THE&BRIDE&OF&ABYDOS.
THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.
A TURKISH TALE.
"Had we never loved sae
kindly,Had we never loved sae
blindly,Never met—or never
parted,We had ne'er been
broken-hearted."—
Burns [Farewell to
INTRODUCTION TO THE THE BRIDE OF
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Many poets—Wordsworth, for
instance—have been conscious in their old age that an interest
attaches to the circumstances of the composition of their poems,
and have furnished their friends and admirers with explanatory
notes. Byron recorded the motif and occasion of the Bride
of Abydos while the poem was still in the press. It was
written, he says, to divert his mind, "to wring his thoughts from
reality to imagination—from selfish regrets to vivid recollections"
(Diary, December 5, 1813, Letters, ii. 361), "to
distract his dreams from ..." (Diary, November 16) "for the
sake of employment" (Letter to Moore, November 30, 1813). He
had been staying during part of October and November at Aston Hall,
Rotherham, with his friend James Wedderburn Webster, and had fallen
in love with his friend's wife, Lady Frances. From a brief note to
his sister, dated November 5, we learn that he was in a scrape, but
in "no immediate peril," and from the lines, "Remember him, whom
Passion's power" (vide ante, ), we may infer that he had sought safety in flight. The
Bride of Abydos, or Zuleika, as it was first
entitled, was written early in November, "in four nights"
(Diary, November 16), or in a week (Letter to Gifford,
November 12)—the reckoning goes for little—as a counter-irritant to
the pain and distress of amour interrompu.
The confession or apology is eminently characteristic. Whilst
the Giaour was still in process of evolution, still
"lengthening its rattles," another Turkish poem is offered to the
public, and the natural explanation, that the author is in vein,
and can score another trick, is felt to be inadequate and
dishonouring—"To withdraw myself from myself," he
confides to his Diary(November 27), "has ever been my sole,
my entire, my sincere motive for scribbling at all."
It is more than probable that in his twenty-sixth year Byron had
not attained to perfect self-knowledge, but there is no reason to
question his sincerity. That Byron loved to surround himself with
mystery, and to dissociate himself from "the general," is true
but it does not follow that at all times and under all
circumstances he was insincere. "Once a poseur always a
poseur" is a rough-and-ready formula not invariably
applicable even to a poet.
But the Bride of Abydos was a tonic as well as a styptic.
Like the Giaour, it embodied a personal experience, and
recalled "a country replete with the darkest and
brightest, but always the most lively colours of my
memory" (Diary, December 5, 1813).
In a letter to Galt (December 11, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 304,
reprinted from Life of Byron, pp. 181, 182) Byron maintains
that the first part of the Bride was drawn from
"observations" of his own, "from existence." He had, it would
appear, intended to make the story turn on the guilty love of a
brother for a sister, a tragic incident of life in a Harem, which
had come under his notice during his travels in the East, but "on
second thoughts" had reflected that he lived "two centuries at
least too late for the subject," and that not even the authority of
the "finest works of the Greeks," or of Schiller (in the Bride
of Messina), or of Alfieri (in Mirra), "in modern
times," would sanction the intrusion of the μισητ&#8056;ν into English literature. The early drafts
and variants of the MS. do not afford any evidence of this
alteration of the plot which, as Byron thought, was detrimental to
the poem as a work of art, but the undoubted fact that the Bride
of Abydos, as well as the Giaour, embody recollections
of actual scenes and incidents which had burnt themselves into the
memory of an eye-witness, accounts not only for the fervent heat at
which these Turkish tales were written, but for the extraordinary
glamour which they threw over contemporary readers, to whom the
local colouring was new and attractive, and who were not out of
conceit with "good Monsieur Melancholy."
Byron was less dissatisfied with his second Turkish tale than he
had been with the Giaour. He apologizes for the rapidity
with which it had been composed—stans pede in uno—but he
announced to Murray (November 20) that "he was doing his best to
beat the Giaour," and (November 29) he appraises the
Bride as "my first entire composition of any length."
Moreover, he records (November 15), with evident gratification,
the approval of his friend Hodgson, "a very sincere and by no means
(at times) a flattering critic of mine," and modestly accepts the
praise of such masters of letters as "Mr. Canning," Hookham Frere,
Heber, Lord Holland, and of the traveller Edward Daniel Clarke.
The Bride of Abydos was advertised in the Morning
Chronicle, among "Books published this day," on November 29,
1813. It was reviewed by George Agar Ellis in the Quarterly
Review of January, 1814 (vol. x. p. 331), and, together with
the Corsair, by Jeffrey in the Edinburgh Review of
April, 1814 (vol. xxiii. p. 198).
NOTE TO THE MSS. OF THE BRIDE OF
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The MSS. of the Bride of
Abydos are contained in a bound volume, and in two packets of
loose sheets, numbering thirty-two in all, of which eighteen
represent additions, etc., to the First C and fourteen
additions, etc., to the Second Canto.
The bound volume consists of a rough copy and a fair copy of the
first draft of the Bride; the fair copy beginning with the
sixth stanza of Canto I.
The "additions" in the bound volume consist of—
1. Stanza xxviii. of Canto II.—here called "Conclusion"
(fifty-eight lines). And note on "Sir Orford's Letters."
2. Eight lines beginning, "Eve saw it placed," at the end of
stanza xxviii.
3. An emendation of six lines to stanza v. of Canto II., with
reference to the comboloio, the Turkish rosary.
4. Forty additional lines to stanza xx. of Canto II., beginning,
"For thee in those bright isles," and being the first draft of the
addition as printed in the Revises of November 13, etc.
5. Stanza xxvii. of Canto II., twenty-eight lines.
6. Ten additional lines to stanza xxvii., "Ah!
happy!"—"depart."
7. Affixed to the rough Copy in stanza xxviii., fifty-eight
lines, here called "Continuation." This is the rough Copy of No.
The eighteen loose sheets of additions to Canto I. consist
1. The Dedication.
2. Two revisions of "Know ye the land."
3. Seven sheets, Canto I. stanzas i.-v., being the commencement
of the Fair Copy in the bound volume.
4. Two sheets of the additional twelve lines to Canto I. stanza
vi., "Who hath not proved,"—"Soul."
5. Four sheets of notes to Canto I. stanza vi., dated November
20, November 22, 1813.
6. Two sheets of notes to stanza xvi.
7. Sixteen additional lines to stanza xiii.
The fourteen additional sheets to Canto II. consist of—
1. Ten lines of stanza iv., and four lines of stanza xvii.
2. Two lines and note of stanza v.
3. Sheets of additions, etc., to stanza xx. (eight sheets).
(α) Eight lines, "Or, since that hope,"—"thy command."
(β) "For thee in those bright isles" (twenty-four lines).
(γ) "For thee," etc. (thirty-six lines).
(δ) "Blest as the call" (three variants).
(ε) "For thee in those bright isles" (seven lines).
(ζ) Fourteen lines, "There ev'n thy soul,"—"Zuleika's name,"
"Aye—let the loud winds,"—"bars escape," additional to stanza
4. Two sheets of five variants of "Ah! wherefore did he turn to
look?" being six additional lines to stanza xxv.
5. Thirty-five lines of stanza xxvi.
6. Ten lines, "Ah! happy! but,"—"depart." And eleven lines,
"Woe to thee, rash,"—"hast shed," being a continuous addition to
stanza xxvii.
Endorsed—
i. November 13,
1813.ii. November 15,
1813.iii. November 16,
1813.iv. November 18,
1813.v. November 19,
1813.vi. November 21,
1813.vii. November 23,
1813.viii. November 24, 1813. A wrong
date,ix. November 25,
1813.x. An imperfect revise = Nos.
THE RIGHT HONOURABLELORD HOLLAND,
IS INSCRIBED, WITH
EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD
AND RESPECT,
BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED
AND SINCERE FRIEND,
THE BRIDE OF
Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their
clime?Where the rage of the vulture,
the love of the turtle,Now melt into
sorrow, now madden to crime?Know ye
the land of the cedar and vine,Where
the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever
Where the light wings of
Zephyr, oppressed with perfume,Wax
faint o'er the gardens of G&l
Where the citron
and olive are fairest of fruit,And
the voice of the night
the tints of the earth, and the hues of the
sky,In colour though varied, in
beauty may vie,And the purple of
OceWhere the
virgins are soft as the roses they twine,And all, save the spirit of man, is
divine—Tis the clime of the East—'tis
the land of the Sun—Can he smile on
such deeds as his children have done?
Oh! wild as the accents of lovers'
Are the hearts which they bear, and the
tales which they tell.
Begirt with many a gallant
slave,20Apparelled as becomes the brave,Awaiting each his Lord's behestTo guide his steps, or guard his
rest,Old Giaffir sate in his
Divan:Deep thought was in his ag&d
And though the face of
MussulmanNot oft betrays to standers
by The mind within, well
skilled to hideAll but unconquerable
pride,His pensive cheek and pondering
Did more than he was wont
"Let the chamber be
cleared."—The train disappeared—"Now
call me the chief of the Haram guard"—With Giaffir is none but his only
son,And the Nubian awaiting the
sire's award."Haroun—when all the
crowd that waitAre passed beyond the
outer gate,(Woe to the head whose eye
beheldMy child Zuleika's face
unveiled!)Hence, lead my daughter
from her tower—40
Her fate is fixed this very
Yet not to her repeat my
thought—By me alone be duty
"Pacha! to hear is to
obey."—No more must slave to despot
say—Then to the tower had ta'en his
way:But here young Selim silence
brake,First lowly rendering reverence
And downcast looked, and gently
spake,Still standing at the Pacha's
feet:50For son of Moslem must expire,Ere dare to sit before his sire!
"Father! for fear that thou shouldst
chideMy sister, or her sable
guide—Know—for the fault, if fault
there be,Was mine—then fall thy
frowns on me!So lovelily the morning
shone,That—let the old and weary
sleep—I and to view
aloneThe fairest scenes of land and
deep,60With none to listen and replyTo
thoughts with which my heart beat highWere irksome—for whate'er my mood,In sooth II
on Zuleika's slumber broke,And, as
thou knowest that for meSoon turns
the Haram's grating key,Before the
guardian slaves awokeWe to the
cypress groves had flown,And made
earth, main, and heaven our own!70There lingered we,
beguiled too longWith Mejnoun's tale,
Till I, who heard the deep tambour
Beat thy Divan's approaching
hour,To thee, and to my duty
true,Warned by the sound, to greet
thee flew:But there Zuleika wanders
yet—Nay, Father, rage not—nor
forget That none can pierce
that secret bowerBut those who watch
the women's tower."80
"Son of a slave"—the Pacha
said—"From unbelieving mother
bred,Vain were a father's hope to
seeAught that beseems a man in
thee.Thou, when thine arm should bend
the bow,And hurl the dart, and curb
the steed,Thou, Greek in soul if not
in creed,Must pore where babbling
waters flow,
And watch unfolding roses
blow.Would that yon Orb, whose matin
glow90Thy listless eyes so much admire,Would lend thee something of his
fire!Thou, who woulds't see this
battlementBy Christian cannon
Nay, tamely view old
Stambol's wallBefore the dogs of
Moscow fall,Nor strike one stroke for
life and deathAgainst the curs of
Nazareth!Go—let thy less than woman's
handAssume the distaff—not the
brand.100But, Haroun!—to my daughter speed:And hark—of thine own head take heed—If thus Zuleika oft takes wing—Thou see'st yon bow—it hath a string!"
No sound from Selim's lip was
heard,At least that met old Giaffir's
ear,But every frown and every
word Pierced keener than a
Christian's sword."Son of a
slave!—reproached with fear!Those
gibes had cost another dear.110Son of a
slave!—and who my Sire?"Thus
held his thoughAnd glances ev'n of more than ire
Flash forth, then faintly
disappear.Old Giaffir gazed upon his
sonA for within his
eyeHe read how much his wrath had
He saw rebellion there
begun:"Come hither, boy—what, no
reply?I mark thee—and I know thee
120But there be deeds thou dar'st not
do:But if thy beard had manlier
length,And if thy hand had skill and
strength,I'd joy to see thee break a
lance,Albeit against my own
perchance."As sneeringly these
accents fell,On Selim's eye he
fiercely gazed:That eye returned him
glance for glance,And proudly to his
Sire's was raised,
Till Giaffir's quailed and shrunk
askance—130And why—he felt, but durst not tell."Much I misdoubt this wayward boyWill one day work me more annoy:I never loved him from his birth,And—but his arm is little worth,And scarcely in the chase could copeWith timid fawn or antelope,Far
less would venture into strifeWhere
man contends for fame and life—I would
not trust that look or tone:140No—nor the blood
so near my own.
That blood—he hath not heard—no
more—I'll watch him closer than
before.He is an Arab
to my sight,Or Christian crouching in
the fight—
But hark!—I hear Zuleika's
Like Houris' hymn it meets mine
ear:She is the offspring of my
Oh! more than ev'n her mother
dear,With all to hope, and nought to
fear—150My Peri! ever welcome here!
Sweet, as the desert fountain's
waveTo lips just cooled in time to
save—Such to my longing sight art
Nor can they waft to Mecca's
shrineMore thanks for life, than I
for thine,Who blest thy birth and
bless thee now."
Fair, as the first that fell
of womankind,When on that dread yet
lovely serpent smiling,Whose Image
then was stamped upon her mind—160But once
beguiled—andDazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent
visionTo Sorrow's phantom-peopled
slumber given,When heart meets heart
again in dreams Elysian,And paints
the lost on Earth revived in HSoft, as the m
Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts
Was she—the daughter of that
rude old Chief,Who met the maid with
tears—but not of grief.
Who hath not proved how feebly
words essay170
To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly
ray?Who doth not feel, until his
failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own
delight,His changing cheek, his
sinking heart confessThe might—the
majesty of Loveliness?Such was
Zuleika—such around her shoneThe
nameless charms unmarked by her alone—The light of Love, the purity of Grace,
The mind, the Music
breathing from her face,The
heart whose softness harmonized the whole,180And oh! that eye
was in itself a Soul!
Her graceful arms in meekness
bendingAcross her gently-budding
At one kind word those arms
extendingTo clasp the neck of him who
blestHis child caressing and
carest,Zuleika came—and Giaffir
feltHis purpose half within him
melt:Not that against her fancied
wealHis heart though stern could ever
190Affection chainAmbition tore the links apart.
"Zuleika! child of
Gentleness!How dear this very day
must tell,When I forget my own
distress,In losing what I love so
well, To bid thee with
another dwell:Another! and a braver
manWas never seen in battle's
van.We Moslem reck not much of
blood:200But yet the line of Carasman
Unchanged, unchangeable hath
stoodFirst of the bold Timariot
bandsThat won and well can keep their
Enough that he who comes to woo
Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou:
His years need scarce a thought
I would not have thee wed a
boy.And thou shalt have a noble
dower:And his and my united
power210Will laugh to scorn the death-firman,Which others tremble but to scan,
And teach the messenger
what fateThe bearer of such boon may
wait.And now thou know'st thy
father'All that thy sex hath
need to know:'Twas mine to teach
obedience still—The way to love, thy
Lord may show."
In silence bowed the virgin's
And if her eye was filled with
tears220That stifled feeling dare not shed,And changed her cheek from pale to
red,And red to pale, as through her
earsThose wing&d words like arrows
sped,What could such be but maiden
fears?So bright the tear in Beauty's
eye,Love half regrets to kiss it
So sweet the blush of
Bashfulness,Even Pity scarce can wish
Whate'er it was the sire
forgot:230Or if remembered,Thrice clapped his hands, and called his steed,
Resigned his gem-adorned chibouque,
And mounting featly for
the mead,With Maugrabeel
and Mamaluke,His way amid his Delis
To witness many an active
deedWith sabre keen, or blunt
jerreed.The Kislar only and his
Watch well the Haram's massy
His head was leant upon his
hand,His eye looked o'er the dark
blue waterThat swiftly glides and
gently swellsBetween the winding
DBut yet he saw nor sea
nor strand,Nor even his Pacha's
turbaned bandMix in the game of mimic
slaughter,Careering cleave the folded
With sabre stroke right sharply
Nor marked the javelin-darting
crowd,250Nor heard their Ollahs
wild and loud—He thought but of old
Giaffir's daughter!
No word from Selim's
One sigh Zuleika's
thought bespoke:Still gazed he
through the lattice grate,Pale, mute,
and mournfully sedate.To him
Zuleika's eye was turned,But little
from his aspect learned:Equal her
grief,Her heart
confessed a gentler flame:
yet that heart, alarmed or weak,She
knew not why, forbade to speak.Yet
speak she must—but when essay?"How
strange he thus should turn away!Not
thus we e'Not thus
shall be our parting yet."Thrice
paced she slowly through the room,And
watched his eye—it still was fixed:She snatched the urn wherein was
mixedThe Persian Atar-gul's
sprinkled all its odours o'erThe
pictured roof
and marble floor:The drops, that
through his glittering vest
The playful girl's appeal
addressed,Unheeded o'er his bosom
flew,As if that breast were marble
too."What, sullen yet? it must not
be—Oh! gentle Selim, this from
thee!"She saw in curious order
set The fairest flowers of
Eastern land— 280"He loved them
may touch them yet,If offered
by Zuleika's hand."The childish
thought was hardly breathedBefore the
rose was The
next fond moment saw her seatHer
fairy form at Selim's feet:"This rose
to calm my brother's caresA message
from the Bulbul
It says to-night he will
prolongFor Selim's ear his sweetest
290And though his note is somewhat sad,He'll try for once a strain more
glad,With some faint hope his altered
layMay sing these gloomy thoughts
"What! not receive my foolish
flower?Nay then I am indeed
unblest:On me can thus thy forehead
lower?And know'st thou not who loves
thee best?
Oh, Selim dear! oh,
more than dearest!Say, is it me thou
hat'st or fearest?300Come, lay thy
head upon my breast,And I will kiss
thee into rest,Since words of mine,
and songs must fail,Ev'n from my
fabled nightingale.I knew our sire at
times was stern,But this from thee
had yet to learn:Too well I know he
But is Zuleika's love
forgot?Ah! deem I right? the Pacha's
plan—This kinsman Bey of
Carasman310Perhaps may prove some foe of thine.If so, I swear by Mecca's shrine,—
If shrines that ne'er approach
allowTo woman's step admit her
vow,—Without thy free
consent—command—The Sultan should not
have my hand!Think'st thou that I
could bear to partWith thee, and
learn to halve my heart?Ah! were I
severed from thy side,Where were thy
friend—and who my guide?320Years have not
seen, Time shall not see,The hour
that tears my soul from thee:
Ev'n Azrael,
from his deadly quiverWhen flies that
shaft, and fly it must,
That parts all else, shall doom for
everOur hearts to undivided
He lived—he breathed—he
moved— He raised the
maid His trance
was gone, his keen eye shoneWith
thoughts that lo330With thoughts
that burn—in rays that melt.As the
stream late concealedBy the fringe of
its willows,When it rushes
reveal'dIn the light of its
As the bolt bursts on
highFrom the black cloud that bound
it,Flashed the soul of that
eyeThrough the long lashes round
it.A war-horse at the trumpet's
sound,340A lion roused by heedless hound,A tyrant waked to sudden strifeBy graze of ill-directed knife,
Starts not to more convulsive
lifeThan he, who heard that vow,
displayed,And all, before repressed,
betrayed:"Now thou art mine, for ever
mine,With life to keep, and scarce
Now thou art mine, that sacred
oath,Though sworn by one, hath bound
us both.350Yes, fondly, wThat vow hath saved more heads than
one:But blench not thou—thy simplest
tressClaims more from me than
I would not wrong the
slenderest hair That clusters
round thy forehead fair,
For all the treasures buried
farWithin the caves of Istakar.
This morning clouds upon me
lowered,Reproaches on my head were
showered,360And Giaffir almost called me coward!Now I havThe son of his neglected slave,Nay, start not,'twas the term he
gave,May show, though little apt to
vaunt,A heart his words nor deeds can
daunt.His son, indeed!—yet,
thanks to thee,Perchance I am, at
But let our plighted
secret vowBe only known to us as
know the wretch who dares demandFrom
GiaffiMore
ill-got wealth, a meaner soulHolds
not a Musselim's
Was he not bred in
A viler race let Israel
show!But let that pass—to none be
told O the rest
shall time unfold.To me and mine
leave Osman Bey!I've partisans for
Peril's day:380Think not I am
what II've arms—and
friends—and vengeance near."
"Think not thou art what thou
appearest!My Selim, thou art sadly
changed:This morn I saw thee
gentlest—dearest—But now thou'rt from
thyself estranged.My love thou surely
knew'st before,It ne'er was less—nor
can be more.To see thee—hear
thee—near thee stay—And hate the
night—I know not why,390Save that we meet
With thee to live,
with thee to die,I dare not to my
hope deny:Thy cheek—thine eyes—thy
lips to kiss—Like this—and this—no
For, Allah! sure thy lips are
flame:What fever in thy veins is
flushing?My own have nearly caught
the same,At least I feel my cheek,
too, blushing.To soothe thy sickness,
watch thy health,400Partake, but
never waste thy wealth,Or stand with
smiles unmurmuring by,And lighten
Do all but close thy
dying eye,For that I could not live
To these alone my thoughts
aspire:More can I do? or thou
require? But, Selim, thou must
answer why
We need so much of
mystery?The cause I cannot dream nor
tell,410But be it, since thou say'st 'tis
Yet what thou mean'st by 'arms'
and 'friends,'Beyond my weaker sense
extends.I meant that Giaffir should
have heardThe very vow I plighted
His wrath would not revoke my
word:But surely he would leave me
free.Can this fond wish seem strange
in me,To be what I have ever
been?What other hath Zuleika
seen420From simple childhood's earliest
hour?What other can she seek to
seeThan thee, companion of her
bower,The partner of her
infancy?These cherished thoughts with
life begun,Say, why must I no more
avow?What change is wrought to make
me shunThe truth—my pride, and thine
till now?To meet the gaze of
stranger's eyesOur law—our creed—our
G430Nor shall one
wandering thought of mineAt such, our
Prophet's will, repine:No! happier
made by that decree,He left me all in
leaving thee.Deep were my anguish,
thus compelled
To wed with one I ne'er
beheld: This wherefore should
I not reveal?Why wilt thou urge me to
I know the Pacha's haughty
moodTo thee hath never boded
440And he so often storms at nought,Allah! forbid that e'er he ought!And why I know not, but withinMy
heart concealment weighs like sin.
If then such secrecy be
crime,And such it feels while lurking
Oh, Selim! tell me yet in
time,Nor leave me thus to thoughts of
fear.Ah! yonder see the
Tchocadar,
My father 450I tremble now to
meet his eye—Say, Selim, canst thou
tell me why?"
"Zuleika—to thy tower's
retreatBetake thee—Giaffir I can
greet:And now with him I fain must
prateOf firmans, imposts, levies,
state.There's fearful news from
Danube's banks,Our Vizier nobly thins
his ranks For which the Giaour
may give him thanks!Our Sultan hath a
shorter way460Such costly
triumph to repay.But, mark me, when
the twilight drumHath warned the
troops to food and sleep,Unto thy
cell with SThen softly from
the Haram creepWhere we may wander by
the deep:Our garden battlements are
Nor these will rash intruder
climbTo list our words, or stint our
And if he doth, I want not
steel470Which some have felt, and more may
feel.Then shalt thou learn of Selim
moreThan thou hast heard or thought
before:Trust me, Zuleika—fear not
me!Thou know'st I hold a Haram
"Fear thee, my Selim! ne'er
till nowDid words like
I keep the key—and Haroun's
guardHave some, and hope of
more reward.To-night, Zuleika,
thou shalt hear480My tale, my
purpose, and my fear:I am not, love!
what I appear."
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winds are high on Helle's wave,As on
that night of stormy waterWhen Love,
who sent, forgot to saveThe young—the
beautiful—the brave—The lonely hope
of Sestos' daughter.Oh! when alone
along the skyHer turret-torch was
blazing high,Though rising gale, and
breaking foam, 490And shrieking
sea-bAnd clouds
aloft and tides below,With signs and
sounds, forbade to go,He could not
see, he would not hear,Or sound or
His eye but saw
that light of Love,The only star it
His ear but rang with
Hero's song,"Ye waves, divide not
lovers long!"—That tale is old, but
nerve young hearts to prove as true.
The winds are high and Helle's
tideRolls darkly heaving to the
And Night's descending shadows
hideThat field with blood bedewed in
vain,The desert of old Priam's
The tombs, sole relics of his
reign,All—save immortal dreams that
could beguileThe blind old man of
Scio's rocky isle!
Oh! yet—for there my steps
510These feet have
pressed the sacred shore,These limbs
that buoyant wave hath borne—Minstrel! with thee to muse, to
mourn,To trace again those fields of
yore,Believing every hillock
greenContains no fabled hero's
ashes,And that around the undoubted
sceneThine own "broad
Hellespont"
still dashes,Be long my lot! and cold
were heWho there could gaze denying
The Night hath closed on
Helle's stream,Nor yet hath risen on
Ida's hillThat Moon, which shone on
his high theme:No warrior chides her
peaceful beam,But conscious shepherds
bless it still.Their flocks are
grazing on the MoundOf him who felt
the Dardan's arrow:That mighty heap
of gathered groundWhich Ammon's son
ran proudly round,
By nations raised, by monarchs crowned,
now a lone and nameless barrow!Within—thy dwelling-place how narrow!
Without—can only strangers
breatheThe name of him that
was beneath:Dust long outlasts
But Thou—thy very
dust is gone!
Late, late to-night will Dian
cheerThe swain, and chase the
boatman'Till then—no beacon on
the cliffMay shape the course of
540The scattered
lights that skirt the bay,All, one by
one,The only lamp of
this lone hourIs glimmering in
Zuleika's tower.Yes! there is light
in that lone chamber,And o'er her
silken ottomanAre thrown the fragrant
beads of amber,O'er which her fairy
Near these, with emerald rays beset,
(How could she thus that gem forget?)
mother's sainted amulet,
Whereon engraved the Koorsee
text,Could smooth this life, and win
And by her Comboloio
liesA Koran of illumined
And many a bright emblazoned
rhymeBy Persian scribes redeemed from
TAnd o'er those scrolls, not oft
so mute,Reclines her now neglected
And round her lamp of fretted
gold 560Bloom flowers in urns of China's
The richest work of Iran's
loom,And Sheeraz
All that can eye or sense
delightAre gathered in that gorgeous
room:But yet it hath an air of
gloom.She, of this Peri cell the
sprite,What doth she hence, and on so
rude a night?
Wrapt in the darkest sable
vest,Which none save noblest Moslem
wear,570To guard from winds of Heaven the
breastAs Heaven itself to Selim
dear,With cautious steps the thicket
threading,And starting oft, as
through the gladeThe gust its hollow
moanings made,Till on the smoother
pathway treading,More free her timid
bosom beat,The maid pursued her
And though her terror
urged retreat,How could she quit her
Selim's side?580How teach her
tender lips to chide?
They reached at length a
grotto, hewnBy nature, but enlarged
by art,Where oft her lute she wont to
tune,And oft her Koran conned
And oft in youthful
reverieShe dreamed what Paradise
might be:Where Woman's parted soul
shall goHer Prophet had disdained to
But Selim's mansion was secure,
deemed she, could he long endureHis
bower in other worlds of blissWithout
her, most beloved in this!Oh!
who so dear with him could dwell?What
Houri soothe him half so well?
Since last she visited the
spotSome change seemed wrought within
the grot:It might be only that the
nightDisguised things seen by better
light:That brazen lamp but dimly
threw 600A rayBut in
a nook within the cellHer eye on
stranger objects fell.There arms were
piled, not such as wieldThe turbaned
DBut brands of
foreign blade and hilt,And one was
red—perchance with guilt!
Ah! how without can blood be
spilt? A cup too on the board
was setThat did not seem to hold
sherbet. 610What may this mean? she turned to seeHer Selim—"Oh! can this be he?"
His robe of pride was thrown
aside,His brow no high-crowned turban
bore,But in its stead a shawl of
red,Wreathed lightly round, his
temples wore:That dagger, on whose
hilt the gemWere worthy of a
diadem,No longer glittered at his
waist,Where pistols unadorned were
620And from his belt a sabre swung,And from his shoulder loosely hungThe cloak of white, the thin capoteThat decks the wandering CBeneath—his golden plated vestClung like a cThe greaves below his knee that woundWith silvery scales were sheathed and
bound.But were it not that high
commandSpake in his eye, and tone,
and hand, 630All that a careless eye could seeIn him was some young Galiong&e.
"I said I was not what I
And now thou see'st my words
were true:I have a tale thou hast not
dreamed,If sooth—its truth must
others rue.My story now 'twere vain
to hide,I must not see thee Osman's
bride:But had not thine own lips
declaredHow much of that young heart
I shared, 640I could not, must not, yet have shownThe darker secret of my own.In
this I sThat—let
Time—Truth—and Peril prove:But
first—Oh! never wed another—Zuleika!
I am not thy brother!"
"Oh! not my brother!—yet
unsay—God! am I left alone on
earthTo mourn—I dare not curse—the
That saw my solitary birth?650Oh! thou wilt
love me now no more!My sinking heart
But know me all
I was before,Thy
sister—friend—Zuleika still.Thou
led'st me heIf
thou hast cause for vengeance, see!My
breast is offered—take thy fill!Far
better with the dead to beThan live
thus nothing now to thee: Perhaps far worse, for now I know660Why Giaffir
aAnd I, alas! am
Giaffir's child,For whom thou wert
contemned, reviled.If not thy
sister—would'st thou saveMy life—Oh!
bid me be thy slave!"
"My slave, Zuleika!—nay, I'm
thine:But, gentle love, this
transport calm,Thy lot shall yet be
I swear it by our
Prophet's shrine,
And be that thought thy sorrow's
balm.670So may the Koran
verse displayedUpon its steel direct
my blade,In danger's hour to guard us
both,As I preserve that awful
oath!The name in which thy heart hath
pridedM but, my Zuleika,
know,That tie is widened, not
divided,Although thy Sire's my
deadliest foe.My father was to
Giaffir allThat Selim late
680That brother
wrought a brother's fall,But spared,
at least, my infancy!And lulled me
with a vain deceitThat yet a like
return may meet.He reared me, not
with tender help,But like the nephew
He watched me like a lion's
whelp,That gnaws and yet may break
his chain.My father's blood in every
veinIs boiling! but for thy dear
sake690No present vengeance will IThough here I must no more remain.But first, beloved Zuleika! hearHow Giaffir wrought this deed of fear.
"How first their strife to
rancour grew,If Love or Envy made
them foes,It matters little if I
In fiery spirits,
slights, though fewAnd thoughtless,
will disturb repose.In war Abdallah's
arm was strong, 700Remembered yet in
Bosniac song,
And Paswan's
rebel hordes attestHow little love
they bore such guest:His death is all
I need relate,The stern effect of
Giaffir'And how my birth
disclosed to me,
Whate'er beside it makes, hath made me
"When Paswan, after years of
strife,At last for power, but first
for life,In Widdin's walls too
proudly sate, 710Our Pachas
ralNot last nor
least in high command,Each brother
They gave their
Horse-tails
to the wind,And mustering in Sophia's
plainTheir tents were pitched, their
To one, alas! assigned
in vain!What need of words? the
deadly bowl,By Giaffir's order
drugged and given,With venom subtle
as his soul,
Dismissed Abdallah's hence to heaven.
720Reclined and feverish in the bath,He, when the hunter's sport was up,But little deemed a brother's wrathTo quench his thirst had such a cup:The bowl a bHe drank one draught,
nor needed more!If thou my tale,
Zuleika, doubt,Call Haroun—he can
tell it out.
"The deed once done, and
Paswan's feud 730In part
suppressed, though ne'er subdued,
Abdallah's Pachalick was
gained:—Thou know'st not what in our
DivanCan wealth procure for worse
than man—Abdallah's honours were
obtainedBy him a brother's murder
'Tis true, the purchase
nearly drainedHis ill-got treasure,
soon replaced.Would'st question
whence? Survey the waste,And ask the
squalid peasant how 740His gains repay
his broiling brow!—Why me the stern
Usurper spared,Why thus with me his
palace spared,I know not.
Shame—regret—remorse—And little fear
from infant's force—Besides, adoption
as a sonBy him whom Heaven accorded
none,Or some unknown cabal,
caprice,Preserved me thus:—but not in
peace:He cannot curb his haughty
forgive a father's blood.
"Within thy Father's house are
Not all who break his bread are
true:To these should I my birth
disclose,His days-his very hours were
few:They only want a heart to
lead,A hand to point them to the
deed.But Haroun only knows, or
knewThis tale, whose close is almost
nigh: He in Abdallah's
palace grew, 760And held that
post in his SeraiWhich holds he
here—But what could
single slavery do?Avenge his lord?
alas!Or save his son from
such a fate?He chose the last, and
when elateWith foes subdued, or
friends betrayed,Proud Giaffir in
high triumph sate,He led me helpless
to his gate,And not in vain it seems
essayed 770To save the life for which he prayed.The knowledge of my birth securedFrom all and each,Thus Giaffir's safety was ensured.Removed he too from RoumelieTo
this our Asiatic side,Far from our
seats by Danube's tide,With none but
Haroun, who retainsSuch knowledge—and
that Nubian feelsA Tyrant's secrets
are but chains, 780From which the
captive gladly steals,And this and
more to me reveals:Such still to
guilt just Allah sends—Slaves, tools,
accomplices—no friends!
"All this, Zuleika, harshly
But harsher still my tale must
be:Howe'er my tongue thy softness
wounds,Yet I must prove all truth to
I saw thee start this garb to
see, Yet is it one I oft
have worn,790And long must wear: this Galiong&e,To whom thy plighted vow is sworn,Is leader of those pirate hordes,Whose laws and lives are on their
To hear whose desolating
taleWould make thy waning cheek more
pale:Those arms thou see'st my band
have brought,The hands that wield are
This cup too for the
rugged knavesIs filled—once quaffed,
they ne'er repine:800Our Prophet might
They're only
infidels in wine.
"What could I be? Proscribed
at home,And taunted to a wish to
And listless left—for Giaffir's
fearDenied the courser and the
spear—Though oft—Oh, Mahomet! how
oft!—In full Divan the despot
scoffed,As if my weak
unwilling handRefused the bridle or
the brand: 810He ever went to
war alone,And pent me here
untried—To Haroun's care with
women left,
By hope unblest, of fame
bereft,While thou—whose softness long
endeared,Though it unmanned me, still
had cheered—To Brusa's walls for
safety sent,Awaited'st there the
field's event. Haroun who saw my
spirit pining
Beneath inaction's sluggish yoke,
captive, though with dread resigning,My thraldom for a season broke,On promise to return beforeThe
day when Giaffir's charge was o'er.'Tis vain—my tongue can not impart
My almost drunkenness of heart,
When first this liberated
eyeSurveyed Earth—Ocean—Sun—and
Sky—As if my Spirit pierced them
through,And all their inmost wonders
knew! 830One word alone can paint to theeThat more than feeling—I was Free!E'en for thy preThe World—nay, Heaven itself was mine!
"The shallop of a trusty
MoorConveyed me from this idle
I longed to see the isles that
gemOld Ocean's purple
diadem:I sought by turns, and saw
But when and where I joined the
crew,840With whom I'm pledged to rise or
fall, When all that we
design to doIs done,'twill then be
time more meetTo tell thee, when the
tale's complete.
"'Tis true, they are a lawless
brood,But rough in form, nor mild in
And every creed, and every
race,With them hath found—may find a
place:But open speech, and ready
hand,Obedience to their Chief's
850A soul for every enterprise,That
never sees with Terror'Friendship for each, and faith to
all,And vengeance vowed for those who
fall,Have made them fitting
instrumentsFor more than e'en my own
intents.And some—and I have studied
allDistinguished from the vulgar
rank,But chiefly to my council
callThe wisdom of the cautious
Frank:— 860And some to higher thoughts aspire.The last of Lambro's
patriots thereAnticipated freedom
And oft around the cavern
fireOn visionary schemes
debate, To snatch the
from their fate.So let them ease
their hearts with prateOf equal
rights, which man ne'I have a
love for freedom too.Aye! let me like
the ocean-Patriarch
roam, 870Or only know on land the Tartar's home!
My tent on shore, my galley on the
sea,Are more than cities and Serais
Borne by my steed, or wafted by my
sail,Across the desert, or before the
gale,Bound where thou wilt, my barb!
or glide, my prow!But be the Star
that guides the wanderer, Thou!Thou,
my Zuleika, shaThe Dove of peace and promise to mine ark!
Or, since that hope denied in worlds of
strife, 880Be thou the rainbow to the storms of
life!The evening beam that smiles the
clouds away,And tints to-morrow with
prophetic ray!
Blest—as the Muezzin's
strain from Mecca's wallTo pilgrims
pure and pSoft—as the melody of youthful days,That steals the trembling tear of speechless
Dear—as his native song to
Exile's ears,
Shall sound each tone
thy long-loved voice endears.For thee
in those bright isles is built a bower 890Blooming as
in its earliest hour.A thousand
swords, with Selim's heart and hand,Wait—wave—defend—destroy—at thy command!
Girt by my band, Zuleika at my
side,The spoil of nations shall
bedeck my bride.The Haram's languid
years of listless easeAre well
resigned for cares—for joys like these:Not blind to Fate, I see, where'er I
rove,Unnumbered perils,—but one only
love!Yet well my toils shall that
fond breast repay, 900Though Fortune
frown, or falser friends betray.How
dear the dream in darkest hours of ill,Should all be changed, to find thee faithful
still!Be but thy soul, like Selim's
To thee be Selim's
To soothe each
sorrow, share in each delight,
Blend every thought, do all—but
disunite!Once free, 'tis mine our
Friends to each
other, foes to aught beside:
Yet there we follow but the bent assigned
fatal Nature to man's warring kind:
Mark! where his carnage
and his conquests cease!He makes a
solitude, and calls it—peace!
I like the rest must use my skill or
strength,But ask no land beyond my
sabre's length:Power sways but by
division—her resource
The blest alternative of fraud or
force!O in time
Deceit may comeWhen cities cage us in
a social home:There ev'n thy soul
might err—how oft the heart 920Corruption shakes
which Peril could not part!And Woman,
more than Man, when Death or Woe,Or
even Disgrace, would lay her lover low,Sunk in the lap of Luxury will shame—Away suspicion!—not Zuleika's
name!But life i
and hereNo more remains to win, and
much to fear:Yes, fear!—the doubt,
the dread of losing thee,By Osman's
power, and Giaffir's stern decree.That dread shall vanish with the favouring gale, 930Which Love
to-night hath promised to my sail:
No danger daunts the pair his smile hath
blest,Their steps still roving, but
their hearts at rest.With thee all
toils are sweet, eaEarth—sea alike—our world within our
arms! Aye—let the loud winds
whistle o'er the deck,
So that those arms cling closer round my
neck:The deepest murmur of this lip
No sigh for safety, but a prayer for
thee!The war of elements no fears
impart 940To Love, whose deadliest bane is human
Art:There lie the only rocks
moments menace—there are years of
wreck!But hence ye thoughts that rise
in Horror's shape!This hour bestows,
or ever bars escape.
Few words remain of mine my tale to
Of thine but one to waft
Yea—foes—to me will
Giaffir's hate decline?And is not
Osman, who would part us, thine?
"His head and faith from doubt
and death950Returned in tFew heard, none told, that o'er the
waveFrom isle to isle I roved the
while:And since, though parted from
my bandToo seldom now I leave the
land, No deed they've done,
nor deed shall do,Ere I have heard
and doomed it too:I form the
plan—decree the spoil—Tis fit I
oftener share the toil.But now too
long I'960Time
presses—floats my bark—and hereWe
leave behind but hate and fear.To-morrow Osman with his trainArrives—to-night must break thy
chain:And would'st thou save that
haughty Bey,—Perchance his
life who gave thee thine,—With me
this hour away—away!But yet, though
thou art plighted mine,Would'st thou
recall thy willing vow,Appalled by
truths imparted now,970Here rest I—not
to see thee wed:But be that peril on
Zuleika, mute and
motionless,Stood like that Statue of
Distress,When, her last hope for ever
gone,The Mother hardened into
All in the maid that eye could
seeWas but a younger
Niob&.But ere her lip, or even her
eye,Essayed to speak, or look reply,
980Beneath the garden's wicket porchFar flashed on high a blazing torch!Another—and another—and another—
"Oh! fly—no more—yet
now my more than brother!"Far, wide,
through every thicket spreadThe
fearful ligNor
these alone—for each right handIs
ready with a sheathless brand.They
part—pursue—return, and wheelWith
searching flambeau, 990And last of all,
his sabre waving,Stern Giaffir in his
fury raving:And now almost they touch
the cave—Oh! must that grot be
Selim's grave?
Dauntless he stood—"'Tis
come—soon past—One kiss, Zuleika—'tis
my last:But yet my band not far from
shoreMay hear this signal, see the
Yet now too few—the attempt
were rash:No matter—yet one effort
more."1000Forth to the cHis pistol's echo rang on high,Zuleika started not, nor wept,Despair benumbed her breast and eye!—"They hear me not, or if they plyTheir oars,'tThat sound hath drawn my foes more
nigh.Then forth my father's
scimitar,Thou ne'er hast seen less
equal war!Farewell, Zuleika!—Sweet!
retire:1010Yet stay within—here linger safe,At thee his rage will only chafe.Stir not—lest even to thee perchanceSome erring blade or ball should
glance. Fear'st them for
him?—may I expireIf in this strife I
seek thy sire!No—though by him that
No—though again he call
me coward!But tamely shall I meet
their steel?No—as each crest save
his may feel!"1020
One bound he made, and gained
the sand:Already at his feet hath
sunkThe foremost of the prying
band,A gasping head, a quivering
trunk:Another falls—but round him
closeA swarming circle of his
From right to left his path he
cleft,And almost met the meeting
wave:His boat appears—not five oars'
length—His comrades strain with
desperate strength—1030Oh! are they yet
in time to save?His feet the foremost
His band are plunging
in the bay,Their sabres glitter
Wet—wild—unwearied
to the strandThey struggle—now they
touch the land!They come—'tis but to
add to slaughter—His heart's best
blood is on the water.
Escaped from shot, unharmed by
steel,Or scarcely grazed its force to
Selim won, betrayed, beset,To where
There as his last step left the
land,And the last death-blow dealt
his hand—Ah! wherefore did he turn to
For her his eye but sought in
vain?That pause, that fatal gaze he
took,Hath doomed his death, or fixed
his chain.Sad proof, in peril and in
pain,How late will Lover's hope
remain! 1050His back was Behind, but close, his comrades lay,When, at the instant, hissed the
ball—"So may the foes of Giaffir
fall!"Whose voice is heard? whose
carbine rang?Whose bullet through the
night-air sang,Too nearly, deadly
aimed to err?'Tis thine—Abdallah's
Murderer! The father slowly rued
thy hate,The son hath found a quicker
fate: 1060Fast from his breast the blood is
bubbling,The whiteness of the
sea-foam troubling—If aught his lips
essayed to groan,The rushing billows
choked the tone!
Morn slowly rolls the clouds
Few trophies of the fight are
there:The shouts that shook the
midnight-bayA but some
signs of frayThat strand of strife
may bear,And fragments of each
and dashed into the sandThe print of
many a struggling handMay there be
nor far remoteA broken torch,
And tangled on the
weeds that heapThe beach where
shelving to the deepThere lies a
white capote!'Tis rent in twain—one
dark-red stainThe wave yet ripples
o'er in vain:But where is he who
wore?1080Ye! who would o'er his relics weep,Go, seek them where the surges sweepTheir burthen round Sig&um's steepAnd cast on Lemnos' shore:The
sea-birds shriek above the prey,O'er
which their hungry beaks delay,
As shaken on his restless
pillow,His head heaves with the
That hand, whose
motion is not life,
Yet feebly seems to menace
strife,1090Flung by the tossing tide on high,Then levelled with the wave—
What recks it, though that corse shall
lieWithin a living
grave?The bird that tears that
prostrate formHath only robbed the
The only heart, the only
eyeHad bled or wept to see him
die,Had seen those scattered limbs
composed,And mourned above his
turban-stone,1100
That heart hath burst—that eye was
closed—Yea—closed before his
By Helle's stream there is a
voice of wail!And Woman's eye is
wet—Man's cheek is pale:Zuleika! last
of Giaffir's race,Thy destined lord
is come too late:He sees not—ne'er
shall see thy face!Can he not
hearThe loud Wul-wulleh
warn his distant ear?Thy
handmaids weeping at the gate,1110The
Koran-chanters of the Hymn of Fate,
The silent slaves with folded arms that
wait,Sighs in the hall, and shrieks
upon the gale,Tell him thy
tale!Thou didst not view thy Selim
fall!That fearful moment when he left
the caveThy heart grew
chill:He was thy hope—thy joy—thy
love—thine all,And that last thought
on him thou could'st not saveSufficed
1120Burst forth in one wild cry—and all was
still.Peace to thy broken heart—and
virgin grave!Ah! happy! but of life
to lose the worst!That grief—though
deep—though fatal—was thy first!Thrice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the
absence—shame—pride—hate—revenge—remorse!And, oh! that pang where more than Madness
liesThe Worm that will not sleep—and
Thought of the gloomy day
and ghastly night,That dreads the
darkness, and yet loathes the light,1130That winds
around, and tears the quivering heart!Ah! wherefore not consume it—and
depart! Woe to thee, rash and
unrelenting Chief!Vainly thou heap'st
the dust upon thy head,Vainly the
sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread:
By that same hand Abdallah—Selim
bled.Now let it tear thy beard in
idle grief:Thy pride of heart, thy
bride for Osman's bed,She, whom thy
Sultan had but seen to wed,
Thy Daughter's dead!1140Hope of thine
age, thy twilight's lonely beam,The
Star hath set that shone on Helle's
stream.What quenched its ray?—the
blood that thou hast shed!Hark! to
the hurried question of Despair:
"Where is my child?"—an Echo
answers—"Where?"
Within the place of thousand
tombsThat shine beneath, while dark
aboveThe sad but living cypress
And withers not, though branch and
leafAre stamped with an eternal
grief, 1150Like early unrequited Love,
One spot exists, which ever
blooms,Ev'n in that deadly
grove—A single rose is shedding
thereIts lonely lustre, meek and
pale:It looks as planted by
Despair—So white—so faint—the
slightest galeMight whirl the leaves
And yet, though storms and
blight assail,And hands more rude
than wintry sky 1160May wring it
from the stem—in vain—To-morrow sees
it bloom again!The stalk some Spirit
gently rears,And waters with
For well may maids of
Helle deemThat this can be no earthly
flower,Which mocks the tempest's
withering hour,And buds unsheltered
Nor droops, though Spring
refuse her shower,Nor woos the Summer
beam: 1170To it the livelong night there singsA Bird unseen—but not remote:Invisible his airy wings,But
soft as harp that Houri stringsHis
long entrancing note!It were the
B but his throat,Though
mournful, pours not such a strain:For
they who listen cannot leaveThe spot,
but linger there and grieve,As if
they loved in vain! 1180And yet so sweet
the tears they shed,'Tis sorrow so
unmixed with dread,They scarce can
bear the morn to breakThat melancholy
spell,And longer yet would weep and
wake, He sings so wild and
well!But when the day-blush bursts
Expires that magic
melody.And some have been who could
(So fondly youthful dreams deceive,
harsh be they that blame,)That note
so piercing and profoundWill shape
and syllable
its soundInto Zuleika's
name.'Tis from her cypress summit
heard,That melts in air the liquid
word:'Tis from her lowly virgin
earthThat white rose takes its tender
birth. There late was laid a
Eve saw it placed—the
Morrow gone! 1200It was no mortal
arm that boreThat deep fixed pillar
For there, as Helle's
legends tell,Next morn 'twas found
where SLashed by the
tumbling tide, whose waveDenied his
bones a holier grave:And there by
night, reclined, 'tis said.Is seen a
ghastly turbaned head:
And hence extended by the
billow,'Tis named the
"Pirate-phantom's pillow!" 1210Where first it
lay that mourning flowerHath
flourisheth this hour,Alone and dewy—As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's tale!
NOTE TO THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.
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CANTO II. STANZA XX.
After the completion of the fair copy
of the MS. of the Bride of Abydos, seventy lines were added
to stanza xx. of Canto II. In both MSS. the rough and fair copies,
the stanza ends with the line, "The Dove of peace and promise to
mine ark!"
Seven MS. sheets are extant, which make up the greater portion
of these additional lines.
The First Addition amounts to eight lines, and takes the
narrative from line 880 to line 893, "Wait—wave—defend— destroy—at
thy command!"
Lines 884-889 do not appear in the first MS. Fragment, but are
given in three variants on separate sheets. Two of these are dated
December 2 and December 3, 1813.
The Second Fragment begins with line 890, "For thee in
those bright isles is built a bower," and, numbering twenty-two
lines, ends with a variant of line 907, "Blend every thought, do
all—but disunite!" Two lines of this addition, "With thee all toils
are sweet," find a place in the text as lines 934, 935.
The Third Fragment amounts to thirty-six lines, and may
be taken as the first draft of the whole additions—lines
Lines 908-925 and 936-945 of the text are still later additions,
but a fourth MS. fragment supplies lines 920-925 and lines 936-945.
(A fair copy of this fragment gives text for Revise of November
13.) Between November 13 and November 25 no less than ten revises
of the Bride were submitted to Lord Byron. In the
earliest of these, dated November 13, the thirty-six lines of the
Third Fragment have been expanded into forty lines—four lines of
the MS. being omitted, and twelve lines, 908-919, "Once
free,"—"social home," being inserted. The text passed through five
revises and remained unaltered till November 21, when eighteen
lines were added to the forty, viz.: (4) "Mark! where his
carnage,"—"sabre'" (6) "There ev'n thy soul,"—"Zuleika's
" and (8) "Aye—let the loud winds,"—"bars escape." Of these
the two latter additions belong to the Fourth Fragment. The
text in this state passed through three more revises, but before
the first edition was issued two more lines were added—lines 938,
"The deepest murmur of this
lip shall be,No sigh for safety, but
a prayer for thee!"
Even then the six lines, "Blest—as the Muezzin's,"—"endears,"
are but the four lines, "Soft—as the
melody,"—"endears," are inserted in MS. in the margin. The text as
it stands first appears in the Seventh Edition.
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