No More Learning

Who leads them on with foreign brand
Far flashing in his red right hand?
"'Tis he! 'tis he! I know him now; 610
I know him by his pallid brow;
I know him by the evil eye[98]
That aids his envious treachery;
I know him by his jet-black barb;
Though now arrayed in Arnaut garb,
Apostate from his own vile faith,
It shall not save him from the death:
'Tis he! well met in any hour,
Lost Leila's love--accursed Giaour! "

As rolls the river into Ocean,[99] 620
In sable torrent wildly streaming;
As the sea-tide's opposing motion,
In azure column proudly gleaming,
Beats back the current many a rood,
In curling foam and mingling flood,
While eddying whirl, and breaking wave,
Roused by the blast of winter, rave;
Through sparkling spray, in thundering clash,
The lightnings of the waters flash
In awful whiteness o'er the shore, 630
That shines and shakes beneath the roar;
Thus--as the stream and Ocean greet,
With waves that madden as they meet--
Thus join the bands, whom mutual wrong,
And fate, and fury, drive along.
The bickering sabres' shivering jar;
And pealing wide or ringing near
Its echoes on the throbbing ear,
The deathshot hissing from afar;
The shock, the shout, the groan of war, 640
Reverberate along that vale,
More suited to the shepherd's tale:
Though few the numbers--theirs the strife,
That neither spares nor speaks for life! [dp]
Ah! fondly youthful hearts can press,
To seize and share the dear caress;
But Love itself could never pant
For all that Beauty sighs to grant
With half the fervour Hate bestows
Upon the last embrace of foes, 650
When grappling in the fight they fold
Those arms that ne'er shall lose their hold:
Friends meet to part; Love laughs at faith;
True foes, once met, are joined till death!

* * * * *

With sabre shivered to the hilt,
Yet dripping with the blood he spilt;
Yet strained within the severed hand
Which quivers round that faithless brand;
His turban far behind him rolled,
And cleft in twain its firmest fold; 660
His flowing robe by falchion torn,
And crimson as those clouds of morn
That, streaked with dusky red, portend
The day shall have a stormy end;
A stain on every bush that bore
A fragment of his palampore;[100]
His breast with wounds unnumbered riven,
His back to earth, his face to Heaven,
Fall'n Hassan lies--his unclosed eye
Yet lowering on his enemy, 670
As if the hour that sealed his fate[101]
Surviving left his quenchless hate;
And o'er him bends that foe with brow
As dark as his that bled below.

* * * * *

"Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave,
But his shall be a redder grave;
Her spirit pointed well the steel
Which taught that felon heart to feel.
He called the Prophet, but his power
Was vain against the vengeful Giaour: 680
He called on Alla--but the word
Arose unheeded or unheard.
Thou Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer
Be passed, and thine accorded there?
I watched my time, I leagued with these,
The traitor in his turn to seize;
My wrath is wreaked, the deed is done,
And now I go--but go alone.
"

* * * * *

* * * * *

The browsing camels' bells are tinkling:[dq]
His mother looked from her lattice high--[102] 690
She saw the dews of eve besprinkling
The pasture green beneath her eye,
She saw the planets faintly twinkling:
"'Tis twilight--sure his train is nigh. "
She could not rest in the garden-bower,
But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower.
"Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet,
Nor shrink they from the summer heat;
Why sends not the Bridegroom his promised gift?
Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift? 700
Oh, false reproach! yon Tartar now
Has gained our nearest mountain's brow,
And warily the steep descends,
And now within the valley bends;[dr]
And he bears the gift at his saddle bow--
How could I deem his courser slow? [ds]
Right well my largess shall repay
His welcome speed, and weary way. "

The Tartar lighted at the gate,
But scarce upheld his fainting weight! [dt] 710
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[103] 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. 720
Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt:
Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt. "

* * * * *

A Turban[104] 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.