The Giaour’s Love

(From The Giaour)

THE COLD in clime are cold in blood,

Their love can scarce deserve the name;

But mine was like the lava flood

That boils in Ætna’s breast of flame.

I cannot prate in puling strain

Of ladye-love, and beauty’s chain:

If changing cheek, and scorching vein,

Lips taught to writhe, but not complain,

If bursting heart, and madd’ning brain,

And daring deed, and vengeful steel,

And all that I have felt, and feel,

Betoken love—that love was mine,

And shown by many a bitter sign.

’Tis true, I could not whine nor sigh,

I knew but to obtain or die.

I die—but first I have possess’d,

And come what may, I have been blest.

Shall I the doom I sought upbraid?

No—reft of all, yet undismay’d

But for the thought of Leila slain,

Give me the pleasure with the pain,

So would I live and love again.

I grieve, but not, my holy guide!

For him who dies, but her who died:

She sleeps beneath the wandering wave—

Ah! had she but an earthly grave,

This breaking heart and throbbing head

Should seek and share her narrow bed.

She was a form of life and light,

That, seen, became a part of sight;

And rose, where’er I turn’d mine eye,

The Morning-star of Memory!