Yet still 't is there! in silence stands,
And beckons with beseeching hands!
With braided hair, and bright-black eye—
I knew 't was false-she could not die!
But he is dead! within the dell

I saw him buried where he fell;
He comes not, for he cannot break

From earth; why then art thou awake?
They told me wild waves roll d above
The face I view, the form I love;
They told me-t was a hideous tale!
I'd tell it, but my tongue would fail :
If true, and from thine ocean-cave
Thou com'st to claim a calmer grave,
Oh! pass thy dewy fingers o'er

This brow that then will burn no more;
Or place them on my hopeless heart:
But, shape or shade! whate'er thou art,
In mercy ne'er again depart!
Or farther with thee bear my soul,
Than winds can waft or waters roll!

■ Such is my name, and such my tale. Confessor to thy secret ear

I breathe the sorrows I bewail,

And thank thee for the generous tear
This glazing eye could never shed.
Then lay me with the humblest dead,
And, save the cross above my head,
Be neither name nor emblem spread,
By prying stranger to be read,
Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread.>>

He pass'd--nor of his name and race
Hath left a token or a trace,
Save what the father must not say
Who shrived him on his dying day:
This broken tale was all we knew
Of her he loved, or him he slew.43

NOTES.

Note 1. Page 132, line 3.

That tomb which, gleaming o'er the cliff.

A tomb above the rocks on the promontory, by some supposed the sepulchre of Themistocles.

Note 2. Page 132, line 22.

Sultana of the Nightingale.

Note 5. Page 133, line 48.

The first, last look by death reveal'd.

I trust that few of my readers have ever had an opportunity of witnessing what is here attempted in description, but those who have will probably retain a painful remembrance of that singular beauty which pervades, with few exceptions, the features of the dead, a few hours, and but for a few hours, after « the spirit is not there.» It is to be remarked in cases of violent death by gun-shot wounds, the expression is always that of languor, whatever the natural energy of the sufferer's character; but in death from a stab the countenance preserves its traits of feeling or ferocity, and the mind its bias, to the last.

Jerreed, or Djerrid, a blunted Turkish javelin, which is darted from horseback with great force and precision. It is a favourite exercise of the Mussulmans; but I know not if it can be called a manly one, since the most expert in the art are the Black Eunuchs of ConstantinopleI think, next to these, a Mamlouk at Smyrna was the most skilful that came within my observation.

Note 10. Page 134, line 115.

He came, he went, like the Simoom.

The blast of the desert, fatal to every thing living, and often alluded to in eastern poetry.

Note 11. Page 135, line 47.

To bless the sacred bread and salt..

To partake of food, to break bread and salt with your host, insures the safety of the guest; even though an

The attachment of the nightingale to the rose is a well-enemy, his person from that moment is sacred.
known Persian fable. If I mistake not, the « Bulbul of
a thousand tales » is one of his appellations.

Note 3. Page 132, line 40.

Till the gay mariner's guitar.

The guitar is the constant amusement of the Greek sailor by night: with a steady fair wind, and during a calm, it is accompanied always by the voice, and often by dancing.

Note 4. Page 133, line 40.

Where cold obstruction's apathy.

Ay, but to die and go we know not where,
To lie in cold obstruction..

Measure for Measure, Act III. 130. Sc. 2.

Note 12. Page 135, line 55.

Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre.

I need hardly observe, that Charity and Hospitality are the first duties enjoined by Mahomet; and, to say truth, very generally practised by his disciples. The first praise that can be bestowed on a chief is a panegyric on his bounty; the next, on his valour.

Note 13. Page 135, line 59.
And silver-sheathed atagban.

The ataghan, a long dagger worn with pistols in the belt, in a metal scabbard, generally of silver; and, among the wealthier, gilt, or of gold.

Green is the privileged colour of the prophet's nume-way, and exclude their moieties from heaven. Being rous pretended descendants; with them, as here, faith (the family inheritance) is supposed to supersede the necessity of good works: they are the worst of a very indifferent brood.

passes to Ephesus, Messalunghi, or Lepanto; there are
plenty of us, well armed, and the Choriates have not
courage to be thieves.»-«True, Affendi; but never-
theless 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.»-I left this quick-eared predesti-
narian, and rode up to Basili, his Christian compatriot,
whose ears, 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 unfortunate 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 « Palaocastro» man: « No,» said he,
« but these pillars will be useful in making a stand;»
and added other remarks, which at least evinced his own
belief in his troublesome faculty of fore-hearing. On
our return to Athens, we heard from Leoné (a prisoner
set ashore some days after) of the intended attack of 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

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 « Vroucolochas,» as he calls them. The Romaic term is « Var-musketry than ever will be fired, to the great refresh doulacha. Irecollect a whole family being terrified by the scream of a child, which they imagined must proceed from such a visitation. The Greeks never mention the word without horror. I find that « Broucolok...» is an old legitimate Hellenic appellation—at least is so applied to Arsenius, who, according to the Greeks, was after his death animated by the Devil. The moderns, however, use the word I mention.

This superstition of a second-hearing (for I never met with downright second-sight in the East) fell once under my own observation.-On my third journey to Cape Colonna early in 1811, as we passed through the defile that leads from the hamlet between 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 пр and inquired. We are in peril,» he answered. What peril! we are not now in Albania, nor in the

ment of the Arnaouts of Berat, and his native mountains.-I shall mention one trait more of this singular race. In March 1811, a remarkably stout and active Arnaout came (I believe the 50th on the same errand) to offer himself as an attendant, which was declined: « Well, Affendi,»> quoth he, « may you live!—you would have found me useful. I shall leave the town for the hills to-morrow; 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, which was true to the letter.-If not cut off, they come in the mean time he will join the Klephtes» (robbers), down in the winter, and pass it unmolested in some town, where they are often as well known as their exploits.

up

that my memory has retained so few fragments of the original.

For the contents of some of the notes I am indebted partly to D'Herbelot, and partly to that most eastern, and, as Mr Weber justly entitles it, « sublime tale,» the «Caliph Vathek.» I do not know from what source the author of that singular volume may have drawn his materials; some of his incidents are to be found in the « Bibliothèque Orientale;» but for correctness of cos tume, beauty of description, and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imitations; and bears such

son's supposed infidelity; he asked with whom, and she had the barbarity to give in a list of the twelve handsomest women in Yanina. They were seized, fastened in sacks, and drowned in the lake the same night! One of the guards who was present informed me, that not one of the victims uttered a cry, or showed a symptom of terror at so sudden a « wrench from all we know, from all we love.» The fate of Phrosine, the fairest of this sacrifice, is the subject of many a Romaic and Arnaout ditty. The story in the text is one told of a young Venetian many years ago, and now nearly forgotten. I heard it by accident recited by one of the coffee-house story-marks of originality, that those who have visited the East tellers who abound in the Levant, and sing or recite their narratives. The additions and interpolations by the translator will be easily distinguished from the rest by the want of Eastern imagery; and I regret

will find some difficulty in believing it to be more than a translation. As an Eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it; his «Happy Valley» will not bear a comparison with the «< Hall of Eblis.>>

The Bride of Abydos,

A TURKISH TALE.

- Had we never loved so kindly,

Had we never loved so blindly,

Never met or never parted,

We had ne'er been broken hearted.

BURNS.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD HOLLAND,

This Tale is Inscribed,

WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD AND RESPECT, BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED
AND SINCERE FRIEND,

BYRON.

CANTO 1.

I.

KNOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime?
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?
Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,
Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine;
Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with perfume,
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul' in her bloom;
Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;
Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,
In colour though varied, in beauty may vie,
And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye;
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?

'Tis the clime of the east; 't is the land of the sun-
Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done??
Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell

Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they

tell.