Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/194

Pierced keener than a Christian's sword.
"Son of a slave!—reproached with fear!
Those gibes had cost another dear. 110
Son of a slave!—and who my Sire?"
Thus held his thoughts their dark career;
And glances ev'n of more than ire^{[lower-roman 1]}
Flash forth, then faintly disappear.
Old Giaffir gazed upon his son
And started; for within his eye
He read how much his wrath had done;
He saw rebellion there begun:
"Come hither, boy—what, no reply?
I mark thee—and I know thee too; 120
But there be deeds thou dar'st not do:
But if thy beard had manlier length,
And if thy hand had skill and strength,
I'd joy to see thee break a lance,
Albeit against my own perchance."
As sneeringly these accents fell,
On Selim's eye he fiercely gazed:
That eye returned him glance for glance,
And proudly to his Sire's was raised,^{[lower-roman 2]}
Till Giaffir's quailed and shrunk askance— 130
And why—he felt, but durst not tell.
"Much I misdoubt this wayward boy
Will one day work me more annoy:
I never loved him from his birth,
And—but his arm is little worth,
And scarcely in the chase could cope
With timid fawn or antelope,
Far less would venture into strife
Where man contends for fame and life—

1. For looks of peace and hearts of ire.—[MS.]
2. And calmly to his Sire's was raised.—[MS.]