Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

That bower and its music I never forget,

But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year,
I think is the nightingale singing there yet?
Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?

No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave,

But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly they shone,
And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave
All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone.
Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,

An essence that breathes of it many a year;
Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,
Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer!

"Poor maiden!" thought the youth, "if thou wert sent, With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment, To wake unholy wishes in this heart,

Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art;
For though thy lip should sweetly counsel wrong,
Those vestal eyes would disavow its song.
But thou hast breath'd such purity, thy lay
Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day,
And leads thy soul-if e'er it wander'd thence-
So gently back to its first innocence,
That I would sooner stop th' unchainèd dove,
When swift returning to its home of love,
And round its snowy wing new fetters twine,
Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine!"

Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when, sparkling through

The gently open'd. curtains of light blue

That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes,
Peeping like stars through the blue evening skies,

Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair
That sat so still and melancholy there.
And now the curtains fly apart, and in
From the cool air, 'mid showers of jessamine,
Which those without fling after them in play,
Two lightsome maidens spring, lightsome as they
Who live in th' air on odours, and around
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground,
Chase one another, in a varying dance
Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance,
Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit ;-
While she, who sung so gently to the lute
Her dream of home, steals timidly away,
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray, -
But takes with her from AzIM's heart that sigh
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain-
Creatures of light we never see again!

Around the white necks of the nymphs who danc'd Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore; * While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall Of curls descending, bells as musical As those that, on the golden-shafted trees Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze, †

* "To the north of us (on the coast of the Caspian, near Badku) was a mountain, which sparkled like diamonds, arising from the sea-glass and crystals with which it abounds." Journey of the Russian Ambassador to Persia, 1746.

+ "To which will be added, the sound of the bells hanging on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind proceeding from the throne of God, as often as the blessed wish for music."-Sale.

Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet,
As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their feet!
At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreath'd
Within each other's arms; while soft there breath'd
Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs
Of moonlight flowers, music that seem'd to rise
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose;
And, as it swell'd again at each faint close,
The ear could track, through all that maze of chords
And young sweet voices, these impassion'd words :-

A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh

Is burning now through earth and air; Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh, Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there!

His breath is the soul of flowers like these,
And his floating eyes-oh! they resemble
Blue water-lilies,* when the breeze

Is making the stream around them tremble!

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power!

Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss!

Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

By the fair and brave,

Who blushing unite,

Like the sun and wave,

When they meet at night!

* The blue lotos, which grows in Cashmere and in Persia.

By the tear that shows

When passion is nigh,

As the rain-drop flows

From the heat of the sky!

By the first love-beat

Of the youthful heart,

By the bliss to meet,

And the pain to part!

By all that thou hast

To mortals given,
Which-oh! could it last,

This earth were heaven!

We call thee hither, entrancing Power!
Spirit of Love! Spirit of Bliss !

Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

Impatient of a scene whose luxuries stole,

Spite of himself, too deep into his soul,

And where, 'midst all that the young heart loves most,
Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost,
The youth had started up, and turn'd away
From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay,
To muse upon the pictures that hung round,-
Bright images, that spoke without a sound,
And views, like vistas into fairy ground.
But here again new spells came o'er his sense ;-
All that the pencil's mute omnipotence

Could call up into life of soft and fair,

Of fond and passionate, was glowing there;
Nor yet too warm, but touch'd with that fine art
Which paints of pleasure but the purer part;
Which knows ev'n Beauty when half-veil'd is best,
Like her own radiant planet of the west,
Whose orb when half retir'd looks loveliest!
There hung the history of the Genii-King,
Trac'd through each gay, voluptuous wandering
With her from Saba's bowers, in whose bright eyes
He read that to be blest is to be wise; *
Here fond Zuleika † woos with open arms
The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms,
Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone,
Wishes that heaven and she could both be won!
And here Mohammed, born for love and guile,
Forgets the Koran in his Mary's smile, -
Then beckons some kind angel from above
With a new text to consecrate their love! ‡

With rapid step, yet pleas'd and lingering eye,
Did the youth pass these pictur'd stories by,
And hasten'd to a casement, where the light
Of the calm moon came in, and freshly bright
The fields without were seen, sleeping as still
As if no life remain'd in breeze or rill.

* For the loves of King Solomon (who was supposed to preside over the whole race of Genii) with Balkis, the Queen of Sheba or Saba, vide D'Herbelot and the Notes on the Koran, chap. ii.

+ The wife of Potiphar, thus named by the Orientals. Her adventure with the patriarch Joseph is the subject of many of their poems and romances.

‡ The particulars of Mahomet's amour with Mary, the Coptic girl, in justification of which he added a new chapter to the Koran, may be found in Gagnier's Notes upon Abulfeda, p. 151.

« ForrigeFortsæt »