The crag
His Christian crest and haughty mien.-

is won-no more is seen

"Twas but an instant-though so long
When thus dilated in my song-
"Twas but an instant that he stood,
Then sped as if by death pursued ;
But in that instant, o'er his soul
Winters of Memory seemed to roll;
And gather in that drop of time

A life of pain, an age of crime.

O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears,
Such moment pours the grief of years—

What felt he then-at once opprest

By all that most distracts the breast?

That pause which pondered o'er his fate,

Oh, who its dreary length shall date!

Though in Time's record nearly nought,

It was Eternity to Thought!

For infinite as boundless space

The thought that Conscience must embrace,

Which in itself can comprehend

Woe without name-or hope-or end.

190

195

200

205

I know thee not, I loathe thy race,
But in thy lineaments I trace

What time shall strengthen, not efface;

Though young and pale, that sallow front

A troubled memory on my breast;

And long upon my startled ear
Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear.
He

spurs his steed―he nears the steep, That jutting shadows o'er the deepHe winds around-he hurries by

The rock relieves him from mine eye

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135

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145

For well I ween unwelcome he
Whose glance is fixed on those that flee;
And not a star but shines too bright
On him who takes such timeless flight.
He wound along-but ere he passed
One glance he snatched—as if his last-
A moment checked his wheeling steed-
A moment breathed him from his speed-

A moment on his stirrup stood

Why looks he o'er the olive wood?

The crescent glimmers on the hill,

The Mosque's high lamps are quivering still;

Though too remote for sound to wake

In echoes of the far tophaike *,

The flashes of each joyous peal

Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal.

To-night-set Rhamazani's sun

To-night-the Bairam feast's begun

150

155

160

* "Tophaike," musquet.-The Bairam is announced by the cannon at sunset; the illumination of the Mosques, and the firing of all kinds of small arms, loaded with ball, proclaim it during the night,

To-night-but who and what art thou
Of foreign garb and fearful brow?
And what are these to thine or thee,

That thou should'st either pause or flee?

He stood some dread was on his face-
Soon Hatred settled in its place

It rose not with the reddening flush

Of transient Anger's darkening blush,
But pale as marble o'er the tomb,
Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom.
His brow was bent his eye was glazed-
He raised his arm, and fiercely raised;

And sternly shook his hand on high,
As doubting to return or fly;→

165

170

175

The

crag

is won-no more is seen

His Christian crest and haughty mien.—

"Twas but an instant-though so long When thus dilated in my song

"Twas but an instant that he stood, Then sped as if by death pursued; But in that instant, o'er his soul

190

Winters of Memory seemed to roll;

195

And gather in that drop of time

A life of pain, an age of crime.

O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears,
Such moment pours the grief of years—

What felt he then-at once opprest

By all that most distracts the breast?

That pause-which pondered o'er his fate,

Oh, who its dreary length shall date!

200

Though in Time's record nearly nought,

It was Eternity to Thought!

205

For infinite as boundless space

The thought that Conscience must embrace,

Which in itself can comprehend

Woe without name-or hope-or end.