Thus, after his defeat, pale Reschid speaks. Among the dead we mourned a thousand Greeks. Lone from the field the Pasha fled afar, And, musing, wiped his reeking scimitar; His two dead steeds upon the sands were flung, And on their sides their empty stirrups hung. W.D., _Bentley's Miscellany_, 1839. THE GREEK BOY. _("Les Turcs ont passés là.")_ [XVIII., June 10, 1828.] All is a ruin where rage knew no bounds: Chio is levelled, and loathed by the hounds, For shivered yest'reen was her lance; Sulphurous vapors envenom the place Where her true beauties of Beauty's true race Were lately linked close in the dance. Dark is the desert, with one single soul; Cerulean eyes! whence the burning tears roll In anguish of uttermost shame, Under the shadow of one shrub of May, Splashed still with ruddy drops, bent in decay Where fiercely the hand of Lust came. "Soft and sweet urchin, still red with the lash Of rein and of scabbard of wild Kuzzilbash, What lack you for changing your sob-- If not unto laughter beseeming a child-- To utterance milder, though they have defiled The graves which they shrank not to rob? "Would'st thou a trinket, a flower, or scarf, Would'st thou have silver? I'm ready with half These sequins a-shine in the sun! Still more have I money--if you'll but speak!" He spoke: and furious the cry of the Greek, "Oh, give me your dagger and gun!" ZARA, THE BATHER _("Sara, belle d'indolence.")_ [XIX., August, 1828.] In a swinging hammock lying, Lightly flying, Zara, lovely indolent, O'er a fountain's crystal wave There to lave Her young beauty--see her bent. As she leans, so sweet and soft, Flitting oft, O'er the mirror to and fro, Seems that airy floating bat, Like a feather From some sea-gull's wing of snow. Every time the frail boat laden With the maiden Skims the water in its flight, Starting from its trembling sheen, Swift are seen A white foot and neck so white. As that lithe foot's timid tips Quick she dips, Passing, in the rippling pool, (Blush, oh! snowiest ivory!) Frolic, she Laughs to feel the pleasant cool. Here displayed, but half concealed-- Half revealed, Each bright charm shall you behold, In her innocence emerging, As a-verging On the wave her hands grow cold. For no star howe'er divine Has the shine Of a maid's pure loveliness, Frightened if a leaf but quivers As she shivers, Veiled with naught but dripping trees.