Giaour 1

= The Giaour Part 1 =
a fragment of a Turkish tale
Lines 1-500
Text from the 11th Print Edition, 1814
Printed by T. Davison for J. Murray
=== Lines 0001-0100 ===
# No breath of air to break the wave 
# That rolls below the Athenian's grave, 
# That tomb l which, gleaming o'er the cliff, 
# First greets the homeward-veering skiff, 
# High o'er the land he saved in vain 
# When shall such hero live again? 
# Fair clime! where every season smiles 
# Benignant o'er those blessed isles, 
# Which seen from far Colonna's height, 
# Make glad the heart that hails the sight,  
# And lend to loneliness delight. 
# There mildly dimpling Ocean's cheek 
# Reflects the tints of many a peak 
# Caught by the laughing tides that lave 
# These Edens of the eastern wave;
# And if at times a transient breeze 
# Break the blue chrystal of the seas, 
# Or sweep one blossom from the trees, 
# How welcome is each gentle air, 
# That wakes and wafts the odours there!
# For there the Rose o'er crag or vale, 
# Sultana of the Nightingale, 
# The maid for whom his melody 
# His thousand songs are heard on high, 
# Blooms blushing to her lover's tale; 
# His queen, the garden queen, his Rose, 
# Unbent by winds, unchill'd by snows, 
# Far from the winters of the west 
# By every breeze and season blest, 
# Returns the sweets by nature given
# In softest incense back to heaven; 
# And grateful yields that smiling sky 
# Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh . 
# And many a summer flower is there, 
# And many a shade that love might share,
# And many a grotto, meant for rest, 
# That holds the pirate for a guest ; 
# Whose bark in sheltering cove below 
# Lurks for the passing peaceful prow, 
# Till the gay mariner's guitar
# Is heard, and seen the evening star ; 
# Then stealing with the muffled oar, 
# Far shaded by the rocky shore, 
# Rush the night-prowlers on the prey, 
# And turn to groans his roundelay.
# Strange that where Nature lov'd to trace, 
# As if for Gods, a dwelling-place, 
# And every charm and grace hath mixed 
# Within the paradise she fixed 
# There man, enamour'd of distress,
# Should mar it into wilderness, 
# And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower 
# That tasks not one laborious hour ; 
# Nor claims the culture of his hand 
# To bloom along the fairy land,
# But springs as to preclude his care, 
# And sweetly woos him but to spare ! 
# Strange that where all is peace beside 
# There passion riots in her pride, 
# And lust and rapine wildly reign, 
# To darken o'er the fair domain. 
# It is as though the fiends prevail'd 
# Against the seraphs they assail'd, 
# And fixed, on heavenly thrones, should dwell 
# The freed inheritors of hell
# So soft the scene, so form'd for joy, 
# So curst the tyrants that destroy! 
# He who hath bent him o'er the dead, 
# Ere the first day of death is fled; 
# The first dark day of nothingness,
# The last of danger and distress; 
# (Before Decay's effacing fingers 
# Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) 
# And mark'd the mild angelic air 
# The rapture of repose that's there
# The fixed yet tender traits that streak 
# The languor of the placid cheek, 
# And but for that sad shrouded eye, 
# That fires not wins not weeps not now 
# And but for that chill changeless brow,
# Where cold Obstruction's apathy
# Appals the gazing mourner's heart, 
# As if to him it could impart 
# The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon 
# Yes but for these and these alone, 
# Some moments aye one treacherous hour, 
# He still might doubt the tyrant's power, 
# So fair so calm so softly seal'd 
# The first last look by death reveal'd!
# Such is the aspect of this shore' 
# Tis Greece but living Greece no more! 
# So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
# We start for soul is wanting there. 
# Hers is the loveliness in death, 
# That parts not quite with parting breath; 
# But beauty with that fearful bloom, 
# That hue which haunts it to the tomb 
# Expression's last receding ray, 
# A gilded halo hovering round decay, 
# The farewell beam of Feeling past away!
=== Lines 0101-0200 ===
# Spark of that flame perchance of heavenly birth 
# Which gleams but warms no more its cherish'd earth! 
# Clime of the unforgotten brave! 
# Whose land from plain to mountain-cave 
# Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave
# Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, 
# That this is all remains of thee? 
# Approach thou craven crouching slave- 
# Say, is not this Thermopylae? 
# These waters blue that round you lave
# Oh servile offspring of the free 
# Pronounce what sea, what shore is this? 
# The gulf, the rock of Salamis! 
# These scenes their story not unknown 
# Arise, and make again your own;
# Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
# The embers of their former fires, 
# And he who in the strife expires 
# Will add to theirs a name of fear, 
# That Tyranny shall quake to hear,
# And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 
# They too will rather die than shame; 
# For Freedom's battle once begun, 
# Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, 
# Though baffled oft is ever won.
# Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, 
# Attest it many a deathless age! 
# While kingg in dusty darkness hid; 
# Have left a nameless pyramid, 
# Thy heroes though the general doom
# Hath swept the column from their tomb, 
# A mightier monument command, 
# The mountains of their native land! 
# There points thy Muse to stranger's eye, 
# The graves of those that cannot die!
# 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, 
# Each step from splendour to disgrace, 
# Enough no foreign foe could quell 
# Thy soul, till from itself it fell, 
# Yes! Self-abasement pav'd the way
# To vilain-bonds and despot-sway. 
# What can he tell who treads thy shore? 
# No legend of thine olden time, 
# No theme on which the muse might soar, 
# High as thine own in days of yore, 
# When man was worthy of thy clime. 
# The hearts within thy valleys bred, 
# The fiery souls that might have led 
# Thy sons to deeds sublime; 
# Now crawl from cradle to the grave, 
# Slaves nay the bondsmen of a slave, 
# And callous, save to crime; 
# Stain'd with each evil that pollutes 
# Mankind, where least above the brutes; 
# Without even savage virtue blest,
# Without one free or valiant breast. 
# Still to the neighbouring ports they waft 
# Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft, 
# In this the subtle Greek is found, 
# For this, and this alone, renown'd. 
# In vain might Liberty invoke 
# The spirit to its bondage broke, 
# Or raise the neck that courts the yoke: 
# No more her sorrows I bewail, 
# Yet this will be a mournful tale, 
# And they who listen may believe, 
# Who heard it first had cause to grieve. 
# Far, dark, along the blue sea glancing, 
# The shadows of the rocks advancing, 
# Start on the fisher's eye like boat 
# Of island-pirate or Mainote; 
# And fearful for his light caique 
# He shuns the near but doubtful creek, 
# Though worn and weary with his toil, 
# And cumber'd with his scaly spoil, 
# Slowly, yet strongly, plies the oar, 
# Till Port Leone's safer shore 
# Receives him by the lovely light 
# That best becomes an Eastern night. 
# Who thundering comes on blackest steed?
# With slackened bit and hoof of speed, 
# Beneath the clattering iron's sound 
# The cavern'd echoes wake around 
# In lash for lash, and bound for bound; 
# The foam that streaks the courser's side,
# Seems gather'd from the ocean-tide: 
# Though weary waves are sunk to rest, 
# There's none within his rider's breast, 
# And though to-morrow's tempest lower, 
# Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour!
# I know thee not, I loathe thy race, 
# But in thy lineaments I trace 
# What time shall strengthen, not efface; 
# Though young and pale, that sallow front 
# Is scath'd by fiery passion's brunt,
# Though bent on earth thine evil eye 
# As meteor like thou glidest by, 
# Right well I view, and deem thee one 
# Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun. 
# On on he hastened and he drew
=== Lines 0201-0300 ===
# My gaze of wonder as he flew: 
# Though like a demon of the night 
# He passed and vanished from my sight; 
# His aspect and his air impressed 
# A troubled memory on my breast;
# And long upon my startled ear 
# Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear. 
# He spurs his steed he nears the steep, 
# That jutting shadows o'er the deep 
# He winds around he hurries by
# The rock relieves him from mine eye 
# For well I ween unwelcome he 
# Whose glance is fixed on those that flee; 
# And not a star but shines too bright 
# On him who takes such timeless flight. 
# He wound along but ere he passed 
# One glance he snatched as if his last 
# A moment checked his wheeling steed 
# A moment breathed him from his speed 
# A moment on his stirrup stood 
# Why looks he o'er the olive wood? 
# The crescent glimmers on the hill, 
# The Mosque's high lamps are quivering 
# Though too remote for sound to wake 
# In echoes of the far tophaike,
# The flashes of each joyous peal 
# Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal. 
# To-night set Rhamazani's sun 
# To-night the Bairam feast's begun 
# To-night but who and what art thou
# Of foreign garb and fearful brow? 
# And what are these to thine or thee, 
# That thou should'st either pause or flee? 
# He stood some dread was on his face 
# Soon Hatred settled in its place 
# It rose not with the reddening flush 
# Of transient Angers darkening blush, 
# But pale as marble o'er the tomb, 
# Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. 
# His brow was bent his eye was glazed
# He raised his arm, and fiercely raised; 
# And sternly shook his hand on high, 
# As doubting to return or fly; 
# Impatient of his flight delayed 
# Here loud his raven charger neighed
# Down glanced that hand, and grasped his blade- 
# That sound had burst his waking dream, 
# As Slumber starts at owlet's scream. 
# The spur hath lanced his courser's sides 
# Away-r-away for life he rides 
# Swift as the hurled on high jerreed,
# Springs to the touch his startled steed,
# The rock is doubled and the shore 
# Shakes with the clattering tramp no more 
# The crag is won no more is seen - 
# His Christian crest and haughty mien. 
# 'Twas but an instant* he, restrained 
# That fiery barb so sternly reined 
# 'Twas but a moment that he stood, 
# Then sped as if by death pursued;
# But in that instant, o'er his soul 
# Winters of Memory seemed to roll; 
# And gather in that drop of time 
# A life of pain, an age of crime. 
# 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 pondered 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 
# 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,
# 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 vanished from the stall, 
# No serf is seen in Hassan's hall 
# The lonely Spider's thin grey 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 
=== Lines 0301-0400 ===
# 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 played 
# 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 sooth'd by Beauty's song; 
# And softer seemed 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 filled that font is fled 
# The blood that warmed his heart is shed! 
# And here no more shall human voice
# Be heard to rage regret rejoice 
# The last sad note that swelled the gale 
# Was woman's wildest funeral wail 
# That quenched 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 desart 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 gijded chamber's there, 
# Which Solitude might well forbear; 
# Within that dome as yet Decay 
# Hath slowly worked her cankering way 
# But Gloom is gathered 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."
# 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 deu.
# The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour, 
# Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre!
# 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;
# The foremost of the band is seen 
# An Emir by his garb of green: 
# "Ho! who art thou? this low salam
# "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 fuii'd, and ply 
# "The nearest oar that's scattered 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 chequer'd o'er the living stream 
# I gaz'd, 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, 385 
# Which, trembling in their coral caves, 
# They dare not whisper to the waves. 
# As rising on its purple wing 
# The insect-queen of eastern spring, 
# O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer
# Invites the young pursuer near, 
# And leads him on fr,om 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 betrayed,
# Woe waits the insect and the maid, 
# A life of pain, the loss of peace, 
=== Lines 0401-0500 ===
# From infant's play, or man's caprice: 
# The lovely toy so fiercely sought 
# Has lost its charm by being caught,
# For every touch that wooed it's stay 
# Has brush'd the 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? 
# Or Beauty, blighted in an hour, 
# Find joy within her broken bower?
# No: gayer insects fluttering by 
# Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die, 
# And lovelier things liave mercy shewn 
# To every failing but their own, 
# And every woe a tear can claim
# Except an erring sister's shame.
# The Mind, that broods o'er guilty woes, 
# Is like the Scorpion girt by fire, 
# In circle narrowing as it glows 
# The flames around their captive close, 
# Till inly searched by thousand throes, 
# And maddening in her ire, 
# One sad and sole relief she knows, 
# The sting she nourished for her foes, 
# Whose venom never yet was vain,
# Gives but one pang, and cures all pain, 
# And darts into her desperate brain. 
# So do the dark in soul expire, 
# Or live like Scorpion girt by fire;
# So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven, 
# Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven, 
# Darkness above, despair beneath, 
# Around it flame, within it death! 
# Black Hassan from the Haram flies, 
# Nor bends on woman's form his eyes,
# The unwonted chase each hour employs, 
# Yet shares he not the hunter's joys. 
# Not thus was Hassan wont to fly 
# When Leila dwelt in his Serai. 
# Doth Leila there no longer dwell? 
# That tale can only Hassan tell: 
# Strange rumours in our city say 
# Upon that eve she fled away; 
# When Rhamazan's l8 last sun was set, 
# And flashing from each minaret 
# Millions of lamps proclaim'd the feast 
# Of Bairam through the boundless East. 
# Twas then she went as to the bath, 
# Which Hassan vainly searched in wrath, 
# But she was flown Her. master's rage 
# In likeness of a Georgian page; 
# And far beyond the Moslem's power 
# Had wrong'd him with the faithless Giaour. 
# Somewhat of this had Hassan deem'd, 
# But still so fond, so fair she seem'd, 
# Too well he trusted to the slave 
# Whose treachery deserv'd a grave: 
# And on that eve had gone to mosque, 
# And thence to feast in his kiosk. 
# Such is the tale his Nubians tell,
# Who did not watch their charge too well; 
# But others say, that on that night, 
# By pale Phingari's trembling light, 
# The Giaour upon his jet black steed 
# Was seen but seen alone to speed
# With bloody spur along the shore, 
# Nor maid nor page behind him bore. 
# Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell, 
# But gaze on that of the Gazelle, 
# It will assist thy fancy well&gt; 
# As large, as languishingly dark, 
# But Soul beam'd forth in every spark 
# That darted from beneath the lid, 
# Bright as the jewel of Giamschid
# Yea, Soul, and should our prophet say 
# That form was nought but breathing clay, 
# By Alla! I would answer nay; 
# Though on Al-Sirat's I arch I stood, 
# Which totters o'er the fiery flood, 
# With Paradise within my view,
# And all his Houris beckoning through. 
# Oh! who young Leila's glance could read 
# And keep that portion of his creed
# Which saith, that woman is but dust, 
# A soulless toy for tyrant's lust?
# On her might Muftis gaze, and own 
# I That through her eye the Immortal shone 
# On her fair cheek's unfading hue, 
# The young pomegranate's blossoms strew 
# Their bloom in blushes ever new
# Her hair in hyacinthine flow 
# When left to roll its folds below; 
# As midst her handmaids in the hall 
# She stood superior to them all, 
# Hath swept the marble where her feet 
# Gleamed whiter than the mountain sleet 
# Ere from the cloud that gave it birth, 
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Category:The Giaour
Category:Lord Byron
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