For the rude tent and war-field's deathful clash; His ZELICA's sweet glances for the flash
Of Grecian wild-fire, and Love's gentle chains For bleeding bondage on BYZANTIUM's plains.
Month after month, in widowhood of soul Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll Their suns away- but, ah! how cold and dim Ev'n summer suns, when not beheld with him! From time to time ill-omen'd rumours came, (Like spirit-tongues, muttering the sick-man's name, Just ere he dies, -) at length, those sounds of dread Fell withering on her soul, "AZIM is dead!" Oh grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate First leaves the young heart lone and desolate In the wide world, without that only tie For which it lov'd to live or fear'd to die ; Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken Since the sad day its master-chord was broken!
Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, Ev'n reason sunk blighted beneath its touch;
And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose Above the first dead pressure of its woes,
Though health and bloom return'd, the delicate chain Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again. Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray; - A wandering bark, upon whose path-way shone All stars of heav'n, except the guiding one! Again she smil❜d, nay, much and brightly smil❜d, But 'twas a lustre, strange, unreal, wild;
And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 'Twas like the notes, half extacy, half pain, The bulbulutters, 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 Young ZELICA,— that mission, which around The Eastern world, in every region blest
With woman's smile, sought out its loveliest, To grace that galaxy of lips and eyes,
Which the Veil'd Prophet destin'd for the skies!
And such quick welcome as a spark receives Dropp'd on a bed of autumn's wither'd leaves, Did every tale of these enthusiasts find
In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind. All fire at once the madd'ning zeal she caught; Elect of Paradise! blest, rapturous thought; Predestin'd bride, in heaven's eternal dome, Of some brave youth-ha! 'durst they say 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 The fantasy, which held thy mind in thrall, To see in that gay Haram's glowing maids A sainted colony for Eden's shades;
Or dream that he, of whose unholy flame
Thou wert too soon the victim,
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, And left thee dark, thou had'st an amulet
In the lov'd image, graven on thy heart,
Which would have sav'd thee from the tempter's art, And kept alive, in all its bloom of breath,
That purity, whose fading is love's death!
But lost, inflam'd, — a restless zeal took place
Of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace; First of the Prophet's favourites, proudly first In zeal and charms,
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, Where all was pure, where every stain that lay Upon the spirit's light should pass away,
And, realizing more than youthful love
E'er wish'd or dream'd, she should for ever rove Through fields of fragrance by her Azım's side, His own bless'd, purified, eternal bride!
'Twas from a scene, a witching trance like this, He hurried her away, yet breathing bliss,
To the dim charnel-house; through all its steams
Of damp and death, led only by those gleams
Which foul Corruption lights, as with design To show the and proud she too can shine!- And, passing on through upright ranks of Dead, Which to the maiden, doubly craz❜d by dread, Seem'd, through the bluish death-light round them cast, To move their lips in mutterings as she pass'd- There, in that awful place, when each had quaff'd And pledg'd in silence such a fearful draught,
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