Who is she, the pale-browed stranger, Bending o’er that son of slaughter? God be with thee in thy danger, Israel’s lone and peerless daughter! She hath bared her queenly beauty To the dark Assyrian’s glance; Now a high and sterner duty Bids her to his couch advance. Beautiful and pale she bendeth In her earnest prayer to Heaven; Look again, that maiden standeth In the strength her God has given! Strangely is her dark eye kindled, Hot blood through her cheek is poured; Lo, her

The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o’er the wide & winding Rhine, Whose breast of water broadly swells, Between the banks which bear the vine, And fields which promise corn & wine; And scattered cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine; Have strewed a scene, which I should see, With double joy wert thou with me. And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, And hands which offer early flowers, Walk smiling o’er this paradise; Above the frequent feudal tower

CANTO THE FIRST, Section X No word from Selim’s bosom broke; One sigh Zuleika’s thought bespoke: Still gazed he through the lattice grate, Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate. To him Zuleika’s eye was turn’d, But little from his aspect learn’d; Equal her grief, yet not the same: Her heart confess’d a gentler flame: But yet that heart, alarm’d, or weak, She knew not why, forbade to speak. Yet speak she must but when essay? How strange he thus should turn away! Not thus we e’er b

See the grapes are fresh gather’d, the choicest are there, That the vineyard can boast, or the valley can bear. Let the spirit of Abel dwell ever in each breast, Who, while living, gave to heaven of the fairest & best; Of the autumn’s rich store let the heart be profuse, Bury the wicked & reject our fields can produce. Then sing Ave Maria! & up and away To the East of the Virgin that looks on the bay! See the grapes are fresh gather’d, the choicest are there, That the vineyar

There’s a beauty, forever unchangingly bright, Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer day’s light, Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendour. This was not the beauty—oh! nothing like this, That to young Nourmahal gave such magic of bliss; But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays Like the light upon autumn’s soft shadowy days, Now here & now there, giving warmth as it flies From the lips to the cheek, from the