Whether we lay in the cave or the shed,
Our sleep fell soft on the hardest bed;
Whether we couch'd in our rough capote,(1)
On the rougher plank of our gliding boat,
Or stretch'd on the beach, or our saddles spread
As a pillow beneath the resting head,
Fresh we woke upon the morrow:

All our thoughts and words had scope,
We had health, and we had hope,
Toil and travel, bat no sorrow.
We were of all tongues and creeds ;-
Some were those who counted beads,
Some of mosque, and some of church,

And some, or I mis-say, of neither;
Yet through the wide world might ye search,

Nor find a motlier crew nor blither.
Bat some are dead, and some are gone,
And some are scatter'd and alone,
And some are rebels on the hills (2)

That look along Epirus’ valleys,

Where freedom still at moments rallies, And pays in blood oppression's ills;

And some are in a far countree, And some all restlessly at home;

But never more, oh! never, we Shall meet to revel and to roam.

Many a vanish'd year and age,
And tempest's breath, and battle's rage,
Have swept o'er (orinth; yet she stands,
A fortress form'd to Freedom's hands.(3)
The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock,
Have left untouch'd her hoary rock,
The keystone of a land, which still,
Though fall’n, looks proudly on that hill;
The landmark to the double tide
That purpling rolls on either side,
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, (4)
Or baffled Persia's despot fled,
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,
Who perish'd there, be piled again,
That rival pyramid would rise
More mountain-like, through those clear skies,
Than yon tower-capp'd Acropolis,
Which seems the very clouds to kiss. (5)

On dun Cithæron'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 pitch'd, the crescent shines
Along the Moslem's leaguering lines;
And the dusk Spahi's bands (6) advance
Beneath each bearded pacha's glance;
And far and wide as eye can reach
The turban'd cohorts throng the beach;
And there the Arab's camel kneels,
And there his steed the Tartar wheels;

But those hardy days flew cheerily!
And when they now fall drearily,
My thoughts, like swallows, skim the main,
And bear my spirit back again
Over the earth, and through the air,
A wild bird and a wanderer.
'Tis this that ever wakes my strain,
And oft, too oft, implores again
The few who may endure my lay,
To follow me so far away.
Stranger-wilt thou follow now,
And sit with me on Acro-Corinth's brow?

the eye than to the ear, and in fact not greater than was threat of forbearing further adventure for a time, the publi admitted in some of tbe most delicious of the lyrical mea eagerly pardoned the breach of a promise by keeping whicl sures of the ancient Greeks,-LE.

they must have been sufferers. Exquisitely beautiful in U h one of his sea excursions, Lord Byron was nearly themselves, these tales received a new charm from th lost in a Turkish ship of war, owing to the ignorance of romantic climes into which they introduced us, and fron the captain and crew. "Fletcher," he says, “ yelled; the the oriental costume so strictly preserved and so pictu | Greeks called on all the saints; the Mussulmans on Alla; resquely exhibited. Greece, the cradle of the poetry wit while the captain burst into tears, and ran below deck. i which our earliest studies are familiar, was presented to u did what I could to console Fletcher ; but finding him in among her ruins and her sorrows. Her delightful scenery corrigible, I wrapped myself up in my Albanian capote, and once dedicated to those deities who, though dethroned fror lay down to wait the worst." Tbis striking instance of the their own Olympus, still preserve a poetical empire, wa poet's coolness and courage is thus confirmed by Mr. Hob. spread before us in Lord Byron's poetry, varied by all th bouse :-"Finding that, from his lameness, he was unable moral effect derived from what Greece is and what she ha to be of any service in the exertions which our very serious been, while it was doubled by comparisons, perpetually ex danger called for, after a laugb or two at the panic of his cited, between the philosophers and heroes who formerl Salet, be aot only wrapped himself up and lay down, in the inhabited that romantic country, and their descendant manner he has described, but when our difficulties were who either stoop to their Scythian conquerors, or maintain terminated was found fast asleep."-L. E.

among the recesses of their classical mountains, an inde 14) The last tidings recently heard of Dervish (one of the pendence as wild and savage as it is precarious. The orienta Arnaonts who followed me) state him to be in revolt upon manners, also, and diction, so peculiar in their picturesqu the mountains, at the head of some of the bands common effect that they can cast a charm even over the absurditie in that country in times of trouble.

of an eastern tale, had here the more honourable occupa In the original MS

tion of decorating that which in itself was beautifnl, an *A marvel from her Moslem bands."-L.E.

enhancing by novelty what would have been captivatin 1) Timoleon, who had saved the life of his brother Ti. without its aid. The powerful impression produced by th mopbanes in battle, afterwards killed him for aiming at the peculiar species of poetry confirmed us in a principl supreme power in Corinth, preferring his duty to his country which, though it will hardly be challenged when stated : ! to all the obligation of blood. Dr. Warton says, that Pope an axiom, is very rarely complied with in practice. It i ence intended to write an epic poem on the story, and that that every author should, like Lord Byron, form to himsel br. Atenside had the same design.-L.E.

and communicate to the reader, a precise, defined, and di (5) "The Giaour, the Bride of Abydos, the Corsair, Lara, tinct view of the landscape, sentiment, or action, which I se Siege of Corinth, followed each other with a celerity, I intends to describe to the reader." Sir Walter Scott.-L. which was only is auch was only rivalled by their success; and if at times (6) Turkish holders of military fiefs which oblige them

author seemed to pause in his poetic career, with the join the army, mounted at their own expense.-L.E.

'Gainst which he rear'd the crescent high, And battled to avenge or die.

The Turcoman hath left his herd,(1)
The sabre round his loins to gird;
And there the volleying thunders pour
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;
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.

But near and nearest to the wall
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 that ever stood
Triumphant in the fields of blood;
From post to post, and deed to deed,
Fast spurring on his reeking steed,
Where sallying ranks the trench assail,
And make the foremost Moslem quail;
Or where the battery, guarded well,
Remains as yet impregnable,
Alighting cheerly to inspire
The soldier slackening in his fire;
The first and freshest of the host
Which Stamboul's sultan there can boast,
To guide the follower o'er the field,
To point the tube, the lance to wield,
Or whirl around the bickering blade ;-
Was Alp, the Adrian renegade!

Coumourgi (2)—he whose closing scene Adorn'd the triumph of Eugene, When on Carlowitz' bloody plain, The last and mightiest of the slain, He sank, regretting not to die, But cursed the Christian's victoryCoumourgi--can his glory cease, That latest conqueror of Greece, Till Christian hands to Greece restore The freedom Venice gave of yore? A hundred years have rollid away Since he refix'd the Moslem's sway, And now he led the Mussulman, And gave the guidance of the van To Alp, who well repaid the trust By cities levell’d with the dust; And proved, by many a deed of death, How firm his heart in novel faith.

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The walls grew weak; and fast and hot ' Against them pour'd the ceaseless shot, 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 Was fired before the exploding bomb; And as the fabric sank beneath The shattering shell's volcanic breath, In red and wreathing columns flash'd The flame, as loud the ruin crash'd, 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 To one wide sky of sulphurous hue.


From Venice-once a race of worth
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.
Through many a change had Corinth pass'd
With Greece to Venice' rule at last;
And here, before her walls, with those
To Greece and Venice equal foes,
He stood a foe, with all the zeal
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;"
And in the palace of St. Mark
Unnamed accusers in the dark
Within the “Lion's mouth” had placed
A charge against him uneffaced :
He fled in time, and saved his life,
To waste his future years in strife,
That taught his land how great her loss
In him who triumph'd o'er the cross,

VII. But not for vengeance, long delay'd, Alone, did Alp, the renegade, The Moslem warriors sternly teach His skill to pierce the promised breach; 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, Her virgin hand aspired to claim. In happier mood, and earlier time, While unimpeach'd for traitorous crime, Gayest in gondola or hall, He glitter'd through the carnival;

(1) The life of the Turcomans is wandering and patri. | His last order was the decapitation of General Breuner archal: they dwell in tents,

some other German prisoners : and his last words, (2) Ali Coumourgi, the favourite of three Sultans, and that I could thus serve all the Christian dogs!" & spe Grand Vizier to Achmet Ul., after recovering Peloponnesus and act not unlike one of Caligula. He was a young from the Venetians in one campaign, was mortally wounded of great ambition and unbounded presumption : on in the next, against the Germans, at the battle of Peter. told that Prince Eugene, then opposed to him, “was. waradin (in the plain of Carlowitz), in Hungary, endeavour. Feneral,” he said, “I shall become a greater, and ing to rally his guards. He died of his wounds next day. expense.”

And tuned the softest serenade
That e'er on Adria's waters play'd
At midnight to Italian maid. (1)

And many deem'd her heart was won;
For sought by numbers, given to none,
Had young Francesca's hand remain'd
Still by the church's bonds unchain'd:
And when the Adriatic bore
Lanciotto to the Paynim shore,
Her wonted smiles were seen to fail,
And pensive wax'd the maid and pale;
More constant at confessional,
More rare at mask and festival;
Or seen at such with downcast eyes,
Which conquer'd hearts they ceased to prize :
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
Breaks, yet unsated with the dance.

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, The chiefs of Venice wrung away From Patra, to Euboea's bay) Minotti held in Corinth's towers The Doge's delegated powers, While yet the pitying eye of Peace 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 Forsook her lord and land, to prove What woes await on lawless love, , Had fairer form adorn'd the shore Than she, the matchless stranger, bore.

Bespangled with those isles of light,
So wildly, spiritually bright;
Who ever gazed upon them shining
And turn'd to earth without repining,
Nor wish'd for wings to flee away,
And mix with their eternal ray?
The waves on either shore lay there
Calm, clear, and azure as the air;
And scarce their foam the pebbles shook,
But murmur'd meekly as the brook.
The winds were pillow'd on the waves;
The banners droop'd along their staves,
And, as they fell around them furling,
Above them shone the crescent curling;
And that deep silence was unbroke,
Save where the watch his sigual spoke,
Save where the steed neigh'd oft and shrill,
And echo answer'd from the bill;
And the wide hum of that wild host
Rustled like leaves from coast to coast,
As rose the muezzin's voice in air
In midnight call to wonted prayer;
It rose, that chanted mournful strain,
Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain :
'T was musical, but sadly sweet,
Such as when winds and harp-strings meet,
And take a long unmeasured tone,
To mortal minstrelsy unknown. (2)
It seem'd to those within the wall
A cry prophetic of their fall :
It struck even the besieger's ear
With something ominous and drear,
An andefined and sudden thrill,
Which makes the heart a moment still,
Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed
Of that strange sense its silence framed;
Such as a sudden passing-bell
Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell. (3)


The wall is rent, the ruins yawn;
And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn,
O'er the disjointed mass shall vault
The foremost of the fierce assault.
The bands are rank'd; the chosen van
Of Tartar and of Mussulman,
The full of hope, misnamed “forlorn,"
Who hold the thought of death in scorn,
And win their way with falchion's force,
Or pave the path with many a corse,
O'er which the following brave may rise,
Their stepping-stone-the last who dies !

XI. 'Tis midnight: on the mountains brown The cold round moon shines deeply down; Blue roll the waters, blue the sky Spreads like an ocean hung on high, (U) In the MS,

" In midnight courtship to Italian maid." -L. E. (2) In the MS.

"And make a melancholy moan,

To mortal voice and ear unknown."-LE

The tent of Alp was on the shore;
The sound was hush'd, the prayer was o'er;
The watch was set, the night-round made,
All mandates issued and obey'd:
'T is but another anxious night,
His pains the morrow may requite
With all revenge and love can pay,
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
He stood alone among the host;
Not his the loud fanatic buast
To plant the crescent o'er the cross,
Or risk a life with little loss,
Secure in paradise to be
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. (3) In the MS.

“Which rings a deep internal knell,
A visionary passing.bell." -L.E.

He stood alone-a renegade
Against the country he betray'd;
He stood alone amidst his band,
Without a trusted heart or hand:
They follow'd him, for he was brave,
And great the spoil he got and gave;
They crouch'd 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.
They envied even the faithless fame
He earn'd beneath a Moslem name;
Since he, their mightiest chief, had been
In youth a bitter Nazarene.
They did not know how pride can stoop,
When baffled feelings withering droop;
They did not know how hate can burn
In hearts once changed from soft to stern;
Nor all the false and fatal zeal
The convert of revenge can feel.
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, (1)
Then on the vulgar yelling press,
To gorge the relics of success,

His head grows fever'd, and his pulse
The quick successive throbs convulse;
In vain from side to side he throws
His form, in courtship of repose; (2)
Or if he dozed, a sound, a start
Awoke him with a sunken heart.
The turban on his hot brow press'd,
The mail weigh'd lead-like on his breast,
Though oft and long beneath its weight
Upon his eyes had slumber sate,
Without or couch or canopy,
Except a rougher field and sky
Than now might yield a warrior's bed,
Than now along the heaven was spread.
He could not rest, he could not stay
Within his tent to wait for day,
But walk'd him forth along the sand,
Where thousand sleepers strew'd the strand,
What pillow'd them ? and why should he
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 pass'd
A night of sleep, perchance their last,
In sickly vigil wander'd on,
And envied all he gazed upon

He felt his soul become more light
Beneath the freshness of the night.
Cool was the silent sky, though calm,
And bathed his brow with airy balm:
Behind, the camp---before him lay,

In many a winding creek and bay, (1) In the MS.

"As lions o'er the jackal sway,
By springing dauntless on the prey;
They follow on, and yelling press

To gorge the fragments of success."-L (2) In the MS.

He vainly turn'd from side to side,
And each reposing posture tried."-LE.

Lepanto's gulf; and, on the brow
Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow,
High and eternal, such as shone
Through thousand summers brightly gone,
Along the gulf, the mount, the clime
It will not melt, like man, to time:
Tyrant and slave are swept away,
Less form'd to wear before the ray;
Bat that white veil, the lightest, frailest,
Which on the mighty mount thou bailest,
While tower and tree are torn and rent,
Shines o'er its craggy battlement;
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 linger'd on the spot, where long
Her prophet spirit spake in song.
Oh! still her step at moments falters
O'er wither'd fields, and ruin'd altars.
And fain would wake, in souls too broken,
By pointing to each glorious token:
Bat vain her voice, till better days
Dawn in those yet remember'd rays
Which shone upon the Persian flying,
And saw the Spartan smile in dying:

Not mindless of these mighty times
Was Alp, despite his flight and crimes;
And through this night, as on he wander'd,
And o'er the past and present ponder'd,
And thought upon the glorious dead
Who there in better cause had bled,
He felt how faint and feebly dim
The fame that could accrue to him,
Who cheer'd the band, and waved the sword,
A traitor in a turban'd horde;
And led them to the lawless siege,
Whose best success were sacrilege:
Not so had those his fancy number'd,
The chiefs whose dust around him slumber'd;
Their phalanx marshall’d on the plain,
Whose bulwarks were not then in vain.
They fell devoted, but undying;
The very gale their names seem'd sighing:
The waters murmur'd of their name;
The woods were peopled with their fame;
The silent pillar, lone and grey,
Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay;
Their spirits wrapp'd the dusky mountain,
Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain;
The meanest rill, the mightiest river
Rollid mingling with their fame for ever.
Despite of every yoke she bears,
That land is Glory's still and theirs!(3)
"Tis still a watch-word to the earth.
When man would do a deed of worth
He points to Greece, and turns to tread,
So sanction'd, on the tyrant's head:
He looks to her, and rushes on
Where life is lost, or freedom won. (4)
(3) Here follows, in the MS.-

" Immortal-boundless-undecay'd ;

Their souls the yery soil pervade."-LE. (4) In the MS.-

" Where Freedom loveliest may be won."

And Alp knew, by the turbans that rollid on the sand, XVI.

The foremost of these were the best of his band: Still by the shore Alp mutely mused,

Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear, And woo'd the freshness Night diffused.

And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair,(6) There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea, (1) All the rest was shaven and bare : Which changeless rolls eternally;

The scalps were in the wild dog's maw, So that wildest of waves, in their angriest mood, The hair was tangled round his jaw. Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a rood; But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf, And the powerless moon beholds them flow There sat a vulture flapping a wolf, Heedless if she come or go:

Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away, Calm or high, in main or bay,

Scared by the dogs, from the human prey; On their course she hath no sway.

But he seized ou his share of a steed that lay,
The rock unworn its base doth bare,

Pick'd by the birds, on the sands of the bay.
And looks o'er the surf, but it comes not there;
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

Alp turn'd him from the sickening sight:
Between it and the greener land.

Never had shaken bis nerves in fight;
But he better could brook to behold the dying,

Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying, (7)
He wander'd on, along the beach,

Scorch'd with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain, Til within the range of a carbine's reach

Than the perishing dead who are past all pain. (8) Of the leaguer'd wall: but they saw him not,

There is something of pride in the perilous hour, Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot? (2) Whate'er be the shape in which death may lower; Did traitors lurk in the Christian's hold? cold?

For Fame is there to say who bleeds,
Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts war'd | And Honour's eye on daring deeds!
I know not, in sooth; but from yonder wall

But when all is past, it is humbling to tread
There flash'd no fire, and there hiss'd no ball, O’er the weltering field of the tombless dead, (9)
Thoagh he stood beneath the bastion's frown, And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air,
That flank'd the sea-ward gate of the town;

Beasts of the forest, all gathering there;
Though he heard the sound, and could almost tell | All regarding man as their prey,
The sullen words of the sentinel,

All rejoicing in his decay. (10)
As his measured step on the stone below
Clank'd, as he paced it to and fro;

And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall
Hold o'er the dead their carnival, (3)

There is a temple in ruin stands,
Gargang and growling o'er carcass and limb;

Fashion'd by long-forgotten hands; They were too busy to bark at him!

Two or three columns, and many a stone, From a Tartar's skull they had stripp'd the flesh, Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown! As se peel the fig when its fruit is fresh;

Out upon Time! it will leave no more And their white tasks crunch'do'er the whiter skull, (4) Of the things to come than the things before!(11) As it slipp'd through their jaws, when their edge grew Out upon Time! who for ever will leave As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, [dull, But enough of the past for the future to grieve When they scarce could rise from the spot where O'er that which hath been, and o'er that which must be:

What we have seen, our sons shall see; So well had they broken a lingering fast

Remnants of things that have pass'd away, With those who had fallen for that night's repast.(5) | Fragments of stone, rear’d by creatures of clay!(12)

they fed;

!) The reader need hardly be reminded that there are (7) “Than the mangled corpse in its own blood lying." sa perceptible tides in the Mediterranean.

Gifford.-L. E. (2) In the MS.

(8) Strike out

"Scorch'd with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain, Or would not waste on a single head

Than the perishing dead who are past all pain."
The ball, on numbers better sped."-LE.

“What is a perishing dead?'» Gifford.-L.E. (3) "Omit the rest of this section." Gifford.-L. E. (9) “O'er the weltering limbs of the tombless dead.” (9) This spectacle I have seen, such as described, beneath | Gifford.-L.E. the wall of the Seraglio at Constantinople, in the little ca (10) In the MS.nities worn by the Bosphorus in the rock, a narrow terrace

“All that liveth on man will prey, Ter which projects between the wall and the water. I think

All rejoice in his decay, le fact is also mentioned in Hobhouse's Travels. The

All that can kindle dismay and disgust ses were probably those of some refractory janizaries.

Follow his frame from the bier to the dust."-LE

(11) “Omit this couplet.” Gifford.-L. E. !" The sensations produced by the state of the weather, and leaving a comfortable cabin were,” says Mr. Hobhouse,

After this follows in the MS.in unison with the impressions which we felt when, pass

" Monuments, that the coming age under the palace of the sultans and gazing at the

Leaves to the spoil of the season's rage

Till Ruin makes the relics scarce. Liamy cypresses which rise above the walls, we saw two

Then Learning acts her solemn farce, Saya gnawing a dead body."-P. E.)

And, roaming through the marble waste, 5) This passage shows the force of Lord Byron's pencil."

Prates of beauty, art, and taste. Jeffrey.-L.Ė.


“That temple was more in the midst of the plain, $ This taft, or long lock. is left from a superstition

What of that shrine did yet remain that Mahomet will draw them into paradise hy it.

Lay to his left-- "-L.E.

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