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

"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,
So, mid'st the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me.

FROM "THE GIAOUR."

GREECE.

He who hath bent him o'er the dead,

Ere the first day of death is fled,

The first dark day of nothingness,

The last of danger and distress

(Before decay's effacing fingers

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers),
And mark'd the mild angelic air,

The rapture of repose that's there,

The fix'd yet tender traits that streak

The languor of the placid cheek,

And-but for that sad shrouded eye,

That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now;

And but for that chill changeless brow,

Where cold Obstruction's apathy1

Appals the gazing mourner's heart,
As if to him it could impart

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon;
Yes, but for these and these alone,
Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour,
He still might doubt the tyrant's power;
So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd,

The first, last look by death reveal'd!2

1 "Ay, but to die and go we know not where,

To lie in cold obstruction."-Measure for Measure, Act iii. Sc. 2.

2 "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 gunshot wounds, that 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."-Author's note. See Catiline's death, in Sallust.

FROM THE GIAOUR.

Such is the aspect of this shore;
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.
Hers is the loveliness in death,

That parts not quite with parting breath;
But beauty, with that fearful bloom,
That hue which haunts it to the tomb,
Expression's last receding ray,

A gilded halo hovering round decay,

The farewell beam of Feeling past away!
Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth,
Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth!

Clime of the unforgotten brave!
Whose land, from plain to mountain-cave,
Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave!
Shrine of the mighty! can it be,
That this is all remains of thee?
Approach, thou craven crouching slave :
Say, is not this Thermopyla?

These waters blue that round you lave,
Oh servile offspring of the free-
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this?
The gulf, the rock of Salamis !

These scenes, their story not unknown,
Arise, and make again your own;
Snatch from the ashes of your sires
The embers of their former fires;
And he who in the strife expires,
Will add to theirs a name of fear,
That Tyranny shall quake to hear,
And leave his sons a hope, a fame,
They too will rather die than shame :
For Freedom's battle, once begun,
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won.
Bear witness, Greece, thy living page,
Attest it many a deathless age!1
While Kings, in dusky darkness hid,
Have left a nameless pyramid,2

Thy heroes, though the general doom

445

Bear and attest are instances of imperatives in the 3d pers. sing., formed as in the 2d pers., by the inversion of the nominative: "Now, tread we a measure, said young Lochinvar" (Scott's Marmion), furnishes an instance of the same form in the 1st pers. plur. Examples will be found in English poetry of all the persons except the 1st pers. sing. The nominative inverted expresses, 1. Interrogation; 2. Wish; 3. Contingency or supposition; 4. Imperison, invitation, or request. The inversion is sometimes a mere figurative ornament.-The simile in the text has been reckoned one of the most splendid in English poetry.

2 Alluding to the uncertainty of connecting the Egyptian pyramids with the names of their alleged builders.

Hath swept the column from their tomb,
A mightier monument command,
The mountains of their native land!
There points thy muse to stranger's eye
The graves of those that cannot die!
"Twere long to tell, and sad to trace,
Each step from splendour to disgrace;
Enough-no foreign foe could quell
Thy soul, till from itself it fell;
Yes! self-abasement paved the way
To villain-bonds and despot-sway.

FROM "THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS."

CANTO II. STANZA XXII.

THE DEATH OF SELIM.1

They part, pursue, return, and wheel,
With searching flambeau, shining steel;
And last of all, his sabre waving,
Stern Giaffir in his fury raving:

And now almost they touch the cave

Oh! must that grot be Selim's grave?

Dauntless he stood-" "Tis come-soon past

One kiss, Zuleika-'tis my last :

But yet my band, not far from shore,

May hear this signal, see the flash ;

Yet now too few-the attempt were rash:

No matter-yet one effort more."

Forth to the cavern mouth he stept;

His pistol's echo rang on high.

Zuleika started not, nor wept,

Despair benumb'd her breast and eye!—
"They hear me not, or if they ply
Their oars, 'tis but to see me die;

That sound hath drawr my foes more nigh.
Then forth, my father's scimitar,
Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war!
Farewell, Zuleika!-Sweet! retire:
Yet stay within-here linger safe,
At thee his rage will only chafe.
Stir not-lest even to thee perchance
Some erring blade or ball should glance.
Fear'st thou for him?-may I expire,
If in this strife I seek thy sire!

No-though by him that poison pour'd ;

During his interview with Zuleika he is surprised by the emissaries of the Pachs Giaffir, her father.

No-though again he call me coward!
But tamely shall I meet their steel?
No-as each crest save his may feel!"
One bound he made, and gain'd the sand:
Already at his feet hath sunk

The foremost of the prying band,

A gasping head, a quivering trunk :
Another falls-but round him close
A swarming circle of his foes;
From right to left his path he cleft,

And almost met the meeting wave:
His boat appears-not five oars' length-
His comrades strain with desperate strength-
Oh! are they yet in time to save?

His feet the foremost breakers lave;
His band are plunging in the bay,
Their sabres glitter through the spray;
Wet-wild-unwearied, to the strand
They struggle-now they touch the land!
They come 'tis but to add to slaughter-
His heart's best blood is on the water.1

FROM

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE."

CANTO I. STANZA XXXVIII.

WORTH OF WARLIKE FAME.

Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note?
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath?
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote;
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ?—the fires of death,
The bale-fires flash on high :-from rock to rock
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe;
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc,2

Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock.

Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands,
His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun,
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands,
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon;
Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon
Flashing afar, and at his iron feet

Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done;

For on this morn three potent nations meet,

To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet.3

1 This passage forms a fine instance of the figure Vision: another will be found in

Scott, p. 396, High sight," &c.

2 The hot unwholesome wind of the Mediterranean from Africa.

This personification has been very frequently admired.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there)
Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery,

Their various arms that glitter in the air!

What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair,
And guash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey!
All join the chase, but few the triumph share;
The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away,
And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array.

Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice;

Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high;
Three gaudy standards float the pale blue skies ;
The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory!
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,
Are met as if at home they could not die-
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,

And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain.

There shall they rot-Ambition's honoured fools!
Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay!
Vain sophistry! in these behold the tools,
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way
With human hearts-to what?-a dream alone.
Can despots compass aught that hails their sway,
Or call with truth one span of earth their own,
Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone?1

STANZA XXI. THE EVE OF WATERLOO.

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ;

A thousand hearts beat happily; and, when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,

And all went merry as a marriage bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !*

1 This passage has been contrasted with Scott's description of the landing of the British army in Portugal, as exemplifying the different views which the two poets take of the same objects. See Vision of Don Roderic.

2 The interruption of the ball by the sound of the cannon is a poetical license. On “the evening of the 15th" (June 1815), Wellington, having received intelligence of the advance of the French, and ordered the concentration of troops on Quatre Bras, dressed and went to a ball at the Duchess of Richmond's, where his manner was so undisturbed, that no one discovered that any intelligence of importance had arrived; many brave men were there assembled, amidst the scenes of festivity, and surrounded by the smiles of beauty, who were, ere long, locked in the arms of death."-Alison, ch. xciii. Ed. 1848.