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The chieftain, ere his band he led,
Came thither with his prayer ;

The boatman, ere his sail he spread,
Watched for an omen there;

And ever the shriek rang loud within,
And ever the red blood ran,

And amid the sin and smoke and din I sate with a changeless, endless grin, Forging my First for Man!

My priests are rotting in their grave,
My shrine is silent now;
There is no victim in my cave,
No crown upon my brow ;
Nothing is left but dust and clay
Of all that was divine;

My name and my memory pass away,
But dawn and dusk of one fair day

Are called by mortals mine.

1826.

XIX.

My First to-night in young Haidee
Is so surpassing fair,

That though my Second precious be
It shews all faded there;

And let my Whole be never twined
To shame those beaming charms,
A richer one she cannot find

Than fond Affection's arms.

XX.

He who can make my First to roll
When not a breath is blowing,
May very slightly turn my Whole
To set a mountain going:

He who can curb my Second's will
When she's inclined for roving,
May turn my Whole more slightly still
To cure the moon of moving!

XXI.

ACROSS my First, with flash and roar,
The stately vessel glides alone;
And silent on the crowded shore
There kneels an aged crone,

Watching my Second's parting smile
As he looks farewell to his native isle.

My Whole comes back to other eyes

With beauteous change of fruits and flowers; But black to her are those bright skies,

And sad those joyous bowers;

Alas! my First is dark and deep,

And my Second cannot hear her weep!

XXII.

SIR EUSTACE goes to the far Crusade

In radiant armour drest;

And

my

First is graven on his blade,

And broidered on his breast.

And a flush is on his cheek and brow,

And a fever in his blood,

As he stands upon my Second now,
And gazes on the flood.

Away, away!-the canvas drives

Like a sea-bird's rustling wing;

My Whole hath a score of Moslem lives
Upon its twanging string.

VOL. II.

EE

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