The Tartar lighted at the gate,
But scarce upheld his fainting weight:
His swarthy visage spake distress,
But this might be from weariness;

His garb with sanguine spots was dyed,

But these might be from his courser's side:
He drew the token from his vest-
Angel of Death! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest!
His calpac (31) rent-his caftan red_

“Lady, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed:
"Me, not from mercy, did they spare,
"But this empurpled pledge to bear.
"Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt:
"Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt."

A turban (32) carved in coarsest stone,
A pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown,
Whereon can now be scarcely read
The Koran verse that mourns the dead,
Point out the spot where Hassan fell
A victim in that lonely dell.
There sleeps as true an Osmanlie
As e'er at Mecca bent the knee;
As ever scorn'd forbidden wine,
Or pray'd with face towards the shrine,
In orisons resumed anew

At solemn sound of "Alla Hu!" (33)
Yet died he by a stranger's hand,
And stranger in his native land;
Yet died he as in arms he stood,
And unavenged, at least in blood.

But him the maids of Paradise

Impatient to their halls invite,
And the dark Heaven of Houris' eyes

On him shall glance for ever bright;
They come their kerchiefs green they wave, (34)
And welcome with a kiss the brave!
Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour
Is worthiest an immortal bower.

But thou, false Infidel! shalt writhe
Beneath avenging Monkir's (35) scythe;
And from its torment 'scape alone
To wander round lost Eblis' (36) throne;
And fire unquench'd, unquenchable,
Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;
Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell
The tortures of that inward hell!
But first, on earth as Vampire (37) sent,
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race;
There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life;
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce
Must feed thy livid living corse :
Thy victims ere they yet expire
Shall know the demon for their sire,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are wither'd on the stem.
But one that for thy crime must fall,
The youngest, most beloved of all,

Shall bless thee with a father's name
That word shall wrap thy heart in flame!
Yet must thou end thy task, and mark
Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,
And the last glassy glance must view
Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue;
Then with unhallow'd hand shalt tear
The tresses of her yellow hair,

Of which in life a lock when shorn
Affection's fondest pledge was worn;
But now is borne away by thee,

Memorial of thine agony!

Wet with thine own best blood shall drip (38)
Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip;
Then stalking to thy sullen grave,
Go-and with Gouls and Afrits rave;
Till these in horror shrink away
From spectre more accursed than they!

"How name ye yon lone Caloyer?
"His features I have scann'd before
"In mine own land: 'tis many a year,
"Since, dashing by the lonely shore,
"I saw him urge as fleet a steed
"As ever served a horseman's need.
"But once I saw that face, yet then
"It was so mark'd with inward pain,
"I could not pass it by again;
"It breathes the same dark spirit now,
"As death were stamp'd upon his brow."

""Tis twice three years at summer tide "Since first among our freres he came; "And here it soothes him to abide

"For some dark deed he will not name. "But never at our vesper prayer, "Nor e'er before confession chair "Kneels he, nor recks he when arise "Incense or anthem to the skies, "But broods within his cell alone, "His faith and race alike unknown. "The sea from Paynim land he crost, "And here ascended from the coast; "Yet seems he not of Othman race, "But only Christian in his face: "I'd judge him some stray renegade, "Repentant of the change he made, "Save that he shuns our holy shrine, "Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine. "Great largess to these walls he brought, "And thus our abbot's favour bought; "But were I Prior, not a day

"Should brook such stranger's further stay, "Or pent within our penance cell

"Should doom him there for aye to dwell. "Much in his visions mutters he

"Of maiden 'whelm'd beneath the sea;
"Of sabres clashing, foemen flying,
"Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying.
"On cliff he hath been known to stand,
"And rave as to some bloody hand
"Fresh sever'd from its parent limb,
"Invisible to all but him,

"Which beckons onward to his grave, "And lures to leap into the wave.

Dark and unearthly is the scowl
That glares beneath his dusky cowl:
The flash of that dilating eye
Reveals too much of times gone by;
Though varying, indistinct its hue,
Oft will his glance the gazer rue,
For in it lurks that nameless spell
Which speaks, itself unspeakable,
A spirit yet unquell'd and high,
That claims and keeps ascendancy;
And like the bird whose pinions quake,
But cannot fly the gazing snake,

Will others quail beneath his look,

Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can brook.
From him the half-affrighted Friar

When met alone would fain retire,
As if that eye and bitter smile
Transferr'd to others fear and guile :

Not oft to smile descendeth he,
And when he doth 'tis sad to see
That he but mocks at Misery.

How that pale lip will curl and quiver!
Then fix once more as if for ever;
As if his sorrow or disdain

Forbade him e'er to smile again.
Well were it so-such ghastly mirth
From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth.