Such the refined intelligence that glowed shone, Again, throughout th' assembly, at these words, Thousands of voices rung; the warriors' swords Were pointed up to heaven; a sudden wind In th' open banners play'd, and from behind Those Persian hangings, that but ill could screen The haram's loveliness, white hands were seen Waving embroider'd scarves, whose motion gave 1 Through many a Prophet's breast. – This is according to D'Herbelot's account of the doctrines of Mokanna:"Sa doctrine étoit que Dieu avoit pris une forme et figure humaine depuis qu'il eut commandé aux Anges d'adorer Adam, le premier des hommes. Qu'après la mort d'Adam, Dieu étoit apparu sous la figure de plusieurs prophètes, et autres grands hommes, qu'il avoit choisis, jusqu'à ce qu'il prit celle d'Abu Moslem, Prince de Khorassan, lequel professoit l'erreur de la Tenassukhiah, ou Metempsychose; et qu'après la mort de ce Prince, la Divinité étoit passée, et descendue en sa personne.” 2 Jesus. A perfume forth ; — like those the Houris wave, When beckoning to their bowers th’ Immortal Brave. “But these,” pursued the Chief, “ are truths sub lime, That claim a holier mood and calmer time Than earth allows us now; - this sword must first The darkling prison-house of mankind burst, Ere peace can visit them, or truth let in Her wakening daylight on a world of sin! But then, celestial warriors, then, when all Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall; When the glad slave shall at these feet lay down His broken chain, the tyrant lord his crown, The priest his book, the conqueror his wreath, And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze That whole dark pile of human mockeries ; — Then shall the reign of Mind commence on earth, And starting fresh, as from a second birth, Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring, Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing! Then, too, your Prophet from his angel brow Shall cast the Veil, that hides its splendors now. And gladden'd earth shall, through her wide ex panse, Bask in the glories of this countenance! “For thee, young warrior, welcome!- thou hast yet Some tasks to learn, some frailties to forget Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can wave; But, once my own, mine all till in the grave!” The pomp is at an end, — the crowds are gone glances; But there was one, among the chosen maids Who blush'd behind the gallery's silken shades, One, to whose soul the pageant of to-day Has been like death ; — you saw her pale dismay, Ye wondering sisterhood, and heard the burst Of exclamation from her lips, when first She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne. Ah, Zelica! there was a time, when bliss Shone o'er thy heart from every look of his; When but to see him, hear him, breathe the air In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer! When round him hung such a perpetual spell, Whate'er he did, none ever did so well. Too happy days! when, if he touch'd a flower Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour; When thou didst study him, till every tone - Once happy pair! – in proud Bokhara's groves, Who had not heard of their first youthful loves ? Born by that ancient flood, which from its spring In the Dark Mountains swiftly wandering, Enrich'd by every pilgrim brook that shines With relics from Bucharia's ruby mines, And, lending to the Caspian half its strength, 1 The Amoo, which rises in the Belur Tag, or Dark Mountains, and running nearly from east to west, splits into two branches, one of which falls into the Caspian Sea, and the other into Aral Nahr, or the Lake of Eagles. In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length; - Month after month, in widowhood of soul Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll Their suns away — but, ah! how cold and dim Even summer suns, when not beheld with him! From time to time ill-omen'd rumors 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!” O 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 loved 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! |