ferocity of our Infidel; and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself." Among the Giaour MSS. is the first draught of this passage, which we subjoin: Devotion sends the soul above, This present joy, this future hope, That seem their woe. that inly bleeds, Or, Has nought to dread from outward foe," &c.] 72.-Page 34, line 14. That quench'd, what beam shall break my night? "'Tis quench'd, and I am lost in night."-MS.] 73.-Page 34, line 40. And let the fool still prone to range, 74.-Page 35, line 30. Looks not to priesthood for relief. The monk's sermon is omitted. It seems to have had so little effect upon the patient, that it could have no hopes from the reader. It may be sufficient to say, that it was of a customary length (as may be perceived from the interruptions and uneasiness of the patient), and was delivered in the usual tone of all orthodox preachers. 75.-Page 35, line 31. My soul's estate in secret guess: [ "but this grief In truth is not for thy relief. My state thy thought can never guess.”—MS. 76.-Page 36, line 1. Where bloom my native valley's bowers, 77.-Page 36, line 5. I would remind him of my end: ["I have no heart to love him now, 78.-Page 37, line 5. Waste not thine orison, despair 79.-Page 87, line 11. And shining in her white symar, Symar," a shroud. 80.-Page 37, line 15. Dimly I view its trembling spark 81.- Page 38, line 21. Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread." The circumstance to which the above story relates was not very uncommon in Turkey. A few years ago the wife of Muchtar Pacha comiplained to his father of his son's supposed infidelity; he asked with whorn, and she had the barbarity to give in a list of the twelve handsomest women in Yanina. They were seized, fastened up 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-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 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 or that singular volume may have drawn his materials; some of his incidents are to be found in the "Bibliothèque Orientale;" but for correctness of costume, beauty of description, and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imitations; and bears such marks of originality, that those who have visited the East 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." 82.- Page 33, line 26. This broken tale was all we knew ["Nor whether most he mourn'd none knew, 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."-EURNS. |