As doth Medina's tomb, 'twixt hell and heaven! At this dread word, Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in bowers That And, now thou see'st my soul's angelic hue, 'Tis time these features were uncurtain'd too;— This brow, whose light-oh, rare celestial light! Hath been reserved to bless thy favour'd sight; These dazzling eyes, before whose shrouded might Thou'st seen immortal Man kneel down and quakeWould that they were Heaven's lightnings for his sake! But turn and look-then wonder, if thou wilt, That I should hate, should take revenge, by guilt, Upon the hand, whose mischief or whose mirth Sent me thus maim'd and monstrous upon earth; And on that race who, though more vile they be Than mowing apes, are demi-gods to me! Here-judge if Hell, with all its power to damn, Can add one curse to the foul thing I am! He raised his veil-the Maid turn'd slowly round, Look'd at him-shriek'd-and sunk upon the ground! Ox their arrival, next night, at the place of encampment, they were surprised and delighted to find the groves all round illuminated; some artists of Yamtcheou having been sent on previously (37) for the purpose. On each side of the green alley, which led to the Royal Pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo-work (38) were erected, representing arches, minarets, and towers, from which hung thousands of silken lanterns, painted by the most delicate pencils of Canton. Nothing could be more beautiful than the leaves of the mango-trees and acacias, shining in the light of the bamboo scenery, which shed a lustre round as soft as that of the nights of Peristan. Lalla Rookh, however, who was too much occupied by the sad story of Zelica and her lover, to give a thought to any thing else, except, perhaps, him who related it, hurried on through this scene of splendour to her pavilion,-greatly to the mortification of the poor artists of Yamtcheou,-and was followed with equal rapidity by the Great Chamberlain, cursing, as he went, that ancient Mandarin, whose parental anxiety in lighting up the shores of the lake, where his beloved daughter had wandered and been lost, was the origin of these fantastic Chinese illuminations. (39) Without a moment's delay young Feramorz was introduced, and Fadladeen, who could never make up his mind as to the merits of a poet, till he knew the religious sect to which he belonged, was about to ask him whether he was a Shia or a Sooni, when Lalla Rookh impatiently clapped her hands for silence, and the youth, being seated upon the musnud near her, proceeded: PREPARE thy soul, young Azim!-thou hast braved The bands of Greece, still mighty though enslaved : Hast faced her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame, Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame; All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow, But a more perilous trial waits thee now,— Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes From every land where woman smiles or sighs; Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise His black or azure banner in their blaze; And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash, To the sly, stealing splendours, almost hid, Like swords half-sheathed, beneath the downcast lid. Such, Azim, is the lovely, luminous host Now led against thee; and, let conquerors boast Their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms A young, warm spirit against beauty's charms, Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall, Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all. Now, through the Haram chambers, moving lights And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites;— From room to room the ready handmaids hie, Some skill'd to wreathe the turban tastefully, Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade, O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, Who, if between the folds but one eye shone, Like Sheba's Queen could vanquish with that one: - 1 Circum easdem ripas (Nili, viz.) ales est Ibis. Ea serpentium populaturova, gratissimamque ex his escam nidis suis refert.-SOLINES. Song. Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes.--Sol. While some bring leaves of Henna, to imbue And the mosaic floor beneath shines through The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew, Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye, That on the margin of the Red Sea lie. Here too he traces the kind visitings Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to cull Of woman's love, in those fair, living things From fair Circassia's vales, so beautiful. All is in motion; rings and plumes and pearls Are shining every where :-some younger girls Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds, To gather fresh cool chaplets for their heads; Gay creatures! sweet, though mournful, 't is to see How each prefers a garland from that tree Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day, And the dear fields and friendships far away. The maid of India, blest again to hold In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold, Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood, Her little play-mates scatter'd many a bud Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam Just dripping from the consecrated stream: While the young Arab, haunted by the smell Of her own mountain flowers, as by a speil,The sweet Elcaya, 4 and that courteous tree Which bows to all who seek its canopy-5 Sees, call'd up round her by these magic scents, The well, the camels, and her father's tents; Sighs for the home she left with little pain, And wishes even its sorrows back again! Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, Silent and bright, where nothing but the fails Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound From many a jasper fount, is heard around, Young Azim roams bewilder'd,-nor can guess What means this maze of light and loneliness. Here the way leads, o'er tessellated floors Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors, Where, ranged in cassolets and silver urns, Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns; And spicy rods, such as illume at night The bowers of Tibet,6 sent forth odorous light, Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road For some pure spirit to its blest abode !— And here, at once, the glittering saloon Bursts on his sight, boundless, and bright as noon; Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays High as the enamell'd cupola, which towers All rich with arabesques of gold and flowers: They tinged the ends of her fingers scarlet with Henn, so that they resembled branches of coral.—Story of Prince Futtun in Ba hardanesh. 1. The women blacken the inside of their eyelids with a powder named the black Kobol.-RESSEL. A. The appearance of the blossoms of the gold-coloured Campac on the black hair of the Indian women has supplied the Sanscrit poets with many elegant allusions.-See Asiatic Researches, vol. iv. A tree famous for its perfume, and common on the hills of Yemen.-NIEBUOR. * of the genus mimosa, which droops its branches whenever any person approaches it, seeming as if it saluted those who retire under its shade.-NIEDUUR. Cloves are a principal ingredient in the composition of the perfumed rods, which men of rank keep constantly burning in their presence.-TraxEn's Tibet. Of land and wave, whose fate-in bondage thrown 3 It was not so, land of the generous thought And daring deed! thy god-like sages taught; It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease, Thy Freedom nursed her sacred energies; Oh! not beneath the enfeebling, withering glow Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears, With which she wreathed her sword, when she would dare Oh my own life!-why should a single day, Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane his cause Of my young sou!;-shine on, 't will stand the blaze!» So thought the youth;-but, even while he defied In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep! Oh my loved mistress! whose enchantments still Are with me, round me, wander where I willIt is for thee, for thee alone I seek The paths of glory- -to light up thy check With warm approval-in that gentle look To read my praise, as in an angel's book, And think all toils rewarded, when from thee I gain a smile, worth immortality! How shall I bear the moment, when restored To that young heart where I alone am lord, My Pundits assure me that the plant before us (the Nilica) is their Sephalica, thes named because the bees are supposed to sleep on its blossoms.-SIR W. JONES. A moment, keep me from those arms away?» While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze Come those delicious dream-like harmonies, Each note of which but adds new downy links To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. He turns him toward the sound, and, far away Through a long vista, sparkling with the play Of countless lamps,-like the rich track which Day Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us; So long the path, its light so tremulous;— He sees a group of female forms advance, Some chain'd together in the mazy dance By fetters, forged in the green sunny bowers, As they were captives to the King of Flowers;-(42) And round and round them still, in wheeling flight, Through many a path that from the chamber leads No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow, While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood, Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood, Which once or twice she touch'd with hurried strain, Then took her trembling fingers off again. But when at length a timid glance she stole At Azim, the sweet gravity of soul She saw through all his features calm'd her fear, And, like a half-tamed antelope, more near, Though shrinking still, she came;-then sat her down Upon a musnud's edge, and, bolder grown, Musnuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for persons of distinction. In the pathetic mode of Isfahan' There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's ' stream, 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, And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 't was then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer! Around the white necks of the nymphs who danced At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreathed 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! Poor maiden! thought the youth, if thou wert sent, His breath is the soul of flowers like these, 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. 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 thereAnd 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 the air on odours, and around The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, Chase one another, in a varing 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! The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call their musical modes or perdas by the names of different countries or cities, as the mode of Isfaban, the mode of Irak, etc. A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar. And his floating eyes-oh! they resemble Blue water-lilies, 3 (45) when the breeze Is making the stream around them tremble! Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power! 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! By the tear that shows By the first love-beat By all that thou hast We call thee hither, entrancing Power! To the north of us (on the coast of the Caspian, near Badku was a mountain which sparkled like diamonds, arising from the seaglass and crystals with which it abounds.»—Journey of the Russian Ambassador to Persia, 1746. To which will be added the sound of the bells, banging 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. The blue lotos, which grows in Cashmere and in Persia. 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, To muse upon the pictures that hung round,— (46) With rapid step, yet pleased and lingering eye, 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, see D'HERBELOT, and the Notes on the Koran, chap. 2. The song is hush'd, the laughing nymphs are flown, That sob of grief, which broke from some one nigh- He left her, when, with heart too full to speak, A strange emotion stirs within him,-more But, ah, so pale, so changed-none but a lover Stood for some moments mute, and doubtingly Look up, my Zelica-one moment show Those gentle eyes to me, that I may know Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, But there, at least, shines as it ever shone. Come, look upon thy Azim-one dear glance, Like those of old, were heaven! whatever chance Hath brought thee here, ol! 't was a blessed one! There-my sweet lids-they move-that kiss hath run Like the first shoot of life through every vein, And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again! Oh the delight-now, in this very hour, When, had the whole rich world been in my power, I should have singled out thee, only thee, From the whole world 's collected treasuryTo have thee here-to hang thus fondly o'er My own best, purest Zelica once more! It was indeed the touch of those loved lips Upon her eyes that chased their short eclipse, And, gradual as the snow, at heaven's breath, Melts off and shows the azure flowers beneath, The wife of Potiphar, thus named by the Orientals. Her adven-Her lids unclosed, and the bright eyes were seen ture with the Patriarch Joseph is the subject of many of their poems Gazing on his,—not as they late had been, and romances. The particulars of Mahomet's amour with Mary, the Coptic girl, in justification of which be added a new chapter to the Koran, may be found in GAGNIER's Notes upon Abuljeda, p. 151. 1 Deep blue is their mourning colour."-HANWAY. 2 The sorrowful nyctanthes, which begins to spread its rich odour after sunset. |