Afric is all the sun’s, and as her earth Her human day is kindled; full of power For good or evil, burning from its birth, The Moorish blood partakes the planet’s hour, And like the soil beneath it will bring forth: Beauty and love were Haidee’s mother’s dower; But her large dark eye show’d deep Passion’s force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source. Her daughter, temper’d with a milder ray, Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair, Till slowly charged with thunder they display Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, Had held till now her soft and milky way; But overwrought with passion and despair, The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins, Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains. The last sight which she saw was Juan’s gore, And he himself o’ermaster’d and cut down; His blood was running on the very floor Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own; Thus much she view’d an instant and no more,— Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan; On her sire’s arm, which until now scarce held Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell’d. A vein had burst, and her sweet lips’ pure dyes Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o’er; And her head droop’d as when the lily lies O’ercharged with rain: her summon’d handmaids bore Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes; Of herbs and cordials they produced their store, But she defied all means they could employ, Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy. Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill— With nothing livid, still her lips were red; She had no pulse, but death seem’d absent still; No hideous sign proclaim’d her surely dead; Corruption came not in each mind to kill All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred New thoughts of life, for it seem’d full of soul— She had so much, earth could not claim the whole. The ruling passion, such as marble shows When exquisitely chisell’d, still lay there, But fix’d as marble’s unchanged aspect throws O’er the fair Venus, but for ever fair; O’er the Laocoon’s all eternal throes, And ever-dying Gladiator’s air, Their energy like life forms all their fame, Yet looks not life, for they are still the same. She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake, Rather the dead, for life seem’d something new, A strange sensation which she must partake Perforce, since whatsoever met her view Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still true Brought back the sense of pain without the cause, For, for a while, the furies made a pause. She look’d on many a face with vacant eye, On many a token without knowing what; She saw them watch her without asking why, And reck’d not who around her pillow sat; Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.