Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns;
And spicy rods, such as illume at night
The bowers of Tibet, send forth odorous light,
Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road
For some pure spirit to its blest abode !
And here, at once, that 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 th' enamell'd cupola, which towers
All rich with arabesques of gold and flowers;
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
Of woman's love in those fair, living things
Of land and wave, whose fate in bondage thrown
For their weak loveliness is like her own!
On one side gleaming with a sudden grace
Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase
In which it undulates, small fishes shine,
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;
While, on the other, latticed lightly in
With odoriferous woods of Comorin,
Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen,
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between
The crimson blossoms of the coral-tree
In the warm isles of India's sunny sea;
Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, and the thrush
Of Hindostan, whose holy warblings gush,
At evening, from the tall pagoda's top;
Those golden birds that, in the spice time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Whose scent hath lured them o'er the summer flood;
And those that under Araby's soft sun
Build their high nests of budding cinnamon ;
In short, all rare and beauteous things that fly
Through the pure element, here calmly lie
Sleeping in light, like the green birds that dwell
In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel!
So on, through scenes past all imagining,
More like the luxuries of that impious king
Whom Death's dark angel, with his lightning torch,
Struck down and blasted even in pleasure's porch,
Than the pure dwelling of a prophet sent,
Arm'd with Heaven's sword, for man's enfranchise
Young Azim wander'd, looking sternly round,
His simple garb and war-boot's clanking sound
But ill according with the pomp and grace
And silent lull of that voluptuous place!
"Is this, then," thought the youth, "is this the
To free man's spirit from the deadening sway
Of worldly sloth, to teach him, while he lives,
To know no bliss but that which virtue gives,
And when he dies, to leave his lofty name
A light, a landmark, on the cliffs of fame?
And daring deed! thy godlike sages taught;
It was not thus, in bowers of wan
Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow
With which she wreathed her sword, when she would
Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air
Of toil, of temperance, of that high, rare,
Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe
Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath!
Who that surveys this span of earth we press,
This speck of life in time's great wilderness,
This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
The past, the future, two eternities!
Would sully the bright spot or leave it bare,
When he might build him a proud temple there,
A name that long shall hallow all its space,
And be each purer soul's high resting-place!
But no; it cannot be that one whom God
Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod
A prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws
Its rights from heaven should thus profane his
With the world's vulgar pomps; no, no, I see,
He thinks me weak, this glare of luxury
Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze
shine on, 'twill stand the blaze!"
So thought the youth; but even while he defied
This witching scene, he felt its witchery glide
Through every sense. The perfume, breathing round, Like a pervading spirit; the still sound
Of falling waters, lulling as the song
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng
Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep
In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep!
And music, too, dear music! that can touch
Beyond all else the soul that loves it much,
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem
Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream; -
All was too much for him, too full of bliss ;
The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this:
Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid;
He thought of Zelica, his own dear maid,
And of the time when, full of blissful sighs,
They sat and look'd into each other's eyes,
Silent and happy, as if God had given
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven!
"O my loved mistress! whose spirit still Is with me, round me, wander where I will, It is for thee, for thee alone, I seek
The paths of glory, — to light up thy cheek
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,
Though of such bliss unworthy, since the best
Alone deserve to be the happiest ! -
When from those lips, unbreathed upon for years, I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears,
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