Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell, But gaze on that of the Gazelle, It will assist thy fancy well; As large, as languishingly dark, But Soul beamed forth in every spark That darted from beneath the lid, Bright as the jewel of Giamschid.[86] Yea, _Soul_, and should our prophet say 480 That form was nought but breathing clay, By Alla! I would answer nay; Though on Al-Sirat's[87] arch I stood, Which totters o'er the fiery flood, With Paradise within my view, And all his Houris beckoning through. Oh! who young Leila's glance could read And keep that portion of his creed Which saith that woman is but dust, A soulless toy for tyrant's lust?[88] 490 On her might Muftis gaze, and own That through her eye the Immortal shone; On her fair cheek's unfading hue The young pomegranate's[89] blossoms strew Their bloom in blushes ever new; Her hair in hyacinthine flow,[90] When left to roll its folds below, As midst her handmaids in the hall She stood superior to them all, Hath swept the marble where her feet 500 Gleamed whiter than the mountain sleet Ere from the cloud that gave it birth It fell, and caught one stain of earth. The cygnet nobly walks the water; So moved on earth Circassia's daughter, The loveliest bird of Franguestan![91] As rears her crest the ruffled Swan, And spurns the wave with wings of pride, When pass the steps of stranger man Along the banks that bound her tide; 510 Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck:-- Thus armed with beauty would she check Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise. Thus high and graceful was her gait; Her heart as tender to her mate; Her mate--stern Hassan, who was he? Alas! that name was not for thee![92] * * * * * Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en With twenty vassals in his train, 520 Each armed, as best becomes a man, With arquebuss and ataghan; The chief before, as decked for war, Bears in his belt the scimitar Stained with the best of Arnaut blood, When in the pass the rebels stood, And few returned to tell the tale Of what befell in Parne's vale. The pistols which his girdle bore Were those that once a Pasha wore, 530 Which still, though gemmed and bossed with gold, Even robbers tremble to behold. 'Tis said he goes to woo a bride More true than her who left his side; The faithless slave that broke her bower, And--worse than faithless--for a Giaour! * * * * *