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 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, 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 destined 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 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
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 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;
Or dreamed 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 ruin'd 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 favorites, 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 subtile chains than hell itself e'er twined.
No art was spared, 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 mad
'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, realizing more than youthful love
E'er wish'd, or dream'd, she should forever rove
Through fields of fragrance by her Azim'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 streams
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,
Seem'd, thro' the bluish death-light round them cast.
To move their lips in mutterings as she pass'd,
There, in that awful place, when each had quaff'd
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 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!"
From that dread hour, entirely, wildly given To him, and she believed, lost maid!
Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflamed, How proud she stood, when in full Haram named 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 smiled,
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 every 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!
And such was now young Zelica so changed From her who, some years since, delighted ranged The almond groves that shade Bokhara's tide, All life and bliss, with Azim by her side! So alter'd was she now, this festal day, When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzling array, The vision of that Youth whom she had loved, Had wept as dead, before her breathed and moved · When, bright, she thought, as if from Eden's track But half-way trodden, he had wander'd back Again to earth, glistening with Eden's light, Her beauteous Azim shone before her sight.
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