From frame to frame the unextinguished soul Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal!
"Nor think 'tis only the gross Spirits, warmed With duskier fire and for earth's medium formed, That run this course :-Beings the most divine Thus deign through dark mortality to shine. Such was the Essence that in Adam dwelt,
To which all Heaven, except the Proud One, knelt :* Such the refined Intelligence that glowed
In Moussa's frame, and, thence descending, flowed Through many a Prophet's breast; +-in Issa ‡ shone, And in Mohammed burned; till hastening on, (As a bright river that, from fall to fall
In many a maze descending, bright through all, Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth past, In one full lake of light it rests at last,) That Holy Spirit, settling calm and free From lapse or shadow, centres all in me!"
Again, throughout the assembly at these words Thousands of voices rung: the warriors' swords Were pointed up to heaven; a sudden wind In the open banners played, and from behind Those Persian hangings, that but ill could screen The Haram's loveliness, white hands were seen Waving embroidered scarves, whose motion gave A perfume forth-like those the Houris wave When beckoning to their bowers the immortal Brave.
"But these," pursued the Chief, "are truths sublime, 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 ;—
"And when we said unto the angels, Worship Adam, they all worshipped him except Eblis (Lucifer), who refused."-The Koran, chap. ii.
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."
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 splendours now, And gladdened Earth shall, through her wide expanse, 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- Each ear and heart still haunted by the tone Of that deep voice, which thrilled like Allah's own! The Young all dazzled by the plumes and lances, The glittering throne, and Haram's half-caught glances; The Old deep pondering on the promised reign Of peace and truth: and all the female train Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze!
But there was one, among the chosen maids, Who blushed 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 touched a flower Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour; When thou didst study him till every tone And gesture and dear look became thy own,- Thy voice like his, the changes of his face In thine reflected with still lovelier grace, Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught With twice the aërial sweetness it had brought ! Yet now he comes,-brighter than even he E'er beamed before,-but, ah! not bright for thee; No-dread, unlooked for, like a visitant From the other world, he comes as if to haunt Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight, Long lost to all but memory's aching sight Sad dreams! as when the Spirit of our Youth
Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth And innocence once ours, and leads us back, In mournful mockery, o'er the shining track Of our young life, and points out every ray Of hope and peace we 've lost upon the way!
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, Enriched by every pilgrim brook that shines With relics from Buchara's ruby mines, And lending to the Caspian half its strength, In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length;- There, on the banks of that bright river born, The flowers that hung above its wave at morn Blessed not the waters, as they murmured by With holier scent and lustre than the sigh And virgin-glance of first affection cast Upon their youth's smooth current, as it passed! But war disturbed this vision,-far away From her fond eyes summoned to join the array Of Persia's warriors on the hills of Thrace, The youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling-place 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 Even summer suns, when not beheld with him! From time to time ill-omened 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 loved to live or feared to die ;- Lorr. 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, Even 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 returned, the delicate chain
Of thought, once tangled, never cleared again.
*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.
Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, The mind was still all there, but turned astray ;- A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone All stars of heaven, except the guiding one! Again she smiled, nay, much and brightly smiled, But 'twas a lustre strange, unreal, wild;
And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 'Twas like the notes, half ecstasy, half pain, The bulbul utters, ere her soul depart,
When, vanquished 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, Το grace that galaxy of lips and eyes
Which the Veiled Prophet destined for the skies :- And such quick welcome as a spark receives Dropped on a bed of Autumn's withered leaves, Did every tale of these enthusiasts find
In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind. All fire, at once the maddening zeal she caught ;- Elect of Paradise! blest, rapturous thought! Predestined bride, in heaven's eternal dome,
Of some brave youth-ha! durst they say "of some?" No-of the one, one only object traced
In her heart's core too deep to be effaced;
The one whose memory, fresh as life, is twined With every broken link of her lost mind;
Whose image lives, though Reason's self be wrecked, 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 shining came From Paradise, to people its pure sphere
With souls like thine, which he hath ruined here! No-had not reason's light totally set,
And left thee dark, thou hadst an amulet In the loved image, graven on thy heart,
Which would have saved 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, inflamed,-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 the Impostor nursed
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 twined. No art was spared, no witchery ;-all the skill His demons taught him was employed to fill Her mind with gloom and ecstasy by turns- That gloom through which Frenzy but fiercer burns; That ecstasy 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 breathed around,
Together picturing to her mind and ear
The glories of that heaven, her destined sphere, Where all was pure, where every stain that lay Upon the spirit's light should pass away, And, realising more than youthful love E'er wished or dreamed, she should for ever rove Through fields of fragrance by her Azim's side, His own blessed, 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 gay and proud she too can shine- And, passing on through upright ranks of Dead, Which to the maiden, doubly crazed by dread, Seemed, through the blueish death-light round them cast, To move their lips in mutterings as she passed— There, in that awful place, when each had quaffed And pledged in silence such a fearful draught, Such-oh! the look and taste of that red bowl Will haunt her till she dies-he bound her soul By a dark oath, in hell's own language framed, Never, while earth his mystic presence claimed, While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both, Never, by that all-imprecating oath,
In joy or sorrow from his side to sever.
She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, "Never, never!"
From that dread hour, entirely, wildly given
To him and she believed, lost maid !-to heaven, Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflamed, How proud she stood, when in full Haram named The Priestess of the Faith !-how flashed her eyes With light, alas! that was not of the skies, When round, in trances only less than hers, She saw the Haram kneel, her prostrate worshippers. Well might Mokanna think that form alone Had spells enough to make the world his own :—
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