3.
Shah Mahomet full well has dined,
And his soul to be merry is fully inclined.
In the garden at twilight, on purple seat
He sits by the fountain. Its splashing sounds sweet,
With looks respectful his servants stand:
His fav’rite Ansari’s amongst the band.
From marble vases a fiery gush
Of luxuriant flowers appears to rush.
Like Odalisques with graceful arms
Stand fanning themselves the slender palms.
The cypresses stand with branches unfurl’d,
As if dreaming of heaven, forgetting the world.
But sudden to strains of the lute ere long
Is heard a gentle mysterious song.
The Shah sprang up, as if sorely perplex’d:
“Who wrote of this song the charming text?”
Ansari, from whom he sought to know it,
Replied: “’Tis the work of Ferdusi the poet.”
“Ferdusi!”—exclaim’d the prince in dismay,—
“Where is he? How fares the poet, O say!”
“Ansari gave answer: “In poverty great
“He has lived full long in a mournful state
“At Thus, the native town of the bard,
“Where he in his garden works full hard.”
Shah Mahomet paused, and presently said:
“Ansari, a thought has come in my head.
“To my stables make haste, and with hands unthrifty
“Take a hundred mules, and camels fifty.
“And lade them all with every treasure
“That fills the heart of a mortal with pleasure,
“With splendid articles, rich and rare,
“With costly dresses and furniture fair
“Of sandal wood and ivory white,
“With gold and silver tissues dight;
“With precious-handled goblets and pots,
“And leopard-skins, all cover’d with spots,
“With carpets and shawls and the richest brocade
“That in my kingdom has ever been made.
“And don’t forget to pack with the rest
“Some glittering arms, and of housings the best,
“As well as drinks of every kind
“And eatables such as in pots we find,
“And almond cakes and sweetmeats Egyptian,
“And gingerbread of every description.
“And also add a dozen steeds
“As swift as arrows, of Arab breeds,
“And likewise a dozen slaves, black as coals,
“With bodies of steel, and sturdy souls.
“Ansari, when all these things thou hast got,
“Thou must start on thy journey, and linger not.
“Thou must take them all with my kind regard
“To Thus, to Ferdusi, the mighty bard.”—
Ansari fulfill’d his lord’s behest,
And loaded the camels and mules with the best
And costliest presents, the value of which
Was enough to make a whole province quite rich.
In propriâ personâ he left at last
The palace, when some three days had past,
And with a general’s banner red
In front of the caravan he sped.
At the end of a week to Thus came they;
The town at the foot of the mountain lay.
The caravan the western gate
With shouts and noises entered straight.
The trumpets sounded, the loud drums beat,
And songs of triumph rang through the street.
“La Illa Il Allah!” with joyous shout
The camel drivers were calling out.
But through the East gate at the farther end
Of Thus, at that moment chanced to wend
The funeral train so full of gloom,
That the dead Ferdusi bore to his tomb.
VOYAGE BY NIGHT.
The half-moon peer’d from the darksome clouds
With coyness, while rock’d the sea;
And when in the bark our places we took,
Our number then was three.
There plash’d in the water the strokes of the oar
With sad monotony;
White foaming billows came with a roar,
And sprinkled all of us three.
She stood in the bark, as pale, as slim,
As void of motion too,
As though she a marble statue were,
Diana’s image true.
The moon disappear’d. The nightwind piped
With chilly blast on high;
When over our heads there suddenly rose
A wild and piercing cry.
’Twas the white and ghostlike seamew’s voice,
And at that terrible cry,
Which fearfully rang like a warning call,
All three felt like to die.
Am I in a fever? A vision is this
Of nightly phantasy?
Am I aped by a dream? I’m dreaming a dream
Of wild buffoonery.
Buffoonery wild! Methinks in my dream
That I a Saviour am;
And faithfully bear the weight of the Cross,
As gentle as a lamb.
Poor beauty beside me is sore distress’d,
But soon I’ll set her free
From sin and shame and sorrow and pain,
And earthly misery.
Poor beauty, O be not thou terrified,
Though bitter the medicine be;
Although my heart may break, I myself
Will mete out death to thee.
O folly wild and terrible dream!
O madness fearful to see!
The night is yawning, the ocean yells—
O God, have mercy on me!
Have mercy on me, O merciful God!
O merciful God! Schaddey![75]
A Something falls in the sea—Alas!
Schaddey! Schaddey! Adonay![76]
The sun arose, we came to the land,
Sweet smiled the spring to the view;
And when at length we left the bark,
Our number then was two.
THE PRELUDE.
This, then, is America!
This indeed the new world is!
Not the present, which already
Europeanized, is with’ring.—
This indeed the new world is,
As by Christopher Columbus
From the ocean extricated;
In its billowy freshness gleams it,
With its watery pearls still dripping,
Which are scatter’d, colour-sprinkling,
When the sunlight fair it kisses.
O how healthy this new world is!
’Tis no churchyard of romance,
’Tis no ancient Scherbenberg,
All made up of mouldy symbols,
And of petrified perukes.
From the healthy earth are shooting
Healthy trees, and none amongst them
Blasé is, or has consumption
Eating up its spinal marrow.
On the branches are disporting
Mighty birds. Of chequer’d colours
Is their plumage. With their solemn
Lengthy beaks, and eyes encircled
With black marks, like spectacles,
They in silence gaze upon thee,
Till they shriek with sudden clamour
And like washerwomen chatter.
Yet I know not what they’re saying,
Notwithstanding that I’m learned
In birds’ tongues as Solomon,
Who a thousand wives rejoiced in,
And with birds’ tongues was acquainted,—
Not the modern ones alone,
But all dialects whatever,
Whether dead, or old, or worn-out.
New the land is, new the flowers!
New the flowers and new the fragrance!
Fragrance wild, and never heard of,
Piercing sweetly through my nostrils,
Teasing, prickling, full of passion—
And my subtle sense of smelling
Racks itself with meditating:
“Where have I e’er smelt this odour?
“Was’t in Regent Street, perchance,
“In the sunny arms so yellow
“Of that Javanese thin woman
“Who was always eating flowers?
“Was it else at Rotterdam,
“Near the Column of Erasmus,
“In the wafer-shop notorious
“With its most mysterious curtain?”
Whilst I in this puzzled fashion
The new world was contemplating,
Seeming to instil into it
Still more bashfulness,—a monkey,
Who, affrighted, sought the bushes,
Cross’d himself at my appearance,
Crying with alarm: “A Spirit!
“Yes, a Spirit from the old world!”—
“Monkey, be not thus confounded!
“I’m no spirit, I’m no spectre;
“Life within my veins is boiling,
“I’m life’s most true-hearted son.
“Yet by living many years
“With the dead, have I adopted
“Dead men’s manners very likely,
“And peculiar ways of thinking.
“All the fairest years of life
“Spent I in Kyffhauser’s cavern,
“In the Venusberg, and other
“Catacombs of the Romantic.
“Have no fear of me, good monkey!
“Thee I like, for on thy hairless
“Tann’d and shaven hinder-quarters
“Thou dost bear my fav’rite colours.”—
Darling colours! Black-red-golden!
Yes, these monkey-buttock-colours,
Sorrowfully they remind me
Of the flag of Barbarossa.