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Tomorrow sees it bloom again: The stalk some spirit gently rears, And waters with celestial tears;

For well may maids of Helle deem That this can be no earthly flower, Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,

And buds unshelter'd by a bower;

Nor droops though Spring refuse her shower,

Nor woos the summer beam:
To it the livelong night there sings
A bird unseen-but not remote:
Invisible his airy wings,

But soft as harp that Houri strings
His long entrancing note!

It were the bulbul; but his throat, Though mournful, pours not such a strain:

For they who listen cannot leave
The spot, but linger there and grieve,
As if they loved in vain!

And yet so sweet the tears they shed,
'Tis sorrow so unmix'd with dread,
They scarce can bear the morn to break
That melancholy spell,

And longer yet would weep and wake,
He sings so wild and well!

But when the day-blush bursts from

high

Expires that magic melody.

And some have been who could believe,
(So fondly youthful dreams deceive,
Yet harsh be they that blame,)
That note so piercing and profound
Will shape and syllable its sound
Into Zuleika's name.

'Tis from her cypress summit heard,
That melts in air the liquid word:
'Tis from her lowly virgin earth
That white rose takes its tender birth.
There late was laid a marble stone;
Eve saw it placed-the Morrow gone!
It was no mortal arm that bore
That deep-fix'd pillar to the shore;
For there, as Helle's legends tell,
Next morn 'twas found where Selim

fell;

Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave Denied his bones a holier grave:

And there by night, reclined, 'tis said, Is seen a ghastly turban'd head: And hence extended by the billow, "Tis named the "Pirate-phantom's pillow!"'

Where first it lay that mourning

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35 All quell'd!-Dark Spirit! what must be The madness of thy memory!

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70

The Spaniard, when the lust of sway
Had lost its quickening spell,
Cast crowns for rosaries away,

An empire for a cell;

A strict accountant of his beads,

A subtle disputant on creeds,

His dotage trifled well:

Yet better had he neither known

A bigot's shrine-nor despot's throne.

But thou-from thy reluctant hand
The thunderbolt is wrung-

75 Too late thou leav'st the high command
To which thy weakness clung;
All Evil Spirit as thou art,
It is enough to grieve the heart

To see thine own unstrung;

80 To think that God's fair world hath been The footstool of a thing so mean;

85

And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,
Who thus can hoard his own!
And monarchs bow'd the trembling limb,
And thank'd him for a throne!
Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear
In humblest guise have shown.

1 Milo, a famous Greek athlete (6th cent. B. C.), who is said to have been eaten by wolves while his hands were caught in the cleft of a tree which he had tried to pull apart. See Valerius Maximus's Factorum et Dictorum Memorabilium, IX, 12, 2, 9.

After Napoleon abdicated the throne on April 3, 1814, he was banished to the Island of Elba.

Sulla, the great Roman general, who made himself dictator, revenged himself on his foes, and then, in the height of his power (79 B. C.), retired to private life.

4 Charles V, King of Spain and Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, who abdicated his throne in 1556, and spent the rest of his life in a monastery.

Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind 90 A brighter name to lure mankind!

Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,

Nor written thus in vain-
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,
Or deepen every stain:

95 If thou hadst died as honor dies,
Some new Napoleon might arise,

To shame the world again-
But who would soar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night?

100 Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust
Is vile as vulgar clay;
Thy scales, Mortality! are just

To all that pass away:

But yet methought the living great 105 Some higher sparks should animate, To dazzle and dismay:

110

115

Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth

Of these, the conquerors of the earth.

And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,
Thy still imperial bride;1

How bears her breast the torturing hour?
Still clings she to thy side?

Must she too bend, must she too share
Thy late repentance, long despair,

Thou throneless homicide?

If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,-
'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem!

Then haste thee to thy sullen isle,
And gaze upon the sea;

120 That element may meet thy smile-
It ne'er was ruled by thee!
Or trace with thine all idle hand
In loitering mood upon the sand

That Earth is now as free!

125 That Corinth's pedagogue2 hath now Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow.

130

Thou Timour! in his captive's cages

What thoughts will there be thine, While brooding in thy prison'd rage? But one-"The world was mine!" Unless, like he of Babylon,*

All sense is with thy sceptre gone,

1 Maria Louisa, daughter of Francis I, Emperor of Austria (1804-35).

Dionysius the Younger, who opened a school for boys at Corinth (344 B. C.) after he was banished from Syracuse.

Napoleon is likened to Timur (Tamerlane), the Mongolian conqueror, who in 1402 defeated and captured Bajazet I, Sultan of Turkey, and is said to have carried him about in an iron cage. See Marlowe's Tamburlaine the Great, IV, 2; also Rowe's Tamerlane. Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon (604-561 B. C.). He was insane for seven years. See Daniel, 4.

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155

160

Through the long twilight of all time, Despite some passing clouds of crime.

But thou forsooth must be a king,
And don the purple vest,

As if that foolish robe could wring
Remembrance from thy breast.
Where is that faded garment? where
The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear,
The star, the string,3 the crest?
Vain froward child of empire! say,
Are all thy playthings snatched away?

Where may the wearied eye repose
When gazing on the Great;
165 Where neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?

Yes-one-the first-the last-the best-
The Cincinnatus of the West,

Whom envy dared not hate,

170 Bequeath'd the name of Washington, To make man blush there was but one!

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY4
1814
1815

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

5 Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

1 Prometheus.

2 A reference to the story that Napoleon was engaged in an unworthy love affair at the time of his abdication. See Othello, IV, 1, 69. The chain of enameled eagles.

Lady Wilmot Horton, whom Byron had seen at a ball, attired in mourning with spangles on her dress.

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And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

STANZAS FOR MUSIC
1815
1816

There's not a joy the world can give like
that it takes away,

When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay;

'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,

But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

5 Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness

Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:

The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain

The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again.

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down;

10 It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;

That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,

And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 15 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath,

All green and wildly fresh without, but
worn and gray beneath.

Oh could I feel as I have felt,-or be what
I have been,

Or weep as I could once have wept o'er
many a vanish'd scene;

As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, 20 So, midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me.

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