Literary cadet, and Saturday evening bulletin. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1826-1827, 1826-10-14
POETRY.

POETRY.
Although we are not insensbe that most, II not
all Of our readers, familiarly acquainted with
the poetica productions of the greatest Of Bards,
Lord BYRON, We cannot censure ourselves for CO.
pying for their perusal, the following extract
from the Giaour, IA celebrated Turkish tale and
probably one of the best of Lord BYRoS's produce
tions. The tale Of the Giaour is founded, to use
the language Lord BYRON, upon circumstances,
les. common in the East than formerly; either
because the ladies' crc cumspect than in the
olden time, or because the Christians have better
fortune or less enterprise. The Gaour, when writ
ten and prepared for the press, contained the adven
tures Of female slave, who was thrown, in the
Munulmsn manner, into the sea, for infdelity, and
avenged by young Venetian, her lover, at the
time the Seven Islands were possessed by the Re-
public of Venice, and soon after the Arnauts were
beaten back from the Morea, which they haG raw
aged for time subsequent to the Russian nva-
sion. The desertion of the Maniotes, on being re-
fused the plumber Of Mintra, led to the abandon
of that Enterprise and to the desolation Of the
Morea, during which the cruelty exercised on both
sides, was unparalleled even in the annals Of the
faithful. Atcr revensng the death of Leila, by
Staying her master, by whose order she had been
thrown uto the sea, the Giaour is represented to
have become misanthrope, nd secluded himself
from the world. While thus situated, he is visited
by Friar, TO whom he relates the story OF his al.
ventures, from which we extract the following:
81 lov'd her, frar! nay adored-
But these words that all can Use
proved it more in deed than word;
There's blood upon that dned sword,
STAN its steel can never lose:
Twas shed for her who died for me,
II warmd the heart of one abhorrd:
Nay, start not-no--nor bend thy knee,
Nor midst thy sins such acts record
Thou wilt absove me IRON the deed,
For he was hostile TO thy creed
The very name of Nazarme
Wa. wormwool to his Payrim spleen.
U1gratelul fool! since but for brands
Well wielled in some hardy hands,
Add Wounds by GalIieans given,
The surest pass to Turkish Heaven,
For him his Hours still might wait
Impatient at the Prophets gale.
loved her-iove will find its way
Thro' paths where wolves would fear to prey
And If dares enough, twere hard
II passion met not some reward
No matter how, or where, or why,
] did not vainly seek, nor sigh
Yet sometimes, with rcmorse, in vain
wish she had not iovi again.
She died. dare not tel thee how;
But look--'ts written my brow!
There read Of Cain the curse and crime
In characters unworn by time:
Still. ere thou dost condemn me- pause
Not mine the act, tn ugh mine the cause.
Yet did he but what had done,
Had she been false to more tnan one
Fathcss TO him, he gave the blow
1T true to me, laid him low:
Iowe'er deserv'd her doom q .sht be,
Her treachery was truth to me;
To me she gave her heart, that all
Whc. tyranny ne'er enlhrall;
And |, alas too late to save }!
Yet all then could give, gave
'Twaa some relief-our foe a grave.
II death sits lightly: but her fate
Ha. made me-what thou well may't hate.
lis loom seal'd he knew it well,
Warnu by the voice of Stern Taheer,
Deep IN whose dsEkly boding
The 1ea hshot pealed of murder near,
A. fled the troop TO where they FELL
lie died too, IN the battle broiI,
A time that heeds pain toll
Que cry to Nahomet for AID,
One prayer to Ala, all he made:
He knew aud cross'd me in the fray
] gazel upon him where he lay,
Aii watch'd his spirit ebb away
Though pierc'd like Pard by hunters steel,
He felt not half that now feel.
| searchcd, hut vainly searched, TO find
Tnc workings of a wounded mind;
Each feature of that sulen corse
Petrayd his rage, but rcmorse.
o ghat had vengeance given TO trace
Despair upon his dying face
The late repentance Of that hour,
When Penitence hath lost her power
To tear terror from the grave,
And will not soothe, aud cannot save.
The cold in cline are cold IN blood,
Their love deserve the name;
But mine was like the lava food,
That boils in Etns's breast of dame.
] cannot prate in pulling strain
Of ladve-love and beauty's chain
II changing cheek. and scorching vein,
Lips taught to writhe, but not complain,
II busting heart, and maddning brain,
And daring deed and vengeful steel,
And all that have felt, and feel,
Bctoken love-that love was nine,
Aud shown by many a bitter sign.
IT'S true, could not whine nor sigh,
] knew but To obtain or die.
IdIe-but first have possessed;
And cone what may, hare been hest.
Shall | the doom sought upbra,d?
No-reft OF all, yet undismavd,