University of California Berkeley 
 
 Gift of 
 JOSEPHINE MILES 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE, 
 
 THE ISLE OF PEARLS, 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 S. G. W. BENJAMIN. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 X. J. BART LETT. 
 
 1860. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by 
 
 S. G. W. BENJAMIN, 
 In the Clerk's 03ice of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 A N D O V E R I 
 PRINTED BY WARREN F. DRAPER. 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 [Apostrophe to Constantinople. The scene opens on the 
 walls of the City. Invocation to the Genius of the place, 
 who calls up scenes from its History. Fall of Constanti 
 nople. Allusion to a Legend connected with that event. 
 Description illustrating the former glory of the Seraglio. 
 Also, a scene suggested by the secret intrigues which that 
 palace has witnessed. Reflections. The Seraglio grounds. 
 The Aqueduct of Valens. The Mosque of Sultan Suly- 
 man. The Mausoleums of that monarch and his favorite 
 Sultana. The Hippodrome. The Brazen Column from 
 Delphi. Description of a Conflagration in the Capital. 
 Reflections and Conclusion.] 
 
 I. 
 
 BYZANTIUM ! proud city of the sea ! 
 Thou fairest of the fair, whose fading pride 
 Be<Jecks the Osmanlee's rich diadem ! 
 Is there no harp to swell thy funeral strains, 
 To celebrate Time's gradual march along 
 Thy moss-grown battlements and silent halls ? 
 Is there no bard to lift his voice on high. 
 And to lament thy pristine greatness, O 
 1 
 
6 CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 Thou vast necropolis of darkened fame, 
 Of dead magnificence ? Thou mistress old 
 Of tottering ruins, whose worn features still 
 Bear witness sad to thy primeval glory ! 
 
 II. 
 
 The zephyr off the land sighs mournfully 
 
 Over the aged city's grassy roofs ; 
 
 The silver wave glides rippling up the beach ; 
 
 The high-pro wed checkdeme l floats motionless, 
 
 Its shadow twinkling o'er the glassy swell, 
 
 Where the lone fisher-duck dives silently ; 
 
 From time to time some dweller of the deep 
 
 Leaps curving through the air, and darts again, 
 
 With heavy plunge, beneath the tranquil flood. 
 
 No voice disturbs the solitude of walls 
 
 Doomed to the earthquake and the battering surge. 
 
 Comes there no sound adown the waste of years 
 To strike the dreamer's ear ? no muffled wail, 
 The dying notes of ages long expired ? 
 What mean the marble fragments strewed around, 
 Like whitening sculls upon a battle-plain ? 
 What means the dreary desolation which 
 Broods o'er these towers, that have no sentinel 
 Except the hermit stork in summer time ? 
 
 1 Small coasting craft. 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 III. 
 
 Rise, Spirit of these Ruins, sorrowing 
 With moaning hollow as the voice of one 
 Who mutters in a mountain's riftless cave ! 
 Awake from out thy trance of grief ! awake ! 
 Withdraw the veil of nightshade from thy brow ; 
 Remove the covering off the silent Past, 
 As a fond mourner lifts the rustling shroud 
 From the fixed features of the one she loved, 
 And let us view the mysteries of Time. 
 
 The nations sepulchred below ^appear ; 
 Innumerably the generations pass, 
 With fabulous pageantry, rich kings and queens, 
 Scholastic monks, and mighty men of War : 
 But every visage bears the ghastly hue 
 That speaketh of Oblivion's dolorous land. 
 How solemnly the shadowy train moves by, 
 Obedient to the roll of requiem strains ! 
 
 Renowned in arms, lo ! Constantine the Great, 
 He of the cross-emblazoned standard, comes ; 
 Exulting pagans bid the victor hail 
 To proud Byzantium, his imperial seat. 
 
 Who passeth there, with siren glance, and locks 
 Tossed back disdainfully from shameless brow ? 
 The imperial wanton Theodora, she 
 Whose charms appeased a factious populace. 
 
8 CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 The laurel withering on his temples sere, 
 
 The hero of a hundred fights draws nigh, 
 
 Who learned th' ingratitude of princes' hearts. 
 
 O Belisarius ! in an age of vice 
 
 Unsullied, to thy jealous sovereign true, 
 
 Nor daunted by thy country's threatening ills, 
 
 Thou wert a pharos firm upon the rock 
 
 When lashed by storms. Surpassing rich the race 
 
 That in its records shows a man like thee ! 
 
 The champions of the Cross, marshalled in haste 
 From Albion's shores and Caledonia's wilds, 
 From gay, chivalric France, from Rhineland's towers, 
 And from Hesperia's citron groves, approach 
 A phantom host defiling from the tomb. 
 Triumphant breathes their clarion symphony, 
 Down the past ages fainter, fainter growing, 
 Until the vast array is lost in gloom ; 
 Their waving plumes and spectral steeds are gone. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And now the wailing of a falling empire 
 Breaks on the ear. The noble-hearted king, 
 Son of degenerate Caesars, but in soul 
 Last of the Romans, dies ; and, conquerors, 
 Fierce Islam's squadrons, like a torrent's flood, 
 Pour irresistible into the town. 
 Resounds, in yells victorious, " Allah hu ! " 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE, 9 
 
 Again ! again ! the war-cry rings to heaven, 
 
 With tambour's beat and chargers' stirring neigh ! 
 
 The fair Greek maiden, nursed in luxury, 
 
 Flies, with her glossy tresses streaming wild, 
 
 Her black eyes melting with her frantic woe, 
 
 To St. Sophia's shrine ; and innocent child, 
 
 And matron gray, if they may haply find 
 
 A refuge from the scimetar that gleams 
 
 Through all the streets. Ah me ! how vain, how vain ! 
 
 The sanctuary's spell is powerless ! 
 
 The brazen portal yields unto the hordes, 
 
 Who bind their captives round the crucifix 
 
 Whose silver arms so oft before had blessed 
 
 Those victims as they worshipped there in peace. 
 
 The legend 1 goes, that when the Janizary, 
 With sacrilegious weapon, would have slain 
 The servant of the Lord, who, like the star 
 That brightest shines in a tempestuous sky, 
 Sung out the holy mass with heart and voice 
 Unshaken by the tumult that raged round, 
 A heavenly messenger snatched him unseen, 
 And, with the sacred Host, concealed him there 
 Within a secret nook. And oft since then 
 Strange sounds are heard in the chill masonry, 
 Filling the passer-by with silent awe. 
 'T is said, that when the Christian warrior's shout 
 
 1 A tradition current among the Byzantine Greeks. 
 
1 CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 Goes up again in victory through this land, 
 
 And makes the dead man quake in his last sleep ; . 
 
 When the fear-stricken Turk feels suddenly 
 
 Great horror and the blackness of despair 
 
 Shadow his reeling brain, then shall appear, 
 
 From out his long asylum, tjiis old priest, 
 
 And, bearing yet the same unmouldered Host, 
 
 Shall consecrate again the chancel's pale, 
 
 By Infidels so long profaned : and then 
 
 The joyful anthem through these cloistered aisles 
 
 Shall peal in echo upon echo vast 
 
 Of loud thanksgiving, as it was erewhile 
 
 When King Justinian in Byzantium ruled. 
 
 V. 
 
 Now music sweeter far than combat's rude 
 
 And dissonant clangor, soothes the holy calm 
 
 Of twilight, floating starwards rhurmurously 
 
 As dash of waterfalls in summer woods, 
 
 Or pastoral hum of bees, bright fountains, carved 
 
 Grotesque, spout ceaselessly their beaded spray 
 
 Into cool basins hewn of lustrous marble, 
 
 Round which the rose in clusters flings her buds, 
 
 To catch the purest drops that flashing fall. 
 
 The ghostly moonlight lingers silently 
 
 O'er the Seraglio gardens' velvet sward, 
 
 And hearse-like cypresses across the light 
 
 Throw solemn shadows. Wreathed with lilies pale. 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 11 
 
 Fantastic forms are flitting joyously 
 Around the raagic founts, who seem more like 
 Ethereal sprites that haunt this Paradise, 
 Than mortal creatures of terrestrial mould. 
 See how their silk cymars wave tremulous 
 Among the lilacs, as they skip the dance, 
 And blithely carol their melodious strains ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 With fairy-like graces, 
 
 And leaving no traces, 
 We hover from flower to flower, 
 The nymphs of this moon-lighted bower. 
 
 We toss our black tresses 
 
 To the low-sighing breezes, 
 And, soft as a dreamer's light fancies, 
 Illume the dark trees with our glances. 
 
 To the notes of our singing 
 
 The moments are winging 
 Returning thence never, ah, never 
 To the land of the silent Forever. 
 
 But why do we borrow 
 
 Regret from the morrow ? 
 Since all but the present is hollow, 
 May love be the star that we follow. 
 
12 CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 The fragrant jasmines wave like shooting stars 
 
 In gentle cadence to the harmonies 
 
 So gayly trilled by these wild-warbling sylphs ; 
 
 And in yon neighboring halls illuminate 
 
 Festivity's perpetual revelry 
 
 Lulls to forgetfulness of his domains 
 
 The haughty monarch of these lovely realms. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Another scene appears. The howling blast 
 
 Sweeps fiercely round the watchtower's dismal walls ; 
 
 The muffled sentinel's lone midnight cry 
 
 Along the battlements is lost amid 
 
 The deep, hoarse thunder of the rolling surf, 
 
 Whose foaming crests flash dimly through the gloom. 
 
 A noiseless group approaches, half obscured 
 
 By the storm's blackness, and their arms support 
 
 A sackcloth-shrouded corse. Anon they reach 
 
 A gateway in the wall, from whence leads down 
 
 A creaking stairway to the angry surge. 
 
 Hist ! hark ! a heavy plunge ! the deed of death, 
 
 The crime that no remission finds, is o'er ! 
 
 Zoraya ! sweet Zoraya ! star of morn ! 
 
 Pearl of the gay Harem ! one short hour since 
 
 Thy playful accents musically rang 
 
 By fretted ceilings in the festal hall. 
 
 Thy lord, he frowned on thee, O gentle heart, 
 
 And hushed thy voice forever in the sea ! 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 13 
 
 Save the shrill storm-blast's melancholy wail, 
 No dirge is sung for thee ; the clouded moon 
 Looks sadly on the cormorant wheeling round 
 Thy deep sea grave, and through their veil of mist 
 The stars shine like a maiden's drooping eyes 
 Suffused with tears ; for, certes, ne'er was fate, 
 And ne'er was burial, known so sad as thine, 
 Zoraya, O Zoraya ! star of morn ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Go to, thou visionary ! thou that dream'st 
 
 These unsubstantial fancies of the brain ! 
 
 Seek not to weave the Present with the Past, 
 
 A union that can find no favor in 
 
 These busy, hurried, calculating days. 
 
 Arouse thee from thy reverie to view 
 
 The westering sun approach th' horizon dim 
 
 Of Marmora's blue wave ; thyself to find 
 
 A lone recluse among forget-me-nots 
 
 And frail anemonies, that rankly strew 
 
 The mouldering rampart of forsaken walls, 
 
 Which hear no sound except the sea-bird's scream, 
 
 And the incessant dash of restless waves 
 
 That murmuring die upon the shingly shore, 
 
 Or hurl the tempest-driven spray above 
 
 The parapet. Majestic ships go by, 
 
 Their snowy pinions spread to every gale ; 
 
 Activity still flourishes among 
 
14 CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 Th' abodes of men ; but these old palaces 
 
 And crumbling towers forget the gladsome sound 
 
 Of pleasant footstep and of cheerful voice. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Would'st stroll among Serai Bournu's 1 precincts ? 
 
 Approach with heart subdued the hallowed spot ; 
 
 Yes ! hallowed by associations sad. 
 
 Here thoughtful solitude reigns undisturbed : 
 
 The wild bird's song, heard seldom, strangely breaks 
 
 The solemn stillness, and the sun's bright warmth 
 
 Lies gloomy on the grassy terraces ; 
 
 The rose-tree and the weed together thrive, 
 
 In wild but sweet luxuriance, around 
 
 The moss-green sculptured fount, that jets no more 
 
 Its laughing stream. The beauty lingering here 
 
 Is like the roseate glow on mountain peak, 
 
 When the sun's orb that lent that fervid hue 
 
 Has set behind the hills. The bliss which rang 
 
 Whilome so blithely through these silent walks, 
 
 The souls whose life imparted life to these, 
 
 O, Spirit of the Past ! canst thou not tell 
 
 Where they are gone ? Perchance the vagrant shades 
 
 Of all the beautiful, the innocent, 
 
 The mighty and the brave, who loved this spot, 
 
 Long since returned to seek a covert lone 
 
 In these aged cypresses, that live and live, 
 
 i The Seraglio. 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 15 
 
 As Destiny had willed capriciously 
 That theirs be immortality's sweet boon. 
 
 The broken-hearted here may find a balm. 
 
 There is a soft, delicious sympathy 
 
 In the sad quietude which soothes the soul ; 
 
 And who is unacquainted with the pangs 
 
 Of preying sorrow ? who that owneth not 
 
 Some little plot of earth that claims his sighs ? 
 
 The forlorn spirit, that holds fellowship 
 
 Unseen with forms evanished, oftentimes 
 
 In loneness feels a tender influence 
 
 Flattering its pains, which steals th' unbidden tear 
 
 From eyes that griefs intensity had dried, 
 
 And seems t' assuage the bitterness of woe ; 
 
 Then Sorrow cometh, veiled in twilight's hues, 
 
 A spirit celestial, and the prescient gaze 
 
 Imparts that sees into eternity. 
 
 And they whose noiseless ghosts here glide unseen, 
 
 Oft pleasure sowed but harvests rank to reap 
 
 Of sorrow, yea, of wild adversity ! 
 
 The lily cheek, the sovereign's falcon eye, 
 
 The child, the sage, had each their turn to weep ; 
 
 And they were conscious, too, that dizzy life 
 
 Creeps on the margin of the sepulchre, 
 
 And planted long-lived trees in sombre groves, 
 
 Whose verdure rarely fades, to shield their tombs 
 
 Affording shelter to the meek-eyed dove, 
 
 Whose plaintive moan should soothe their long repose. 
 
16 CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Once on a time there lived an Emperor 
 
 Whose name was Yalens. Here he reigned, and oft 
 
 o " 
 
 A Cassar's pomp displayed along the streets 
 And sounding gateways of his capital. 
 At his command they reared an aqueduct; 
 And stone to stone, and lofty arch to arch 
 Were featly joined, each to its neighbor, till 
 There rose a stately edifice, that spanned 
 From hill to hill the space. But now, of all 
 The multitudes who live and pass away 
 Within this fabric's mighty shadow, who 
 Has ever heard the perished name of Valens ? 
 This pile stupendous testifies alone 
 To the forgotten fortunes of its liege. 
 The foliage springing from the gray cement 
 Flaunts through these arches to the morning sun, 
 And wavers in the moonbeams of the night, 
 Like funeral banners over coffined kings ; 
 While down the furrowed stones the water drops 
 In tears of sorrow for a nation's woe. 
 
 X. 
 
 Behold where Sulymanie l looms up, 
 A hoary, antiquated structure, vast 
 But melancholy to the eye of him 
 . Who stands observant of its awful dome. 
 Its sunlit windows seem like stars of eve 
 
 i The mosque of Sulym&n. 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 17 
 
 In the vague, whisperous twilight that pervades 
 The cavernous vaults and carven galleries. 
 The timorous doves, which hover countlessly 
 In the chill, murmuring air from niche to niche 
 Among the sapphire pillars, as they would 
 From tree to tree in their green, native woods, 
 Methinks are symbols of the sacred peace 
 That mystically speaks in the deep echo 
 That rises from the hum of worshippers. 
 
 In the mosque court, in a secluded nook, 
 
 Two humble cupolas peep quietly 
 
 From out the coverture of slumberous boughs 
 
 Almost concealing them. The meagre wight 
 
 Who, shadow-like, dwells here, the devotee 
 
 Of a decaying creed, the stranger tells 
 
 That these are tombs. Oh, doubly happy he, 
 
 Who, coming to the end of life, shall find 
 
 So sweet a shelter for his mouldering dust ! 
 
 Yes, Sulyman, the conqueror of men, 
 
 The Well-Beloved, long since to stern-browed Fate 
 
 Resigned the sceptre of extending power, 
 
 And, sore bewailed, was gathered to his fathers. 
 
 Within this sanctuary the hero lies ; 
 And Roxellana, she whose magic name 
 Thrilled sweeter than aught else upon his heart, 
 Wife of his bosom, in the other sleeps. 
 Dreamless repose ! pathetic solitude ! 
 2 
 
18 CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 Where votive cypress, in its stillness weird, 
 
 Faithfully guards their everlasting slumber ; 
 
 While marigolds and fragrant wall-flowers bloom 
 
 So lonesomely around the sepulchres, 
 
 As if t' attract the cheerful sunlight here. 
 
 The passing traveller sometimes stops to gaze 
 
 On these abodes of .fallen majesty, 
 
 Examining the shawls from far Cashmere 
 
 Which shroud the coffins, and the gems of price 
 
 That fitful glitter in the dusky light ; 
 
 And then as listlessly goes on his way, 
 
 And wots not of the tender tie that bound 
 
 Those throbless hearts, when life's emotions gushed 
 
 In their once swelling bosoms ; love so strong 
 
 That when the icy touch of Asrafel 
 
 Did silence them, the same mysterious trees 
 
 Should watch them laid in one beloved retreat ; 
 
 Example strange of love, in age and clime 
 
 Sterile, alas ! in true connubial faith. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Behold the Hippodrome ! Wrapt Fancy's eye 
 Ravives the racing steeds, the Greens, the Blues, 1 
 The victors crowned with bay, the multitudes 
 Gazing impatient from the galleries, 
 The monarchs throned on high, the stately queens. 
 She hears once more glad music rise in swells 
 Of jubilant symphony, as cymbals clash 
 
 i Vide Gibbon's Rome, Chap. XI. 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 19 
 
 With lutes and mellow horns ; she hears again 
 
 The cries of faction drown the loudest strains 
 
 That metal breathes. Time, passing here in haste, 
 
 Could not delay to gather all the spoil, 
 
 But, as the vintager in harvest leaves 
 
 Some purple clusters sparkling 'neath the vines, 
 
 The reaper of the world some gleanings left. 
 
 Here stands a cankered brazen pillar, formed 
 
 With triple convolutions serpentine ; 
 
 It came from bosky Delphi's sacred fane ; 
 
 Its serpents, headless now, once on their crests 
 
 Sustained the trophy of the Persian's fall. 1 
 
 O, silver- voiced Hyperion ! grant us yet 
 
 But one more oracle divine, to say 
 
 If this aged yet eternal capital, 
 
 This plaything of the nations, shall once more 
 
 Return unto the fickle Hellene's rule ! 
 
 In vain ! the Pythia is tuneless now ! 
 
 At Liakura's 2 foot the Delian's shrine 
 
 In ruin lies, obscurely desolate. 
 
 ***** 
 
 XII. 
 
 Midnight th' imperial city wraps in gloom ; 
 
 Silence unbroken holds her solemn sway ; 
 Christian and Moslem, quick and dead, lie hushed, 
 Enwrapped in leaden Sleep's lethean pall. 
 
 Xerxes. ' 2 Mount Parnassus. 
 
~0 CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 To thousands shall the morrow's sun renew 
 
 Life's strange vicissitudes. But many there 
 
 Nor morrow's sun, nor evening's starry host, 
 
 Nor flight of years, shall ever rouse again. 
 
 The clouds brood low, and there is music wild, 
 
 Sad music, on the housetops, as the wind 
 
 Whispers disconsolate, and nearer bears 
 
 The howling of the dogs that haunt the tombs, 
 
 And shadows steal along the dreary streets. 
 
 But, lo ! the sky glares ominously, as when 
 
 Autumnal mist droops o'er a mountain mere, 
 
 And through its veil the rising moon displays 
 
 A broad and crimson beacon on the hills. 
 
 The light grows brighter ; from afar a cry 
 
 Swells on the eddying breezes, " Yangun Var ! " * 
 
 Prolonged from house to house, from street to street, 
 
 The solemn warning thrills the hearer's soul, 
 
 Until the deep-mouthed cannon's sullen boom 
 
 Awakes the phantom echoes of Stambul, 
 
 And bids her sleepers rise to grapple foes. 
 
 The sheeted flames roll onward ! faster yet 
 
 The embers shoot ! Thus through th' eternal gloom 
 
 Of Polar skies the Sovran of the North 
 
 Showers his crackling arrows up the vault, 
 
 And robes his icy palaces with light. 
 
 Towering aloft in spectral majesty, 
 
 The minarets of many a sacred mosque 
 
 1 There is fire the appointed alarm-cry of the city. 
 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 21 
 
 Look from their lofty posts upon the scene, 
 
 As the tempestuous, fiery billows surge 
 
 With muttering thunders round the lurid heavens ; 
 
 While piteous wretches gaze with streaming eyes 
 
 Upon the power whose rage devours their homes, 
 
 And wring their hands in unrestrained despair. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Unhappy city ! where the tooth of Time, 
 Forever gnawing at her holiest shrines, 
 Scarce executes the stern decrees of Fate, 
 Who frowns upon her beauty, and awaits 
 Impatient for her doom, like fowl obscene 
 That ravens for its prey. She makes allies 
 The very elements, the boisterous Waves, 
 That raze her battlements, th' impetuous Fire, 
 That walks the streets by night, and publishes 
 With flaming tongues, to lands remote and wide, 
 The agonies of fallen Zaregrad. 1 
 
 Is this the city of whose regal pomps 
 Cathay heard, and the far isles of the sea, 
 And wondered at the tale ? the city clothed 
 With royalty, and decked with spoils of Ind ? 
 Not such magnificence the elfin court 
 Of Oberon displayed in fairy-land ; 
 Nor such the wealth Arabian poets sing 
 To have embellished Bagdad's fountained halls, 
 As rolling age on age was clustered round 
 
 1 THE ROYAL CITY, as the Bulgarians call Constantinople. 
 
22 CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 The peerless rival of eternal Rome. 
 
 Superb with Tyrian purple sate her kings 
 
 Upon their golden thrones, nor dreamed of change : 
 
 Time came, beheld their pride, and where are they ? 
 
 The trumpet-blast of Islam's conquerors 
 
 Pealed o'er these domes : Time passed, looked on 
 
 their pride, 
 
 And where are they ? are they forever gone ? 
 So fades the sunset's pageantry of clouds ! 
 When shall the humbled city rise again ? 
 When shall her desolation pass away ? 
 When shall she view reviving glory ? when ? 
 Even now the feeble remnant of her line 
 Is palsied by the finger of Despair : 
 Nemesis, wrapt in darkness, rides the storm, 
 And hurls abroad the thunderbolt of doom. 
 Hark ! on the toppling towers the Furies shriek ! 
 I see their white hair streaming to the winds ! 
 I hear their wild, blood-freezing howl of hate ! 
 
 Weep, city of the Mighty Dead ! Oh, weep, 
 Offspring of wealth and valor ! Beauty's self! 
 A second Hero, by the seaside left 
 All desolate, to mourn thy sad estate; 
 In vain thy cresset's blaze lights up the gloom, 
 To beacon to thine arms a race of kings, 
 A glorious line, that shall no more return ! 
 Let the soft harp-strings of the evening wind 
 Waft gently up to heaven thy sad laments, 
 And bid sweet Mercy turn and weep for thee ! 
 
THE ISLE OF PEARLS. 
 
THE ISLE OF PEARLS. 
 
 SOFT plays the tide along the shore, 
 
 Soft sighs the zephyr on the sea, 
 Soft dips the fisher's silver oar 
 
 All sounds make pleasant harmony. 
 Above th' horizon's distant rim 
 
 The moon is seen, like midnight ghost, 
 And o'er the deep her glances gleam, 
 
 And whiten all the lonely coast. 
 A bark rides in the solemn bay, 
 
 Her silken pinions woo the breeze, 
 Her sheeny prow is wet with spray, 
 
 And pointed to the southern seas. 
 How beautiful your shadows seem, 
 
 O sea, O shore, O gilded bark, 
 As, gliding through my passing dream, 
 
 Ye bid my ear entranced hark 
 To the wild notes that float away 
 From the fair bark that rides the bay ! 
 
26 THE ISLE OF PEARLS. 
 
 " O thou, that wanderest on the strand, 
 Gazing upon the heaving swell, 
 
 Why tarry longer on the land ? 
 To shore and mountain say farewell, 
 
 And, to the melody of song, 
 
 And murmur of sweet-sighin^ sails, 
 
 O O 7 
 
 In this brave galley sweep along 
 
 Before the soft and favoring gales. 
 Away, away, beyond the sea, 
 
 Behold the star-bespangled halls, 
 Where souls in harmony agree, 
 
 And the foam sheaf of fountains falls 
 From night to day, from day to night, 
 
 Throughout the ages as they go, 
 While birds do ever wing their flight 
 
 Above the floods that brimming flow, 
 And roseate pearls and lamps illume 
 
 The bowers that by the ocean smile, 
 And twinkle through the scented gloom 
 
 That cools the palace of the isle. 
 Then come away, O lingering soul, 
 
 Then take thy midnight flight with me, 
 Where the wild waves more peaceful roll, 
 
 And the lone islet gilds the sea." 
 
 I listened to the luring maid, 
 
 Who on the awned poop did sing, 
 
 The while her veil in dalliance played 
 Unto her witching caroling : 
 
THE ISLE OF PEARLS. 27 
 
 Enraptured then, I leaped aboard 
 
 A shallop fastened to the shore, 
 And swiftly to the galley oared, 
 
 That straightway ceased in port to moor ; 
 The sails were trimmed by hands unseen ; 
 
 We left behind a gleaming wake, 
 That, as we skimmed the waters green, 
 
 Broke round the keel in many a flake. 
 The music of Eolian wires 
 
 The lonely voyage did beguile, 
 Until the morrow's sunset fires 
 
 Revealed the palace of the isle. 
 The sun went down ; up rose the moon ; 
 
 Rustled the shadowy groves of palm 
 Unto a low and measured tune, 
 
 That whispered of eternal calm. 
 In the white light pavilions shone, 
 
 With fluted pillars all arow, 
 Reminding of the times agone, 
 
 And mirrored in the depths below ; 
 The sound of waterfalls was heard 
 
 From sheltered vales and sparry caves, 
 And the long trill of twilight's bird 
 
 Chimed with the drone of plunging waves 
 Trees, hoary with the vapory spume, 
 
 Around the dreamy porches hung, 
 Diffusing shade and mild perfume 
 
 Like odorous incense censer-flung : 
 
28 THE ISLE OF PEARLS. 
 
 Light such as one beholds in dreams 
 Floated o'er all the sea-girt spires, 
 
 While, flitting in the spectral beams, 
 Their plumage waved seraphic quires, 
 
 And hymned forevermore a song 
 
 That breathed the death of sin and wrono-, 
 
 O" 
 
 And the mild reign of soothing peace, 
 And virtue that should never cease ; 
 
 And mellow-tuned virginals 
 "Were struck by elves, who tripped in rows 
 
 Fantastic measures through the halls, 
 With garlands woven round their brows : 
 
 The ocean lapped the stairs of marble, 
 That green with aged mosses were, 
 
 As, by their music's amorous warble 
 Attracted in, I landed there. 
 
 A diadem of pearls was hung 
 Down from the midst o* the centre dome, 
 
 And round it were these accents sung 
 By a fair group, all mirth and bloom. 
 
 " What are days and months and year?, 
 
 What is age and what is time, 
 Unto those who shed no tears, 
 
 And behold no grief or crime ? 
 For we mark the fleeting hours 
 By the blooming of the flowers 
 Which are nursed in amaranthine bowers. 
 
THE ISLE OF PEARLS. 29 
 
 " Round these arches high festoon 
 
 Wreaths of lilies dropped with dew ; 
 Ope the lattice let the moon 
 
 Stream its wizard radiance through, 
 Stealing o'er mosaic floors, 
 While we dance away the hours 
 In the shadow of enchanted towers. 
 
 " Hangs upon the string a pearl 
 
 For each one of us that sings ; 
 Sorrow shall her pinions furl, 
 
 Glad shall sound our murmurings, 
 And those pearls like stars shall shine, 
 While unitedly we join 
 In the strain of melodies divine. 
 
 " Concord rules the Sacred Seven, 
 
 Tuning all the starry throng ; 
 Harmony is found in heaven, 
 
 Angel's theme and seraph's song. 
 Guardian of the chiming spheres, 
 Listen to our sister prayers, 
 And preserve our isle from sorrow's cares. 
 
 " For if sorrow enter here, 
 
 Yonder pearls would soon grow dim ; 
 These arcades would disappear ; 
 
 Hushed would be our evening hymn. 
 
30 THE ISLE OF PEARLS. 
 
 Then, sweet Spirit of the spheres, 
 Listen to our sister prayers, 
 And preserve our isle from sorrow's cares." 
 
 The strain through arc and oriel 
 In breezy whispers kissed the deep ; 
 
 The halcyon floating on the swell 
 
 Woke raptured from her midnight sleep ; 
 
 And in the emerald depths profound 
 
 The mermaids heard the eddying sound. 
 
 II. 
 
 Methought a change passed through my dream ; 
 
 A grisly shape, with raven plume, 
 Perched on a pinnacle did seem 
 
 Like owlet on an ancient tomb ; 
 The diadem began to fade, 
 
 The singer's music ceased to flow, 
 The moon's soft splendor grew more sad, 
 
 And over all a " nameless woe " 
 Mute desolation's silent spell 
 Spread like a mourner's sable veil. 
 Fair as the clustering Pleiades, 
 
 Linked hand in hand, the sister's stood 
 Upon the airy terraces 
 
 That overarchedthe solemn flood. 
 
THE ISLE OF PEARLS. 81 
 
 But one, the queenliest of the band, 
 To seaward waved her ivory hand, 
 Standing apart, nigh to the edge 
 Of the high gallery's outer ledge. 
 Pale jessamine her dainty wrists 
 
 And flowing tresses garlanded ; 
 Her vesture clasped her form as mists 
 
 Clothe pensive Morning's radiant head. 
 Majestic grace was on her brow 
 
 She seemed in act to mount above 
 Yet throbbed her bosom with the glow 
 
 Of woman's deep, undying love. 
 Pure-eyed she was one that would die 
 For him who claimed her fondest sigh. 
 
 By this the moon hung very low ; 
 
 And o'er the waters dark and lone 
 The night wind wailed a sound of woe, 
 
 And the stars, one by one, went down. 
 " Last night he called this night he calls," 
 
 The Nereid to her sisters spake ; 
 " I must forsake my native halls, 
 
 Before the glimmering morning break. 
 O love ! I list his murmuring shell 
 
 I can no longer tarry here : 
 Farewell, sweet sisters, fare ye well ! 
 
 Why shed the unavailing tear ? 
 Why should your guileless bosoms mourn ? 
 Shall I not hither soon return ? 
 
THE ISLE OF PEARLS. 
 
 Enchanter of the mystic sea ! 
 
 I faint with love I come to thee ! " 
 
 The maiden wrapped her white cymar 
 
 More close around her limbs of snow, 
 Then dropping like a falling star, 
 
 Plunged in the moaning flood below. 
 In vain the sisters, all forlorn, 
 
 Upon the rivage watched the main, 
 If haply with some rising morn 
 
 The lost one should return again. 
 The elfish cressets lit no more 
 The fairy palace on the shore ; 
 Nor did the pearly diadem 
 At any time its radiance beam. 
 The dusky bird, that Woe was hight, 
 
 Forevermore its station kept, 
 And through each long, long, lingering night 
 
 The statue-fountains ceaseless wept. 
 The flocks, that tender grasses nibbled 
 
 Upon the island's pastoral swells, 
 No longer browsed where runnels dribbled, 
 
 Nor shook at dusk their rural bells ; 
 For they who wont to feed their lambs, 
 
 And drive them forth at dewy dawn, 
 Or lead them 'neath umbrageous palms 
 
 At highest noon, were now forlorn, 
 Weeping beside the sounding sea 
 For their lost queen incessantly 
 The shepherdess whose gentle soul 
 
THE ISLE OF PEARLS. 
 
 Delighted in the lambkin's bleat ; 
 The virgin fair who nightly stole 
 
 O'er paven floors with nimble feet, 
 And in the blaze of flashing torches 
 Attuned soft strains through echoing porches. 
 But ne'er again the Nereid came, 
 Nor with the morn or sunset flame. 
 
 Then on the bark that brought me there 
 I stepped aboard ; the gale was fair ; 
 And soon below the ocean's blue 
 The lonely isle was lost to view. 
 
THE SAILOR-BOY, 
 
THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 'T WAS Autumn. By the lane the farm-house stood, 
 
 Th' abode of peace and plenty. Slowly curled 
 
 The smoke above the chimney, purple wreaths 
 
 Illumined by the sunset, and the cock 
 
 Crew in the barnyard all the livelong hours. 
 
 Before the door the farmer's daughter trained 
 
 The clambering honeysuckle, and the while 
 
 Murmured a simple ditty wild with love. 
 
 Her urchin brothers gambolled by the brook 
 
 That warbled through the wood and down the lane ; 
 
 This launched his tiny boat upon the stream. 
 
 Those built a mimic dam, and shouted loud 
 
 With childish glee. The jocund watch-dog bayed 
 
 Unto the flying echoes, and the crow 
 
 Flapped dreamy pinions in the stilly air. 
 
 Dim through the thin and melancholy mist 
 
 Of Indian Summer rose the russet hills, 
 
 And on the village spire, a far-off flame, 
 
 The -vane gleamed like a solitary star. 
 
 But, hark ! upon the yellow leaves that strew 
 
38 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 The shady path, a faltering step is heard. 
 
 A youth is seen approaching, on his staff 
 
 Leaning most wearily. His tattered garb 
 
 Scarce hides his wasted form ; and what a tale 
 
 Of sore distress his sunken eye, wan cheek, 
 
 And bloodless lip declare ! The lads forsake 
 
 Their noisy sport, abashed, as they behold 
 
 A stranger ; and old Rover wistful looks 
 
 Into the wanderer's face, who now has reached 
 
 The quiet homestead. " Give me but a crust, 
 
 A meagre crust, sweet maiden ; I am faint," 
 
 He said unto the damsel by the door, 
 
 And then sank down upon the mossy trunk 
 
 Of a long-fallen oak, oppressed with pain. 
 
 Quickly her gentle eye discerned the woe 
 
 Which mastered him, and, with a voice that broke 
 
 Upon his ear like moonlight on the sea, 
 
 When it is troubled by tumultuous winds, 
 
 She answered : " Enter ; rest thee, traveller ; soo:i 
 
 From pasture will the kine return, and then 
 
 The foaming milk, warm in the brimming bowl, 
 
 Thy vigor shalt restore." His following eye 
 
 Spake gratitude, when, seated 'neath the roof, 
 
 Beside the blazing hearth, he watched the grace 
 
 With which the farmer's daughter blessed her hom<\ 
 
 " Tarry with us this night ; the morrow morn 
 Depart refreshed," the hale old farmer said. 
 Therefore he tarried, and beguiled the hours 
 
THF SAILOR-BOY. 39 
 
 Of the long autumn evening with the tale 
 
 Of his late woes and wanderings. Thus it ran : 
 
 " Fair blew the breezes when we sailed from port. 
 Day after day our clipper southward sped, 
 For we were bound unto the land of gold. 
 Six nights we ploughed the main ; the seventh brought 
 Thick darkness o'er the deep. Then shrieked the gale 
 Through straining cordage, and the rent sails flapped 
 Like demons' pinions in the murky gloom. 
 From billow on to billow plunged the prow ; 
 And in the midst we heard the cry of fire. 
 Forth from the hatches burst the stifling smoke ; . 
 The wild winds breathed with fury on the flames ; 
 The embers flew across the reeling deck, 
 A crackling shower, and the thundering fires 
 Leaped up the tapering masts, and licked the sails 
 From the slant yards, and kissed the driving clouds. 
 The Captain shouted : " To the boats ! " in haste 
 We launched away ; the longboat and the yawl, 
 Upon the stormy waters tossing, bore 
 Twelve souls, to fearful thirst and famine doomed. 
 Before us drove our bark ; athwart her sides 
 The furnace glowed ; her ribs were ribs of fire. 
 The tempest tossed the burning ropes aloft 
 Like fiery serpents, and the maddened surge 
 That lashed her noble prow, was all aflame 
 Beneath that ruddy blaze the sheeted foam 
 Was like to foam of blood. Far o'er the sea 
 
40 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 The supernatural glare made midnight's gloom 
 More horrible. But suddenly it paled, 
 And then went out in darkness. On the waves 
 /We drifted till the cold, gray dawn arrived. 
 But when the morning broke, my shipmates peered 
 Through the salt mist of driving spray, with eyes 
 Made keen by fierce despair, but spied in vain. 
 No comrade boat was visible ; alone 
 We rode the sad, interminable waste 
 Of ocean; land, nor sail, nor sun, in sight. 
 The billows snapped our oars ; we had no mast ; 
 We were the playthings of the storm, and sat 
 Upon the crazy thwarts disconsolate, 
 Wan-featured, hopeless, save that each did hope 
 The bitter pleasure of first hailing death. 
 
 " Three days we buffeted the hurricane, 
 
 And toiled with failing strength to keep afloat, 
 
 Shifting from side to side, as hung the surge 
 
 Impending o'er the gunwale ; but the fourth 
 
 Came, ushering calms, and burning heat, and thirst. 
 
 That quickly drained our water's scanty store. 
 
 The seventh day, at dawn, a gray-haired man 
 
 Drew a long sigh and died. With trembling hands 
 
 We gave the carcass to the deep, but shed 
 
 No pitying tears ; for each did envy him 
 
 His timely fate. The eighth sad dawn revealed 
 
 Two stark and rigid corpses in the boat ; 
 
 Their fixed, glazed eyeballs glared so fearfully 
 
THE SAILOR-BOY. 41 
 
 Upon us, that we shuddered as with cold, 
 
 Although the sun's fierce ardor showered heat 
 
 Over the simmering sea. We quailed beneath 
 
 The dead men's gaze ; therefore we mustered strength 
 
 To heave them overboard. But two were left. 
 
 My comrade perched himself upon the bow ; 
 
 I sat me in the stern. The day wore on ; 
 
 We dozed and dreamed wild dreams ; we syllabled 
 
 Strange, incoherent ravings ; but we dared 
 
 Not glance into each other's eye ; each feared 
 
 That he might soon be food to satisfy 
 
 His neighbor's cravings, and we groaned aloud. 
 
 " That evening, as the crimson moon drew nigh 
 The ocean, dashing o'er the shifting waves 
 A spectral gleam, and on my comrade's face 
 A ghastly hue, I heard a sudden plunge, 
 I looked, and he was gone ! Perchance a fit 
 Had stiffened his weak frame ; perchance despair 
 Had urged him to his doom. I spied a shark, 
 With hungry maw, slide all his fearful length 
 Through the green water, by the tossing boat, 
 Where moon-lit bubbles showed the corpse had sunk ; 
 And then I thanked my God, who saved his child 
 ' From the dark sin of tasting human flesh. 
 
 " Vanished the moon. The ripples lapped the boat. 
 Which wandered solitary on the sea. 
 
42 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 I heard the low, shrill winds, in dreary sobs, 
 
 Ruffling the tranquil ocean all that night, 
 
 That dreadful night, when I was all alone ; 
 
 Yet not alone. Around me in the air 
 
 Weird voices whispered ; and where he had sat, 
 
 My latest shipmate, now I saw a shape 
 
 Of spectral whiteness, skeleton of form, 
 
 And gazing steadfastly through me with eyes 
 
 That curdled all my blood with their fixed spell ; 
 
 The while the apparition seemed to say, 
 
 6 Thou, too, art mine ! ' I was alone with Death ! 
 
 The pangs of hunger, which had gnawed my flesh, 
 
 Were then as naught beside the terrible dreams 
 
 That in the wild, appalling solitude 
 
 Haunted and tortured me. I fled along 
 
 The margin of a precipice. Above 
 
 Beetled an adamantine wall ; beneath 
 
 There plunged a bottomless abyss, from whence 
 
 Arose the wailing cries of dying souls ; 
 
 And ever as I ran that giddy race 
 
 A spectre dogged my steps. Eternity 
 
 Seemed all too short to fly the fearful fiend ! 
 
 He stretched his arm to clutch my hair, I shrieked, 
 
 And, shrieking, woke ; but woke to see those eyes, 
 
 Those dreadful eyes, turned steadily on mine ; 
 
 Those bloody eyes, whose serpent gaze is burned 
 
 With such intensity upon my brain, 
 
 That to this day their memory thrills my soul. 
 
THE SAILOR-BOY. 43 
 
 " I dreamed and woke alternately, and thus 
 That night of agony wore on. At last 
 The morning broke, and brought my spirit peace. 
 The wind had wafted south the drifting boat, 
 And to the leeward lay an Indian isle. 
 Then, as I floated shoreward, on the ridge 
 Of craggy mountains I discerned the groves 
 Of cocoa pencilled 'gainst the sky, 
 And saw the thin, blue spires of smoke ascend 
 Above the tree-tops, where the islanders 
 Nestled in wattled huts among the woods. 
 A bird flew off from land, and hovered round 
 My tempest-beaten head, and perched itself 
 Upon the boat-side, pouring forth such strains 
 Of rapturous melody from its glad throat 
 That brimming tears suffused my parche'd eyes. 
 They saw me not on shore, or, if they saw, 
 Thought me, perchance, a fisher of their tribe ; 
 And thus, when evening came, and up the vault 
 The sun shot rosy gleams before he sank 
 Behind the slender palms, the veering wind 
 Blew gently off the bay, and bore my skiff 
 Again to sea. Soft, odorous balms were blown 
 On the mild breeze, and, in the dewy dusk, 
 The island's star-like torches twinkled o'er 
 The peaceful water. Then I might have wept 
 To leave so fair a prospect, which allured 
 My desolate soul with beauty as of Eden ; 
 But in my troubled bosom now there reigned 
 
44 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 A settled calm ; too weak was I to rave ; 
 
 I felt resigned to my approaching fate. 
 
 But now, where Death had kept his watch abhorred, 
 
 A seraph lighted, waving golden plumes, 
 
 As if to pilot me to that unknown, 
 
 Mysterious sea to which we all are bound. 
 
 Above me, in the firmament serene, 
 
 The Southern Cross with marvellous splendor shone, 
 
 Symbol of Him who died upon the tree : 
 
 And as I watched that night the wondrous sign, 
 
 Awe, blent with fervent love, o'erpowered my soul, 
 
 Until sweet slumber kissed my wearied lids. 
 
 " I saw again in dreams my boyhood's home, 
 The gambrel cottage, with its quaint old roof, 
 Beneath whose mossy eaves the swallows sang ; 
 Over the chimney waved the weeping elm 
 To the low west wind ; in the corniields gleamed 
 The golden maize the farmer's joy ; near by 
 Murmured the grove of pines, with bickering brooks 
 Gambolling around the rugged roots, and forth 
 Into the meadow stealing. In the fields, 
 And up the hollow by the river, rang 
 The voices of haymakers, and the air 
 Wafted the fragrance of the tedded grass. 
 And then I wandered to the well, and slaked 
 My thirst out of the bucket round whose brim 
 Sparkled the gushing dew ; and as I drank, 
 Behold, reflected in the well, a face, 
 
THE SAILOR-BOY. 45 
 
 And when I looked, lo ! at m j side she stood 
 
 The sister of my boyhood, golden-haired, 
 
 With eyes that spake to me of heaven. My sweet. 
 
 My own sw r eet sister Alice ! thou hast lain 
 
 In the cold graveyard winters four ; yet then 
 
 Thou didst return and bless me with thy love, 
 
 As in my childhood. When I sailed alone 
 
 In unimaginable solitude 
 
 Upon the solemn, melancholy sea,- 
 
 Thy voice was music to my fainting soul ! 
 
 Before the open window she, so long 
 
 Father and mother to me, sat and read 
 
 In her ancestral Bible of that world 
 
 Whose glories were reflected on her brow. 
 
 " But all things had a vague, unearthly hue ; 
 
 I knew 't was but a dream within a dream. 
 
 Even the magic rustle of the leaves 
 
 Now seemed like phantom echoes wafted down 
 
 From nations sepulchred in dust and gloom 
 
 Centuries ago. And then my vision changed. 
 
 I heard the peal of lordly music roll 
 
 Over an eastern landscape ; and I saw 
 
 A stately host, with royalty and pomp, 
 
 Magnificently marching, days and days, 
 
 Unto a rampired city far away 
 
 In the sand desert ; but when they had gained 
 
 The open gates the habitants had fled 
 
 Their capital, and all the wells were dry. 
 
46 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 And thus the wretches, overcome by thirst, 
 Crowded around the fountains that gave forth 
 No water, looked to heaven, and, gasping, died. 
 In the lone streets their whitened bones were strown, 
 And vultures garrisoned the battlements. 
 
 " The thought of that parched multitude renewed 
 
 Th' intolerable thirst that burned my tongue, 
 
 And fevered all my brain with agony, 
 
 Which, as I woke, convulsed my shrivelled frame 
 
 With such stern anguish that mortality 
 
 Seemed loosening her bonds. At that dark hour, 
 
 That moment fraught with death, my sinking eye 
 
 Beheld a sail ! a sail ! it was a sail, 
 
 A real vessel, skimming o'er the waves ! 
 
 Oh ! in my sailor wanderings I have seen 
 
 Full many a noble spectacle ; but when 
 
 My raptured vision fell upon that ship, 
 
 And saw her masts aspiring to the skies, 
 
 Her royals purpled by the radiant flush 
 
 That heralded the yet unrisen sun, 
 
 Her courses swelling to the morning breeze, 
 
 The foam-flakes wreathing round her keen, sharp 
 
 prow, 
 
 And majesty and beauty in her shape, 
 As, with a swan-like motion, o'er the sea 
 She glided ; then I thought that human eye 
 Had never rested on a sight more fair, 
 More noble, than that bark which brought me life. 
 
THE SAILOR-BOY. 47 
 
 " With ecstasy I leaped up in the boat. 
 
 But in a swoon fell back. I knew no more 
 
 Until my hot, sere eyeballs were unsealed 
 
 To gaze on pitying eyes, and see a form 
 
 Of angel loveliness beside my couch, 
 
 With cooling drink and words that murmured peace. 
 
 Slowly my strength returned ; and when we reached 
 
 The destined port, I crept on deck to view 
 
 The looming harbor. To the wharves we moored, 
 
 And then the hospital became my home : 
 
 And there I lingered till they said to me 
 
 ' Go let another take thy bed/ I went, 
 
 Knowing too well that but a short reprieve 
 
 Was granted me of life ; and then I thought, 
 
 6 My voyage is almost o'er the haven 's near 
 
 In which my shattered hulk shall moor forever ; . 
 
 Therefore I '11 seek my boyhood's roof, and die 
 
 With my dear mother's hand upon my brow.' 
 
 And thither now I journey ; but methinks 
 
 I ne'er shall reach it more. My tale is done. 
 
 But when the wild winds howl aloof, then pray 
 
 For the poor mariner who roams the sea, 
 
 And climbs the slippery mast, and hears the peal 
 
 Of midnight thunder shake his tossing bark." 
 
 And yet the tale was not all told. That night 
 Death came, not on the solitary deep, 
 But in the moonlit chamber where the youth 
 Had laid him down to slumber. Death was now 
 
48 THE SAILOR-BOY. 
 
 No spectre, but an angel bringing sleep. 
 
 And the youth slept ; and when the swallow hailed 
 
 The morrow morn, nor waked the sailor-boy, 
 
 The kindly farmer sought the sleeper's room, 
 
 And found him dead. A placid beauty veiled 
 
 The sunken features, and his silken hair 
 
 Curled on the marble brow most tenderly. 
 
 With many tears the gathering villagers 
 
 Buried the stranger in the silent grave, 
 
 And marked it with a slab, and wrote thereon, 
 
 ;i SWEET TO THE WEARY MARINER is REST." 
 
ERIC AND EDITH; 
 
 A TALE OF THE NORTH 
 
ERIC AND EDITH; 
 
 A TALE OF THE NORTH, 
 
 THERE was high wassail in the Norseman town : 
 The daring corsairs of the foaming seas 
 Had moored their barks once more within the port 
 From whence they hailed, and all their kith and clan 
 Now welcomed them with boisterous mirth. Loud rang 
 The berserk's song ; wild were the tales they told, 
 As maidens passed the mead, and eagle eyes 
 Did sparkle o'er the sparkling beaker's brim. 
 
 But Eric, by the revelers unobserved, 
 
 Stole to the castle turret, there to find 
 
 His Edith waiting for her love. Two years 
 
 Had lent her flaxen locks a darker hue, 
 
 And to her form imparted riper grace ; 
 
 Two years had lit his eye with nobler fire, 
 
 With manlier thew and sinew knit his frame, 
 
 Since last they met. Their eyes spake welcome sweet, 
 
 Spake words of rapture, which their speechless lips 
 
52 ERIC AND EDITH. 
 
 Essayed not. Thus the moments sped, until 
 
 The moon loomed o'er the northern sea, and beamed 
 
 Her holy benison upon their vows. 
 
 Then Eric's heart found utterance in this wise : 
 
 " My Edith, when I told thee of my love, 
 These many moons ago, thou didst confess 
 The warmth of thy affection, saying still, 
 % And if indeed thou lov'st me, let me have 
 A token that thy heart is true. Unfurl 
 Thy galley's idle sails, and southward steer, 
 Where lie those gorgeous lands of which they tell 
 Such wondrous legends. Be a hero now ; 
 Not only for the glory of thy name, 
 But for the love thou bear'st to Edith, brave 
 And overcome new perils.' I have been. 
 Yes, where the citron's golden fruitage breathes 
 Its languid odors over sapphire seas ; 
 Where olive-skirted hamlets seem to hang 
 In air high up the mountain sides ; where towers, 
 White in the sun, crown every cape, and speak 
 Of long-departed power ; where vineyards clothe 
 The various landscape, there the Viking's keel 
 Adventurous has glided. There, at dead 
 Of night, I 've landed on th' unguarded coast, 
 And stormed the Southron's hold, and borne away 
 Unnumbered spoils or ever dawn appeared. 
 And there, in Rome's imperial capital, 
 I climbed prodigious ruins, and did hear 
 
ERIC AND EDITH. 53 
 
 In the mysterious twilight awful sounds, 
 
 The din of vanished generations, like 
 
 The roar of distant tempests through the pines 
 
 Of Norway's forests. But a soft, low voice 
 
 Came murmuring to my ear, that said, ' My love, 
 
 Come home, come home ! ' Then, with exulting soul, 
 
 I shouted, ' Northward turn the iron beak 
 
 Of the War Eagle, for our cruise is done ! ' 
 
 And when the storm-winds rose in wrath to check 
 
 Our homeward course, and swept the deck with sleet 
 
 And foam, when in the blackening midnight quailed 
 
 The stoutest heart, I saw thy chosen star, 
 
 The polar star, gleam through the driving scud, 
 
 And kiss the angry waves with argent beam ; 
 
 The thought of thee rekindled hope ; I grasped 
 
 The rudder, and we rode the blast unharmed. 
 
 And when we neared Scandinia's misty coast, 
 
 Two many-bucklered prores bore down. Thy love 
 
 Gave vigor to my arm ; and this we sunk, 
 
 With all her bearded crew, and that I brought 
 
 To port, a token of my love. Lo ! where 
 
 She lies in yonder haven, black-hulled and huge 
 
 In the broad moon's white shadow. And behold 
 
 These clustering pearls, a queenly diadem, 
 
 Another token of my passion, gained 
 
 What time I gained this scar. But what are all 
 
 Affection's tributes worth if once compared 
 
 With th' undivided offering of the heart 
 
 The true heart of a hero ? Such I gave 
 
54 ERIC AND EDITH. 
 
 My Edith long ago. And now what more 
 Desires my dove, the darling of my soul? " 
 
 The maiden gazed into the warrior's face 
 
 With look of love, and pride, and gratitude, 
 
 Yet mingled with a vague, unsatisfied 
 
 Expression in her eye. At length she said : 
 
 " Thou know'st I love thee, and I trust thy faith, 
 
 Thou noble heart and true ; and still before 
 
 I yield myself to thee a willing slave, 
 
 I fain would prove thee further ; 't is a freak 
 
 A foolish maiden's freak but yet a freak 
 
 I cherish. Thou hast vowed that thou wouldst die 
 
 If love should doom thee so. And now I pray 
 
 This boon : ' Explore the ocean bound with ice, 
 
 A thousand leagues away, and bring me thence 
 
 A robe of fur, the silver fox's dower 
 
 Unto thy bride. My heart shall speed thy prow, 
 
 And when thou art returned, then call me thine/' 
 
 I 
 
 Days passed, and Eric, beautiful as Balder, 
 Strode on his deck and mustered all his crew 
 Of grim marauders, gave his swelling sheet 
 Unto the winds, and sailed into the North. 
 
 The slow moons waxed and waned, until the light 
 Of a full score had faded from the skies, 
 Nor did the long-departed bark return ; 
 
ERIC AND EDITH. 55 
 
 And when Norwegian galleys made the port 
 From time to time, men, women, children, flocked 
 Along the strand to meet the voyagers, 
 Demanding loudly, " Have ye nowhere seen 
 The Day Star of the North upon the seas, 
 Adventurous Eric ? Have ye nowhere hailed 
 The proud War Eagle on the mighty main, 
 Snorting the foam-flakes from her iron prow ? " 
 And all with one accord replied, " Nowhere, 
 Nor in the south, nor in the far-off waste 
 Of waves, where bathes the sun his burning brow, 
 Nor in the north, have we beheld the hero." 
 And there was grief, heart-breaking grief, I ween, 
 In the dun tower that watched the roaring sea. 
 Through the long nights, that grew more long, until 
 Unbroken night seemed hovering o'er her soul, 
 Edith her vigils kept, and trimmed her lamp 
 To guide the wanderer home. Why did he tarry ? 
 Alas for swan-necked Edith ! Knew he not 
 That her soft eye was red with tears ? that love 
 For him, and expectation unfulfilled, 
 Had stolen the blush of gladness from her cheek ? 
 Alas for Edith ! why did Eric tarry? 
 
 But when the third sweet springtime had returned, 
 And loosed the waters of the northern meres, 
 And breathed its magic through the forest firs, 
 Then Harold, chieftain of the flowing hair, 
 Brother to Edith, said : " My sister, cease 
 
56 ERIC AND EDITH. 
 
 Thy wailing ; for the love I bear to thee, 
 And for that I remember me of all 
 The scenes of happiness that we enjoyed 
 In childhood's days together, and because 
 Thy Eric was my friend, I '11 launch my keel, 
 And search the ice-bound sea until I find, 
 And to thy heart restore, the long-lost lover. 
 Now, therefore, sweet my sister, weep no more." 
 
 Again a year passed by ; and then it chanced 
 Upon an evening when the clouds grew black 
 Above the ocean, and the white seamews 
 'Gan prophesy a storm, and all the ships 
 Were safely moored ashore, there sped a youth 
 Into the town with tidings. u Norsemen, ho ! 
 Harold the yellow -haired has come is here ! " 
 Thence to the castle straight the stripling ran 
 Wide-mouthed, loud-heralding to all he met, 
 " Harold the yellow-haired has come is here ! " 
 
 That night a storm swept o'er those northern lands. 
 Such as the oldest there had never known ; 
 But in the castle hall nor boom of surf 
 Nor thundering winds were heeded. Round the fire 
 The Norsemen gathered, while the crackling flames 
 Roared up the chimney, casting elfish gleams 
 Over grim features rough from fight and storm ; 
 And with his vassals sat the aged Jarl, 
 
ERIC AND EDITH. 57 
 
 In the accustomed corner, and he quaffed 
 The foaming mead, and stroked his snowy beard, 
 And gazed with pride upon his first-born Harold ; 
 While Edith sat, with eyes bedimmed by tears, 
 Between her brother and her sire. And then 
 Did Harold thus rehearse his mournful tale. 
 
 " Northwest we sailed for many days. Thick clouds 
 
 And dripping mist o'er-canopied our bark, 
 
 And the keen air grew colder evermore. 
 
 Nor moon nor stars were seen. Once, at high noon, 
 
 The sun, well-nigh eclipsed, was dim descried 
 
 A ball of copper driving through the scud. 
 
 At length the fog-clouds fled, and far away 
 
 All the blue offing gleamed with glittering spires, 
 
 As if the serried spears of some great host 
 
 Had caught the glory of the rising day ; ^ 
 
 We saw the region of perpetual ice. 
 
 With hearts undaunted, we advanced to meet 
 
 The mighty multitude of bergs. At even 
 
 We sailed into the solemn capital 
 
 Where reigns alone the Monarch of the North. 
 
 Awe-struck and dumb with wonder, we were borne 
 
 Through sinuous channels, where the heaving flood 
 
 Rolled darkly in the gloom of palaces 
 
 Hewn out of ice from immemorial years. 
 
 The full-orbed moon sheened all the pinnacles 
 
 With unimaginable splendor, while 
 
 The twinkling stars engrailed the liquid streets 
 
58 ERIC AND EDITH. 
 
 With arrowy shafts of silver. But no sound 
 Of living habitant was heard throughout 
 That city vast. Mysterious silence, grim, 
 Supernal, hovered there. The distant boom 
 Of the dull surge, the sea-bird's fitful scream, 
 The murmurous dash of runnels dribbling down 
 The icy cliffs and chasms these were not sounds - 
 They were but whispers faintly breathed to him 
 Who slumbers ; we were like to one awake 
 At midnight, listening, with a panting heart, 
 To the weird voice of Silence. Then the wind 
 With spirit sobbings left us, and with sweeps 
 Or grapples closely clasping crystal wharves, 
 We traversed the canals, and neared broad fields 
 Of ice interminable, here and there 
 Thridded by creeks of water dark as lead, 
 Through which our galley glided, compassed round 
 With thickening perils, as the floating slabs 
 Of jagged ice against the iron prow 
 Did harshly grate, or o'er the bulwarks tower. 
 
 "Thus northward held our course, until we dared 
 No further venture, but our longing sight 
 Had yet no Eric found. The summer months 
 Were failing fast fast fled the genial days ; 
 The birds flew southward, and the time had come 
 Which bade us follow their unswerving flight, 
 Ere winter should imprison us forever. 
 In vain had been each anxious search, or where 
 
ERIC AND EDITH. 59 
 
 The iceberg soared in majesty asky, 
 
 Or where the cairn revealed its dim recess, 
 
 Or where tumultuous piles of hummocks rose 
 
 Like heaps of ruins. Not a single trace 
 
 Of man or bark was yet discovered there. 
 
 Not even a shattered spar on which to hang 
 
 The sign of Hope. The bleak autumnal winds 
 
 Whistled more wildly o'er those sterile fields 
 
 Of ice eternal, and we heard our wives 
 
 And children call us to our blazing hearths. 
 
 And then we said, ' Let one last search be made 
 
 Before we sail/ I led my comrades on. 
 
 Two days we journeyed, till at set of sun, 
 
 Far down in the horizon, like a cloud 
 
 Of thinnest violet, we saw a peak 
 
 Aspiring to the stars. That night the skies 
 
 Were crimsoned with a glory like the glare 
 
 Of a vast conflagration; waves of red 
 
 Swept zenithwards like lightning ; all the bergs 
 
 Were robed with purple, and their brows were crowned 
 
 With living rubies, and the welkin rang 
 
 With strange, mysterious noises. By that light 
 
 We travelled through the watches of the night, ' 
 
 But found no Eric. Underneath the peak 
 
 Of which I spake we halted, and, despair 
 
 Within our hearts, held council to return. 
 
 "At that last moment I did climb a cliff 
 That overlooked the whole surrounding space, 
 
60 ERIC AND EDITH. 
 
 And glanced below. There, in a tomb of ice, 
 
 The dear old ship, the stout, the brave War Eagle, 
 
 Had found her grave ! The mast was upright still, 
 
 But from the swinging yard the tattered sail 
 
 Had parted long ago. The ice hung high 
 
 Above the gunwale, threatening instant wreck, 
 
 Yet motionless, save when th' explosive shock 
 
 From distant floes thrilled through the glittering mass. 
 
 Eric the chieftain sat him on the poop, 
 
 With all his faithful Norsemen ranged around. 
 
 A ghastly group it was their bare ribs mailed 
 
 With hauberks, and their skulls yclad with helms ; 
 
 Full five and twenty skeletons were there, 
 
 All stiff and silent, and we knew each one 
 
 From the worn scutcheon on his battered shield ; 
 
 But Eric had enshrouded his gaunt form 
 
 In a long robe of silver foxes' skins. 
 
 Brave spirit ! he had fought in many a fight, 
 
 And overcome full many a foe ; but when 
 
 He grasped his mighty brand for the last time, 
 
 He lost the victory, for he fought with Death ! 
 
 " Oh, when I stood beside that fleshless frame, 
 
 That in its silence seemed so eloquent, 
 
 And called to mind the times when we had slept 
 
 Like brothers, by the same fur mantle wrapt, 
 
 Beneath the winter starlight, when we chased 
 
 The surly bear across the frozen lakes ; 
 
 Oh, when I thought of that great heart now chill 
 
ERIC AND EDITH. 61 
 
 Within his icy bosom, that stout heart 
 
 Which oftentimes had nerved his good right arm 
 
 To battle valiantly, that heart which loved 
 
 As never woman loved, then was my breast 
 
 Convulsed with sorrow, and I wept even I, 
 
 A warrior Viking, wept as I do now ! 
 
 Strike all your harps, ye Skalds, and let your shells 
 
 Sweep solemn dirges for the fallen brave ! 
 
 Lift up your voices in th' ancestral halls, 
 
 And chant his glory in immortal runes ! " 
 
 Here ceased the tale, and silence for a space 
 Held all the listeners. Louder pealed the storm, 
 Shaking the rugged bawn's embattled towers ; 
 But when it lulled, and in the distance wailed, 
 A long-drawn sigh was heard, scarce audible, 
 Yet full of agony, and Edith's head 
 Upon her father's bosom lifeless fell. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 
 
 WITH silly noise, the sleepy crow, 
 Perching on yonder leafless bough 
 Upon the cliff's apex, 
 The dreamy stillness breaks : 
 The white clouds of an April day 
 Hang o'er the mountain tops full low : 
 The traveller, on his dappled-gray, 
 Along the gorge pursues his lonely way. 
 
 The bearded monk, the anchorite, 
 With russet garb and locks of white, 
 Suns him before his cave, 
 A little warmth to save 
 For him decrepit, while he saith, 
 As ever doing morn and night 
 With fervor and unceasing breath, 
 His paters on the rosary of his faith. 
 
 " Friend hermit," quoth the traveller, 
 " Perchance canst tell, lone caloyer, 1 
 
 1 Monk. 
 
66 THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 
 
 Wherefore, on rocky ledge, 
 Yon tower, begrimmed with age, 
 And draped all o'er with ivy green, 
 Deserted stands of dwellers there ; 
 Why sentinel of warlike mien 
 No more upon its battlements is seen ? " 
 
 " Ah me ! too curious, thou wouldst know 
 A tragedy replete with woe. 
 It was a chieftain bold, 
 Who lived in days of old, 
 That built those turrets dark and high, 
 Some eighty waning years ago. 
 Long moons the watchsound might'st descry 
 Alternate with the poising eagle's cry. 
 
 " He was a chieftain known to fame, 
 And Kara Yani was his name ; 
 But though of sturdy heart, 
 With many a kindly art 
 He offered shelter unto me, 
 When to the castle gate I came : 
 I was content for him to be 
 A beadsman, and for his wild soldiery. 
 
 "Adventurous mountaineers were they 
 Who there maintained a petty sway ; 
 And oft, with spoil and slave, 
 With reeking lance and glaive, 
 
THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 67 
 
 Like lions to their desert lair, 
 They strode along the winding way 
 Unto the fortress ; then the air 
 Of night was lit up by the torch's flare : 
 
 " When, resting from the midday's toils, 
 The victors counted o'er their spoils, 
 While ghittern's ceaseless thrumming, 
 And love-song's plaintive humming, 
 Attuned the watches of the night. 
 Alas ! grim age my memory foils 
 About those times when yon dark height 
 Was brightened by the wassail's fitful light. 
 
 " The chieftain's daughter, full of grace, 
 Did flourish in that barren place 
 Like flower that scents the air 
 On precipices bare ; 
 And one might see a passing gleam 
 Upon the soldier's rugged face, 
 Chance, too, a tear his eye would dim, 
 What time the maiden lisped her simple hymn. 
 
 " Oh, she was fair in opening bloom, 
 That bud which cheered our castle home ! 
 
 Her eyes were smiling blue, 
 
 Like turtle's, mild of hue ; 
 Her golden ringlets, flowing down, 
 Were soft as silk from Brusa's loom ; 
 
68 THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 
 
 Her sportiveness and beauty won 
 Upon my heart, as if she were my own. 
 
 " I bore her oft the hills among, 
 For then these arms were young and strong, - 
 Where she could hear the quail 
 Along the heathery vale, 
 Or sweet bulbul by shady stream ; 
 I taught her many a holy song, 
 And hung her neck with cross that came 
 From sacred olive in Jerusalem. 
 
 " She had a glister-eyed gazelle, 
 A frisky thing she cherished well, 
 "Which loved to wander aye 
 Where'er the maid did stray ; 
 And oft her voice rang through the tower 
 Symphonious with her pet's sweet bell. 
 She loved to train the blushing flower, 
 And cull spice-scented basil evermore. 
 
 " While yet a boy of tender age, 
 Before I went on pilgrimage, 
 There was an airy form, 
 With playful ardor warm, 
 Who wont to call me brother dear, 
 As soft her arms my neck did cage 
 With fond caress, and lulled my ear 
 Ofttimes with childish prattle sweet to hear. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 69 
 
 " But 't was full many a weary year 
 Since I had heard her accents clear ; 
 Since last so tenderly 
 My little sister's eye 
 
 Beamed on me with her young heart's love ; 
 Then was it strange, O traveller ! 
 That when I ceased the earth to rove, 
 I doted on the chieftain's little dove ? 
 
 " But when to bashful maidenhood, 
 Gently as bow looms on the cloud, 
 She glided softly then, 
 The lovely, fair Elene, 
 A damsel coy, she needs must hide 
 Within the lattice -gloomed abode ; 
 And there she passed her summer tide, 
 Until a hero sought her for his bride. 
 
 " The lord of. Biledjik's domain, 
 He stole, with love's bewitching chain, 
 The singing bird that blest 
 Her native mountain nest : 
 Ah, woful time, when evermore 
 They taught her hidden to remain ! 
 But still more sad the fatal hour 
 When she forsook her father's stately door. 
 
 " For many days the festival 
 They kept, with dance and atabal ; 
 
70 THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 
 
 Our youth, on flying steeds, 
 
 Tilted with quivering reeds ; 
 Their clatter rang for noondays nine 
 Around the castle's lofty wall ; 
 And eyes that flashed like Sciote wine 
 There were, but none, Elene, so bright as thine ! 
 
 " It was the spicy month of June ; 
 And nightly rose the silent moon, 
 And with a silver shower 
 Illumined vale and tower. 
 The nightingale we heard, between 
 The bursts of song, trill out her tune, 
 A fitting harmony, I ween, 
 For happier, merrier bridal ne'er was seen. 
 
 " And so the joyful season flew ; 
 But, ah*! Osmfin, the caitiff, knew 
 That Biledjik was lone, 
 With paltry garrison. 
 Then flashed his eye with pride and hate ; 
 His jewel-hilted blade he drew, 
 Waved it aloft, and cried, elate, . 
 t Mine, mine is Biledjik ! 't is doomed by Fate ! ' 
 
 " You still might see the star of morn 
 Gleam through the golden edge of dawn ; 
 The fog lay white and dank 
 Amid the rushes rank 
 
THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 71 
 
 That fringe the streamlet's oozy brink ; 
 And timidly the meek-eyed fawn 
 Came sauntering down for woodland drink 
 So timid, while it lapped it seemed to shrink. 
 
 " Hard by, without the piny wood, 
 The stronghold grim was seen to brood 
 Above the misty sheet 
 That clung around its feet ; 
 And when the partridge called its mate, 
 A train of thirty maidens stood 
 Before the frowning castle gate, 
 All robed in white, admission to await. 
 
 " ' Ho, there ! ' the warder from his tower ; 
 1 What seek ye, friends, at such an hour ? ' 
 ' The warlike Turkoman, 
 Your ally, brave Osman/ 
 The damsels cry, ' has gone to war ; 
 And now we bid you grant the power 
 That we therein may safely bear 
 These treasures, which he trusteth to your care.' 
 
 " With creak and clank that terrified 
 The silence, did the drawbridge slide ; 
 
 The thundering echo rolled, 
 
 As though in fold on fold 
 OF surging air, through dark ravine, 
 And smote Olympus' shaggy side ; 
 
2 THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 
 
 The frighted hawk in flight was seen, 
 When the procession, white and slow, passed in. 
 
 " When they had reached the inner keep, 
 A yell, that made the cold skin creep, 
 A sharp and fiendish cry, 
 Went up the shuddering sky ; 
 The figures doffed their woman's guise ; 
 The garrison, awaked from sleep, 
 Were seized with terrible surprise ; 
 They saw Osman the Turk before their eyes ! 
 
 " There was no time to sue for life ; 
 The foe drew forth the hidden knife ; 
 And Mercy was not there, 
 Afraid her raiment fair 
 To soil in scene so sadly foul : 
 J T was butchery, instead of strife ; 
 Nor was there shrift for parting soul, 
 To soothe the passage to the spirit's goal ! 
 
 " From their pale lips life scarce had flown, 
 And scarce was hushed the dying groan, 
 Ere to the torrent's flow 
 That muttered far below, 
 From the gray turret's dizzy height, 
 The gasping murdered men were thrown ; 
 And soon their faces, ghastly white, 
 Were shadowed by the vulture and the kite. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 
 
 " Full twenty faithful hearts, or more, 
 Were left to welter in their gore ; 
 The tower, in dreariness, 
 A place for serpent's hiss, 
 For wizard haunt and ghoul's demesne, 
 Osman forsook the self-same hour, 
 And hastened to the reedy fen, 
 In ambush to abide the festive train. 
 
 " And now the hour to go drew near, 
 But the old crone, with many a tear, 
 Elene's old withered nurse, 
 Did fearfully rehearse 
 How that, from neighboring cypress spire, 
 The owl had filled her heart with fear 
 The night before, an omen dire 
 Of pending fate from Saints' disastrous ire. 
 
 " Though age more perfect knowledge brings 
 To read the meaning of such things, 
 What recks of mystic tale 
 The warrior's heart of steel, 
 And what the young, light-hearted maid ? 
 They heeded not her counsellings : 
 When twilight settled o'er the glade, 
 They quit the gates, a brilliant cavalcade. 
 
 " Oh, what a merry, joyous time ! 
 The tinkling brooks, with playful chime, 
 
4 THE BRIDE OP BRUSA. 
 
 Danced o'er their pebbled beds, 
 Like sparkling silver threads 
 Broidered upon the myrtle spray ; 
 The leaves' soft rustle seemed the rhyme 
 Of elfin sprites, whose magic lay 
 Has more of sweetness in the moonlight ray. 
 
 " And thus their palfreys ambled down 
 Gently through dell and grassy lawn ; 
 And ever light and free 
 The notes of jubilee 
 Through darkling copse and forest rang ; 
 And ever, as they wandered on, 
 Above the courser's hollow clang, 
 In chorus long and loud they laughed and sang. 
 
 " Anon their proud and champing steeds 
 Pace on through shadow-checkered meads, 
 Where rivulets meander 
 Bedecked with oleander ; 
 And frequent ford, with radiant trail, 
 The warbling stream, whose pearly beads 
 With sparkling dew their forms engrail, 
 And spangle every warrior's chain -wrought mail. 
 
 " I travelled with them one sweet hour, 
 To where the willow wove a bower 
 With oak and olive wild, 
 And shadows soft beguiled 
 
THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. K 
 
 To hover quivering o'er the river ; 
 Then backward to my chieftain's tower. 
 Their music following on the zephyr, 
 I turned, and they were gone, and gone forever. 
 
 " That night, wrapped in my wool capote, 
 On yonder pile that stands remote, 
 While all did silence keep, 
 I vainly courted sleep ; 
 And gained, instead, the memory 
 Of what the beldame raved about 
 In her delirious prophecy, 
 To taunt me shivering superstitiously. 
 
 " I could not drive it from my mind. 
 Stranger, thou kriow'st the more inclined 
 Bad visions to forget 
 One is, the deeper set 
 They rankle in the tortured breast ; 
 And spite of will, my soul divined, 
 From signs on nature's face impressed, 
 That fearful hour was nigh, and rightly guessed. 
 
 " As said before, my simple bed 
 Upon the battlements was spread, 
 For this, the only reason, 
 That 't was the summer season ; 
 But as I gazed, bereft of sleep, 
 Upon the stars, a gradual shade, 
 
76 THE BRIDE OP BRUSA. 
 
 A mist from southward, seemed to creep 
 TVith awful dimness o'er them, and to steep 
 
 " The atmosphere in mystic woe. 
 The ghastly moon her face did show 
 Cinctured by copper ring, 
 Whose bale-portentous wing 
 Encircled half the welkin vast; 
 But not a breeze was heard to blow ; 
 The forest's spirits, as they passed, 
 Feared to awake the leaves with phantom blast. 
 
 " No thing of life, no stirring form, 
 Disturbed that stillness boding harm ; , 
 No jackal's dusky shade 
 Glided across the glade, 
 Nor heard the owlet's mournful call ; 
 But, stricken by some threatening storm, 
 Pale Nature owned a silent thrall, 
 As if the hand of Death had palsied all. 
 
 " The spell struck through my shuddering heart ; 
 Alarmed, I shook, with frequent start, 
 As though I felt the touch 
 Of witch's icy clutch ; 
 Cold moisture dewed my forehead wan, 
 My lips refused for prayer to part, 
 Benumbed by fear's mysterious ban : 
 I longed to hear the voice of living man ! 
 
THE ERIDE OF BRUSA. 77 
 
 " In vain I sought the guard t' arouse, 
 O'ercome by midday's hard carouse ; 
 His features rough and stern 
 Did towards the moon upturn ; 
 He raved in sleep, and beat the air, 
 As though he fought with mortal foes, 
 And wist not of his wild nightmare : 
 I let" him dream, and turned in dread despair 
 
 u Just then a breath 'twas scarce a breeze 
 Hovered amid the loftiest trees, 
 And died before it blew; 
 The cock in distance crew ; 
 It was the third watch of the night : 
 Grateful, I sank upon my knees, 
 And sobbed, ' I thank thee, God of light, 
 There yet is life 't was but a transient blight ! ' 
 
 " While still in low obeisance bowed, 
 It came ! a roar like rushing flood 
 Rumbled through depths profound 
 Of mountains void of sound : 
 A dreadful shudder broke the gloom ; 
 And woods and cliffs, whose roots had stood 
 A thousand years, now felt their doom, 
 And thundered from the heights with awful boom ! 
 
 At once the din of yelping fox, 
 And myriad birds, in screeching 
 
 flocks, 
 
87 THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 
 
 Whose cries bespoke distress, 
 Pierced through the wilderness, 
 * With wailing voice and human yell ! 
 Again the earthquake hurled the rocks ; 
 A tower joined to the citadel 
 Heaved on its granite base, reeled, tottered, fell ! 
 
 " Now blew the wind a soothing breath ; 
 So peace succeeds the pangs of death ; 
 Although a tremor rolled 
 At times along the wold ; 
 Then did the warriors clamorous cry ; 
 And some averred that, by their faith, 
 They saw Elene's pale ghost flit by, 
 And vanish straightway towards the misty sky. 
 
 " But while our hearts were terror-riven, 
 A piercing neigh shot up to heaven ; 
 A horse, with loosened rein, 
 And wildly flying mane, 
 Dashed up the castle's craggy road : 
 His glossy hide was black as raven, 
 But it was stained with clotted blood, 
 And his keen eye gleamed fiercely where he stood. 
 
 " Panayia ! l my heart doth bleed ! 
 For when our youth, with timorous speed, 
 
 1 The Virgin Mary. 
 
THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 79 
 
 Rushed to the postern gate, 
 
 Where he did restive wait, 
 And let the pawing charger in, 
 Behold, it was the tasselled steed 
 Which she had ridden like a queen, 
 With smiling rapture in her soft blue een. 
 
 " It was it was her noble horse ! 
 They swore so by the holy cross ! 
 But where, oh, where was she ? 
 In lone captivity ? 
 Or lying on some distant plain, 
 A cold, neglected, tombless corse ? 
 Ah, then they mourned in dismal strain, 
 With wail tumultuous, ' Elene ! Elene ! ' 
 
 " And now, as morn drew on apace, 
 A soldier, wayworn, lank of face, 
 Arrived in weary haste 
 Where we stood all aghast, 
 And said, < Lo, in the vale of pines, 
 In lonely, dark, and marshy place, 
 'Mid sighing sedge and trailing vines, 
 The gentle maiden's pallid corpse reclines.' 
 
 " The fugitive told us, with tears, 
 That they were singing, free of fears, 
 Beside the glassy stream, 
 When they beheld the gleam 
 
80 THE BRIDE OF BRUS,\. 
 
 Of glaring eyeballs in the dell ; 
 The riders fell by hidden spears, 
 Even the bride, so fair and frail, 
 And he alone escaped to tell the tale." 
 
 u And did they leave her lying there ? " 
 The traveller asks, with plaintive air. 
 " Ah, no ! they sent a troop, 
 
 Ere eve began to droop, 
 Of faithful horsemen to the wild-, 
 Who brought her, still in death how fair ! 
 Rose faintly hued her features mild ; 
 Half seemed as if her vanished spirit smiled. 
 
 " With violets blue they wreathed her brow, 
 And bid the solemn dirges flow, 
 And washed her mournful bier 
 With many a bitter tear : 
 It scarce could be a sin to rave, 
 When all our hearts were filled with woe, 
 To think, ah me ! we could not save 
 Our darling from the bleak and silent grave ! " 
 
 " Did Kara Yani, all forlore," 
 The saddened stranger asks once more, 
 " Grieve for his lovely daughter, 
 
 Thus slain in ruthless slaughter ? " 
 " Deprive the eagle of her brood, 
 And will she not that very hour 
 Her head with listless pinion hood, 
 And pine her life away in sullen mood ? 
 
THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 81 
 
 " So when his child the chieftain lost, 
 The treasure that he cherished most, 
 Consumed by cankering care, 
 He sought seclusion there ; 
 But crying, in an evil hour, 
 ' On battle-field I yield the ghost,' 
 He fiercely quit his gloomy tower ; 
 The foe entrapped him and he came no more. 
 
 " There on its rocky pedestal, 
 The thistle flaunting from the wall 
 Its only banner now, 
 And time its only foe, 
 That dreary fortress silent stands ; 
 Unheard the watchman's midnight call, 
 Unheard the captain's loud commands, 
 Nor festive song, nor shout of martial bands. 
 
 " In summer time its shade affords 
 A caravansary for herds 
 Of the lone shepherd swain, 
 Who pipeth mellow strain 
 The livelong day amid the flowers, 
 Whose parasitic beauty girds 
 The lofty, gray, and mouldering towers, [roars. 
 That gaze where Spring's foam-whitened torrent 
 
 " And there the passage birds alight, 
 When winging on their southward flight, 
 And sweeten Autumn's sadness 
 With their shrill notes of gladness. 
 
82 THE BRIDE OF BRUSA. 
 
 In those old bygone days I said, 
 In bitterness of soul, 6 'T is right 
 That I, who loved the noble dead, 
 With frequent prayer should soothe their lonely bed. 
 
 " Therefore I solitary dwell 
 In this my wild and rock-hewn cell, 
 And light my brushwood fire 
 At night, with fear t' inspire 
 The wolf that prowls in search of prey ; 
 When loosened stones leap down the dell 
 From yonder ruin, and betray 
 That evil spirits aid its sad decay ; 
 
 " When storm-blasts sweep, with wail prolonged, 
 Where mourning pines are densely thronged, 
 Such season I am wont 
 These holy beads to count, 
 And pray, as I recall the grace 
 Which to her saint-like face belonged, 
 That angels good may never cease 
 To guide her gentle spirit into peace. 
 
 " Now, traveller, hie thee ere the sun 
 Sink down behind yon mountains dun, 
 Ere night her shadows weave, 
 The wanderer to deceive. 
 God speed thee on thy homeward way, 
 And may thy days rejoicing run ! 
 For me sometimes if thou would'st pray, 
 It might, perchance, this simple tale repay." 
 
PIETRO BELLA VALLE'S LAMENT. 
 
PIETRO DELIA VALLE'S LAMENT. 
 
 LIKE one forlorn, from land to land 
 
 The traveller wandered long ; 
 But aye the touch of one soft hand, 
 
 A voice of sweetest song, 
 Did haunt his dreams in broken sleep, 
 
 And round his thoughts did wreathe 
 By day ; and as he turned to weep, 
 
 His bruised heart would breathe, 
 
 w My fair Maany : 
 
 " Where'er I stray, thy lovely form 
 
 Goes with me, as whilome ; 
 But that sweet soul that had a charm 
 
 To tinge thy cheek with bloom, 
 To fill that wild, dark eye of thine 
 
 With love's resistless fire, 
 Oh! could so bright a star decline, 
 So soft a flame expire, 
 
 My fair Maany ? 
 
 " Return, sweet spirit, oh, return ! 
 Reanimate this clay ! 
 
86 PIETRO BELLA VALLEYS LAMENT. 
 
 By day and night for thee I mourn 
 Where does my birdling stray ? 
 
 My heart nought else had learnt to own 
 Than thee, when thou wert here ; 
 
 And there 's no balm since thou art gone 
 To soothe the bitter tear, 
 
 My fair Maany. 
 
 " No more shall Mosellay's 1 green bowers, 
 
 Nor dimpling Rocknebad, 2 
 Nor gorgeous Bagdad's golden towers 
 
 My sorrowing spirit glad : 
 The fleecy welkin greets my eye ; 
 
 I hear the nightingale, 
 When summer winds go moaning by, 
 Along the purple vale, 
 
 My fair Maany. 
 
 " But what are nature's beauties now, 
 
 And what the world to me, 
 Whose eyes are dimmed with blackest woe, 
 
 As though I could not see ? 
 Dark sorrow has eclipsed my joys, 
 
 A grief I cannot flee : 
 And e'er I hear a hollow voice 
 Whispering, ' Oh, where is she, 
 
 Your lost Maany ? ' 
 
 1 A garden of Shiraz. 2 A stream of Shiraz. 
 
PIETRO BELLA VALLE'S LAMENT. 87 
 
 " How oft I dream thou hov'rest near, 
 
 To calm my frantic heart ; 
 And 't is not all a dream, for here 
 
 (Alas, how still !) thou art. 
 And shall my sighs be all unheard, 
 
 Unheeded my emotion ? 
 Ob, I am lonely as a bird 
 Upon the pathless ocean, 
 
 My fair Maany ! 
 
 " I may not wake thy soul again 
 
 To life's unceasing care ; 
 To all the agony of pain 
 
 That haunts the dwellers here : 
 No ! no ! unbroken be thy rest ; 
 
 I '11 bear life's weary thrall 
 A few days more, since thou art blest, 
 My love my hope my all 
 
 My own Maany ! " 
 
SOMETS FROM THE ORIENT. 
 
 SMYRNA. 
 
 THE sunset gun has died along the sea; 
 
 It is the evening of Bairami's 1 fete ; 
 
 The torches on each tapering minaret 
 
 Flash in the rippling waters of the bay, 
 
 And languid vapor dims the droning town : 
 
 From Smyrna's dewy gardens floats the scent 
 
 Of myrtle, rose, and citron, softly blent, 
 
 Like votive incense by each zephyr blown 
 
 Round the blind minstrel's 2 cave. Since he began 
 
 His deathless song, weird city of the dead, 
 
 Aged Smyrna ! thou hast heard the busy tread 
 
 Of buried millions where the caravan 
 
 Now wends its tinkling way by Meles' stream, 
 
 Where ramparts moulder in the moonlight beam. 
 
 1 A Turkish festival.' 2 Homer. 
 
THE E O E A X . 
 
 TAYGETUS' snowy ridge, Taenarium's cape, 
 And Cythera's islet stretching far away, 
 Are purpled by the tints of dying day, 
 And the Egean heaves its glassy deep, 
 A tranquil mirror for the westering sun. 
 Time-hallowed Sea ! from shadowy isle to isle 
 Still echoeth faint the Lesbian lyre, erewhile 
 Blending with Doric song. Aye ! not alone 
 For what thou art, but for the deeds of worth 
 Done on thy shores, I love thy billows' roar, 
 Nor, exile-like, would leave thee evermore ; 
 But as the bird that flies the wintry north, 
 And with the Spring re-seeks its native dell, 
 So bid I thee, Egean wave, farewell ! 
 
SICILY. 
 
 A PLEASANT land looms up against the sky ; 
 
 Green hills and slopes, bright with perennial Spring, 
 
 And domes and airy spires, faint glittering 
 
 Through their light wreaths of seamist, greet the eye ; 
 
 While, floating wildly o'er the deep-blue sea, 
 
 The boatman's music lulls th' enchanted ear. 
 
 Sicilians island this, the sister fair 
 
 Who sweetly smiles on vine-clad Italy : 
 
 Alike the sharer of her sons of song, 
 
 Her black-eyed maids, her heroes and her arts ; 
 
 And drunk alike with blood of patriot hearts, 
 
 She rises, phoenix-like, from tyrants' wrong, 
 
 And asks thee, traveller, if thy wandering een 
 
 Have ever gazed upon a lovelier scene. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 PAGE 8. Their waving plumes and spectral steeds are gone. 
 
 Scott's " Count Eobert of Paris " presents a lively picture of 
 the appearance of the first Crusaders at Constantinople, the sen 
 sation the rude, but chivalrous, warriors produced at the Byzan 
 tine court, and the wily arts of Alexius, naturally a noble 
 monarch, but reduced by circumstances to the practice of treach 
 ery. 
 
 PAGE 14. Here thoughtful solitude reigns undisturbed. 
 The Seraglio has for three reigns been forsaken as a place of 
 residence ; its precincts, " with many a foul and midnight mur 
 der fed," are too melancholy even for the abode of royalty. 
 
 PAGE 19. Here stands a cankered brazen pillar. 
 " The space between the metes, or goals, was filled with statues 
 and obelisks ; and we may still remark a very singular fragment 
 of antiquity the bodies of three serpents twisted into one pillar 
 of brass. Their triple heads had once supported the golden tri 
 pod, which, after the defeat of Xerxes, was consecrated in the 
 temple of Delphi by the victorious Greeks." The heads of these 
 serpents have long been broken off. According to Gibbon, Mo 
 hammed II. shattered them with his iron mace on the day when 
 he captured the city. Lamartine and Von Hammer do not, how- 
 
94 NOTES. 
 
 ever, allude to this circumstance. The remaining monuments of 
 the Hippodrome are a tapering stone column, one hundred feet 
 high, once plated with brass, and an obelisk transported from 
 Egypt, in excellent preservation. 
 
 PAGE 20. Until the deep-mouthed cannon's sullen boom. 
 From one of the hills of the Bosphorus cannon proclaim to the 
 city the first appearance of fire at the same time that heralds an 
 nounce the intelligence through the streets. The fires of Stam- 
 bul possess a fearful significance, because they have been, and 
 still are, the media for expressing the public dissatisfaction with 
 the ruling ministry; such at least has been the case since the 
 Ottomans entered the capital. Lamartine finely observes, 
 " L'opinion publique asservie, mais indignee, se revela par des 
 incendies multiplies dans Constantinople, avertissements ano- 
 nymes qui prennent le feu pourvoix, et souleventle peuple par la 
 terreur et le desespoir." The conflagration raised by the Greens 
 and Blues, when " the greatest tumult known in history " shook 
 the throne of Justinian, the eight days 7 fire kindled by the Latin 
 faction in 1203, and the combustion of twenty thousand houses 
 in one night, in the reign of Selim II., are favorable specimens 
 of the talent so often displayed by Constantinople in this line. 
 
 PAGE 26. And the foam-sheaf of fountains falls, 
 
 From night to day, from day to night, etc. 
 
 " Day and night to the billow the fountain calls." 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 PAGE 29. Hangs upon the string a pearl. 
 The idea of imparting to these pearls a sympathy with the for 
 tunes of the island maidens was suggested by a tale read by the 
 author in childhood. 
 
NOTES. 95 
 
 PAGE 54. Explore, the ocean bound with ice. 
 The ladies of old time were only equalled in their exactions by 
 the docility of their lovers. The romances and legends of the 
 Middle Ages teem with examples. Out of numerous authentic 
 cases behold one. It is told of Harold Harfager, one of the great 
 est kings of Norway, that he was coolly informed by Gilda, his 
 lady-love, that the sole condition which would insure success to 
 his suit was the possession of the Norwegian sovereignty ! After 
 ten long years of hard fighting, he won the sceptre and his bride. 
 
 PAGE 55. Alas for swan-necked Edith ! 
 
 Edith, the mistress of Harold II., of England, and the person 
 who recognized his corpse on the battle-field of Hastings, was, 
 on account of her charms, surnamed swan-necked. 
 
 PAGE 65. The Bride of Brusa. 
 
 The scene of the plot being laid in that portion of Bithynia in 
 which lies Brusa the Beautiful, the title is more appropriate 
 than might at first appear. The poem was suggested by the fol 
 lowing legend, related by Von Hammer: Osman, the founder of 
 the Ottoman Empire, when first building up his fortunes, formed 
 a politic alliance with the lord of Bilodjik. One article of the 
 treaty was that Osman, when he went to war, should have the 
 liberty of depositing his treasures in the castle of his ally. Af 
 ter subduing the neighboring chieftains, he sought to seize Biled- 
 jik. An opportunity offered, on the departure of its unsuspect 
 ing master, to wed the daughter of a Greek chieftain. Osman 
 captured the castle by the stratagem described in the poem, and 
 fell upon the bridal train. The bridegroom was slain, and Nilou- 
 fer his bride given to Orchan, the son and heir of Osmaa. It will 
 
96 NOTES. 
 
 be observed that some liberties have been taken with the legend, 
 not so much to be deprecated, since even the historians present 
 a woful discrepancy in their account of this affair. The earth 
 quake is described from personal experience. The region of 
 Brusa is notorious for its volcanic phenomena. Elene, the name 
 of the heroine, and the Greek for Helen, is properly divisible 
 into three syllables. It has been thought best partially to An 
 glicize it by silencing the last vowel. 
 
 PAGE 85. - Pietro Delia Vall^s Lament. 
 Pietro Delia Valle, a celebrated Italian traveller of the seven 
 teenth century, married a beautiful Nestorian lady of Bagdad, 
 who accompanied him on his travels. At the age of twenty-one, 
 death snatched her from his arms. A total change now came 
 over the mind of Delia Valle, and a cloud, black as Erebus, 
 descended upon his soul. He resolved that she should not be 
 laid in Persia, where he could nevermore visit her grave. He 
 therefore contrived to have the body embalmed; then, enclos 
 ing it in a coffin, placed it in a travelling-chest, that wherever 
 destiny should guide him, the dear remains of his Maany might 
 accompany him to the grave. 
 
 PAGE 89. Round the blind minstrel's cave. 
 Seven places of antiquity were emulous for the honor of being 
 the birthplace of Homer, the reputed son of Mseon. The claims of 
 Smyrna were the most plausible. There, before setting out on 
 his travels, he blended the bitter with the sweet, by undertaking 
 the trials of schoolmaster, and paying his devotions to the Muses. 
 Tradition still points to a cave in the vicinity of Smyrna as one of 
 his favorite retreats. 
 
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