Hang from the lattice, long and wild ;—
"Tis she, that Emir's blooming child,
All truth and tenderness and grace,
Though born of such ungentle race;-
An image of Youth's radiant Fountain,
Springing in a desolate mountain ! *
Oh! what a pure and sacred thing
Is Beauty, curtain'd from the sight
Of the gross world, illumining
One only mansion with her light!
Unseen by man's disturbing eye,—
The flower, that blooms beneath the sea
Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie
Hid in more chaste obscurity!
So, HINDA, have thy face and mind,
Like holy mysteries, lain enshrin'd;
And oh! what transport for a lover,
To lift the veil that shades them o'er!-
Like those who, all at once, discover
In the lone deep some fairy shore,
Where mortal never trod before,
And sleep and wake in scented airs
No lip had ever breath'd but theirs!
Beautiful are the maids that glide,
On summer eves, through Yemen's * dales,
And bright the glancing looks they hide
Behind their litters' roseate veils ;
* "The Fountain of Youth, by a Mahometan tradition, is situated in some dark region of the East."-Richardson.
And brides, as delicate and fair
As the white jasmine flowers they wear,
Hath Yemen in her blissful clime,
Who, lull'd in cool kiosk or bower,
Before their mirrors count the time,
And grow still lovelier every hour.
But never yet hath bride or maid
In Araby's gay harams smil'd,
Whose boasted brightness would not fade
Before AL HASSAN'S blooming child.
Light as the angel shapes that bless
An infant's dream, yet not the less
Rich in all woman's loveliness ;-
With eyes so pure, that from their ray
Dark vice would turn abash'd away,
Blinded like serpents, when they gaze
Upon the emerald's virgin blaze ! *
Yet, fill'd with all youth's sweet desires,
Mingling the meek and vestal fires
Of other worlds with all the bliss,
The fond, weak tenderness of this!
A soul, too, more than half divine,
Where, through some shades of earthly feeling,
Religion's soften'd glories shine,
Like light through summer foliage stealing,
Shedding a glow of such mild hue,
So warm, and yet so shadowy too,
They say that if a snake or serpent fix his eyes on the lustre of those stones (emeralds), he immediately becomes blind."-Ahmed ben Abdalaziz, Treatise on Jewels.
As makes the very darkness there
More beautiful than light elsewhere!
Such is the maid who, at this hour,
Hath risen from her restless sleep,
And sits alone in that high bower,
Watching the still and shining deep.
Ah! 'twas not thus-with tearful eyes
And beating heart—she used to gaze
On the magnificent earth and skies,
In her own land, in happier days.
Why looks she now so anxious down
Among those rocks, whose rugged frown
Blackens the mirror of the deep?—
Whom waits she all this lonely night?
Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep,
For man to scale that turret's height !—
So deem'd, at least, her thoughtful sire,
When high, to catch the cool night-air,
After the day-beam's withering fire,*
He built her bower of freshness there,
And had it deck'd with costliest skill,
And fondly thought it safe as fair :-
Think, reverend dreamer! think so still,
Nor wake to learn what Love can dare-
Love, all-defying Love, who sees
No charm in trophies won with ease;—
"At Gombaroon and the Isle of Ormus it is sometimes so hot, that the people
are obliged to lie all day in the water."-Marco Polo.
Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss
Are pluck'd on danger's precipice!
Bolder than they, who dare not dive
For pearls, but when the sea's at rest,
Love, in the tempest most alive,
Hath ever held that pearl the best
He finds beneath the stormiest water!
Yes, Araby's unrivall❜d daughter,
Though high that tower, that rock-way rude,
There's one who, but to kiss thy cheek,
Would climb th' untrodden solitude
Of Ararat's tremendous peak,*
And think its steeps, though dark and dread,
Heaven's pathways, if to thee they led!
Ev'n now thou seest the flashing spray,
That lights his oar's impatient way ;—
Ev'n now thou hear'st the sudden shock
Of his swift bark against the rock,
And stretchest down thy arms of snow,
As if to lift him from below!
Like her to whom, at dead of night,
The bridegroom, with his locks of light,†
Came, in the flush of love and pride,
And scal'd the terrace of his bride ;-
When, as she saw him rashly spring,
And, mid-way up, in danger cling,
She flung him down her long black hair,
Exclaiming breathless, "There, love, there!"
*This mountain is generally supposed to be inaccessible.
In one of the books of the Shâh Nâmeh, when Zal (a celebrated hero of Persia, remarkable for his white hair) comes to the terrace of his mistress Rodahver at night, she lets down her long tresses to assist him in his ascent;-he, however, manages it in a less romantic way, by fixing his crook in a projecting beam.-Vide Champion's Ferdosi,
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