Selected Poems (26 page)

Might well itself be deem’d of dignity,

The convent’s white walls glisten fair on high:

Here dwells the caloyer,
²
nor rude is he,

Nor niggard of his cheer; the passer by

440

Is welcome still; nor heedless will he flee

From hence, if he delight kind Nature’s sheen to see.

L

Here in the sultriest season let him rest,

Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees;

Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast,

445

From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze:

The plain is far beneath – oh! let him seize

Pure pleasure while he can; the scorching ray

Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease:

Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay,

450

And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away.

LI

Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight,

Nature’s volcanic amphitheatre,
¹

Chimæra’s alps extend from left to right:

Beneath, a living valley seems to stir;

455

Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain-fir

Nodding above; behold black Acheron!
²

Once consecrated to the sepulchre.

Pluto! if this be hell I look upon,

Close shamed Elysium’s gates, my shade shall seek for none.

LII

460

Ne city’s towers pollute the lovely view;

Unseen is Yanina, though not remote,

Veil’d by the screen of hills: here men are few,

Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot:

But peering down each precipice, the goat

465

Browseth; and, pensive o’er his scatter’d flock,

The little shepherd in his white capote
³

Doth lean his boyish form along the rock,

Or in his cave awaits the tempest’s short-lived shock.

LIII

Oh! where, Dodona! is thine aged grove,

470

Prophetic fount, and oracle divine?

What valley echo’d the response of Jove?

What trace remaineth of the Thunderer’s shrine?

All, all forgotten – and shall man repine

That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke?

475

Cease, fool! the fate of gods may well be thine:

Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak?

When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the stroke!

LIV

Epirus’ bounds recede, and mountains fail;

Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye

480

Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale

As ever Spring yclad in grassy die:

Ev’n on a plain no humble beauties lie,

Where some bold river breaks the long expanse,

And woods along the banks are waving high,

485

Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance,

Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight’s solemn trance.

LV

The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit,
¹

And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by;
²

The shades of wonted night were gathering yet,

490

When, down the steep banks winding warily,

Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky,

The glittering minarets of Tepalen,

Whose walls o’erlook the stream; and drawing nigh,

He heard the busy hum of warrior-men

495

Swelling the breeze that sigh’d along the lengthening glen.

LVI

He pass’d the sacred Haram’s silent tower,

And underneath the wide o’erarching gate

Survey’d the dwelling of this chief of power,

Where all around proclaim’d his high estate.

500

Amidst no common pomp the despot sate,

While busy preparation shook the court,

Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait;

Within, a palace, and without, a fort:

Here men of every clime appear to make resort.

LVII

505

Richly caparison’d, a ready row

Of armed horse, and many a warlike store,

Circled the wide extending court below;

Above, strange groups adorn’d the corridore:

And oft-times through the area’s echoing door,

510

Some high-capp’d Tartar spurr’d his steed away:

The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor,

Here mingled in their many-hued array,

While the deep war-drum’s sound announced the close of day.

LVIII

The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee,

515

With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun,

And gold-embroider’d garments, fair to see:

The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon;

The Delhi with his cap of terror on,

And crooked glaive; the lively, supple Greek;

520

And swarthy Nubia’s mutilated son;

The bearded Turk, that rarely deigns to speak,

Master of all around, too potent to be meek,

LIX

Are mix’d conspicuous: some recline in groups,

Scanning the motley scene that varies round;

525

There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops,

And some that smoke, and some that play, are found;

Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground;

Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate;

Hark! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound,

530

The Muezzin’s call doth shake the minaret,

‘There is no god but God! – to prayer – lo! God is great!’

L Χ

Just at this season Ramazani’s fast

Through the long day its penance did maintain:

But when the lingering twilight hour was past,

535

Revel and feast assumed the rule again:

Now all was bustle, and the menial train

Prepared and spread the plenteous board within;

The vacant gallery now seem’d made in vain,

But from the chambers came the mingling din,

540

As page and slave anon were passing out and in.

LXI

Here woman’s voice is never heard: apart,

And scarce permitted, guarded, veil’d, to move,

She yields to one her person and her heart,

Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove:

545

For, not unhappy in her master’s love,

And joyful in a mother’s gentlest cares,

Blest cares! all other feelings far above!

Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears,

Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares.

LXII

550

In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring

Of living water from the centre rose,

Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling,

And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose,

ALI reclined, a man of war and woes:

555

Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace,

While Gentleness her milder radiance throws

Along that aged venerable face,

The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace.

LXIII

It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard

560

Ill suits the passions which belong to youth;

Love conquers age – so Hafiz hath averr’d,

So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth –

But crimes that scorn the tender voice of Ruth,

Beseeming all men ill, but most the man

565

In years, have mark’d him with a tiger’s tooth;

Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span,

In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began.

LXIV

‘Mid many things most new to ear and eye

The pilgrim rested here his weary feet,

570

And gazed around on Moslem luxury,

Till quickly wearied with that spacious seat

Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retreat

Of sated Grandeur from the city’s noise:

And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet;

575

But Peace abhorreth artificial joys,

And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys.

LXV

Fierce are Albania’s children, yet they lack

Not virtues, were those virtues more mature.

Where is the foe that ever saw their back?

580

Who can so well the toil of war endure?