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,46 which from its spring In the dark Mountains swiftly wandering,
Enrich'd by every pilgrim brook that shines
With relics from BUCHARIA'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,
Bless'd not the waters, as they murmur'd by,
With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh
And virgin-glance of first affection cast
Upon their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd!
But war disturb'd this vision,
far away
From her fond eyes summon'd to join the array
Of PERSIA'S warriors on the hills of THRACE,
The youth exchang'd 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-omen'd rumors came,
Like spirit-tongues mutt'ring 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 lov'd to live or fear'd to die;
Lorn 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 return'd, the delicate chain
Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again.
Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day,
The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray;
A wand'ring bark, upon whose pathway shone
All stars of heaven, except the guiding one!
Again she smil'd, nay, much and brightly smil'd,
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 7 utters, ere her soul depart,
When, vanquish'd 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,
To grace that galaxy of lips and eyes
Which the Veil'd Prophet destin'd for the skies:
And such quick welcome as a spark receives
Dropp'd on a bed of Autumn's wither'd leaves,
Did every tale of these enthusiasts find
In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind.
All fire at once the madd'ning zeal she caught; -
Elect of Paradise! blest, rapturous thought!
Predestin'd bride, in heaven's eternal dome,
Of some brave youth-ha! durst they say "of some?"
No of the one, one only object trac'd
In her heart's core too deep to be effac'd;
The one whose memory, fresh as life, is twin'd
With every broken link of her lost mind;
Whose image lives, though Reason's self be wreck'd, 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;
Thou wert too soon the victim,
From Paradise, to people its pure sphere
With souls like thine, which he hath ruin'd here!
No-had not Reason's light totally set,
And left thee dark, thou hadst an amulet
In the lov'd image, graven on thy heart,
Which would have sav'd thee from the tempter's
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 favorites, proudly first
In zeal and charms, too well the Impostor nurs'd
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 twin'd.
No art was spar'd, no witchery; all the skill
His demons taught him was employ'd 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 breath'd around,
Together picturing to her mind and ear
The glories of that heaven, her destin'd sphere,
Where all was pure, where every stain that lay
Upon the spirit's light should pass away,
And, realizing more than youthful love
E'er wish'd or dream'd, she should forever rove
Through fields of fragrance by her AZIм's side,
His own bless'd, 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 craz'd by dread,
Seem'd, through the bluish death-light round them
To move their lips in mutterings as she pass'd
There, in that awful place, when each had quaff'd
And pledg'd 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 fram'd,
Never, while earth his mystic presence claim'd,
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 believ'd, lost maid!-to Heaven;
Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflam'd,
How proud she stood, when in full Haram nam'd
The Priestess of the Faith!—how flash'd 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:
Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit's play
Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray,
When from its stem the small bird wings away:
Lips in whose rosy labyrinth, when she smil'd,
The soul was lost; and blushes, swift and wild
As are the momentary meteors sent
Across the uncalm, but beauteous firmament.
And then her look-oh! where's the heart so wise
Could unbewilder'd meet those matchless eyes?
Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal,
Like those of angels, just before their fall;
Now shadow'd with the shames of earth-
By glimpses of the heaven her heart had lost;
In ev'ry glance there broke, without control,
The flashes of a bright but troubled soul,
Where sensibility still wildly play'd,
Like lightning, round the ruins it had made!
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