'Tis moonlight over OMAN'S SEA;[192]

  Her banks of pearl and palmy isles

Bask in the night-beam beauteously

  And her blue waters sleep in smiles.

'Tis moonlight in HARMOZIA'S[193] walls,

And through her EMIR'S porphyry halls

Where some hours since was heard the swell

Of trumpets and the clash of zel[194]

Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell;—

The peaceful sun whom better suits

  The music of the bulbul's nest

Or the light touch of lovers' lutes

  To sing him to his golden rest.

All husht—there's not a breeze in motion;

The shore is silent as the ocean.

If zephyrs come, so light they come.

  Nor leaf is stirred nor wave is driven;—

The wind-tower on the EMIR'S dome[195]

  Can hardly win a breath from heaven.

Even he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps

Calm, while a nation round him weeps,

While curses load the air he breathes

And falchions from unnumbered sheaths

Are starting to avenge the shame

His race hath brought on IRAN'S[196]name.

Hard, heartless Chief, unmoved alike

Mid eyes that weep and swords that strike;

One of that saintly, murderous brood,

  To carnage and the Koran given,

Who think thro' unbelievers' blood

  Lies their directest path to heaven,—

One who will pause and kneel unshod

  In the warm blood his hand hath poured,

To mutter o'er some text of God

  Engraven on his reeking sword;[197]

Nay, who can coolly note the line,

The letter of those words divine,

To which his blade with searching art

Had sunk into its victim's heart!

Just ALLA! what must be thy look

  When such a wretch before thee stands

Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,—

  Turning the leaves with bloodstained hands,

And wresting from its page sublime

His creed of lust and hate and crime;—

Even as those bees of TREBIZOND,

  Which from the sunniest flowers that glad

With their pure smile the gardens round,

  Draw venom forth that drives men mad.[198]

Never did fierce Arabia send

  A satrap forth more direly great;

Never was IRAN doomed to bend

  Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight.

Her throne had fallen—her pride was crusht—

Her sons were willing slaves, nor blusht,

In their own land,—no more their own,—

To crouch beneath a stranger's throne.

Her towers where MITHRA once had burned.

To Moslem shrines—oh shame!—were turned,

Where slaves converted by the sword,

Their mean, apostate worship poured,

And curst the faith their sires adored.

Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill,

O'er all this wreck high buoyant still

With hope and vengeance;—hearts that yet—

  Like gems, in darkness, issuing rays

They've treasured from the sun that's set,—

  Beam all the light of long-lost days!

And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow

 To second all such hearts can dare:

As he shall know, well, dearly know.

  Who sleeps in moonlight luxury there,

Tranquil as if his spirit lay

Becalmed in Heaven's approving ray.

Sleep on—for purer eyes than thine

Those waves are husht, those planets shine;

Sleep on and be thy rest unmoved

  By the white moonbeam's dazzling power;—

None but the loving and the loved

  Should be awake at this sweet hour.

And see—where high above those rocks

  That o'er the deep their shadows fling.

Yon turret stands;—where ebon locks,

  As glossy as the heron's wing

  Upon the turban of a king,[199]

Hang from the lattice, long and wild,—

'Tis she, that EMIR'S blooming child,

All truth and tenderness and grace,

Tho' born of such ungentle race;—

An image of Youth's radiant Fountain

Springing in a desolate mountain![200]

Oh what a pure and sacred thing

  Is Beauty curtained from the sight

Of the gross world, illumining

  One only mansion with her light!

Unseen by man's disturbing eye,—

  The flower that blooms beneath the sea,

Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie

  Hid in more chaste obscurity.

So, HINDA. have thy face and mind,

Like holy mysteries, lain enshrined.

And oh! what transport for a lover

  To lift the veil that shades them o'er!—

Like those who all at once discover

  In the lone deep some fairy shore

  Where mortal never trod before,

And sleep and wake in scented airs

No lip had ever breathed but theirs.

Beautiful are the maids that glide

  On summer-eves thro' YEMEN'S[201] dales,

And bright the glancing looks they hide

  Behind their litters' roseate veils;—

And brides as delicate and fair

As the white jasmine flowers they wear,

Hath YEMEN in her blissful clime,

  Who lulled in cool kiosk or bower,[202]

Before their mirrors count the time[203]

  And grow still lovelier every hour.

But never yet hath bride or maid

  In ARABY'S gay Haram smiled.

Whose boasted brightness would not fade

  Before AL HASSAN'S blooming child.

  Light as the angel shapes that bless

An infant's dream, yet not the less

Rich in all woman's loveliness;—

With eyes so pure that from their ray

Dark Vice would turn abasht away,

Blinded like serpents when they gaze

Upon the emerald's virgin blaze;[204]—

Yet filled with all youth's sweet desires,

Mingling the meek and vestal fires

Of other worlds with all the bliss,

The fond, weak tenderness of this:

A soul too more than half divine,

  Where, thro' some shades of earthly feeling,

Religion's softened glories shine,

  Like light thro' summer foliage stealing,

Shedding a glow of such mild hue,

So warm and yet so shadowy too,

As makes the very darkness there

More beautiful than light elsewhere.

Such is the maid who at this hour

  Hath risen from her restless sleep

And sits alone in that high bower,

  Watching the still and shining deep.

Ah! 'twas not thus,—with tearful eyes

  And beating heart,—she used to gaze

On the magnificent earth and skies,

  In her own land, in happier days.

Why looks she now so anxious down

Among those rocks whose rugged frown

  Blackens the mirror of the deep?

Whom waits she all this lonely night?

  Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep,

For man to scale that turret's height!—

So deemed at least her thoughtful sire,

  When high, to catch the cool night-air

After the day-beam's withering fire,[205]

  He built her bower of freshness there,

And had it deckt with costliest skill

  And fondly thought it safe as fair:—

Think, reverend dreamer! think so still,

  Nor wake to learn what Love can dare;—

Love, all defying Love, who sees

No charm in trophies won with ease;—

Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss

Are plucked on Danger's precipice!

Bolder than they who dare not dive

  For pearls but when the sea's at rest,

Love, in the tempest most alive,

  Hath ever held that pearl the best

He finds beneath the stormiest water.

Yes, ARABY'S unrivalled daughter,

Tho' high that tower, that rock-way rude,

  There's one who but to kiss thy cheek

Would climb the untrodden solitude

Of ARARAT'S tremendous peak,[206]

And think its steeps, tho' dark and dread,

Heaven's pathways, if to thee they led!

Even now thou seest the flashing spray,

That lights his oar's impatient way;—

Even now thou hearest the sudden shock

Of his swift bark against the rock,

And stretchest down thy arms of snow

As if to lift him from below!

Like her to whom at dead of night

The bridegroom with his locks of light[207]

Came in the flush of love and pride

And scaled the terrace of his bride;—

When as she saw him rashly spring,

And midway up in danger cling,

She flung him down her long black hair,

Exclaiming breathless, "There, love, there!"

And scarce did manlier nerve uphold

  The hero ZAL in that fond hour,

Than wings the youth who, fleet and bold,

  Now climbs the rocks to HINDA'S bower.

See-light as up their granite steeps

The rock-goats of ARABIA clamber,[208]

Fearless from crag to crag he leaps,

  And now is in the maiden's chamber.

She loves—but knows not whom she loves,

  Nor what his race, nor whence he came;—

Like one who meets in Indian groves

  Some beauteous bird without a name;

Brought by the last ambrosial breeze

From isles in the undiscovered seas,

To show his plumage for a day

To wondering eyes and wing away!

Will he thus fly—her nameless lover?

  ALLA forbid! 'twas by a moon

As fair as this, while singing over

Some ditty to her soft Kanoon,

Alone, at this same witching hour,

  She first beheld his radiant eyes

Gleam thro' the lattice of the bower,

  Where nightly now they mix their sighs;

And thought some spirit of the air

(For what could waft a mortal there?)

Was pausing on his moonlight way

To listen to her lonely lay!

This fancy ne'er hath left her mind:

  And—tho', when terror's swoon had past,

She saw a youth of mortal kind

  Before her in obeisance cast,—

Yet often since, when he hath spoken

Strange, awful words,—and gleams have broken

From his dark eyes, too bright to bear,

  Oh! she hath feared her soul was given

To some unhallowed child of air,

  Some erring spirit cast from heaven,

Like those angelic youths of old

Who burned for maids of mortal mould,

Bewildered left the glorious skies

And lost their heaven for woman's eyes.

Fond girl! nor fiend nor angel he

Who woos thy young simplicity;

But one of earth's impassioned sons,

  As warm in love, as fierce in ire

As the best heart whose current runs

  Full of the Day-God's living fire.

But quenched to-night that ardor seems,

  And pale his cheek and sunk his brow;—

Never before but in her dreams

  Had she beheld him pale as now:

And those were dreams of troubled sleep

From which 'twas joy to wake and weep;

Visions that will not be forgot,

  But sadden every waking scene

Like warning ghosts that leave the spot

  All withered where they once have been.

  "How sweetly," said the trembling maid,

Of her own gentle voice afraid,

So long had they in silence stood

Looking upon that tranquil flood—

"How sweetly does the moonbeam smile

"To-night upon yon leafy isle!

"Oft, in my fancy's wanderings,

"I've wisht that little isle had wings,

"And we within its fairy bowers

  "Were wafted off to seas unknown,

"Where not a pulse should beat but ours,

  "And we might live, love, die, alone!

"Far from the cruel and the cold,—

  "Where the bright eyes of angels only

"Should come around us to behold

  "A paradise so pure and lonely.

"Would this be world enough for thee?"—

Playful she turned that he might see

  The passing smile her cheek put on;

But when she markt how mournfully

  His eye met hers, that smile was gone;

And bursting into heart-felt tears,

"Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears,

"My dreams have boded all too right—

"We part—for ever part—tonight!

"I knew, I knew it could not last—

"'Twas bright, 'twas heavenly, but 'tis past!

"Oh! ever thus from childhood's hour

"I've seen my fondest hopes decay;

"I never loved a tree or flower,

  "But 'twas the first to fade away.

"I never nurst a dear gazelle

  "To glad me with its soft black eye

"But when it came to know me well

  "And love me it was sure to die I

"Now too—the joy most like divine

  "Of all I ever dreamt or knew,

"To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,—

  "Oh misery! must I lose that too?

"Yet go—on peril's brink we meet;—

  "Those frightful rocks—that treacherous sea—

"No, never come again—tho' sweet,

  "Tho' heaven, it may be death to thee.

"Farewell—and blessings on thy way,

  "Where'er thou goest, beloved stranger!

"Better to sit and watch that ray

"And think thee safe, tho' far away,

  "Than have thee near me and in danger!"

"Danger!—oh, tempt me not to boast"—

The youth exclaimed—"thou little know'st

"What he can brave, who, born and nurst

"In Danger's paths, has dared her worst;

"Upon whose ear the signal-word

  "Of strife and death is hourly breaking;

"Who sleeps with head upon the sword

  "His fevered hand must grasp in waking.

"Danger!"—

    "Say on—thou fearest not then,

"And we may meet—oft meet again?"

"Oh! look not so—beneath the skies

"I now fear nothing but those eyes.

"If aught on earth could charm or force

"My spirit from its destined course,—

"If aught could make this soul forget

"The bond to which its seal is set,

"'Twould be those eyes;—they, only they,

"Could melt that sacred seal away!

"But no—'tis fixt—my awful doom

"Is fixt—on this side of the tomb

"We meet no more;—why, why did Heaven

"Mingle two souls that earth has riven,

"Has rent asunder wide as ours?

"Oh, Arab maid, as soon the Powers

"Of Light and Darkness may combine.

"As I be linkt with thee or thine!

"Thy Father"—

    "Holy ALLA save

  "His gray head from that lightning glance!

"Thou knowest him not—he loves the brave;

  "Nor lives there under heaven's expanse

"One who would prize, would worship thee

"And thy bold spirit more than he.

"Oft when in childhood I have played

  "With the bright falchion by his side,

"I've heard him swear his lisping maid

  "In time should be a warrior's bride.

"And still whene'er at Haram hours

"I take him cool sherbets and flowers,

"He tells me when in playful mood

  "A hero shall my bridegroom be,

"Since maids are best in battle wooed,

  "And won with shouts of victory!

"Nay, turn not from me—thou alone

"Art formed to make both hearts thy own.

"Go—join his sacred ranks—thou knowest

  "The unholy strife these Persians wage:—

"Good Heaven, that frown!—even now thou glowest

  "With more than mortal warrior's rage.

"Haste to the camp by morning's light,

"And when that sword is raised in fight,

"Oh still remember, Love and I

"Beneath its shadow trembling lie!

"One victory o'er those Slaves of Fire,

"Those impious Ghebers whom my sire

"Abhors"—

    "Hold, hold—thy words are death"—

  The stranger cried as wild he flung

His mantle back and showed beneath

  The Gheber belt that round him clung.[209]—

"Here, maiden, look—weep—blush to see

"All that thy sire abhors in me!

"Yes—I am of that impious race,

  "Those Slaves of Fire who, morn and even,

"Hail their Creator's dwelling-place

  "Among the living lights of heaven:[210]

"Yes—I am of that outcast few,

"To IRAN and to vengeance true,

"Who curse the hour your Arabs came

"To desolate our shrines of flame,

"And swear before God's burning eye

"To break our country's chains or die!

"Thy bigot sire,—nay, tremble not,—

  "He who gave birth to those dear eyes

"With me is sacred as the spot

  "From which our fires of worship rise!

"But know—'twas he I sought that night,

  "When from my watch-boat on the sea

"I caught this turret's glimmering light,

  "And up the rude rocks desperately

"Rusht to my prey—thou knowest the rest—

"I climbed the gory vulture's nest,

"And found a trembling dove within;—

"Thine, thine the victory—thine the sin—

"If Love hath made one thought his own,

"That Vengeance claims first—last—alone!

"Oh? had we never, never met,

"Or could this heart even now forget

"How linkt, how blest we might have been,

"Had fate not frowned so dark between!

"Hadst thou been born a Persian maid,

  "In neighboring valleys had we dwelt,

"Thro' the same fields in childhood played,

  "At the same kindling altar knelt,—

"Then, then, while all those nameless ties

"In which the charm of Country lies

"Had round our hearts been hourly spun,

"Till IRAN'S cause and thine were one;

"While in thy lute's awakening sigh

"I heard the voice of days gone by,

"And saw in every smile of thine

"Returning hours of glory shine;—

"While the wronged Spirit of our Land

  "Lived, lookt, and spoke her wrongs thro' thee,—

"God! who could then this sword withstand?

  "Its very flash were victory!

"But now—estranged, divorced for ever,

"Far as the grasp of Fate can sever;

"Our only ties what love has wove,—

"In faith, friends, country, sundered wide;

"And then, then only, true to love,

  "When false to all that's dear beside!

"Thy father IKAN'S deadliest foe—

"Thyself, perhaps, even now—but no—

"Hate never looked so lovely yet!

  No—sacred to thy soul will be

"The land of him who could forget

  "All but that bleeding land for thee.

"When other eyes shall see, unmoved,

  "Her widows mourn, her warriors fall,

"Thou'lt think how well one Gheber loved.

  "And for his sake thou'lt weep for all!

"But look"—

    With sudden start he turned

  And pointed to the distant wave

Where lights like charnel meteors burned

  Bluely as o'er some seaman's grave;

And fiery darts at intervals[211]

  Flew up all sparkling from the main

As if each star that nightly falls

Were shooting back to heaven again.

"My signal lights!—I must away—

"Both, both are ruined, if I stay.

"Farewell—sweet life! thou clingest in vain—

"Now, Vengeance, I am thine again!"

Fiercely he broke away, nor stopt,

Nor lookt—but from the lattice dropt

Down mid the pointed crags beneath

As if he fled from love to death.

While pale and mute young HINDA stood,

Nor moved till in the silent flood

A momentary plunge below

Startled her from her trance of woe;—

Shrieking she to the lattice flew,

  "I come—I come—if in that tide

"Thou sleepest to-night, I'll sleep there too

  "In death's cold wedlock by thy side.

"Oh! I would ask no happier bed

  "Than the chill wave my love lies under:—

"Sweeter to rest together dead,

  "Far sweeter than to live asunder!"

But no—their hour is not yet come—

  Again she sees his pinnace fly,

Wafting him fleetly to his home,

  Where'er that ill-starred home may lie;

And calm and smooth it seemed to win

  Its moonlight way before the wind

As if it bore all peace within

  Nor left one breaking heart behind!

The Princess whose heart was sad enough already could have wished that FERAMORZ had chosen a less melancholy story; as it is only to the happy that tears are a luxury. Her Ladies however were by no means sorry that love was once more the Poet's theme; for, whenever he spoke of love, they said, his voice was as sweet as if he had chewed the leaves of that enchanted tree, which grows over the tomb of the musician, Tan-Sein.[212]

Their road all the morning had lain through a very dreary country;— through valleys, covered with a low bushy jungle, where in more than one place the awful signal of the bamboo staff[213] with the white flag at its top reminded the traveller that in that very spot the tiger had made some human creature his victim. It was therefore with much pleasure that they arrived at sunset in a safe and lovely glen and encamped under one of those holy trees whose smooth columns and spreading roofs seem to destine them for natural temples of religion. Beneath this spacious shade some pious hands had erected a row of pillars ornamented with the most beautiful porcelain[214] which now supplied the use of mirrors to the young maidens as they adjusted their hair in descending from the palankeens. Here while as usual the Princess sat listening anxiously with FADLADEEN in one of his loftiest moods of criticism by her side the young Poet leaning against a branch of the tree thus continued his story:—

The morn hath risen clear and calm

  And o'er the Green Sea[215] palely shines,

Revealing BAHREIN'S groves of palm

  And lighting KISHMA'S amber vines.

Fresh smell the shores of ARABY,

  While breezes from the Indian sea

Blow round SELAMA'S[216] sainted cape

  And curl the shining flood beneath,—

Whose waves are rich with many a grape

  And cocoa-nut and flowery wreath

Which pious seamen as they past

Had toward that holy headland cast—

Oblations to the Genii there

For gentle skies and breezes fair!

The nightingale now bends her flight[217]

From the high trees where all the night

  She sung so sweet with none to listen;

And hides her from the morning star

  Where thickets of pomegranate glisten

In the clear dawn,—bespangled o'er

  With dew whose night-drops would not stain

The best and brightest scimitar[218]

That ever youthful Sultan wore

  On the first morning of his reign.

And see—the Sun himself!—on wings

Of glory up the East he springs.

Angel of Light! who from the time

Those heavens began their march sublime,

Hath first of all the starry choir

Trod in his Maker's steps of fire!

  Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere,

When IRAN, like a sun-flower, turned

To meet that eye where'er it burned?—

  When from the banks of BENDEMEER

To the nut-groves of SAMARCAND

Thy temples flamed o'er all the land?

Where are they? ask the shades of them

  Who, on CADESSIA'S[219] bloody plains,

Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem

From IRAN'S broken diadem,

  And bind her ancient faith in chains:—

Ask the poor exile cast alone

On foreign shores, unloved, unknown,

Beyond the Caspian's Iron Gates,

  Or on the snowy Mossian mountains,

Far from his beauteous land of dates,

  Her jasmine bowers and sunny fountains:

Yet happier so than if he trod

His own beloved but blighted sod

Beneath a despot stranger's nod!—

Oh, he would rather houseless roam

  Where Freedom and his God may lead,

Than be the sleekest slave at home

  That crouches to the conqueror's creed!

Is IRAN'S pride then gone for ever,

  Quenched with the flame in MITHRA'S caves?

No—she has sons that never—never—

  Will stoop to be the Moslem's slaves

  While heaven has light or earth has graves;—

Spirits of fire that brood not long

But flash resentment back for wrong;

And hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds

Of vengeance ripen into deeds,

Till in some treacherous hour of calm

They burst like ZEILAN'S giant palm[220]

Whose buds fly open with a sound

That shakes the pigmy forests round!

Yes, EMIR! he, who scaled that tower,

  And had he reached thy slumbering breast

Had taught thee in a Gheber's power

  How safe even tyrant heads may rest—

Is one of many, brave as he,

Who loathe thy haughty race and thee;

Who tho' they knew the strife is vain,

Who tho' they know the riven chain

Snaps but to enter in the heart

Of him who rends its links apart,

Yet dare the issue,—blest to be

Even for one bleeding moment free

And die in pangs of liberty!

Thou knowest them well—'tis some moons since

  Thy turbaned troops and blood-red flags,

Thou satrap of a bigot Prince,

  Have swarmed among these Green Sea crags;

Yet here, even here, a sacred band

Ay, in the portal of that land

Thou, Arab, darest to call thy own,

Their spears across thy path have thrown;

Here—ere the winds half winged thee o'er—

Rebellion braved thee from the shore.

Rebellion! foul, dishonoring word,

  Whose wrongful blight so oft has stained

The holiest cause that tongue or sword

  Of mortal ever lost or gained.

How many a spirit born to bless

  Hath sunk beneath that withering name,

Whom but a day's, an hour's success

  Had wafted to eternal fame!

As exhalations when they burst

From the warm earth if chilled at first,

If checkt in soaring from the plain

Darken to fogs and sink again;—

But if they once triumphant spread

Their wings above the mountain-head,

Become enthroned in upper air,

And turn to sun-bright glories there!

And who is he that wields the might

  Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink,

Before whose sabre's dazzling light[221]

  The eyes of YEMEN'S warriors wink?

Who comes embowered in the spears

Of KERMAN'S hardy mountaineers?

Those mountaineers that truest, last,

  Cling to their country's ancient rites,

As if that God whose eyelids cast

  Their closing gleam on IRAN'S heights,

Among her snowy mountains threw

The last light of his worship too!

'Tis HAFED—name of fear, whose sound

  Chills like the muttering of a charm!—

Shout but that awful name around,

  And palsy shakes the manliest arm.

'Tis HAFED, most accurst and dire

(So rankt by Moslem hate and ire)

Of all the rebel Sons of Fire;

Of whose malign, tremendous power

The Arabs at their mid-watch hour

Such tales of fearful wonder tell

That each affrighted sentinel

Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes,

Lest HAFED in the midst should rise!

A man, they say, of monstrous birth,

A mingled race of flame and earth,

Sprung from those old, enchanted kings[222]

  Who in their fairy helms of yore

A feather from the mystic wings

  Of the Simoorgh resistless wore;

And gifted by the Fiends of Fire,

Who groaned to see their shrines expire

With charms that all in vain withstood

Would drown the Koran's light in blood!

Such were the tales that won belief,

  And such the coloring Fancy gave

To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief,—

  One who, no more than mortal brave,

Fought for the land his soul adored,

  For happy homes and altars free,—

His only talisman, the sword,

  His only spell-word, Liberty!

One of that ancient hero line,

Along whose glorious current shine

Names that have sanctified their blood:

As LEBANON'S small mountain-flood

Is rendered holy by the ranks

Of sainted cedars on its banks.[223]

'Twas not for him to crouch the knee

Tamely to Moslem tyranny;

'Twas not for him whose soul was cast

In the bright mould of ages past,

Whose melancholy spirit fed

With all the glories of the dead

Tho' framed for IRAN'S happiest years.

Was born among her chains and tears!—

'Twas not for him to swell the crowd

Of slavish heads, that shrinking bowed

Before the Moslem as he past

Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast—

No—far he fled—indignant fled

  The pageant of his country's shame;

While every tear her children shed

  Fell on his soul like drops of flame;

And as a lover hails the dawn

  Of a first smile, so welcomed he

The sparkle of the first sword drawn

  For vengeance and for liberty!

But vain was valor—vain the flower

Of KERMAN, in that deathful hour,

Against AL HASSAN'S whelming power.—

In vain they met him helm to helm

Upon the threshold of that realm

He came in bigot pomp to sway,

And with their corpses blockt his way—

In vain—for every lance they raised

Thousands around the conqueror blazed;

For every arm that lined their shore

Myriads of slaves were wafted o'er,—

A bloody, bold, and countless crowd,

Before whose swarm as fast they bowed

As dates beneath the locust cloud.

There stood—but one short league away

From old HARMOZIA'S sultry bay—

A rocky mountain o'er the Sea—

Of OMAN beetling awfully;[224]

A last and solitary link

  Of those stupendous chains that reach

From the broad Caspian's reedy brink

  Down winding to the Green Sea beach.

Around its base the bare rocks stood

Like naked giants, in the flood

  As if to guard the Gulf across;

While on its peak that braved the sky

A ruined Temple towered so high

  That oft the sleeping albatross[225]

Struck the wild ruins with her wing,

And from her cloud-rockt slumbering

Started—to find man's dwelling there

In her own silent fields of air!

Beneath, terrific caverns gave

Dark welcome to each stormy wave

That dasht like midnight revellers in;—

And such the strange, mysterious din

At times throughout those caverns rolled,—

And such the fearful wonders told

Of restless sprites imprisoned there,

That bold were Moslem who would dare

At twilight hour to steer his skiff

Beneath the Gheber's lonely cliff.[226]

On the land side those towers sublime,

That seemed above the grasp of Time,

Were severed from the haunts of men

By a wide, deep, and wizard glen,

So fathomless, so full of gloom,

  No eye could pierce the void between:

It seemed a place where Ghouls might come

With their foul banquets from the tomb

  And in its caverns feed unseen.

Like distant thunder, from below

  The sound of many torrents came,

Too deep for eye or ear to know

If 'twere the sea's imprisoned flow,

  Or floods of ever-restless flame.

For each ravine, each rocky spire

Of that vast mountain stood on fire;[227]

And tho' for ever past the days

When God was worshipt in the blaze—

That from its lofty altar shone,—

Tho' fled the priests, the votaries gone,

Still did the mighty flame burn on,[228]

Thro' chance and change, thro' good and ill,

Like its own God's eternal will,

Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable!

Thither the vanquisht HAFED led

  His little army's last remains;—

"Welcome, terrific glen!" he said,

"Thy gloom, that Eblis' self might dread,

  "Is Heaven to him who flies from chains!"

O'er a dark, narrow bridge-way known

To him and to his Chiefs alone

They crost the chasm and gained the towers;—

"This home," he cried, "at least is ours;

"Here we may bleed, unmockt by hymns

  "Of Moslem triumph o'er our head;

"Here we may fall nor leave our limbs

  "To quiver to the Moslem's tread.

"Stretched on this rock while vultures' beaks

"Are whetted on our yet warm cheeks,

"Here—happy that no tyrant's eye

"Gloats on our torments—we may die!"—

'Twas night when to those towers they came,

And gloomily the fitful flame

That from the ruined altar broke

Glared on his features as he spoke:—

"'Tis o'er—what men could do, we've done—

"If IRAN will look tamely on

"And see her priests, her warriors driven

  "Before a sensual bigot's nod,

"A wretch who shrines his lusts in heaven

  "And makes a pander of his God;

"If her proud sons, her high-born souls,

  "Men in whose veins—oh last disgrace!

"The blood of ZAL and RUSTAM[229] rolls.—

  "If they will court this upstart race

"And turn from MITHRA'S ancient ray

"To kneel at shrines of yesterday;

"If they will crouch to IRAN'S foes,

  "Why, let them—till the land's despair

"Cries out to Heaven, and bondage grows

  "Too vile for even the vile to bear!

"Till shame at last, long hidden, burns

"Their inmost core, and conscience turns

"Each coward tear the slave lets fall

"Back on his heart in drops of gall.

"But here at least are arms unchained

"And souls that thraldom never stained;—

  "This spot at least no foot of slave

"Or satrap ever yet profaned,

  "And tho' but few—tho' fast the wave

"Of life is ebbing from our veins,

"Enough for vengeance still remains.

"As panthers after set of sun

"Rush from the roots of LEBANON

"Across the dark sea-robber's way,[230]

"We'll bound upon our startled prey.

"And when some hearts that proudest swell

"Have felt our falchion's last farewell,

"When Hope's expiring throb is o'er

"And even Despair can prompt no more,

"This spot shall be the sacred grave

"Of the last few who vainly brave

"Die for the land they cannot save!"

His Chiefs stood round—each shining blade

Upon the broken altar laid—

And tho' so wild and desolate

Those courts where once the Mighty sate:

Nor longer on those mouldering towers

Was seen the feast of fruits and flowers

With which of old the Magi fed

The wandering Spirits of their Dead;[231]

Tho' neither priest nor rites were there,

  Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate,[232]

Nor hymn, nor censer's fragrant air,

  Nor symbol of their worshipt planet;[233]

Yet the same God that heard their sires

Heard them while on that altar's fires

They swore the latest, holiest deed

Of the few hearts, still left to bleed,

Should be in IRAN'S injured name

To die upon that Mount of Flame—

The last of all her patriot line,

Before her last untrampled Shrine!

Brave, suffering souls! they little knew

How many a tear their injuries drew

From one meek maid, one gentle foe,

Whom love first touched with others' woe—

Whose life, as free from thought as sin,

Slept like a lake till Love threw in

His talisman and woke the tide

And spread its trembling circles wide.

Once, EMIR! thy unheeding child

Mid all this havoc bloomed and smiled,—

Tranquil as on some battle plain

  The Persian lily shines and towers[234]

Before the combat's reddening stain

  Hath fallen upon her golden flowers.

Light-hearted maid, unawed, unmoved,

While Heaven but spared the sire she loved,

Once at thy evening tales of blood

Unlistening and aloof she stood—

And oft when thou hast paced along

  Thy Haram halls with furious heat,

Hast thou not curst her cheerful song,

  That came across thee, calm and sweet,

Like lutes of angels touched so near

Hell's confines that the damned can hear!

Far other feelings Love hath brought—

  Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness,

She now has but the one dear thought,

  And thinks that o'er, almost to madness!

Oft doth her sinking heart recall

His words—"for my sake weep for all;"

And bitterly as day on day

  Of rebel carnage fast succeeds,

She weeps a lover snatched away

  In every Gheber wretch that bleeds.

There's not a sabre meets her eye

  But with his life-blood seems to swim;

There's not an arrow wings the sky

  But fancy turns its point to him.

No more she brings with footsteps light

AL HASSAN's falchion for the fight;

And—had he lookt with clearer sight,

Had not the mists that ever rise

From a foul spirit dimmed his eyes—

He would have markt her shuddering frame,

When from the field of blood he came,

The faltering speech—the look estranged—

Voice, step and life and beauty changed—

He would have markt all this, and known

Such change is wrought by Love alone!

Ah! not the Love that should have blest

So young, so innocent a breast;

Not the pure, open, prosperous Love,

That, pledged on earth and sealed above,

Grows in the world's approving eyes,

  In friendship's smile and home's caress,

Collecting all the heart's sweet ties

  Into one knot of happiness!

No, HINDA, no,—thy fatal flame

Is nurst in silence, sorrow, shame;—

  A passion without hope or pleasure,

In thy soul's darkness buried deep,

  It lies like some ill-gotten treasure,—

Some idol without shrine or name,

O'er which its pale-eyed votaries keep

Unholy watch while others sleep.

Seven nights have darkened OMAN'S sea,

  Since last beneath the moonlight ray

She saw his light oar rapidly

  Hurry her Gheber's bark away,—

And still she goes at midnight hour

To weep alone in that high bower

And watch and look along the deep

For him whose smiles first made her weep;—

But watching, weeping, all was vain,

She never saw his bark again.

The owlet's solitary cry,

The night-hawk flitting darkly by,

  And oft the hateful carrion bird,

Heavily flapping his clogged wing,

Which reeked with that day's banqueting—

  Was all she saw, was all she heard.

'Tis the eighth morn—AL HASSAN'S brow

  Is brightened with unusual joy—

What mighty mischief glads him now,

  Who never smiles but to destroy?

The sparkle upon HERKEND'S Sea,

When tost at midnight furiously,[235]

Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh,

More surely than that smiling eye!

"Up, daughter, up—the KERNA'S[236] breath

"Has blown a blast would waken death,

"And yet thou sleepest—up, child, and see

"This blessed day for heaven and me,

"A day more rich in Pagan blood

"Than ever flasht o'er OMAN'S flood.

"Before another dawn shall shine,

"His head—heart—limbs—will all be mine;

"This very night his blood shall steep

"These hands all over ere I sleep!"—

"His blood!" she faintly screamed—her mind

Still singling one from all mankind—

"Yes—spite of his ravines and towers,

"HAFED, my child, this night is ours.

"Thanks to all-conquering treachery,

  "Without whose aid the links accurst,

"That bind these impious slaves, would be

  "Too strong for ALLA'S self to burst!

"That rebel fiend whose blade has spread

"My path with piles of Moslem dead,

"Whose baffling spells had almost driven

"Back from their course the Swords of Heaven,

"This night with all his band shall know

"How deep an Arab's steel can go,

"When God and Vengeance speed the blow.

"And—Prophet! by that holy wreath

"Thou worest on OHOD'S field of death,[237]

"I swear, for every sob that parts

"In anguish from these heathen hearts,

"A gem from PERSIA'S plundered mines

"Shall glitter on thy shrine of Shrines.

"But, ha!—she sinks—that look so wild—

"Those livid lips—my child, my child,

"This life of blood befits not thee,

"And thou must back to ARABY.

  "Ne'er had I riskt thy timid sex

"In scenes that man himself might dread,

"Had I not hoped our every tread

  "Would be on prostrate Persian necks—

"Curst race, they offer swords instead!

"But cheer thee, maid,—the wind that now

"Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow

"To-day shall waft thee from the shore;

"And ere a drop of this night's gore

"Have time to chill in yonder towers,

"Thou'lt see thy own sweet Arab bowers!"

His bloody boast was all too true;

There lurkt one wretch among the few

Whom HAFED'S eagle eye could count

Around him on that Fiery Mount,—

One miscreant who for gold betrayed

The pathway thro' the valley's shade

To those high towers where Freedom stood

In her last hold of flame and blood.

Left on the field last dreadful night,

When sallying from their sacred height

The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight,

He lay—but died not with the brave;

That sun which should have gilt his grave

Saw him a traitor and a slave;—

And while the few who thence returned

To their high rocky fortress mourned

For him among the matchless dead

They left behind on glory's bed,

He lived, and in the face of morn

Laught them and Faith and

  Heaven to scorn.

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave

  Whose treason like a deadly blight

Comes o'er the councils of the brave

And blasts them in their hour of might!

May Life's unblessed cup for him

Be drugged with treacheries to the brim.—

With hopes that but allure to fly,

  With joys that vanish while he sips,

Like Dead-Sea fruits that tempt the eye,

  But turn to ashes on the lips![238]

His country's curse, his children's shame,

Outcast of virtue, peace and fame,

May he at last with lips of flame

On the parched desert thirsting die,—

While lakes that shone in mockery nigh,[239]

Are fading off, untouched, untasted,

Like the once glorious hopes he blasted!

And when from earth his spirit flies,

  Just Prophet, let the damned-one dwell

Full in the sight of Paradise

  Beholding heaven and feeling hell!

LALLA ROOKH had the night before been visited by a dream which in spite of the impending fate of poor HAFED made her heart more than usually cheerful during the morning and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a flower that the Bidmusk had just passed over.[240] She fancied that she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean where the sea-gypsies who live for ever on the water[241] enjoy a perpetual summer in wandering from isle to isle when she saw a small gilded bark approaching her. It was like one of those boats which the Maldivian islanders send adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odoriferous wood, as an offering to the Spirit whom they call King of the Sea. At first, this little bark appeared to be empty but on coming nearer—

She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream to her Ladies, when FERAMORZ appeared at the door of the pavilion. In his presence of course everything else was forgotten and the continuance of the story was instantly requested by all. Fresh wood of aloes was set to burn in the cassolets;—the violet sherbets[242] were hastily handed round, and after a short prelude on his lute in the pathetic measure of Nava,[243] which is always used to express the lamentations of absent lovers, the Poet thus continued:—

The day is lowering—stilly black

Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack,

Disperst and wild, 'twixt earth and sky

Hangs like a shattered canopy.

There's not a cloud in that blue plain

  But tells of storm to come or past;—

Here flying loosely as the mane

  Of a young war-horse in the blast;—

There rolled in masses dark and swelling,

As proud to be the thunder's dwelling!

While some already burst and riven

Seen melting down the verge of heaven;

As tho' the infant storm had rent

The mighty womb that gave him birth,

And having swept the firmament

  Was now in fierce career for earth.

On earth 'twas yet all calm around,

A pulseless silence, dread, profound,

More awful than the tempest's sound.

The diver steered for ORMUS' bowers,

And moored his skiff till calmer hours;

The sea-birds with portentous screech

Flew fast to land;—upon the beach

The pilot oft had paused, with glance

Turned upward to that wild expanse;—

And all was boding, drear and dark

As her own soul when HINDA'S bark

Went slowly from the Persian shore.—

No music timed her parting oar,[244]

Nor friends upon the lessening strand

Lingering to wave the unseen hand

Or speak the farewell, heard no more;—

But lone, unheeded, from the bay

The vessel takes its mournful way,

Like some ill-destined bark that steers

In silence thro' the Gate of Tears.[245]

And where was stern AL HASSAN then?

Could not that saintly scourge of men

From bloodshed and devotion spare

One minute for a farewell there?

No—close within in changeful fits

Of cursing and of prayer he sits

In savage loneliness to brood

Upon the coming night of blood,—

  With that keen, second-scent of death,

By which the vulture snuffs his food

  In the still warm and living breath![246]

While o'er the wave his weeping daughter

Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter,—

As a young bird of BABYLON,[247]

Let loose to tell of victory won,

Flies home, with wing, ah! not unstained

By the red hands that held her chained.

And does the long-left home she seeks

Light up no gladness on her cheeks?

The flowers she nurst—the well-known groves,

Where oft in dreams her spirit roves—

Once more to see her dear gazelles

Come bounding with their silver bells;

Her birds' new plumage to behold

  And the gay, gleaming fishes count,

She left all filleted with gold

  Shooting around their jasper fount;[248]

Her little garden mosque to see,

  And once again, at evening hour,

To tell her ruby rosary

  In her own sweet acacia bower.—

Can these delights that wait her now

Call up no sunshine on her brow?

No,—silent, from her train apart,—

As if even now she felt at heart

The chill of her approaching doom,—

She sits, all lovely in her gloom

As a pale Angel of the Grave;

And o'er the wide, tempestuous wave

Looks with a shudder to those towers

Where in a few short awful hours

Blood, blood, in streaming tides shall run,

Foul incense for to-morrow's sun!

"Where art thou, glorious stranger! thou,

"So loved, so lost, where art thou now?

"Foe—Gheber—infidel—whate'er

"The unhallowed name thou'rt doomed to bear,

"Still glorious—still to this fond heart

"Dear as its blood, whate'er thou art!

"Yes—ALLA, dreadful ALLA! yes—

"If there be wrong, be crime in this,

"Let the black waves that round us roll,

"Whelm me this instant ere my soul

"Forgetting faith—home—father—all

"Before its earthly idol fall,

"Nor worship even Thyself above him—

"For, oh, so wildly do I love him,

"Thy Paradise itself were dim

"And joyless, if not shared with him!"

Her hands were claspt—her eyes upturned,

  Dropping their tears like moonlight rain;

And, tho' her lip, fond raver! burned

  With words of passion, bold, profane.

Yet was there light around her brow,

  A holiness in those dark eyes,

Which showed,—tho' wandering earthward now,—

  Her spirit's home was in the skies.

Yes—for a spirit pure as hers

Is always pure, even while it errs;

As sunshine broken in the rill

Tho' turned astray is sunshine still!

So wholly had her mind forgot

All thoughts but one she heeded not

The rising storm—the wave that cast

A moment's midnight as it past—

Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread

Of gathering tumult o'er her head—

Clasht swords and tongues that seemed to vie

With the rude riot of the sky.—

But, hark!—that war-whoop on the deck—

  That crash as if each engine there,

Mast, sails and all, were gone to wreck,

  Mid yells and stampings of despair!

Merciful Heaven! what can it be?

'Tis not the storm, tho' fearfully

The ship has shuddered as she rode

O'er mountain-waves—"Forgive me, God!

"Forgive me"—shrieked the maid and knelt,

Trembling all over—for she felt

As if her judgment hour was near;

While crouching round half dead with fear,

Her handmaids clung, nor breathed nor stirred—

When, hark!—a second crash—a third—

And now as if a bolt of thunder

Had riven the laboring planks asunder,

The deck falls in—what horrors then!

Blood, waves and tackle, swords and men

Come mixt together thro' the chasm,—

Some wretches in their dying spasm

Still fighting on—and some that call

"For GOD and IRAN!" as they fall!

Whose was the hand that turned away

The perils of the infuriate fray,

And snatcht her breathless from beneath

This wilderment of wreck and death?

She knew not—for a faintness came

Chill o'er her and her sinking frame

Amid the ruins of that hour

Lay like a pale and scorched flower

Beneath the red volcano's shower.

But, oh! the sights and sounds of dread

That shockt her ere her senses fled!

The yawning deck—the crowd that strove

Upon the tottering planks above—

The sail whose fragments, shivering o'er

The stragglers' heads all dasht with gore

Fluttered like bloody flags—the clash

Of sabres and the lightning's flash

Upon their blades, high tost about

Like meteor brands[249]—as if throughout

  The elements one fury ran,

One general rage that left a doubt

  Which was the fiercer, Heaven or Man!

Once too—but no—it could not be—

  'Twas fancy all—yet once she thought,

While yet her fading eyes could see

  High on the ruined deck she caught

A glimpse of that unearthly form,

  That glory of her soul,—even then,

Amid the whirl of wreck and storm,

  Shining above his fellow-men,

As on some black and troublous night

The Star of EGYPT,[250] whose proud light

Never hath beamed on those who rest

In the White Islands of the West,

Burns thro' the storm with looks of flame

That put Heaven's cloudier eyes to shame.

But no—'twas but the minute's dream—

A fantasy—and ere the scream

Had half-way past her pallid lips,

A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse

Of soul and sense its darkness spread

Around her and she sunk as dead.

How calm, how beautiful comes on

The stilly hour when storms are gone,

When warring winds have died away,

And clouds beneath the glancing ray

Melt off and leave the land and sea

Sleeping in bright tranquillity,—

Fresh as if Day again were born,

Again upon the lap of Morn!—

When the light blossoms rudely torn

And scattered at the whirlwind's will,

Hang floating in the pure air still,

Filling it all with precious balm,

In gratitude for this sweet calm;—

And every drop the thundershowers

Have left upon the grass and flowers

Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem[251]

Whose liquid flame is born of them!

When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze,

  There blow a thousand gentle airs

  And each a different perfume bears,—

As if the loveliest plants and trees

Had vassal breezes of their own

To watch and wait on them alone,

And waft no other breath than theirs:

When the blue waters rise and fall,

In sleepy sunshine mantling all;

And even that swell the tempest leaves

Is like the full and silent heaves

Of lovers' hearts when newly blest,

Too newly to be quite at rest.

Such was the golden hour that broke

Upon the world when HINDA woke

From her long trance and heard around

No motion but the water's sound

Rippling against the vessel's side,

As slow it mounted o'er the tide.—

But where is she?—her eyes are dark,

Are wilder still—is this the bark,

The same, that from HARMOZIA'S bay

Bore her at morn—whose bloody way

The sea-dog trackt?—no—strange and new

Is all that meets her wondering view.

Upon a galliot's deck she lies,

  Beneath no rich pavilion's shade,—

No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes,

  Nor jasmine on her pillow laid.

But the rude litter roughly spread

With war-cloaks is her homely bed,

And shawl and sash on javelins hung

For awning o'er her head are flung.

Shuddering she lookt around—there lay

  A group of warriors in the sun,

Resting their limbs, as for that day

  Their ministry of death were done.

Some gazing on the drowsy sea

Lost in unconscious revery;

And some who seemed but ill to brook

That sluggish calm with many a look

To the slack sail impatient cast,

As loose it bagged around the mast.

Blest ALLA! who shall save her now?

  There's not in all that warrior band

One Arab sword, one turbaned brow

  From her own Faithful Moslem land.

Their garb—the leathern belt that wraps

  Each yellow vest[252]—that rebel hue—

The Tartar fleece upon their caps[253]—

  Yes—yes—her fears are all too true,

And Heaven hath in this dreadful hour

Abandoned her to HAFED'S power;—

HAFED, the Gheber!—at the thought

  Her very heart's blood chills within;

He whom her soul was hourly taught

  To loathe as some foul fiend of sin,

Some minister whom Hell had sent

To spread its blast where'er he went

And fling as o'er our earth he trod

His shadow betwixt man and God!

And she is now his captive,—thrown

In his fierce hands, alive, alone;

His the infuriate band she sees,

All infidels—all enemies!

What was the daring hope that then

Crost her like lightning, as again

With boldness that despair had lent

  She darted tho' that armed crowd

A look so searching, so intent,

  That even the sternest warrior bowed

Abasht, when he her glances caught,

As if he guessed whose form they sought.

But no—she sees him not—'tis gone,

The vision that before her shone

Thro' all the maze of blood and storm,

Is fled—'twas but a phantom form—

One of those passing, rainbow dreams,

Half light, half shade, which Fancy's beams

Paint on the fleeting mists that roll

In trance or slumber round the soul.

But now the bark with livelier bound

  Scales the blue wave—the crew's in motion.

The oars are out and with light sound

  Break the bright mirror of the ocean,

Scattering its brilliant fragments round.

And now she sees—with horror sees,

  Their course is toward that mountain-hold,—

Those towers that make her life-blood freeze,

Where MECCA'S godless enemies

  Lie like beleaguered scorpions rolled

  In their last deadly, venomous fold!

Amid the illumined land and flood

Sunless that mighty mountain stood;

Save where above its awful head,

There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red,

As 'twere the flag of destiny

Hung out to mark where death would be!

Had her bewildered mind the power

Of thought in this terrific hour,

She well might marvel where or how

Man's foot could scale that mountain's brow,

Since ne'er had Arab heard or known

Of path but thro' the glen alone.—

But every thought was lost in fear,

When, as their bounding bark drew near

The craggy base, she felt the waves

Hurry them toward those dismal caves

That from the Deep in windings pass

Beneath that Mount's volcanic mass;—

And loud a voice on deck commands

To lower the mast and light the brands!—

Instantly o'er the dashing tide

Within a cavern's mouth they glide,

Gloomy as that eternal Porch

  Thro' which departed spirits go:—

Not even the flare of brand and torch

  Its flickering light could further throw

  Than the thick flood that boiled below.

Silent they floated—as if each

Sat breathless, and too awed for speech

In that dark chasm where even sound

Seemed dark,—so sullenly around

The goblin echoes of the cave

Muttered it o'er the long black wave

As 'twere some secret of the grave!

But soft—they pause—the current turns

  Beneath them from its onward track;—

Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns

  The vexed tide all foaming back,

And scarce the oar's redoubled force

Can stem the eddy's whirling course;

When, hark!—some desperate foot has sprung

Among the rocks—the chain is flung—

The oars are up—the grapple clings,

And the tost bark in moorings swings.

Just then, a day-beam thro' the shade

Broke tremulous—but ere the maid

Can see from whence the brightness steals,

Upon her brow she shuddering feels

A viewless hand that promptly ties

A bandage round her burning eyes;

While the rude litter where she lies,

Uplifted by the warrior throng,

O'er the steep rocks is borne along.

Blest power of sunshine!—genial Day,

What balm, what life is in thy ray!

To feel thee is such real bliss,

That had the world no joy but this

To sit in sunshine calm and sweet.—

It were a world too exquisite

For man to leave it for the gloom,

The deep, cold shadow of the tomb.

Even HINDA, tho' she saw not where

  Or whither wound the perilous road,

Yet knew by that awakening air,

  Which suddenly around her glowed,

That they had risen from the darkness there,

And breathed the sunny world again!

But soon this balmy freshness fled—

For now the steepy labyrinth led

Thro' damp and gloom—mid crash of boughs,

And fall of loosened crags that rouse

The leopard from his hungry sleep,

  Who starting thinks each crag a prey,

And long is heard from steep to steep

  Chasing them down their thundering way!

The jackal's cry—the distant moan

Of the hyena, fierce and lone—

And that eternal saddening sound

  Of torrents in the glen beneath,

As 'twere the ever-dark Profound

  That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death!

All, all is fearful—even to see,

  To gaze on those terrific things

She now but blindly hears, would be

  Relief to her imaginings;

Since never yet was shape so dread,

  But Fancy thus in darkness thrown

And by such sounds of horror fed

  Could frame more dreadful of her own.

But does she dream? has Fear again

Perplext the workings of her brain,

Or did a voice, all music, then

Come from the gloom, low whispering near—

"Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here?"

She does not dream—all sense, all ear,

She drinks the words, "Thy Gheber's here."

'Twas his own voice—she could not err—

  Throughout the breathing world's extent

There was but one such voice for her,

  So kind, so soft, so eloquent!

Oh, sooner shall the rose of May

  Mistake her own sweet nightingale,

And to some meaner minstrel's lay

  Open her bosom's glowing veil,[254]

Than Love shall ever doubt a tone,

A breath of the beloved one!

Though blest mid all her ills to think

  She has that one beloved near,

Whose smile tho' met on ruin's brink

  Hath power to make even ruin dear,—

Yet soon this gleam of rapture crost

By fears for him is chilled and lost.

How shall the ruthless HAFED brook

That one of Gheber blood should look,

With aught but curses in his eye,

On her—a maid of ARABY—

A Moslem maid—the child of him,

  Whose bloody banners' dire success

Hath left their altars cold and dim,

  And their fair land a wilderness!

And worse than all that night of blood

  Which comes so fast—Oh! who shall stay

The sword, that once hath tasted food

  Of Persian hearts or turn its way?

What arm shall then the victim cover,

Or from her father shield her lover?

"Save him, my God!" she inly cries—

"Save him this night—and if thine eyes

  "Have ever welcomed with delight

"The sinner's tears, the sacrifice

  "Of sinners' hearts—guard him this night,

"And here before thy throne I swear

"From my heart's inmost core to tear

  "Love, hope, remembrance, tho' they be

"Linkt with each quivering life-string there,

  "And give it bleeding all to Thee!

"Let him but live,—the burning tear,

"The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear,

"Which have been all too much his own,

"Shall from this hour be Heaven's alone.

"Youth past in penitence and age

"In long and painful pilgrimage

"Shall leave no traces of the flame

"That wastes me now—nor shall his name

"E'er bless my lips but when I pray

"For his dear spirit, that away

"Casting from its angelic ray

"The eclipse of earth, he too may shine

"Redeemed, all glorious and all Thine!

"Think—think what victory to win

"One radiant soul like his from sin,

"One wandering star of virtue back

"To its own native, heavenward track!

"Let him but live, and both are Thine,

  "Together Thine—for blest or crost,

"Living or dead, his doom is mine,

  "And if he perish, both are lost!"