O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears, Such moment pours the grief of years: What felt he then, at once opprest By all that most distracts the breast? That pause, which ponder'd o'er his fate, Oh, who its dreary length shall date! Though in Time's record nearly nought, It was Eternity to Thought!
For infinite as boundless space
The thought that Conscience must embrace, Which in itself can comprehend Woe without name, or hope, or end.
The hour is past, the Giaour is gone; And did he fly or fall alone?
Woe to that hour he came or went! The curse for Hassan's sin was sent To turn a palace to a tomb:
He came, he went, like the Simoom, (10) That harbinger of fate and gloom, Beneath whose widely-wasting breath The very cypress droops to death- Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled, The only constant mourner o'er the dead!
The steed is vanish'd from the stall; No serf is seen in Hassan's hall; The lonely Spider's thin gray pall Waves slowly widening o'er the wall; The Bat builds in his Haram bower; And in the fortress of his power The Owl usurps the beacon-tower;
The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim, With baffled thirst, and famine, grim;
For the stream has shrunk from its marble bed, Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread. 'Twas sweet of yore to see it play And chase the sultriness of day, As springing high the silver dew In whirls fantastically flew,
And flung luxurious coolness round The air, and verdure o'er the ground.
'Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright, To view the wave of watery light, And hear its melody by night.
And oft had Hassan's Childhood play'd Around the verge of that cascade;
And oft upon his mother's breast That sound had harmonized his rest; And oft had Hassan's Youth along Its bank been soothed by Beauty's song; And softer seem'd each melting tone Of Music mingled with its own. But ne'er shall Hassan's Age repose Along the brink at Twilight's close: The stream that fill'd that font is fled- The blood that warm'd his heart is shed! And here no more shall human voice Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice. The last sad note that swell'd the gale Was woman's wildest funeral wail:
That quench'd in silence, all is still,
But the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill :
Though raves the gust, and floods the rain, No hand shall close its clasp again. On desert sands 'twere joy to scan The rudest steps of fellow man, So here the very voice of Grief Might wake an Echo like relief—
At least 'twould say, "all are not gone; "There lingers Life, though but in one- For many a gilded chamber's there, Which Solitude might well forbear; Within that dome as yet Decay
Hath slowly work'd her cankering way- But gloom is gather'd o'er the gate, Nor there the Fakir's self will wait; Nor there will wandering Dervise stay, For bounty cheers not his delay; Nor there will weary stranger halt
To bless the sacred "bread and salt." (11) Alike must Wealth and Poverty
Pass heedless and unheeded by, For Courtesy and Pity died
With Hassan on the mountain side.
His roof, that refuge unto men,
Is Desolation's hungry den.
The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour, Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre! (12)
I hear the sound of coming feet, But not a voice mine ear to greet; More near each turban I can scan, And silver-sheathed ataghan; (13)
The foremost of the band is seen
An Emir by his garb of green : (14)
"Ho! who art thou ?-this low salam (15) "Replies of Moslem faith I am.
"The burthen ye so gently bear
"Seems one that claims your utmost care,
"And, doubtless, holds some precious freight, My humble bark would gladly wait."
"Thou speakest sooth; thy skiff unmoor, "And waft us from the silent shore ; "Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply “The nearest oar that's scatter'd by, "And midway to those rocks where sleep "The channel'd waters dark and deep. "Rest from your task-so-bravely done, "Our course has been right swiftly run; "Yet 'tis the longest voyage, I trow, "That one of
Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank, The calm wave rippled to the bank; I watch'd it as it sank, methought Some motion from the current caught Bestirr'd it more, 'twas but the beam That checker'd o'er the living stream: I gazed, till vanishing from view, Like lessening pebble it withdrew; Still less and less, a speck of white
That gemm'd the tide, then mock'd the sight;
And all its hidden secrets sleep,
Known but to Genii of the deep, Which, trembling in their coral caves, They dare not whisper to the waves.
As rising on its purple wing The insect-queen (16) of eastern spring, O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer Invites the young pursuer near,
And leads him on from flower to flower A weary chase and wasted hour, Then leaves him, as it soars on high, With panting heart and tearful eye : So Beauty lures the full-grown child, With hue as bright, and wing as wild; A chase of idle hopes and fears, Begun in folly, closed in tears. If won, to equal ills betray'd, Woe waits the insect and the maid; A life of pain, the loss of peace, From infant's play, and man's caprice: The lovely toy so fiercely sought Hath lost its charm by being caught, For every touch that wooed its stay Hath brush'd its brightest hues away, Till charm, and hue, and beauty gone, "Tis left to fly or fall alone.
With wounded wing, or bleeding breast, Ah! where shall either victim rest?
Can this with faded pinion soar
From rose to tulip as before?
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