THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS 1-09

CANTO THE FIRST.

IX.

His head was leant upon his hand,
His eye look'd o'er the dark blue water
That swiftly glides and gently swells
Between the winding Dardanelles;
But yet he saw nor sea nor strand,
Nor even his Pacha's turban'd band
Mix in the game of mimic slaughter,
Careering cleave the folded felt
With sabre stroke right sharply dealt;
Nor mark'd the javelin-darting crowd,
Nor heard their Ollahs wild and loud -
He thought but of old Giaffir's daughter!

George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron (1788-1824) ByronLong