"Go where we will, this hand is thine,
"Those eyes before me smiling thus,
"Through good and ill, through storm and shine,
"The world's a world of love for us!
"On some calm blessed shore we'll dwell,
"Where 'tis no crime to love too well; -
"Where thus to worship tenderly
"An erring child of light like thee
"Will not be sin or, if it be,
"Where we may weep our faults away,
"Together kneeling, night and day,
"Thou, for my sake, at ALLA's shrine,
"And I at any God's, for thine!"
Wildly these passionate words she spoke
Then hung her head, and wept for shame; Sobbing, as if a heart-string broke
With every deep-heav'd sob that came.
While he, young, warm oh! wonder not
If for a moment, pride and fame,
And IRAN's self are all forgot
For her whom at his feet he sees
Kneeling in speechless agonies.
No, blame him not, if Hope awhile
Dawn'd in his soul, and threw her smile
O'er hours to come o'er days and nights,
Wing'd with those precious, pure delights
Which she, who bends all beauteous there,
Was born to kindle and to share.
A tear or two, which, as he bow'd
To raise the suppliant, trembling stole,
First warn'd him of this dangerous cloud
Of softness passing o'er his soul.
Starting, he brush'd the drops away,
Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray;—
Like one who, on the morn of fight,
Shakes from his sword the dews of night,
That had but dimm'd, not stain'd its light.
Yet, though subdued the' unnerving thrill,
Its warmth, its weakness linger'd still
So touching in each look and tone,
That the fond, fearing, hoping maid
Half counted on the flight she pray'd,
Half thought the hero's soul was grown
As soft, as yielding as her own,
And smil❜d and bless'd him, while he said, -
"Yes if there be some happier sphere,
"Where fadeless truth like ours is dear,-
"If there be any land of rest
"For those who love and ne'er forget,
"Oh! comfort thee - for safe and blest
"We'll meet in that calm region yet!"
Scarce had she time to ask her heart
If good or ill these words impart,
When the rous'd youth impatient flew
To the tower-wall, where, high in view,
A ponderous sea-horn* hung, and blew
"The shell called Siiankos, common to India, Africa, and the Mediterranean, and still used in many parts as a trumpet for blowing alarms or giving signals: it sends forth a deep and hollow sound."— Pennant.
A signal, deep and dread as those
The storm-fiend at his rising blows. —
Full well his Chieftains, sworn and true
Through life and death, that signal knew;
For 'twas the appointed warning-blast,
The' alarm, to tell when hope was past,
And the tremendous death-die cast!
And there, upon the mouldering tower,
Hath hung this sea-horn many an hour,
Ready to sound o'er land and sea
That dirge-note of the brave and free.
his Chieftains at the call
Came slowly round, and with them all-
Alas, how few!—the worn remains
Of those who late o'er KERMAN's plains
Went gaily prancing to the clash
Of Moorish zel and tymbalon,
Catching new hope from every flash
Of their long lances in the sun,
And, as their coursers charg'd the wind,
And the white oxtails stream❜d behind,*
Looking, as if the steeds they rode
Were wing'd, and every Chief a God!
How fall'n, how alter'd now! how wan
Each scarr'd and faded visage shone,
As round the burning shrine they came;
How deadly was the glare it cast,
* "The finest ornament for the horses is made of six large flying tassels of long white hair, taken out of the tails of wild oxen, that are to be found in some places of the Indies."-THEVENOT
As mute they paus'd before the flame
To light their torches as they pass'd!
'Twas silence all the youth hath plann'd
The duties of his soldier-band;
And each determin'd brow declares
His faithful Chieftains well know theirs.
But minutes speed-night gems the skies -
And oh, how soon, ye blessed eyes,
That look from heaven, ye may behold
Sights that will turn your star-fires cold!
Breathless with awe, impatience, hope,
The maiden sees the veteran group
Her litter silently prepare,
And lay it at her trembling feet;-
And now the youth, with gentle care,
Hath plac'd her in the shelter'd seat,
And press'd her hand that lingering press
Of hands, that for the last time sever;
Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness,
When that hold breaks, is dead for ever
And yet to her this sad caress
Gives hope so fondly hope can err!
'Twas joy, she thought, joy's mute excess
Their happy flight's dear harbinger;
"Haste, haste!" she cried, "the clouds grow dark,
"But still, ere night, we'll reach the bark;
"With thee upon the sun-bright deep, "Far off, I'll but remember this,
"As some dark vanish'd dream of sleep;
-" but ah! he answers not
Good Heav'n!-and does she go alone?
She now has reach'd that dismal spot,
Where, some hours since, his voice's tone
Had come to soothe her fears and ills,
Sweet as the angel ISRAFIL'S,
When every leaf on Eden's tree
Is trembling to his minstrelsy -
Yet now- oh, now, he is not nigh.—
"HAFED! HAFED!
my
"Thy will, thy doom this night to die,
"Let me but stay to die with thee,
"And I will bless thy loved name,
"Till the last life-breath leave this frame.
"Oh! let our lips, our cheeks be laid
"But near each other while they fade;
"Let us but mix our parting breaths,
"And I can die ten thousand deaths!
"You too, who hurry me away
"So cruelly, one moment stay
In wild lamentings, that would touch
*"The angel Israfil, who has the most melodious voice of all God's creatures."-SALE.
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