitting brow, And folded arms, and freezing air, And lips that scarce their scorn forbear, 165 Her knights and dames, her court — is there: And he, the chosen one, whose lance Had yet been couched before her glance, Who — were his arm a moment free — Had died or gained her liberty; 170 The minion of his father's bride, — He, too, is fettered by her side ; Nor sees her swoln and full eye swim Less for her own despair than him : Those lids o'er which the violet vein — 175 Wandering, leaves a tender stain, Shining through the smoothest white That e'er did softest kiss invite — Now seemed with hot and livid glow To press, not shade, the orbs below ; 180 Which glance so heavily, and fill, As tear on tear grows gathering still. 72 PARISINA. XI. And he for her had also wept, But for the eyes that on him gazed: His sorrow, if he felt it, slept ; 185 Stern and erect his brow was raised. Whate'er the grief his soul avowed, He would not shrink before the crowd; But yet he dared not look on her : Remembrance of the hours that were — 190 His guilt — his love — his present state — His father's wrath — all good men's hate — His earthly, his eternal fate — And hers, — oh, hers ! — he dared not throw One look upon that deathlike brow ! 195 Else had his rising heart betrayed Remorse for all the wreck it made. XII. And Azo spake : — " But yesterday " I gloried in a wife and son ; " That dream this morning passed away ; 200 " Ere day declines, I shall have none. PARISINA. 73 " My life must linger on alone ; " Well, — let that pass, — there breathes not one " Who would not do as I have done : " Those ties are broken — not by me ; 205 li Let that too pass ; — the doom's prepared ! * Hugo, the priest awaits on thee, " And then — thy crime's reward ! t( Away ! address thy prayers to Heaven, " Before its evening stars are met — 210 " Learn if thou there canst be forgiven ; ™ It's mercy may absolve thee yet. " But here, upon the earth beneath, " There is no spot where thou and I " Together, for an hour, could breathe : 215 u Farewell! I will not see thee die — " But thou, frail thing! shalt view his head — " Away ! I cannot speak the rest : " Go ! woman of the wanton breast ; " Not I, but thou his blood dost shed : 220 " Go! if that sight thou canst outlive, " And joy thee in the life I give." 74 PARISINA. XIII. And here stern Azo hid his face — For on his brow the swelling vein Throbbed as if back upon his brain 225 The hot blood ebbed and flowed again ; And therefore bowed he for a space, And passed his shaking hand along His eye, to veil it from the throng ; While Hugo raised his chained hands, 230 And for a brief delay demands His father's ear : the silent sire Forbids not what his words require. " It is not that I dread the death — a For thou hast seen me by thy side 235 «* All redly through the battle ride, " And that not Once a useless brand " Thy slaves have wrested from my hand, " Hath shed more blood in cause of thine, " Than e'er can stain the axe of mine : 210 " Thou gav'st, and may'st resume my breath, " A gift for which I thank thee not ; " Nor aje my mother's wrongs forgot, PARISINA. 75 " Her slighted love and ruined name, " Her offspring's heritage of shame ; 245 " But she is in the grave, where he, " Her son, thy rival, soon shall be. " Her broken heart — my severed head — " Shall witness for thee from the dead " How trusty and how tender were 250 " Thy youthful love — paternal care. " 'Tis true, that I have done thee wrong — " But wrong for wrong — this deemed thy bride, " The other victim of thy pride, " Thou know'st for me was destined long. 255 " Thou saw'st, and coveted'st her charms — " And with thy very crime — my birth, " Thou taunted'st me — as little worth ; " A match ignoble for her arms, " Because, forsooth, I could not claim 260 " The lawful heirship of thy name, " Nor sit on Este's lineal throne : " Yet, were a few short summers mine, " My name should more than Este's shine " With honours all my own. £65 " 1 had a sword — and have a breast " That should have won as haught* a crest 76 PARISINA. " As ever waved along the line " Of all these sovereign sires of thine. " Not always knightly spurs are worn 270 " The brightest by the better born ; " And mine have lanced my courser's flank " Before proud chiefs of princely rank, " When charging to the cheering cry " Of ' Este and of Victory !'" 275 " I will not plead the cause of crime, " Nor sue thee to redeem from time ** A few brief hours or days that must " At length roll o'er my reckless dust ; — " Such maddening moments as my past, 280 * They could not, and they did not, last — " Albeit, my birth and name be base, " And thy nobility of race " Disdained to deck a thing like me — " Yet in my lineaments they trace 285 u Some features of my father's face, " And in my spirit — all of thee. a From thee — this tamelessness of heart — et From thee — nay, wherefore dost thou start ? — PARISINA. 77 " From thee in all their vigour came 290 " My arm of strength, my soul of flame — " Thou didst not give me life alone, " But all that made me more thine own. " See what thy guilty love hath done! " Repaid thee with too like a son ! 295 " I am no bastard in my soul, " For that, like thine, abhorred controul : " And for my breath, that hasty boon " Thou gav'st and wilt resume so soon, " I valued it no more than thou, 300 " When rose thy casque above thy brow, M And we, all side by side, have striven, " And o'er the dead our coursers driven: " The past is nothing — and at last a The future can but be the past ; 305 " Yet would I that I then had died : " For though thou work'dst my mother's ill, " And made thy own my destined bride, " I feel thou art my father still ; M And, harsh as sounds thy hard decree, 310 " 'Tis not unjust, although from thee. " Begot in sin, to die in shame, " My life begun aud ends the same : 78 PARIS1NA. " As erred the sire, so erred the son " And thou must punish both in one. 315 " My crime seems worst to human view, " But God must judge between us too !" XIV. He ceased — and stood with folded arms, On which the circling fetters sounded ; And not an ear but felt as wounded, 320 Of all the chiefs that there were ranked, When those dull chains in meeting clanked : Till Parisina's fatal charms Again attracted every eye — Would she thus hear him doomed to die ! S25 She stood, I said, all pale and still, The living cause of Hugo's ill : Her eyes unmoved, but full and wide, Not once had turned to either side — . Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, 330 Or shade the glance o'er which they rose, But round their orbs of deepest blue The circling white dilated grew — And there with glassy gaze she stood As ice were in her curdled blood ; , 33.5 PARFSINA. 79 But every now and then a tear So large and slowly gathered slid From the long dark fringe of that fair lid, It was a thing to see, not hear ! And those who saw, it did surprise, §40 Such drops could fall from human eyes. To speak she thought — the imperfect note Was choked within her swelling throat, Yet seemed in that low hollow groan Her whole heart gushing in the tone. 345 It ceased — again she thought to speak, Then burst her voice in one long shriek, And to the earth she fell like stone Or statue from its base o'erthrown, More like a thing that ne'er had life, — 350 A monument of Azo's wife, — Than her, that living guilty thing, Whose every passion was a sting, Which urged to guilt, but could not bear That guilt's detection and despair. 355 But yet she lived — and all too soon Recovered from that death-like swoon — But scarce to reason — every sense Had been o'erstrung by pangs intense ; 80 PARISINA. And each frail fibre of her brain 360 (As bow-strings, when relaxed by rain, The erring arrow launch aside) Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide — The past a blank, the future black, With glimpses of a dreary track, 365 Like lightning on the desart path, When midnight storms are mustering wrath. She feared — she felt that something ill Lay on her soul, so deep and chill — That there was sin and shame she knew ; 370 That some one was to die — but who ? She had forgotten : — did she breathe ? Could this be still the earth beneath ? The sky above, and men around ; Or were they fiends who now so frowned 375 On one, before whose eyes each eye Till then had smiled in sympathy ? All was confused and undefined, To her all-jarred and wandering mind ; A chaos of wild hopes and fears : 380 And now in laughter, now in tears, But madly still in each extreme, She strove with that convulsive dream ; PxVRISINA, SI For so it seemed on her to break : Oh ! vainly must she strive to wake ! ! 28,1 XV. The Convent bells are ringing, But mournfully and slow ; In the grey square turret swinging, With a deep sound, to and fro. Heavily to the heart they go ! SQO Hark! the hymn is singing — The song for the dead below, Or the living who shortly shall be so ! For a departing being's soul The death-hymn peals and the hollow bells knoll : He is near his mortal goal; - 396 Kneeling at the Friar's knee ; Sad to hear — and piteous to see — Kneeling on the bare cold ground, With the block before and the guards around — 400 And the headsman with his bare arm ready, That the blow may be both swift and steady, Feels if the axe be sharp and true — Since he set its edge anew: While the crowd in a speechless circle gather 405 To see the Son fall by the doom of the Father. G 82 PARI SIN A. XVI. It is a lovely hour as yet Before the summer sun shall set, Which rose upon that heavy day, And mocked it with his steadiest ray; 410 And his evening beams are shed Full on Hugo's fated head, As his last confession pouring To the monk, his doom deploring In penitential holiness, 4 1 5 He bends to hear his accents bless With absolution such as may Wipe our mortal stains away. That high sun on his head did glisten As he there did bow and listen — 420 And the rings of chesnut hair Curled half down his neck so bare ; But brighter still the beam was thrown Upon the axe which near him shone With a clear and ghastly glitter — i — Oh ! that parting hour was bitter! 425 Even the stern stood chilled with awe : Dark the crime, and just the law — ^ Yet they shuddered as they saw. PARISINA. 83 XVII. The parting prayers are said and over Of that false son — and daring lover ! 430 His beads and sins are all recounted, His hours to their last minute mounted — His mantling cloak before was stripped, His bright brown locks must now be clipped, 'Tis done — all closely are they shorn — 435 The vest which till this moment worn — The scarf which Parisina gave — Must not adorn him to the grave. Even that must now be thrown aside, And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied ; 440 But no — that last indignity Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye. All feelings seemingly subdued, In deep disdain were half renewed, When headman's hands prepared to bind 445 Those eyes which would not brook such blind : As if they dared not look on death. " No — yours my forfeit blood and breath — " These hands are chained — but let me die " At least with an unshackled eye — 4.50 84 PAR1SINA. " Strike :" — and as the word he said, Upon the block he bowed his head ; These the last accents Hugo spoke,: (l Strike" — and flashing fell the stroke — Rolled the head — and, gushing, sunk 45. 5 Back the stained and heaving trunk, In the dust, which each deep vein Slaked with its ensanguined rain ; His eyes and lips a moment quiver, Convulsed and quick — then fix for ever. 460 He died, as erring man should die. Without display, without parade ; Meekly had he bowed and prayed, As not disdaining priestly aid, Nor desperate of all hope on high. 465 And while before the Prior kneeling, His heart was weaned from earthly feeling - % His wrathful sire — his paramour — What were they in such an hour ? No more reproach — no more despair ; 470 No thought but heaven — no word but prayer — Save the few which from him broke, When, bared to meet the headman's stroke, PARISINA. 8.5 He claimed to die with eyes unbound, His sole adieu to those around. 475 XVIII. Still as the lips that closed in death, Each gazer's bosom held his breath : But yet, afar, from man to man, A cold electric shiver ran, As down the deadly blow descended 480 On him whose life and love thus ended ; And with a hushing sound comprest, A sigh shrunk back on every breast ; But no more thrilling noise rose there, Beyond the blow that to the block 485 Pierced through with forced and sullen shock, Save one : — what cleaves the silent air So madly shrill — so passing wild ? That, as a mother's o'er her child, Done to death by sudden blow, 490 To the sky these accents go, Like a soul's in endless woe. Through Azo's palace-lattice driven, That horrid voice ascends to heaven, 86 PARISINA. And every eye is turned thereon ; 4y5 But sound and sight alike are gone.' It was a woman's shriek — and ne'er In madlier accents rose despair; And those who heard it, as it past, In mercy wished it were the last. 500 XIX. Hugo is fallen ; and, from that hour, No more in palace, hall, or bower, Was Parisina heard or seen : Her name — as if she ne'er had been — Was banished from each lip and ear, 503 Like words of wantonness or fear; And from Prince Azo's voice, by none Was mention heard of wife or son ; No tomb — no memory had they ; Theirs was unconsecrated clay; 510 At least the knight's who died that day. But Parisina's fate lies hid Like dust beneath the coffin lid : Whether in convent she abode, And won to heaven her dreary road, 5 J 5 PARISINA. 87 By blighted and remorseful years Of scourge, and fast, and sleepless tears ; Or if she fell by bowl or steel, For that dark love she dared to feel ; Or if, upon the moment smote, • 520 She died by tortures less remote ; Like him she saw upon the block, With heart that shared the headman's shook, Iu quickened brokenness that came, In pity, o'er her shattered frame, 525 None knew — and none can ever know : But whatsoe'er its end below, Her life began and closed in woe ! XX. .And Azo found another bride, And goodly sens grew by his side; 530 But none so lovely and so brave As him who withered in the grave ; Or if they were — on his cold eye Their growth but glanced unheeded by, Or noticed with a smothered sigh. 535 But never tear his cheek descended, And never smile his brow unbended : PAR1S1NA. And o'er that fair broad brow were wrought The intersected lines of thought ; Those furrows which the burning share 540 Of Sorrow ploughs untimely there j Scars of the lacerating mind Which the Soul's war doth leave behind. He was past all mirth or woe : Nothing more remained below, 545 But sleepless nights and heavy days, A mind all dead to scorn or praise, A heart which shunned itself — and yet That would not yield — nor could forget, Which when it least appeared to melt, 550 Intently thought — intensely felt: The deepest ice which ever froze Can only o'er the surface close — The living stream lies quick below, And flows — and cannot cease to flow. 555 Still was his sealed-up bosom haunted By thoughts which Nature hath implanted ; Too deeply rooted thence to vanish, Howe'er our stifled tears we banish ; When, struggling as they rise to start, 560 AVe check those waters of the heart, PARISINA. 89 They are not dried — those tears unshed But flow back to the fountain head, And resting in their spring more pure, For ever in its depth endure, 565 Unseen, unwept, but uncongealed, And cherished most where least revealed. With inward starts of feeling left, To throb o'er those of life bereft ; Without the power to fill again 570 The desart gap which made his pain ; Without the hope to meet them where United souls shall gladness share, With all the consciousness that he Had only passed a just decree ; 575 That they had wrought their doom of ill, Yet Azo's age was wretched still. The tainted branches of the tree, If lopped with care, a strength may give, By which the rest shall bloom and live 580 All greenly fresh and wildly free. But if the lightning, in its wrath, The waving boughs with fury scathe, The massy trunk the ruin feels, And never more a leaf reveals. 585 i H NOTES. Note l, page 63, line 14. As twilight melts beneath the moon away. The lines contained in Section I. were printed as set to music some time since : but belonged to the poem where they now appear, the greater part of which was composed prior to " Lara" and other compositions since published. Note 2, page J5, last line. 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