His feet the foremost breakers lave;
His band are plunging in the bay,
Their sabres glitter through the spray;
Wet--wild--unwearied to the strand
They struggle--now they touch the land!
His band are plunging in the bay,
Their sabres glitter through the spray;
Wet--wild--unwearied to the strand
They struggle--now they touch the land!
Byron
" 1000
Forth to the cavern mouth he stept;
His pistol's echo rang on high,
Zuleika started not, nor wept,
Despair benumbed her breast and eye! --
"They hear me not, or if they ply
Their oars,'tis but to see me die;
That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh.
Then forth my father's scimitar,
Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war!
Farewell, Zuleika! --Sweet! retire: 1010
Yet stay within--here linger safe,
At thee his rage will only chafe.
Stir not--lest even to thee perchance
Some erring blade or ball should glance.
Fear'st them for him? --may I expire
If in this strife I seek thy sire!
No--though by him that poison poured;
No--though again he call me coward!
But tamely shall I meet their steel?
No--as each crest save _his_ may feel! " 1020
XXIV.
One bound he made, and gained the sand:
Already at his feet hath sunk
The foremost of the prying band,
A gasping head, a quivering trunk:
Another falls--but round him close
A swarming circle of his foes;
From right to left his path he cleft,
And almost met the meeting wave:
His boat appears--not five oars' length--
His comrades strain with desperate strength-- 1030
Oh! are they yet in time to save?
His feet the foremost breakers lave;
His band are plunging in the bay,
Their sabres glitter through the spray;
Wet--wild--unwearied to the strand
They struggle--now they touch the land!
They come--'tis but to add to slaughter--
His heart's best blood is on the water.
XXV.
Escaped from shot, unharmed by steel,
Or scarcely grazed its force to feel,[ha] 1040
Had Selim won, betrayed, beset,
To where the strand and billows met;
There as his last step left the land,
And the last death-blow dealt his hand--
Ah! wherefore did he turn to look[hb]
For her his eye but sought in vain?
That pause, that fatal gaze he took,
Hath doomed his death, or fixed his chain.
Sad proof, in peril and in pain,
How late will Lover's hope remain! 1050
His back was to the dashing spray;
Behind, but close, his comrades lay,
When, at the instant, hissed the ball--
"So may the foes of Giaffir fall! "
Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang?
Whose bullet through the night-air sang,
Too nearly, deadly aimed to err?
'Tis thine--Abdallah's Murderer!
The father slowly rued thy hate,
The son hath found a quicker fate: 1060
Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling,
The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling--
If aught his lips essayed to groan,
The rushing billows choked the tone!
XXVI.
Morn slowly rolls the clouds away;
Few trophies of the fight are there:
The shouts that shook the midnight-bay
Are silent; but some signs of fray
That strand of strife may bear,
And fragments of each shivered brand; 1070
Steps stamped; and dashed into the sand
The print of many a struggling hand
May there be marked; nor far remote
A broken torch, an oarless boat;
And tangled on the weeds that heap
The beach where shelving to the deep
There lies a white capote!
'Tis rent in twain--one dark-red stain
The wave yet ripples o'er in vain:
But where is he who wore?
Forth to the cavern mouth he stept;
His pistol's echo rang on high,
Zuleika started not, nor wept,
Despair benumbed her breast and eye! --
"They hear me not, or if they ply
Their oars,'tis but to see me die;
That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh.
Then forth my father's scimitar,
Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war!
Farewell, Zuleika! --Sweet! retire: 1010
Yet stay within--here linger safe,
At thee his rage will only chafe.
Stir not--lest even to thee perchance
Some erring blade or ball should glance.
Fear'st them for him? --may I expire
If in this strife I seek thy sire!
No--though by him that poison poured;
No--though again he call me coward!
But tamely shall I meet their steel?
No--as each crest save _his_ may feel! " 1020
XXIV.
One bound he made, and gained the sand:
Already at his feet hath sunk
The foremost of the prying band,
A gasping head, a quivering trunk:
Another falls--but round him close
A swarming circle of his foes;
From right to left his path he cleft,
And almost met the meeting wave:
His boat appears--not five oars' length--
His comrades strain with desperate strength-- 1030
Oh! are they yet in time to save?
His feet the foremost breakers lave;
His band are plunging in the bay,
Their sabres glitter through the spray;
Wet--wild--unwearied to the strand
They struggle--now they touch the land!
They come--'tis but to add to slaughter--
His heart's best blood is on the water.
XXV.
Escaped from shot, unharmed by steel,
Or scarcely grazed its force to feel,[ha] 1040
Had Selim won, betrayed, beset,
To where the strand and billows met;
There as his last step left the land,
And the last death-blow dealt his hand--
Ah! wherefore did he turn to look[hb]
For her his eye but sought in vain?
That pause, that fatal gaze he took,
Hath doomed his death, or fixed his chain.
Sad proof, in peril and in pain,
How late will Lover's hope remain! 1050
His back was to the dashing spray;
Behind, but close, his comrades lay,
When, at the instant, hissed the ball--
"So may the foes of Giaffir fall! "
Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang?
Whose bullet through the night-air sang,
Too nearly, deadly aimed to err?
'Tis thine--Abdallah's Murderer!
The father slowly rued thy hate,
The son hath found a quicker fate: 1060
Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling,
The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling--
If aught his lips essayed to groan,
The rushing billows choked the tone!
XXVI.
Morn slowly rolls the clouds away;
Few trophies of the fight are there:
The shouts that shook the midnight-bay
Are silent; but some signs of fray
That strand of strife may bear,
And fragments of each shivered brand; 1070
Steps stamped; and dashed into the sand
The print of many a struggling hand
May there be marked; nor far remote
A broken torch, an oarless boat;
And tangled on the weeds that heap
The beach where shelving to the deep
There lies a white capote!
'Tis rent in twain--one dark-red stain
The wave yet ripples o'er in vain:
But where is he who wore?
