And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose Though health and bloom return'd, the delicate chain And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 2 The bulbul utters, ere her soul depart, When, vanquish'd by some minstrel's powerful art, She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her heart! Such was the mood in which that mission found With woman's smile, sought out its loveliest, Which the Veil'd Prophet destin'd for the skies! 2 The nightingale. And such quick welcome as a spark receives In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind. Of some brave youth-ha! durst they say " of some?" No of the one, one only object trac'd In her heart's core too deep to be effac'd; The one whose memory, fresh as life, is twin'd With every broken link of her lost mind; Whose image lives, though Reason's self be wreck'd, Safe 'mid the ruins of her intellect ! Alas, poor ZELICA! it needed all Or dream that he, of whose unholy flame Thou wert too soon the victim, shining came - From Paradise, to people its pure sphere With souls like thine, which he hath ruin'd here! No-had not reason's light totally set, In the lov'd image, graven on thy heart, Which would have sav'd thee from the tempter's art, That purity, whose fading is love's death! - Of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace; - too well th' Impostor nurs'd Her soul's delirium, in whose active flame, Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant frame, He saw more potent sorceries to bind To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind, More subtle chains than hell itself e'er twin'd.. No art was spar'd, no witchery;-all the skill His demons taught him was employ'd to fill Her mind with gloom and extacy by turns That gloom, through which Frenzy but fiercer burns; That extacy, which from the depth of sadness Glares like the maniac's moon, whose light is madness! 'Twas from a brilliant banquet, where the sound Of poesy and music breath'd around, Together picturing to her mind and ear The glories of that heav'n, her destin'd sphere, And, realizing more than youthful love To the dim charnel-house; — through all its steams And pledg'd in silence such a fearful draught, Such-oh! the look and taste of that red bowl In joy or sorrow from his side to sever. - She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, "never, never!" From that dread hour, entirely, wildly given To him and she believ'd, lost maid!-to heaven; Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflam'd, How proud she stood, when in full Haram nam'd The Priestess of the Faith! - how flash'd her eyes With light, alas! that was not of the skies, When round in trances only less than hers, She saw the Haram kneel, her prostrate worshippers! When from its stem the small bird wings away ! |