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THE 
 
 SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 PARISINA. 
 
T. DAVISON, Lombard-street, 
 Wliitefriars, London. 
 
THE 
 
 SIEGE OF CORINTH 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 PARISINA 
 
 A POExM. 
 
 LONDON; 
 
 PRINTED- FOR JOHN » MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. 
 
 1816. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 Duke ^University. Libraries 
 
 http://archive.org/details/siegeofcorinthpo01byro 
 
4vc 
 
 THE 
 
 SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Guns, Trumpets, Blunderbusses, Drums, and Thunder." 
 
 It 
 
 3GB5HI 
 
TO 
 
 JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. 
 
 THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED 
 BY HIS 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 Jan. 22, 18 1G. 
 
 B2 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 "The grand army of the Turks (in 1715), under the 
 ** Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into the 
 " heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli di 
 " Romania, the most considerable place in all that coun- 
 « try*, thought it best in the first place to attack Corinth, 
 " upon which they made several storms. The garriso 
 " being weakened, and the governor seeing it was impos- 
 " sible to hold out against so mighty a force, thought fit 
 " to beat a parley : but while they were treating about 
 " the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish camp, 
 u wherein they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew 
 
 * Napoli di Romania is not now the most considerable place in the Mo- 
 rea, but Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and maintains his government. 
 Napoli is near Argos. I visited all three in 1810-11 ; and in the course of 
 journeying through the country from my first arrival in 1809, I crossed the 
 Isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to the Morea, over the moun- 
 tains, or in the other direction, when passing from the Gulf of Athens to that 
 of Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beautiful, though very 
 different: that by sea has more sameness, but the voyage being always 
 within sight of land, and often very near it, presents many attractive views 
 of the islands Salamis, iEgina, Poro, &c, and the coast of the continent. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 " up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men 
 " were killed : which so enraged the infidels, that they 
 " would not grant any capitulation, but sformed the 
 " place with so much fury, that they took it, and put 
 <* most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the gover- 
 u nor, to the sword. The rest, with Antonio Bembo, 
 " proveditor extraordinary, were made prisoners of war." 
 History of the Turks, vol. iii. p. 151. 
 
THE 
 
 SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 Many a vanished year and age, 
 
 And tempest'-s breath, and battle's rage, 
 
 Have swept o'er Corinth ; yet she stands 
 
 A fortress formed to Freedom's hands. 
 
 The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock, 5 
 
 Have left untouched her hoary rock, 
 
 The keystone of a laud, which still, 
 
 Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill, 
 
 The land-mark to the double tide 
 
 That purpling rolls on either side, 10 
 
 As if their waters chafed to meet, 
 
 Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet. 
 
 But could the blood before her shed 
 
 Since first Timoleon's brother bled, 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Or baffled Persia's despot fled, 15 
 
 Arise from out the earth which drank 
 
 The stream of slaughter as it sank, 
 
 That sanguine ocean would o'erflow 
 
 Her isthmus idly spread below : 
 
 Or could the bones of all the slain, 20 
 
 Who perished there, be piled again, 
 
 That rival pyramid would rise 
 
 More mountain-like, through those clear skies, 
 
 Than yon tower-capt Acropolis 
 
 Which seems the very clouds to kiss. g£ 
 
 II. 
 
 On dun Cithaeron's ridge appears 
 
 The gleam of twice ten thousand spears ; 
 
 And downward to the Isthmian plain 
 
 From shore to shore of either main, 
 
 The tent is pitched, the crescent shines 30 
 
 Along the Moslem's leaguering lines ; 
 
 And the dusk Spain's bands advance 
 
 Beneath each bearded pasha's glance ; 
 
 And far and wide as eye can reach 
 
 The turbaned cohorts throng the beach ; 35 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 9 
 
 And there the Arab's camel kneels, 
 
 And there his steed the Tartar wlieels ; 
 
 The Turcoman hath left his herd 1 , 
 
 The sabre round his loins to gird ; 
 
 And there the volleying thunders pour, 40 
 
 Till waves grow smoother to the roar. 
 
 The trench is dug, the cannon's breath 
 
 Wings the far hissing globe of death ; 
 
 Fast whirl the fragments from the wall, 
 
 Which crumbles with the ponderous ball ; 45 
 
 And from that wall the foe replies, 
 
 O'er dusty plain and smoky skies, 
 
 With fires that answer fast and well 
 
 The summons of the Infidel. 
 
 III. 
 
 But near and nearest to the wall SO 
 
 Of those who wish and work its fall, 
 
 With deeper skill in war's black art 
 
 Than Othman's sons, and high of heart 
 
 As any chief thai ever stood 
 
 Triumphant in the fields of blood ; 5S 
 
 From post to post, and deed to deed,1 
 
 Fast spurring on his reeking steed, 
 
10 THE SIEGE OF COKINTH. 
 
 Where sallying ranks the trench assail, 
 
 And make the foremost Moslem quail ; 
 
 Or where the battery guarded well, 60 
 
 Remains as yet impregnable, 
 
 Alighting cheerly to inspire 
 
 The soldier slackening in his fire ; 
 
 The first and freshest of the host 
 
 Which StambouPs sultan there can boast, 65 
 
 To guide the follower o'er the field, 
 
 To point the tube, the lance to wield, 
 
 Or whirl around the bickering blade j— 
 
 Was Alp, the Adrian renegade ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 From Venice— »onee a race of worth 70 
 
 His gentle sires — he drew his birth ; 
 
 But late an exile from her shore, 
 
 Against his countrymen he bore 
 
 The arms they taught to bear ; and now 
 
 The turban girt his shaven brow. lb 
 
 Through many a change had Corinth passed 
 
 With Greece to Venice' rule at last; 
 
 And here, before her walls, with those 
 
 To Greece and Venice equal foes, 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 1 1 
 
 He stood a foe, with all the zeal BO 
 
 Which young and fiery converts feel, 
 
 Within whose heated bosom throngs 
 
 The memory of a thousand wrongs. 
 
 To him had Venice ceased to be 
 
 Her ancient civic boast — " the Free ;" 85 
 
 And in the palace of St. Mark 
 
 Unnamed accusers in the dark 
 
 Within the (i Lion's mouth" had placed 
 
 A charge against him uueffaced* 
 
 He fled in time, and saved his life, 90 
 
 To waste his future years in strife, 
 
 That taught his land how great her loss 
 
 In him who triumphed o'er the Cross, 
 
 'Gainst which he reared the Crescent high, 
 
 And battled to avenge or die. 95 
 
 V. 
 
 Coumourgi 2 — he whose closing scene 
 
 Adorned the triumph of Eugene, 
 
 When on Carlowitz' bloody plain 
 
 The last and mightiest of the slain 
 
 He sank, regretting not to die, 100 
 
 But curst the Christian's victory — 
 
12 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Coumourgi — can his glory cease, 
 
 That latest conqueror of Greece, 
 
 Till Christian hands to Greece restore 
 
 The freedom Venice gave of yore ? 105 
 
 A hundred years have rolled away 
 
 Since he reBxed the Moslem's sway ; 
 
 And now he led the Mussulman, 
 
 And gave the guidance of the van 
 
 To Alp, who well repaid the trust 1 10 
 
 By cities levelled with the dust ; 
 
 And proved, by many a deed of death, 
 
 How firm his heart in novel faith. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The walls grew weak ; and fast and hot 
 
 Against them poured the ceaseless shot, 115 
 
 With unabating fury sent 
 
 From battery to battlement; 
 
 And thunder-like the pealing din 
 
 Rose from each heated culverin ; 
 
 And here and there some crackling dome 120 
 
 Was fired before the exploding bomb : 
 
 And as the fabric sank beneath 
 
 The shattering shell's volcanic breath, 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 13 
 
 In red and wreathing columns flashed 
 
 The flame, as lo«d the ruin crashed, 1 25 
 
 Or into countless meteors driven, 
 
 Its earth-stars melted into heaven ; 
 
 Whose clouds that day grew doubly dun, 
 
 Impervious to the hidden sun, 
 
 With volumed smoke that slowly grew 130 
 
 To one wide sky of sulphurous hue. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But not for vengeance, long delayed, 
 
 Alone, did Alp, the renegade, 
 
 The Moslem warriors sternly teach 
 
 His skill to pierce the promised breach: 135 
 
 Within these walls a maid was pent 
 
 His hope would win, without consent 
 
 Of that inexorable sire, 
 
 Whose heart refused him in its ire, 
 
 When Alp, beneath his Christian name, 1 10 
 
 Her virgin hand aspired to claim. 
 
 In happier mood, and earlier time, 
 
 While unimpeached for traitorous crime, 
 
 Gayest in gondola or hall, 
 
 He glittered through the Carnival ; 145 
 
14 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 And tuned the softest serenade 
 That e'er on Adria's waters played 
 At midnight to Italian maid. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And many deemed her heart was won ; 
 
 For sought by numbers, given to none, 150 
 
 Had young Francesca's hand remained 
 
 Still by the church's bonds unchained : 
 
 And when the Adriatic bore 
 
 Lanciotto to the Paynim shore, 
 
 Her wonted smiles were seen to fail, 155 
 
 And pensive waxed the maid and pale ; 
 
 More constant at confessional, 
 
 More rare at masque and festival ; 
 
 Or seen at such, with downcast eyes, 
 
 Which conquered hearts they ceased to prize : 1 60 
 
 With listless look she seems to gaze; 
 
 With humbler care her form arrays ; 
 
 Her voice less lively in the song ; 
 
 Her step, though light, less fleet among 
 
 The pairs, on whom the Morning's glance 165 
 
 Bieaks, yet unsated with the dance. 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. is 
 
 IX. 
 
 Sent by the state to guard the land, 
 
 (Which, wrested from the Moslem's hand, 
 
 While Sobieski tamed his pride 
 
 By Buda's wall and Danube's side, 170 
 
 The chiefs of Venice wrung away 
 
 From Patra to Eubcea's bay,) 
 
 Minotti held in Corinth's towers 
 
 The Doge's delegated powers, 
 
 While yet the pitying eye of Peace 17.5 
 
 Smiled o'er her long forgotten Greece: 
 
 And ere that faithless truce was broke 
 
 Which freed her from the unchristian yoke, 
 
 With him his gentle daughter came ; 
 
 Nor there, since Menelaus' dame 180 
 
 Forsook her lord and land, to prove 
 
 What woes await on lawless love, 
 
 Had fairer form adorned the shore 
 
 Than she, the matchless stranger, bore. 
 
 X. 
 
 The wall is rent, the ruins yawn ; 185 
 
 And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn, 
 
16 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 O'er the disjointed mass shall vault 
 
 The foremost of the fierce assault. 
 
 The bands are ranked ; the chosen van 
 
 Of Tartar and of Mussulman, 1 90 
 
 The full of hope, misnamed " forlorn," 
 
 Who hold the thought of death in scorn, 
 
 And win their way with falchions' force) 
 
 Or pave the path with many a corse, 
 
 O'er which the following brave may rise, 195 
 
 Their stepping-stone — the last who diesl 
 
 XL 
 'Tis midnight : on the mountain's brown 
 The cold, round moon shines deeply down ; 
 Blue roll the waters, blue the sky 
 Spreads like an ocean hung on high, 200 
 
 Bespangled with those isles of light, 
 So wildly, spiritually bright ; 
 Who ever gazed upon them shining, 
 And turned to earth without repining, 
 Nor wished for wings to flee away, 205 
 
 And mix with their eternal ray ? 
 The waves on either shore lay there 
 Calm, clear, and azure as the air j 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 17 
 
 And scarce their foam the pebbles shook, 
 
 But murmured meekly as the brook. 210 
 
 The winds were pillowed on the waves ; 
 
 The banners drooped along their staves, 
 
 And, as they fell around them furling, 
 
 Above them shone the crescent curling ; 
 
 And that deep silence was unbroke, 215 
 
 Save where the watch his signal spoke, 
 
 Save where the steed neighed oft and shrill, 
 
 And echo answered from the hill, 
 
 And the wide hum of that wild host 
 
 Rustled like leaves from coast to coast, 220 
 
 As rose the Muezzin's voice in air 
 
 In midnight call to wonted prayer ; 
 
 It rose, that chaunted mournful strain, 
 
 Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain : 
 
 'Twas musical, but sadly sweet, 0,0,5 
 
 Such as when winds and harp-strings meet, 
 
 And take a long unmeasured tone, 
 
 To mortal minstrelsy unknown. 
 
 It seemed to those within the wall 
 
 A cry prophetic of their fall: 230 
 
 It struck even the besieger's ear 
 
 With something ominous and drear, 
 
18 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 An undefined and sudden thrill, 
 
 Which makes the heart a moment still, 
 
 Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed 235 
 
 Of that strange sense it's silence framed; 
 
 Such as a sudden passing-bell 
 
 Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The tent of Alp was on the shore ; 
 
 The sound was hushed, the prayer was o'er; 240 
 
 The watch was set, the night-round made, 
 
 All mandates issued and obeyed : 
 
 'Tis but another anxious night, 
 
 His pains the morrow may requite 
 
 With all revenge and love can pay, 245 
 
 In guerdon for their long delay. 
 
 Few hours remain, and he hath need 
 
 Of rest, to nerve for many a deed 
 
 Of slaughter ; but within his soul 
 
 The thoughts like troubled waters roll. 250 
 
 He stood alone among the host ; 
 
 Not his the loud fanatic boast 
 
 To plant the crescent o'er the cross, 
 
 Or risk a life with little loss, 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 19 
 
 Secure in paradise to be 255 
 
 By Houris loved immortally : 
 Nor his, what burning patriots feel, 
 The stern exaltedness of zeal, 
 Profuse of blood, untired in toil, 
 When battling on the parent soil. 260 
 
 He stood alone — a renegade 
 Against the country he betrayed; 
 He stood alone amidst his band, 
 Without a trusted heart or hand : 
 They followed him, for he was brave, 265 
 
 And great the spoil he got and gave ; 
 They crouched to him, for he had skill 
 To warp and wield the vulgar will: 
 But still his Christian origin 
 
 With them was little less than sin. 270 
 
 They envied even the faithless fame 
 He earned beneath a Moslem name ; 
 Since he, their mightiest chief, had been 
 In youth a bitter Nazarene. 
 
 They did not know how pride can stoop, 275 
 
 When baffled feelings withering droop; 
 They did not know how hate can burn 
 In hearts once changed from soft to stern ; 
 
 c 2 
 
SO THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Nor all the false and fatal zeal 
 
 The convert of revenge can feel. 280 
 
 He ruled them — man may rule the worst, 
 
 By ever daring to be first : 
 
 So lions o'er the jackal sway ; 
 
 The jackal points, he fells the prey, 
 
 Then on the vulgar yelling press, 285 
 
 To gorge the relics of success. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 His head grows fevered, and his pulse 
 
 The quick successive throbs convulse ; 
 
 In vain from side to side he throws 
 
 His form, in courtship of repose ; 290 
 
 Or if he dozed, a sound, a start 
 
 Awoke him with a sunken heart. 
 
 The turban on his hot brow pressed, 
 
 The mail weighed lead-like on his breast, 
 
 Though oft and long beneath its weight 295 
 
 Upon his eyes had slumber sate, 
 
 Without or couch or canopy, 
 
 Except a rougher field and sky 
 
 Than now might yield a warrior's ped, 
 
 Than now along the heaven was spread. 300 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 21 
 
 He could not rest, he could not stay 
 
 Within his tent to wait for day, 
 
 But walked him forth along the sand, 
 
 Where thousand sleepers strewed the strand. 
 
 What pillowed them ? and why should he 305 
 
 More wakeful than the humblest be ? 
 
 Since more their peril, worse their toil, 
 
 And yet they fearless dream of spoil ; 
 
 While he alone, where thousands passed 
 
 A night of sleep, perchance their last, 310 
 
 In sickly vigil wandered on, 
 
 And envied all he gazed upon. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 He felt his soul become more light 
 
 Beneath the freshness of the night. 
 
 Cool was the silent sky, though calm, 315 
 
 And bathed his brow with airy balm : 
 
 Behind, the camp — before him lay, 
 
 In many a winding creek and bay, 
 
 Lepanto's gulf; and, on the brow 
 
 Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow, 320 
 
 High and eternal, such as shone 
 
 Through thousand summers brightly gone, 
 
22 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Along the gulf, the mount, the clime ; 
 
 It will not melt, like man, to time : 
 
 Tyrant and slave are swept away, 325 
 
 Less formed to wear before the ray ; 
 
 But that white veil, the lightest, frailest, 
 
 Which on the might}' mount thou hailest, 
 
 While tower and tree are torn and rent, 
 
 Shines o'er its craggy battlement ; 330 
 
 In form a peak, in height a cloud, 
 
 In texture like a hovering shroud, 
 
 Thus high by parting Freedom spread, 
 
 As from her fond abode she fled, 
 
 And lingered on the spot, where long 335 
 
 Her prophet spirit spake in song. 
 
 Oh, still her step at moments falters 
 
 O'er withered fields, and ruined altars, 
 
 And fain would wake, in souls too broken, 
 
 By pointing to each glorious token. 340 
 
 But vain her voice, till better days 
 
 Dawn in those yet remembered rays 
 
 Which shone upon the Persian flying, 
 
 And saw the Spartan smile in dying. 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 23 
 
 XV. 
 
 Not mindless of these mighty times 345 
 
 Was Alp, despite his flight and crimes ; 
 
 And through this night, as on he wandered, 
 
 And o'er the past and present pondered, 
 
 And thought upon the glorious dead 
 
 Who there in better cause had bled, 350 
 
 He felt how faint and feebly dim 
 
 The fame that could accrue to him, 
 
 Who cheered the band, and waved the sword, 
 
 A traitor in a turbaned horde ; 
 
 And led them to the lawless siege, 355 
 
 Whose best success were sacrilege. 
 
 Not so had those his fancy numbered, 
 
 The chiefs whose dust around him slumbered ; 
 
 Their phalanx marshalled on the plain, 
 
 Whose bulwarks were not then in vain. 360 
 
 They fell devoted, but undying ; 
 
 The very gale their names seemed sighing : 
 
 The waters murmured of their name ; 
 
 The woods were peopled with their fame ; 
 
 The silent pillar, lone and gray, 365 
 
 Claimed kindred with their sacred clay ; 
 
24 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain, 
 
 Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain ; 
 
 The meanest rill, the mightiest river 
 
 Rolled mingling with their fame for ever. 370 
 
 Despite of every yoke she bears, 
 
 That land is glory's still and theirs ! 
 
 Tis still a watch-word to the earth. 
 
 When man would do a deed of worth, 
 
 He points to Greece, and turns to tread, 375 
 
 So sanctioned, on the tyrant's head : 
 
 He looks to her, and rushes on 
 
 Where life is lost, or freedom won. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Still by the shore Alp mutely mused, 
 
 And wooed the freshness Night diffused. 380 
 
 There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea 5 , 
 
 Which changeless rolls eternally ; 
 
 So that wildest of waves, in their angriest mood, 
 
 Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a rood ; 
 
 And the powerless moon beholds them flow, 385 
 
 Heedless if she come or go : 
 
 Calm or high, in main or bay, 
 
 On their course she hath no sway. 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 25 
 
 The rock unworn its base doth bare, 
 
 And looks o'er the surf, but it conies not there; 390 
 
 And the fringe of the foam may be seen below, 
 
 On the line that it left long ages ago : 
 
 A smooth short space of yellow sand 
 
 Between it and the greener land. 
 
 He wandered on, along the beach, 395 
 
 Till within the range of a carbiue's reach 
 Of the leaguered wall; but they saw him not, 
 Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot I 
 Did traitors lurk in the Christians' hold ? 
 Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts waxed 
 cold ? 400 
 
 I know not, in sooth; but from yonder wall 
 There flashed no fire, and there hissed no ball, 
 Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown, 
 That flanked the sea-ward gate of the town ; 
 Though he heard the sound, and could almost tell 
 The sullen words of the sentinel, 406 
 
 As his measured step on the stone below 
 Clanked, as he paced it to and fro; 
 And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall 
 Hold o'er the dead their carnival, 410 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Gorging and growling o'er carcase and limb; 
 They were too busy to bark at him ! 
 From a Tartar's skull they had stripped the flesh, 
 As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh ; 414 
 
 And their white tusks crunched o'er the whiter skull 4 , 
 As it slipped through their jaws, when their edge 
 
 grew dull, 
 As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, 
 When they scarce could rise from the spot where 
 
 they fed ; 
 So well had they brokeu a lingering fast 
 With those who had fallen for that night's repast. 420 
 And Alp knew, by the turbans that rolled on the sand, 
 The foremost of these were the best of his band : 
 Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear, 
 And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair 5 , 
 All the rest was shaven and bare. 425 
 
 The scalps were in the wild dog's maw, 
 The hair was tangled round his jaw. 
 But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf, 
 There sat a vulture flapping a wolf, 
 Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away, 430 
 Scared by the dogs, from the human prey ; 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 27. 
 
 But he seized on his share of a steed that lay, 
 Picked by the birds, on the sands of the bay. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Alp turned him from the sickening sight : 
 
 Never had shaken his nerves in fight ; 435 
 
 But he better could brook to behold the dying, 
 
 Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying, 
 
 Scorched with the death-thirst, and writhing in vai% 
 
 Than the perishing dead who are past all pain. 
 
 There is something of pride in the perilous hour, 440 
 
 Whate'er be the shape in which death may lower ; 
 
 For Fame is there to say who bleeds, | 
 
 And Honour's eye on daring deeds ! 
 
 But when all is past, it is humbling to tread 
 
 O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead, 445 
 
 And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air, 
 
 Beasts of the forest, all gathering there; 
 
 All regarding man as their prey, 
 
 All rejoicing in his decay. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 There is a temple in ruin stands, 450 
 
 Fashioned by long forgotten hands ; 
 
J THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Two or three columns, and many a stone, 
 
 Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown ! 
 
 Out upon Time ! it will leave no more 
 
 Of the things to come than the things before ! ^55 
 
 Out upon Time! who for ever will leave 
 
 But enough of the past for the future to grieve 
 
 O'er that which hath been, and o'er that which must be : 
 
 What we have seen, our sons shall see ; 
 
 Kemnants of things that have passed away, 46() 
 
 Fragments of stone, reared by creatures of clay ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 He sate him down at a pillar's base, 
 
 And passed his hand athwart his face ; 
 
 Like one in dreary musing mood, 
 
 Declining was his attitude; 465 
 
 His head was drooping on his breast, 
 
 Fevered, throbbing, and opprest ; 
 
 And o'er his brow, so downward bent, 
 
 Oft his beating fingers went, 
 
 Hurriedly, as you may see 470 
 
 Your own run over the ivory key, 
 
 Ere the measured tone is taken 
 
 By the chords you would awaken. 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 29 
 
 There he sate all heavily, 
 
 As he heard the night-wind sigh. 475 
 
 Was it the wind, through some hollow stone 6 , 
 
 Sent that soft and tender moan ? 
 
 He lifted his head, and he looked on the sea, 
 
 But it was unrippled as glass may be ; 
 
 He looked on the long grass — it waved not a blade ; 
 
 How was that gentle sound conveyed ? 481 
 
 He looked to the banners — each flag lay still, 
 
 So did the leaves on Cithaeron's hill, 
 
 And he felt not a breath come over his cheek ; 
 
 What did that sudden sound bespeak «? 435 
 
 He turned to the left — is he sure of sight? 
 
 There sate a lady, youthful and bright ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 He started up with more of fear 
 
 Than if an armed foe were near. 
 
 * God of my fathers ! what is here ? 490 
 
 " Who art thou, and wherefore sent 
 
 '* So near a hostile armament?" 
 
 His trembling hands refused to sign 
 
 The cross he deemed no more divine : 
 
SO THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 He had resumed it in that hour, 495 
 
 But conscience wrung away the power. 
 
 He gazed, he saw : he knew the face 
 
 Of beauty, and the form of grace; 
 
 It was Francesca by his side, 
 
 The maid who might have been his bride ! 500 
 
 The rose was yet upon her cheek, 
 But mellowed with a tenderer streak : 
 Where was the play of her soft lips fled ? 
 Gone was the smile that enlivened their red. 
 The ocean's calm within their view, 505 
 
 Beside her eye had less of blue ; 
 -< But like that cold wave it stood still, 
 And its glance, though clear, was chill. 
 Around her form a thin robe twining, 
 Nought concealed her bosom shining; 510 
 
 Through the parting of her hair, 
 Floating darkly downward there, 
 Her rounded arm showed white and bare : 
 And ere yet she made reply, 
 
 Once she raised her hand on high ; 515 
 
 It was so wan, and transparent of hue, 
 You might have seen the moon shine through. 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 31 
 
 XXL 
 
 <Cv I come from my rest to him I love best, 
 
 '* That I may be happy, and he may be blest. 
 
 '* I have passed the guards, the gate, the wall ; 520 
 
 '* Sought thee in safety through foes and all. 
 
 ff 'Tis said the lion will turn and flee 
 
 f( From a maid in the pride of her purity; 
 
 * And the Power on high, that can shield the good 
 
 " Thus from the tyrant of the wood, 525 
 
 " Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well 
 
 ** From the hands of the leaguering infidel. 
 
 " I come — and if I come in vain, 
 
 " Never, oh never, we meet again \ 
 
 " Thou hast done a fearful deed o30 
 
 " In falling away from thy father's creed : 
 
 " But dash that turban to earth, and sign 
 
 " The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine; 
 
 <e Wring the black drop from thy heart, 
 
 " And to-morrow unites us no more to part." 535 
 
 " And where should our bridal couch be spread ? 
 " In the 'midst of the dying aud the dead ? 
 
32 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 " For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame 
 
 " The sons and the shrines of the Christian name. 
 
 " None, save thou and thine, I've sworn 540 
 
 " Shall be left upon the morn : 
 
 '* But thee will I bear to a lovely spot, 
 
 u Where our hands shall be joined, and our sorrow 
 
 forgot. 
 " Therf thou yet shalt be my bride, 
 " When once again I've quelled the pride 545 
 
 " Of Venice ; and her hated race 
 " Have felt the arm they would debase 
 " Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those 
 u Whom vice and envy made my foes." 
 
 Upon his hand she laid her own — 550 
 
 Light was the touch, but it thrilled to the bone, 
 
 And shot a dullness to his heart, 
 
 Which fixed him beyond the power to start. 
 
 Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold, 
 
 He could not loose him from its hold; 555 
 
 But never did clasp of one so dear 
 
 Strike on the pulse with such feeling of fear, 
 
 As those thin fingers, long and white, 
 
 Froze through his blood by their touch that night. 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH'. 33 
 
 The feverish glow of his brow was gone, 560 
 
 And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone, 
 
 As he looked on the face, and beheld its hue 
 
 So deeply changed from what he knew: 
 
 Fair but faint — without the ray 
 
 Of mind, that made each feature play 565 
 
 Like sparkling waves on a sunny day ; 
 
 And her motionless lips lay still as death, 
 
 And her words came forth without her breath, 
 
 And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell, 
 
 And there seemed not a pulse in her veins to dwell. 
 
 Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fixed, 571 
 
 And the glance that it gave was wild and unmixed 
 
 With aught of change, as the eyes may seem 
 
 Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream ; 
 
 Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare 575 
 
 Stirred by the breath of the wintry air, 
 
 So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light, 
 
 Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight ; 
 
 As they seem, through the dimness, about to come 
 
 down 
 From the shadowy wall where their images frown; 
 
 P 
 
34 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Fearfully flitting to and fro, 581 
 
 As the gusts on the tapestry come and go. 
 
 " If not for love of me be given 
 
 " Thus much, then, for the love of heaven, — 
 
 " Again I say — that turban tear 585 
 
 " From off thy faithless brow, and swear 
 
 " Thine injured country's sons to spare, 
 
 " Or thou art lost ; and never shalt see 
 
 " Not earth — that's past — but heaven or me. 
 
 " If this thou dost accord, albeit 590 
 
 " A heavy doom 'tis thine to meet, 
 
 " That doom shall half absolve thy sin, 
 
 " And mercy's gate may receive thee within : 
 
 " But pause one moment more, and take 
 
 w The curse of him thou didst forsake ; 595 
 
 " And look once more to heaven, and see 
 
 " Its love for ever shut from thee. 
 
 " There is a light cloud by the moon — 7 
 
 " 'Tis passing, and will pass full soon — 
 
 " If, by the time its vapoury sail COO 
 
 " Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil, 
 
 " Thy heart within thee is not changed, 
 
 " Then God and man are both avenged ; 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 35 
 
 €< Dark will thy doom be, darker still 
 
 " Thine immortality of ill." 605 
 
 Alp looked to heaven, and saw on high 
 
 The sign she spake of in the sky ; 
 
 But his heart was swollen, and turned aside, 
 
 By deep interminable pride. 
 
 This first false passion of his breast 610 
 
 Rolled like a torrent o'er the rest. 
 
 He sue for mercy ! He dismayed 
 
 By wild words of a timid maid ! 
 
 He, wronged by Venice, vow to save 
 
 Her sons, devoted to the grave! 615 
 
 No — though that cloud were thunder's worst, 
 
 And charged to crush him — let it burst ! 
 
 He looked upon it earnestly, 
 Without an accent of reply ; 
 
 He watched it passing ; it is flown : 620 
 
 full on his eye the clear moon shone, 
 And thus he spake — " Whate'er my fate, 
 " I am no channeling— 'tis too late : 
 " The reed in storms may bow and quiver, 
 " Then rise again ; the tree must shiver. 625 
 
 n 2 
 
36 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 " What Venice made me, I must be, 
 
 " Her foe in all, save love to thee : 
 
 " But thou art safe : oh, fly with me !" 
 
 He turned, but she is gone ! 
 
 Nothing is there but the column stone. 630 
 
 Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air ? 
 
 He saw not, he knew not ; but nothing is there. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The night is past, and shines the sun 
 
 As if that morn were a jocund one. 
 
 Lightly and brightly breaks away 635 
 
 The Morning from her mantle grey, 
 
 And the Noon will look on a sultry day. 
 
 Hark to the trump, and the drum, 
 
 And the 'mournful sound of the barbarous horn, 639 
 And the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne, 
 And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum, 
 And the clash, and the shout, { they come, they come!' 
 The horsetails 8 are plucked from the ground, and the 
 
 sword 
 From its sheath ; and they form, and but wait for the 
 word. 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. S7 
 
 Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, 645 
 
 Strike your tents, and throng to the van ; 
 
 Mount ye, spur ye, skirr the plain, 
 
 That the fugitive may flee in vain, 
 
 When he breaks from the town ; and none escape, 
 
 Aged or young, in the Christian shape ; 650 
 
 While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass, 
 
 Bloodstain the breach through which they pass. 
 
 The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein ; 
 
 Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane ; 
 
 White is the foam of their champ on the bit : 655 
 
 The spears are uplifted ; the matches are lit ; 
 
 The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar, 
 
 And crush the wall they have crumbled before : 
 
 Forms in his phalanx each Janizar; 
 
 Alp at their head ; his right arm is bare, 660 
 
 So is the blade of his scimitar; 
 
 The khan and the pachas are all at their post ; 
 
 The vizier himself at the head of the host. 
 
 When the culverin's signal is fired, then on ; 
 
 Leave not in Corinth a living one — 665 
 
 A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls, 
 
 A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls. 
 
38 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 God and the prophet — Alia Hu ! 
 
 Up to the skies with that wild halloo ! 
 
 " There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to 
 
 scale; 670 
 
 " Aud your hands on your sabres, and how should ye 
 
 fail? 
 (t He who first downs with the red cross may crave 
 " His heart's dearest wish ; let him ask it, and have!'* 
 Thus uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier ; 
 The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear, 675 
 And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire : — 
 Silence — hark to the signal — fire ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 As the wolves, that headlong go 
 
 On the stately buffalo, 
 
 Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar, 680 
 
 And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore, 
 
 He tramples on earth, or tosses on high 
 
 The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die : 
 
 Thus against the wall they went, 
 
 Thus the first were backward bent ; 685 
 
 Many a bosom, sheathed in brass, 
 
 Strewed the earth like broken glass, 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 39 
 
 Shivered by the shot, that tore 
 
 The ground whereon they moved no more : 
 
 Eveu as they fell, in files they lay, 690 
 
 Like the mower's grass at the close of day, 
 
 When his work is done on the levelled plain ; 
 
 Such was the fall of the foremost slain. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 As the spring-tides, with heavy plash, 
 
 From the cliffs invading dash 695 
 
 Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow, 
 
 Till white and thundering down they go, 
 
 Like the avalanche's snow 
 
 On the Alpine vales below ; 
 
 Thus at length, outbi eathed and worn, 700 
 
 Corinth's sons were downward borne 
 
 By the long and oft renewed 
 
 Charge of the Moslem multitude. 
 
 In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell, 
 
 Heaped, by the host of the infidel, 705 
 
 Hand to hand, and foot to foot : 
 
 Nothing there, save death, was mute ; 
 
 Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry 
 
 For quarter, or for victory, 
 
40 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Mingle therewith the volleying thunder, 710 
 
 Which makes the distant cities wonder 
 How the sounding battle goes, 
 If with them, or for their foes ; 
 If they must mourn, or may rejoice 
 In that annihilating voice, 715 
 
 Which pierces the deep hills through and through 
 With an echo dread and new : 
 You might have heard it, on that day, 
 . O'er Salamis and Megara; 
 (We have heard the hearers say,) 720 
 
 Even unto Piraeus bay. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 . From the point of encountering blades to the hilt,. 
 Sabres and swords with blood were gilt: 
 But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun, 
 And all but the after carnage done. 725 
 
 Shriller shrieks now mingling come 
 From within the plundered dome: 
 Hark to the haste of flying feet, 
 That splash in the blood of the slippery street; 
 But here and there, where 'vantage ground 730 
 
 Against the foe may still be found, 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 41 
 
 Desperate groups, of twelve or ten, 
 
 Make a pause, and turn again — 
 
 With bandied backs against the wall, 
 
 Fiercely stand, or fighting fall. 735 
 
 There stood an old man — his hairs were white, 
 
 But his veteran arm was full of might : 
 
 So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray, 
 
 The dead before him, on that day, 
 
 In a semicircle lay; . 7^0 
 
 Still he combated unwounded, 
 
 Though retreating, unsurrounded. 
 
 Many a scar of former fight 
 
 Lurked beneath his corslet bright ; 745 
 
 But of every wound his body bore, 
 
 Each and all had been ta'en before: 
 
 Though aged he was, so iron of limb, 
 
 Few of our youth could cope with him; 
 
 And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay, 
 
 Outnumbered his thin hairs of silver gray. 750 
 
 From right to left his sabre swept: 
 
 Many an Othman mother wept 
 
 Sons that were unborn, when dipped 
 
42 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 His weapon first in Moslem gore, 
 
 Ere his years could count a score. 755 
 
 Of all he might have been the sire 
 
 Who fell that day beneath his ire : 
 
 For, sonless left long years ago, 
 
 His wrath made many a childless foe ; 
 
 And since the day, when in the strait 9 760 
 
 His only boy had met his fate, 
 
 His parent's iron hand did doom 
 
 More than a human hecatomb. 
 
 If shades by carnage be appeased, 
 
 Patroclus' spirit less was pleased 765 
 
 Than his, Minotti's son, who died 
 
 Where Asia's bounds and ours divide. 
 
 Buried he lay, where thousands before 
 
 For thousands of years were inhumed on the shore : 
 
 What of them is left, to tell ♦ 770 
 
 Where they lie, and how they fell ? 
 Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves ; 
 But they live in the verse that immortally saves. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Hark to the Allah shout ! a band 
 
 Of the Mussulman bravest and best is at hand : 775 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 43 
 
 Their leader's nervous arm is bare, 
 
 Swifter to smite, and never to spare — 
 
 Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them on ; 
 
 Thus in the fight is he ever known : 
 
 Others a gaudier garb may show, 780 
 
 To tempt the spoil of the greedy foe ; 
 
 Many a hand's on a richer hilt, 
 
 But none on a steel more ruddily gilt; 
 
 Many a loftier turban may wear, — 
 
 Alp is but known by the white arm bare ; 785 
 
 Look through the thick of the fight, 'tis there ! 
 
 There is not a standard on that shore 
 
 So well advanced the ranks before ; 
 
 There is not a banner in Moslem war 
 
 Will lure the Delhis half so far ; 7.Q0 
 
 It glances like a falling star ! 
 
 Where'er that mighty arm is seen, 
 
 The bravest be, or late have been; 
 
 There the craven cries for quarter 
 
 Vainly to the vengeful Tartar ; 7<J5 
 
 Or the hero, silent lying, 
 
 Scorns to yield a groan in dying ; 
 
 Mustering his last feeble blow 
 
 'Gainst the nearest levelled foe, 
 
M 
 
 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Though faint beneath the mutual wound,. 800- 
 
 Grappling on the gory ground. . 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Still the old man stood erect, 
 
 .And Alp's career a moment checked. 
 
 * Yield thee, Minotti ; quarter take, 
 
 " For thine own, thy daughter's sake." 805 
 
 *' Never, renegado, never ! 
 
 u Though the life of thy gift would last for ever." 
 
 " Francesca ! — Oh my promised bride ! 
 u Must she too perish by thy pride ?" 
 
 " She is safe." — " Where? where?" — "In heaven; 310 
 
 " From whence thy traitor soul is driven — 
 
 " Far from thee, and undefiled." 
 
 Grimly then Minotti smiled, 
 
 As he saw Alp staggering bow * . 
 
 Before his words, as with a blow. 815 
 
 "■ Oh God ! when died she?"—" Yesternight— 
 
 " Nor weep I for her spirit's flight: 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 4,5 
 
 w None of my pure race shall be 
 
 " Slaves to Mahomet and thee — 
 
 " Come on!" — That challenge is in vain — 820 
 
 Alp's already with the slain ! 
 
 While Minotti's words were wreaking 
 
 More revenge in bitter speaking 
 
 Than his falchion's point had found, 
 
 Had the time allowed to wound, 825 
 
 From within the neighbouring porch 
 
 Of a long defended church, 
 
 Where the last and desperate few 
 
 Would the failing fight renew, 
 
 The sharp shot dashed Alp to the ground ; 830 
 
 Ere an eye could view the wound 
 
 That crashed through the brain of the infidel, 
 
 Hound he spun, and down he fell ; 
 
 A flash like fire within his eyes 
 
 Blazed, as he bent no more to rise, 835 
 
 And then eternal darkness sunk 
 
 Through all the palpitating trunk; 
 
 Nought of life left, save a quivering 
 
 Where his limbs were slightly shivering: 
 
 They turned him on his back ; his breast 84® 
 
 And brow were stained with gore and dust, 
 
46 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 And through his lips the life-blood oozed, 
 
 From its deep veins lately loosed; 
 
 But in his pulse there was no throb, 
 
 Nor on his lips one dying sob ; 8 15 
 
 Sigh, nor word, nor struggling breath 
 
 Heralded his way to death : 
 
 Ere his very thought could pray, 
 
 Unanealed he passed away, 
 
 Without a hope from mercy's aid, — 850 
 
 To the last a renegade. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Fearfully the yell arose 
 
 Of his followers, and his foes; 
 
 These in joy, in fury those : 
 
 Then again in conflict mixing, 855 
 
 Clashing swords, and spears transfixing, 
 
 Interchanged the blow and thrust, 
 
 Hurling warriors in the dust. 
 
 Street by street, and foot by foot, 
 
 Still Minotti dares dispute 8fi0 
 
 The latest portion of the land 
 
 Left beneath his high command ; 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 47 
 
 With him, aiding heart and hand, 
 The remnant of his gallant band. 
 Still the church is tenable, 865 
 
 Whence issued late the fated ball 
 
 That half avenged the city's fall, 
 When Alp, her fierce assailant, fell : 
 Thither bending sternly back, 
 
 They leave before a bloody track; 870 
 
 And, with their faces to the foe, 
 Dealing wounds with every blow, 
 The chief, and his retreating train, 
 Join to those within the fane: 
 
 There they yet may breathe awhile, 875 
 
 Sheltered by the massy pile. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Brief breathing- time ! the turbaned host, 
 
 With added ranks and raging boast, 
 
 Press onwards with such strength and heat, 
 
 Their numbers balk their own retreat ; 880 
 
 For narrow the way that led to the spot 
 
 Where still the Christians yielded not; 
 
 And the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try 
 
 Through the massy column to turn and fly ; 
 
 They perforce must do or die. 885 
 
48 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 They die ; but ere their eyes could close 
 
 Avengers o'er their bodies rose ; 
 
 Fresh and furious, fast they fill 
 
 The ranks unthinned, though slaughtered still; 
 
 And faint the weary Christians wax 8 DO 
 
 Before the still renewed attacks : 
 
 And now the Othmans gain the gate ; 
 
 Still resists its iron weight, 
 
 And still, all deadly aimed and hot, 
 
 From every crevice comes the shot ; 895 
 
 From every shattered window pour 
 
 The volleys of the sulphurous shower : 
 
 But the portal wavering grows and weak — , 
 
 The iron yields, the hinges creak — 
 
 It bends — it falls — and all is o'er ; 900 
 
 Lost Corinth may resist no more I 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Darkly, sternly, and all alone, 
 
 Minotti stood o'er the altar stone : 
 
 Madonna's face upon him shone, 
 
 Painted in heavenly hues above, 905 
 
 With eyes of light and looks of love ; 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. |g 
 
 And placed upon that holy shrine 
 
 To fix our thoughts on things divine, 
 
 When pictured there, we kneeling see 
 
 Her, and the boy-God on her knee, 910 
 
 Smiling sweetly on each prayer 
 
 To heaven, as if to waft it there. 
 
 Still she smiled ; even now she smiles, 
 
 Though slaughter streams along her aisles : 
 
 Minotti lifted his aged eye, 915 
 
 And made the sign of a cross with a sigh, 
 
 Then seized a torch which blazed thereby ; 
 
 And still he stood, while, with steel and flame, 
 
 Inward and onward the Mussulman came. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The vaults beneath the mosaic stone 920 
 
 Contained the dead of ages gone ; 
 
 Their names were on the graven floor, 
 
 But now illegible with gore ; 
 
 The carved crests, and curious hues 
 
 The varied marble's veins diffuse, 925 
 
 Were smeared, and slippery — stained, and strovra 
 
 With broken swords, and helms o'ei thrown : 
 
 E 
 
50 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 There were dead above, and the dead below 
 
 Lay cold in many a coffined row ; 
 
 You might see them piled in sable state, 930 
 
 By a pale light through a gloomy grate ; 
 
 But War had entered their dark caves, 
 
 And stored along the vaulted graves 
 
 Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread 
 
 In masses by the fleshless dead : 935 
 
 Here, throughout the siege, had been 
 
 The Christians' chiefest magazine ; 
 
 To these a late formed train now led, 
 
 Minotti's last and stern resource 
 
 Against the foe's o'erwhelming force. 940 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The foe came on, and few remain 
 
 To strive, and those must strive in vain : 
 
 For lack of further lives, to slake 
 
 The thirst of vengeance now awake, 
 
 With barbarous blows they gash the dead, 9** 
 
 And lop the already lifeless head, 
 
 And fell the statues from their niche, 
 
 And spoil the shrines of offerings rich, 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 51 
 
 And from each other's rude hands wrest 
 
 The silver vessels saints had blessed. 950 
 
 To the high altar on they go ; 
 
 Oh, but it made a glorious show ! 
 
 On its table still behold 
 
 The cup of consecrated gold ; 
 
 Massy and deep, a glittering prize, 955 
 
 Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes : 
 
 That morn it held the holy wine, 
 
 Converted by Christ to his blood so diviue, ' 
 
 Which his worshippers drank at the break of day, 
 
 To shrive their souls ere they joined in the fray. 9G0 
 
 Still a few drops within it lay ; 
 
 And round the sacred table glow 
 
 Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row, 
 
 From the purest metal cast ; 
 
 A spoil — the richest, and the last. 965 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 So near they came, the nearest stretched 
 To grasp the spoil he almost reached, 
 
 When old Minotti's hand 
 Touched with the torch the train — 
 
 'Tis fired ! 970 
 
 E 2 
 
52 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Spire, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain, 
 The turbaned victors, the Christian band, 
 All that of living or dead remain, 
 Hurled on high with the shivered fane, 
 
 In one wild roar expired ! 975 
 
 The shattered town — the walls thrown down — 
 The waves a moment backward bent — 
 The hills that shake, although unrent, 
 
 As if an earthquake passed — 
 The thousand shapeless things all driven 980 
 
 In cloud and flame athwart the heaven, 
 
 By that tremendous blast — 
 Proclaimed the desperate conflict o'er 
 On that too long afflicted shore : 
 Up to the sky like rockets go 985 
 
 All that mingled there below : 
 Many a tall and goodly man, 
 Scorched and shrivelled to a span, 
 When he fell to earth again 
 
 Like a cinder strewed the plain : 990 
 
 Down the ashes shower like rain ; 
 Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles 
 With a thousand circling wrinkles; 
 
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 53 
 
 Some fell on the shore, but, far away, 
 
 Scattered o'er the isthmus lay ; 995 
 
 Christian or Moslem, M'hich be they ? 
 
 Let their mothers see and say ! 
 
 When in cradled rest they lay, 
 
 And each nursing mother smiled 
 
 On the sweet sleep of her child, GOO 
 
 Little deemed she such a day 
 
 Would rend those tender limbs away. 
 
 Not the matrons that them bore 
 
 Could discern their offspring more ; 
 
 That one moment left no trace 1006 
 
 More of human form or face 
 
 Save a scattered scalp or bone : 
 
 And down came blazing rafters, strown 
 
 Around, and many a falling stone, 
 
 Deeply dinted in the clay, 1010 
 
 All blackened there and reeking lay. 
 
 All the living things that heard 
 
 That deadly earth shock disappeared : 
 
 The wild birds flew ; the wild dogs fled, 
 
 And howling left the unburied dead ; 1015 
 
 The camels from their keepers broke; 
 
 The distant steer forsook the voke — 
 
54 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain, 
 And burst his girth, and tore his rein ; 
 The bull-frog's note, from out the marsh, 1020 
 
 Deep-mouthed arose, and doubly harsh ; 
 The wolves yelled on the caverned hill, 
 Where echo rolled in thunder still; 
 The jackal's troop, in gathered cry, Ia 
 Bayed from afar complainingly, 1025 
 
 With a mixed and mournful sound, 
 Like crying babe, and beaten hound : 
 With sudden wing, and ruffled breast, 
 The eagle left his rocky nest, 
 
 And mounted nearer to the sun, 1030 
 
 The clouds beneath him seemed so dun ; 
 Their smoke assailed his startled beak, 
 And made him higher soar and shriek — 
 Thus was Corinth lost and won ! 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Note l, page 9, line 3. 
 The Turcoman hath left his herd. 
 The life of the Turcomans is wandering and patriarchal : 
 they dwell in tents. 
 
 Note 2, page J 1, line 17. 
 Coumourgi — he whose closing scene. 
 Ali Coumourgi, the favourite of three sultans, and Grand 
 Vizier to Achmet III. after recovering Peloponnesus from 
 the Venetians in one campaign, was mortally wounded in the 
 next, against the Germans, at the battle of Peterwaradin, (in 
 the plain of Carlowitz) in Hungary, endeavouring to rally his 
 guards. He died of his wounds next day. His last order 
 was the decapitation of General Breuner, and some other 
 German prisoners ; and his last words, " Oh that I could 
 thus serve all the Christian dogs!" a speech and act not 
 unlike one of Caligula. He was a young man of great 
 ambition and unbounded presumption : on being told that 
 Prince Eugene, then opposed to him, " was a great general," 
 he said, " I shall become a greater, and at his expense." 
 
 Note 3, page 24, line 15. 
 There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea. 
 The reader need hardly be reminded that there are no 
 perceptible tides in the Mediterranean. 
 
56 NOTES. 
 
 Note 4, page 26, line 5. 
 And their 'white tusks crunched o'er the whiter skull. 
 This spectacle I have seen, such as described, beneath the 
 wall of the Seraglio at Constantinople, in the little cavities 
 worn by the Bosphorus in the rock, a narrow terrace of 
 which projects between the wall and the water. I think the 
 fact is also mentioned in Hobhouse's Travels. The bodies 
 were probably those of some refractory Janizaries. 
 
 Note 5, page 26, line 14. 
 And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair. 
 This tuft, or long lock, is left from a superstition that 
 Mahomet will draw them into Paradise by it. 
 
 Note 6, page 29, line 3. 
 I must here acknowledge a close, though unintentional, 
 resemblance in these twelve lines to a passage in an un- 
 published poem of Mr. Coleridge, called ''• Christabel." It 
 was not till after these lines were written that I heard that 
 wild and singularly original and beautiful poem recited ; and 
 the MS. of that production I never saw till very recently, by 
 the kindness of Mr. Coleridge himself, who, I hope, is con- 
 vinced that I have not been a wilful plagiarist. The original 
 idea undoubtedly pertains to Mr. Coleridge, whose poem has 
 been composed above fourteen years. Let me conclude by 
 a hope that he will not longer delay the publication of a pro- 
 duction, of which I can only add my mite of approbation to 
 the applause of far more competent judges. 
 
 Note 7, page 34, line 18. 
 There is a light cloud by the moon — 
 1 have been told that the idea expressed from lines 397 to 
 
NOTES. 
 
 57 
 
 003 has been admired by those whose approbation is valua- 
 ble. I am glad of it : but it is not original — at least not 
 mine ; it may be found much better expressed in pages 
 182-3-4 of the English version of " Vathek" (I forget the 
 precise page of the French), a work to which I have before 
 referred ; and never recur to, or read, without a renewal of 
 gratification. 
 
 Note 8, page 36, line 18. 
 The horsetails are plucked from the ground, and the sword. 
 The horsetail, fixed upon a lance, a Pasha's standard. 
 
 Note 9, page 42, line 7« 
 And since the day, when in the strait. 
 In the naval battle at the mouth of the Dardanelles, be- 
 tween the Venetians and the Turks. 
 
 Note 10, page 54, line *}. 
 
 The jackal's troop, in gathered cry. 
 
 I believe I have taken a poetical license to transplant the 
 
 jackal from Asia. In Greece I never saw nor heard these 
 
 animals ; but among the ruins of Ephesus I have heard them 
 
 by hundreds. They haunt ruins, and follow armies. 
 
PARISINA. 
 
TO 
 
 SCROPE BEARDMORE DAVIES, Esq. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING POEM 
 IS INSCRIBED 
 
 BY ONE WHO HAS LONG ADMIRED HIS TALEN'i'S 
 AND VALUED HIS FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Jan. 22, 1816. 
 
The following poem is grounded on a circumstance men- 
 tioned in Gibbon's "Antiquities of the House of Bruns- 
 wick." — I am aware, that in modern times the delicacy 
 or fastidiousness of the reader may deem such subjects 
 unfit for the purposes of poetry. The Greek dramatists, 
 and some of the best of our old English writers, were 
 of a different opinion : as Alfieri and Schiller have also 
 been, more recently, upon the continent. The follow- 
 irig extract will explain the facts on which the story is 
 founded. The name of Azo is substituted for Nicholas, 
 as more metrical. 
 
 " Under the reign of Nicholas III. Ferrara was polluted 
 " with a domestic tragedy. By the testimony of an 
 " attendant, and his own observation, the Marquis of 
 " Este discovered the incestuous loves of his wife Pa- 
 " risina, and Hugo his bastard son, a beautiful and 
 " valiant youth. They were beheaded in the castle by 
 " the sentence of a father and husband, who published 
 " his shame, and survived their execution. He was 
 " unfortunate, if they were guilty ; if they were inno- 
 " cent, he was still more unfortunate : nor is there any 
 " possible situation in which I can sincerely approve the 
 " last act of the justice of a parent." — Gibbon* s Mis- 
 cellaneous Works, vol. 3d. p. 470, new edition. 
 
PARISINA. 
 
 I. 
 
 It is the hour when from the boughs 
 
 The nightingale's high note is heard ; 
 
 It is the hour when lovers' vows 
 
 Seem sweet in every whisper'd word ; 
 
 And gentle winds, and waters near, 5 
 
 Make music to the lonely ear. 
 
 Each flower the dews have lightly wet, 
 
 And in the sky the stars are met, 
 
 And on the wave is deeper blue, 
 
 And on the leaf a browner hue, 10 
 
 And in the heaven that clear obscure, 
 
 So softly dark, and darkly pure, 
 
 Which follows the decline of day, 
 
 As twilight melts beneath the moon away. ' 
 
64 PARISINA. 
 
 II. 
 
 But it is not to list to the waterfall 1 5 
 
 That Parisina leaves ber hall, 
 
 And it is not to gaze on the heavenly light 
 
 That the lady walks in the shadow of night ; 
 
 And if she sits in Este's bower, 
 
 'Tis not for the sake of its full-blown flower — 20 
 
 She listens— but not for the nightingale — 
 
 Though her ear expects as soft a tale. 
 
 There glides a step through the foliage thick, 
 
 And her cheek grows pale — and herheart beats quick. 
 
 There whispers a voice through the rustling leaves, 
 
 And her blush returns, and her bosom heaves : 26 
 
 A moment more — and they shall meet — 
 
 'Tis past — her lover's at her feet. 
 
 III. 
 
 And what unto them is the world beside 
 
 With all its change of time and tide ? 30 
 
 Its living things — its earth and sky — 
 
 Are nothing to their mind and eye. 
 
 And heedless as the dead are they 
 
 Of aught around, above, beneath; 
 
PARISINA. 65 
 
 As if all else had passed away, 35 
 
 They only for each other breathe ; 
 
 Their very sighs are full of joy 
 
 So deep, that did it not decay, 
 
 That happy madness would destroy 
 
 The hearts which feel its fiery sway : 40 
 
 Of guilt, of peril, do they deem 
 
 In that tumultuous tender dream ? 
 
 Who that have felt that passion's power, 
 
 Or paused, or feared in such an hour ? 
 
 Or thought how brief such moments last : 45 
 
 But yet — they are already past ! 
 
 Alas ! we must awake before 
 
 We know such vision comes no more. 
 
 IV. 
 
 With many a lingering look they leave 
 
 The spot of guilty gladness past ; 50 
 
 And though they hope, and vow, they grieve, 
 
 As if that parting were the last. 
 
 The frequent sigh — the long embrace— 
 
 The lip that there would cling for ever, 
 
 While gleams on Parisina's face 55 
 
 The Heaven she fears will not forgive her,, 
 
 F 
 
66 PAMSiNA. 
 
 As if each calmly conscious star 
 
 Beheld her frailty from afar — 
 
 The frequent sigh, the long embrace, 
 
 Yet binds them to their trysting-place. 60 
 
 But it must come, and they must part 
 
 In fearful heaviness of heart, 
 
 With all the deep and shuddering chill 
 
 Which follows fast the deeds of ill. 
 
 V. 
 
 A lid Hugo is gone to his lonely bed, fj5 
 
 To covet there another's bride ; 
 
 But she must lay her conscious head 
 
 A husband's trusting heart beside. / 
 
 But fevered in her sleep she seems, 
 
 And red her cheek with troubled dreams, 70 
 
 And mutters she in her unrest 
 
 A name she dare not breathe by day, 
 
 And clasps her Lord unto the breast 
 
 Which pants for one away : - 
 
 And he to that embrace awakes, 7 5 
 
 And, happy in the thought, mistakes 
 
 That dreaming sigh, and warm caress, 
 
 For such as he was wont to bless; 
 
PARISINA. 67 
 
 And could in very fondness weep 
 
 O'er her who loves him even in sleep. 80 
 
 VI. 
 
 He clasped her sleeping to his heart, 
 And listened to each broken word : 
 He hears — Why doth Prince Azo start, 
 As if the Archangel's voice he heard? 
 And well he may — a deeper doom 85 
 
 Could scarcely thunder o'er his tomb, 
 When he shall wake to sleep no more, 
 And stand the eternal throne before. 
 And well he may — his earthly peace 
 Upon that sound is doomed to cease. (JO 
 
 That sleeping whisper of a name 
 Bespeaks her guilt and Azo's shame. 
 And whose that name ? that o'er his pillow 
 Sounds fearful as the breaking billow, 
 Which rolls the plank upon the shore, 95 
 
 And dashes on the pointed rock 
 The wretch who sinks to rise no more, — 
 So came upon his soul the shock. 
 And whose that name ? 'tis Hugo's, — his — 
 Jn sooth he had not deemed of this ! — 100 
 
 f 2 
 
6 g PARISINA. 
 
 'Tis Hugo's, — he, the child of one 
 
 He loved — his own all-evil son — 
 
 The offspring of his wayward youth, 
 
 When he betrayed Bianca's truth, 
 
 The maid whose folly could confide 105 
 
 In him who made her not his bride. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He plucked his poignard in its sheath, 
 
 But sheathed it ere the point was bare — 
 
 Howe'er unworthy now to breathe, 
 
 He could not slay a thing so fair — 110 
 
 At least, not smiling — sleeping — there — 
 
 Nay, more : — he did not wake her then, 
 
 But gazed upon her with a glance 
 
 Which, had she roused her from her trance, 
 
 Had frozen her sense to sleep again — 1 1 5 
 
 And o'er his brow the burning lamp 
 
 Gleamed on the dew-drops big and damp. 
 
 She spake no more — but still she slumbered — - 
 
 While, in -his thought, her days are numbered. 
 
PARIS1NA. 69 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And with the morn he sought, and found, 120 
 
 In many a tale from those around, 
 
 The proof of all he feared to know, 
 
 Their present guilt, his future woe; 
 
 The long-conniving damsels seek 
 
 To save themselves, and would transfer J 25 
 
 The guilt — the shame — the doom — to her : 
 
 Concealment is no more — they speak 
 
 All circumstance which may compel 
 
 Full credence to the tale they tell : 
 
 And Azo's tortured heart and ear 1 30 
 
 Have nothing more to feel or hear. 
 
 IX. 
 
 He was not one who brooked delay : 
 
 Within the chamber of his state, 
 The chief of Este's ancient sway 
 
 Upon his throne of judgment sate; 135 
 
 His nobles and his guards are there, — ; 
 Before him is the sinful pair ; 
 Both young, — and one how passing fair ! 
 
70 PARISINA. 
 
 With swordless belt, and fettered hand, 
 
 Oh, Christ ! that thus a son should stand 140 
 
 Before a father's face ! 
 Yet thus must Hugo meet his sire, 
 And hear the sentence of his ire, 
 
 The tale of his disgrace ! 
 And yet he seems not overcome, 145 
 
 Although, as yet, his voice be dumb. 
 
 X. 
 
 And still, and pale, and silently 
 Did Parisina wait her doom ; 
 How changed since last her speaking eye 
 
 Glanced gladness round the glittering room, 1.50 
 Where high-born men were proud to wait — 
 Where Beauty watched to imitate 
 
 Her gentle voice — her lovely mien — 
 And gather from her air and gait 
 
 The graces of it's queen : 155 
 
 Then, — had her eye in sorrow wept, 
 A thousand warriors forth had leapt, 
 A thousand swords had sheathless shone, 
 And made her quarrel all their own. 
 
PARISINA. 71 
 
 Now, — what is she ? and what are they ? 160 
 
 Can she command, or these obey ? 
 
 All silent and unheeding now, 
 
 With downcast eyes and knitting brow, 
 
 And folded arms, and freezing air, 
 
 And lips that scarce their scorn forbear, 165 
 
 Her knights and dames, her court — is there : 
 
 And he, the chosen one, whose lance 
 
 Had yet been couched before her glance, 
 
 Who — were his arm a moment free — 
 
 Had died or gained her liberty; 170 
 
 The minion of his father's bride, — 
 
 He, too, is fettered by her side ; 
 
 Nor sees her swoln and full eye swim 
 
 Less for her own despair than him : 
 
 Those lids o'er which the violet vein — • 175 
 
 Wandering, leaves a tender stain, 
 
 Shining through the smoothest white 
 
 That e'er did softest kiss invite — 
 
 Now seemed with hot and livid glow 
 
 To press, not shade, the orbs below ; 1 80 
 
 Which glance so heavily, and fill, 
 
 As tear ou tear grows gathering still. 
 
72 PARI SIN A. 
 
 XL 
 
 And he for her had also wept, 
 
 But for the eyes that on him gazed : 
 His sorrow, if he felt it, slept ; 185 
 
 Stern and erect his brow was raised. 
 Whate'er the grief his soul avowed, 
 He would not shrink before the crowd ; 
 But yet he dared not look on her : 
 Remembrance of the hours that were — 190 
 
 His guilt — his love — his present state — 
 His father's wrath — all good men's hate — 
 His earthly, his eternal fate — 
 And hers, — oh, hers ! — he dared not throw 
 One look upon that deathlike brow ! 195 
 
 Else had his rising heart betrayed 
 Remorse for all the wreck it made. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And Azo spake : — " But yesterday 
 
 ** I gloried in a wife and son ; 
 " That dream this morning passed away ; 200 
 
 ** Ere day declines, I shall have none. 
 
PARISINA. 73 
 
 " My life must linger on alone ; 
 
 " Well, — let that pass, — there breathes not one 
 
 " Who would not do as I have done : 
 
 " Those ties are broken — not by me ; 205 
 
 " Let that too pass ; — the doom's prepared ! 
 " Hugo, the priest awaits on thee, 
 
 " And then — thy crime's reward ! 
 " Away ! address thy prayers to Heaven, 
 
 " Before its evening stars are met — 210 
 
 " Learn if thou there canst be forgiven ; 
 
 " It's mercy may absolve thee yet. 
 " But here, upon the earth beneath, 
 
 " There is no spot where thou and I 
 " Together, for an hour, could breathe : 215 
 
 " Farewell! I will not see thee die — 
 " But thou, frail thing! shalt view his head— 
 
 ** Away ! I cannot speak the rest : 
 
 " Go ! woman of the wanton breast ; 
 " Not I, but thou his blood dost shed : 220 
 
 " Go ! if that sight thou canst outlive, 
 " And joy thee in the life I give." 
 
74 PARISINA. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And here stern Azo hid his face — 
 For on his brow the swelling vein 
 Throbbed as if back upon his brain 225 
 
 The hot blood ebbed and flowed again ; 
 
 And therefore bowed he for a space, 
 
 And passed his shaking hand along 
 
 His eye, to veil it from the throng ; 
 
 While Hugo raised his chained hands, 230 
 
 And for a brief delay demands 
 
 His father's ear : the silent sire 
 
 Forbids not what his words require. 
 
 " It is not that I dread the death — 
 
 " For thou hast seen me by thy side 23.5 
 
 "All redly through the battle ride, 
 " And that not once a useless brand 
 " Thy slaves have wrested from my hand, 
 " Hath shed more blood in cause of thine, 
 " Than e'er can stain the axe of mine : 240 
 
 " Thou ga,v'st, and may'st resume my breath, 
 " A gift for which I thank thee not ; 
 " Nor are my mother's wrongs forgot, 
 
PARISINA. 75 
 
 " Her slighted love and ruined name, 
 
 " Her offspring's heritage of shame ; 245 
 
 " But she is in the grave, where he, 
 
 " Her son, thy rival, soon shall be. 
 
 " Her broken heart — my severed head — 
 
 '* Shall witness for thee from the dead 
 
 " How trusty and how tender were 250 
 
 " Thy youthful love — paternal care. 
 
 " 'Tis true, that I have done thee wrong — 
 
 " But wrong for wrong — this deemed thy bride, 
 
 " The other victim of thy pride, 
 
 " Thou know'st for me was destined long. 255 
 
 " Thou saw'st, and coveted'st her charms — 
 
 " And with thy very crime — my birth, 
 
 " Thou taunted'st me — as little worth ; 
 
 " A match ignoble for her arms, 
 
 " Because, forsooth, I could not claim 260 
 
 " The lawful heirship of thy name, 
 
 " Nor sit on Este's lineal throne : 
 
 " Yet, were a few short summers mine, 
 
 " My name should more than Este's shine 
 
 " With honours all my own. 265 
 
 " I had a sword — and have a breast 
 
 " That should have won as haught 2 a crest 
 
76 PARISINA. 
 
 " As ever waved along the line 
 
 "Of all these sovereign sires of thine. 
 
 " Not always knightly spurs are worn 270 
 
 " The brightest by the better born ; 
 
 "And mine have lanced my courser's flank 
 
 " Before proud chiefs of princely rank, 
 
 " When charging to the cheering cry 
 
 " Of ' Este and of Victory !'" 275 
 
 " I will not plead the cause of crime, 
 
 " Nor sue thee to redeem from time 
 
 " A few brief hours or days that must 
 
 " At length roll o'er my reckless dust ; — 
 
 " Such maddening moments as my past, 280 
 
 " They could not, and they did not, last — 
 
 " Albeit, my birth and name be base, 
 
 " And thy nobility of race 
 
 " Disdained to deck a thing like ine — 
 
 " Yet in my lineaments they trace 285 
 
 " Some features of my father's face, 
 
 " And in my spirit — all of thee. 
 
 " From thee — this tamelessness of heart — 
 
 " From thee — nay, wherefore dost thou start ? — 
 
PARISINA. 77 
 
 " From thee in all their vigour came 290 
 
 " My arm of strength, my soul of flame — 
 
 " Thou didst not give me life alone, 
 
 " But all that made me more thine own. 
 
 " See what thy guilty love hath done ! 
 
 " Repaid thee with too like a son ! 295 
 
 " I am no bastard in my soul, 
 
 " For that, like thine, abhorred controul : 
 
 " And for my breath, that hasty boon 
 
 " Thou gav'st and wilt resume so soon, 
 
 " I valued it no more than thou, 300 
 
 " When rose thy casque above thy brow, 
 
 " And we, all side by side, have striven, 
 
 " And o'er the dead our coursers driven: 
 
 " The past is nothing — and at last 
 
 " The future can but be ihe past ; 305 
 
 " Yet would I that I then had died : 
 
 " For though thou work'dst my mother's ill, 
 
 " And made thy own my destined bride, 
 
 " I feel thou art my father still ; 
 
 " And, harsh as sounds thy hard decree, 310 
 
 " 'Tis not unjust, although from thee. 
 
 " Begot in sin, to die in shame, 
 
 " My life begun and ends the same : 
 
78 PAHIS1NA. 
 
 " As erred the sire, so erred the son, 
 
 " And thou must punish both in one. 315 
 
 " My crime seems worst to human view, 
 
 " But God must judge between us too !" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 He ceased — and stood with folded arms, 
 
 On which the circling fetters sounded ; 
 
 And not an ear but felt as wounded, 320 
 
 Of all the chiefs that there were ranked, 
 
 When those dull chains in meeting clanked : 
 
 Till Parisina's fatal charms 
 
 Again attracted every eye — 
 
 Would she thus hear him doomed to die ! 325 
 
 She stood, I said, all pale and still, 
 
 The living cause of Hugo's ill : 
 
 Her eyes unmoved, but full and wide, 
 
 Not once had turned to either side — 
 
 Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, 330 
 
 Or shade the glance o'er which they rose, 
 
 But round their orbs of deepest blue 
 
 The circling white dilated grew — 
 
 And there with glassy gaze she stood 
 
 As ice were in her curdled blood ; - 335 
 
PARISINA. 79 
 
 But every now and then a tear 
 
 So large and slowly gathered slid 
 
 From the long dark fringe of that fair lid, 
 
 It was a thing to see, not hear ! 
 
 And those who saw, it did surprise, 340 
 
 Such drops could fall from human eyes. 
 
 To speak she thought — the imperfect note 
 
 Was choked within her swelling throat, 
 
 Yet seemed in that low hollow groan 
 
 Her whole heart gushing in the tone. 345 
 
 It ceased — again she thought to speak, 
 
 Then burst her voice in one long shriek, 
 
 And to the earth she fell like stone 
 
 Or statue from its base o'erthrown, 
 
 More like a thing that ne'er had life, — 350 
 
 A monument of Azo's wife, — 
 
 Than her, that living guilty thing, 
 
 Whose every passion was a sting, 
 
 Which urged to guilt, but could not bear 
 
 That guilt's detection and despair. 355 
 
 But yet she lived — and all too soon 
 
 Recovered from that death-like swoon — 
 
 But scarce to reason — every sense 
 
 Had been o'er strung by pangs intense; 
 
80 PARISINA. 
 
 And each frail fibre of her brain 360 
 
 (As bow-strings, when relaxed by rain, 
 
 The erring arrow launch aside) 
 
 Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide— 
 
 The past a blank, the future black, 
 
 With glimpses of a dreary track, 365 
 
 Like lightning on the desart path, 
 
 When midnight storms are mustering wrath. 
 
 She feared — she felt that something ill 
 
 Lay on her soul, so deep and chill — 
 
 That there was sin and shame she knew ; 370 
 
 That some one was to die — but who ? 
 
 She had forgotten : — did she breathe ? 
 
 Could this be still the earth beneath ? 
 
 The sky above, and men around ; 
 
 Or were they fiends who now so frowned 375 
 
 On one, before whose eyes each eye 
 
 Till then had smiled in sympathy ? 
 
 All was confused and undefined, 
 
 To her all-jarred and wandering mind ; 
 
 A chaos of wild hopes and fears : 380 
 
 And now in laughter, now in tears, 
 
 But ( madly still in each extreme, 
 
 She strove with that convulsive dream ; 
 
PARISINA. 81 
 
 For so it seemed on her to break : 
 
 Oh ! vainly must she strive to wake ! 385 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Convent bells are ringing, 
 
 But mournfully and slow ; 
 In the grey square turret swinging, 
 
 With a deep sound, to and fro. 
 Heavily to the heart they go ! 3Q0 
 
 Hark ! the hymn is singing — 
 The song for the dead below, 
 
 Or the living who shortly shall be so ! 
 For a departing being's soul 
 
 The death-hymn peals and the hollow bells knoll : 
 He is near his mortal goal; 396 
 
 Kneeling at the Friar's knee ; 
 Sad to hear — and piteous to see — 
 Kneeling on the bare cold ground, 
 With the block before and the guards around — 400 
 And ihe headsman with his bare arm ready, 
 That the blow may be both swift and steady, 
 Feels if the axe be sharp and true — 
 Since he set its edge anew: 
 
 While the crowd in a speechless circle gather 405 
 To see the Son fall by the doom of the Father. 
 G 
 
82 PARISINA. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 It is a love]) 7 hour as yet 
 
 Before the summer sun shall set, 
 
 Which rose upon that heavy day, 
 
 And mocked it with his steadiest ray; 410 
 
 And his evening beams are shed 
 
 Full on Hugo's fated head, 
 
 As his last confession pouring 
 
 To the monk, his doom deploring 
 
 In penitential holiness, • 415 
 
 He bends to hear his accents bless 
 
 With absolution such as may 
 
 Wipe our mortal stains away. 
 
 That high sun on his head did glisten 
 
 As he there did bow and listen — 420 
 
 And the rings of chesnut hair 
 
 Curled half down his neck so bare ; 
 
 But brighter still the beam was thrown 
 
 Upon the axe which near him shone 
 
 With a clear and ghastly glitter- 
 
 Oh ! that parting hour was bitter! 425 
 
 Even the stern stood chilled with awe : 
 Dark the crime, and just the law — 
 Yet they shuddered as they saw. 
 
PARISINA. 83 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The parting prayers are said and over 
 
 Of that false son — and daring lover ! 430 
 
 His beads and sins are all recounted, 
 
 His hours to their last minute mounted — 
 
 His mantling cloak before was stripped, 
 
 His bright brown locks must now be clipped, 
 
 'Tis done — all closely are they shorn — 435 
 
 The vest which till this moment worn — 
 
 The scarf which Parisina gave — 
 
 Must not adorn him to the grave. 
 
 Even that must now be thrown aside, 
 
 And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied ; 440 
 
 But no — that last indignity 
 
 Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye. 
 
 All feelings seemingly subdued, 
 
 In deep disdain were half renewed, 
 
 When headman's hands prepared to bind 445 
 
 Those eyes'which would not brook such blind: 
 
 As if they dared not look on death. 
 
 " No — yours my forfeit blood and breath- — 
 
 " These hands are chained — but let me die 
 
 " At least with an unshackled eye — 450 
 
S4 PARISINA. 
 
 " Strike :" — and as the word he said, 
 
 Upon the block he bowed his head ; 
 
 These the last accents Hugo spoke : 
 
 " Strike" — and flashing fell the stroke — 
 
 Rolled the head — and, gushing, sunk 455 
 
 Back the stained and heaving trunk, 
 
 In the dust, which each deep vein 
 
 Slaked with its ensanguined rain ; 
 
 His eyes and lips a moment quiver, 
 
 Convulsed and quick — then fix for ever. 460 
 
 He died, as erring man should die, 
 
 Without display, without parade ; 
 
 Meekly had he bowed and prayed, 
 
 As not disdaining priestly aid, 
 
 Nor desperate of all hope on high. 465 
 
 And while before the Prior kneeling, 
 
 His heart was weaned from earthly feeling ; 
 
 His wrathful sire — his paramour — 
 
 What were they in such an hour ? 
 
 No more reproach — no more despair ; 470 
 
 No thought but heaven — no word but prayer — 
 
 Save the few which from him broke, ■ 
 
 When, bared to meet the headman's stroke, 
 
PARISINA. 85 
 
 He claimed to die with eyes unbound, 
 
 His sole adieu to those around. '1-75 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Still as the lips that closed in death, 
 
 Each gazer's bosom held his breath : 
 
 But yet, afar, from man to man, 
 
 A cold electric shiver ran, 
 
 As down the deadly blow descended 480 
 
 On hirn whose life and love thus ended ; 
 
 And with a hushing sound comprest, 
 
 A sigh shrunk back on every breast ; 
 
 But no more thrilling noise rose there, 
 
 Beyond the blow that to the block 485 
 
 Pierced through with forced and sullen shock, 
 
 Save one : — what cleaves the silent air 
 
 So madly shrill — so passing wild ? 
 
 That, as a mother's o'er her child, 
 
 Done to death by sudden blow, 190 
 
 To the sky these accents go, 
 
 Like a soul's in endless woe. 
 
 Through Azo's palace-lattice driven, 
 
 That horrid voice ascends to heaven, 
 
86- PARISINA. 
 
 And every eye is turned thereon; 495 
 
 But sound and sight alike are gone! 
 
 It was a woman's shriek — and ne'er 
 
 In madlier accents rose despair ; 
 
 And those who heard it, as it past, 
 
 In mercy wished it were the last. 500 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Hugo is fallen ; and, from that hour, 
 
 No more in palace, hall, or bower, 
 
 Was Parisina heard or seen : 
 
 Her name — as if she ne'er had been — 
 
 Was banished from each lip and ear, 505 
 
 Like words of wantonness or fear; 
 
 And from Prince Azo's voice, by none 
 
 Was mention heard of wife or son ; 
 
 No tomb — no memory had they ; 
 
 Theirs was unconsecrated clay; 510 
 
 At least the knight's who died that day. 
 
 But Parisina's fate lies hid 
 
 Like dust? beneath the coffin lid : 
 
 Whether in convent she abode, 
 
 And won to heaven her dreary road, 5 1 5 
 
PARISINA. 87 
 
 By blighted and remorseful years 
 
 Of scourge, and fast, and sleepless tears ; 
 
 Or if she fell by bowl or steel, 
 
 For that dark love she dared to feel ; 
 
 Or if, upon the moment smote, 520 
 
 She died by tortures less remote ; 
 
 Like him she saw upon the block, 
 
 With heart that shared the headman's shock, 
 
 In quickened brokenness that came, 
 
 In pity, o'er her shattered frame, 525 
 
 None knew — and none can ever know : 
 
 But whatsoe'er its end below, 
 
 Her life began and closed in woe ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 And Azo found another bride, 
 
 And goodly sons grew by his side ; 530 
 
 But none so lovely and so brave 
 
 As him who withered in the grave ; 
 
 Or if they were — on his cold eye 
 
 Their growth but glanced unheeded by, 
 
 Or noticed with a smothered sigh. 535 
 
 But never tear his cheek descended, 
 
 And never smile his brow unbended : 
 
88 PARIS1NA. 
 
 And o'er that fair broad brow were wrought 
 
 The intersected lines of thought ; 
 
 Those furrows which the burning share 540 
 
 Of Sorrow ploughs untimely there ; 
 
 Scars of the lacerating mind 
 
 Which the Soul's war doth leave behind. 
 
 He was past all mirth or woe : 
 
 Nothing more remained below, 545 
 
 But sleepless nights and heavy days, 
 
 A mind all dead to scorn or praise, 
 
 A heart which shunned itself — and yet 
 
 That would not yield — nor could forget, 
 
 Which when it least appeared to melt, 550 
 
 Intently thought — intensely felt: 
 
 The deepest ice which ever froze 
 
 Can only o'er the surface close — 
 
 The living stream lies quick below, 
 
 And flows — and cannot cease to flow. 555 
 
 Still was his sealed-up bosom haunted 
 
 By thoughts which Nature hath implanted ; 
 
 Too deeply rooted thence to vanish, 
 
 Howe'er our stifled tears we banish; 
 
 When, struggling as they rise to start, 560 
 
 We check those waters of the heart, 
 
PARISINA. 89 
 
 They are not dried — those tears unshed 
 
 But flow back to the fountain head, 
 
 And resting in their spring more pure, - 
 
 For ever in its depth endure, 5(55 
 
 Unseen, unwept, but uncongealed, 
 
 And cherished most where least revealed. 
 
 With inward starts of feeling left, 
 
 To throb o'er those of life bereft.; 
 
 Without the power to fill again 570 
 
 The desart gap which made his pain; 
 
 Without the hope to meet them where 
 
 United souls shall gladness share, 
 
 With all the consciousness that be 
 
 Had only passed a just decree ; 575 
 
 That they had wrought their doom of ill, 
 
 Yet Azo's age was wretched still. 
 
 The tainted branches of the tree, 
 
 If lopped with care, a strength may give, 
 
 By which the rest shall bloom and live 580 
 
 All greenly fresh and wildly free. 
 
 But if the lightning, in its wrath, 
 
 The waving boughs with fury scathe, 
 
 The massy trunk the ruin feels, 
 
 And never more a leaf reveals. .585 
 
 H 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Note 1, page 63, line 14. 
 
 As twilight melts beneath the moon away. 
 
 The lines contained in Section I. were printed as set to 
 
 music some time since : but belonged to the poem where 
 
 they now appear, the greater part of which was composed 
 
 prior to " Lara" and other compositions since published. 
 
 Note 2, page J5, last line. 
 That should have "won as haught a crest. 
 Haught — haughty — " Away haught man, thou art insulting 
 me.*' Skakspeare, Richard II. 
 
 THE END. 
 
T. DAVISON, Lombard-street, 
 Whitefriars, London. 
 
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