AN ORIENTAL POEM.
In Two Cantos.
Written at Fifteen Years Old.
“Let those who rule on Persia’s jewell’d throne,
“Be fam’d for love, and gentlest love alone,
“Or twine, like Abbas, full of fair renown,
“The lover’s myrtle with the warrior’s crown.”
Collins’s Oriental Eclogues.
ISMAEL.
CANTO I.
I.
’Tis eve, and bright through Caymyr’s fragrant trees
Spread Ismael’s banners to the wanton breeze;
O’er martial camps, and trophied armour blue,
The rising moon-beams cast a silvery hue;
Lull’d is each ruder wind, so hush’d, and calm,
That not a leaf is mov’d on yonder palm,
Save by the soft, sweet breeze that now floats by,
Like the faint meltings of a lover’s sigh;
And the lone bulbul[4], on that beauteous tree,
Pours out her strains of purest melody;10
And many a flow’r, that shuns day’s fervid glow,
Puts forth its modest, fragrant beauties now;
And the high heav’ns smile so sublimely fair,
The eye might think to waft the spirit there;
While yonder clouds, that o’er the mountain roll’d,
Have caught the sun’s last parting glance of gold,
And seem to glory in their splendid hue,
Give to the heav’ns around a brighter blue.
But the rich beauties of that sacred still,
With war’s rude mingled sounds are suited ill20
With clang of arms, loud shouting, and rough swell
Of rousing trumpet, and of clashing zel[5];
It breaks the balm divine, that breathes around,
That else might pour its healing in the wound
Of rack’d Despair, and Murder’s self awhile,
Of its soul-withering agony beguile.
Yes! ’tis an eve, whose pensive, sweet control,
Thrills in soft transport through the care-worn soul,
And man would cry, “Is this a place, an hour
“For war’s dread tyrant to exert his power?30
“Perchance this scene, that now, so softly mild,
“Of love and sweetness seems the heav’nly child,
“May soon, alas! where now these flowrets glow,
“Red carnage pour, and echo sounds of wo!
“This far-extended camp, this glorious train
“That spread their numbers o’er green Caymyr’s plain,
“Vast as the sand, that loads the Persian shore,
“A day shall come,—and they shall be no more.”
II.
Sees’t thou yon crescent gleaming from afar,
Like half-hid influence of some meteor star?40
It glows on Ismael’s tent; the sentry there,
With cautious step, keeps more than common care.
But say, why (lord of all this num’rous band,
The sword of conquest flaming in his hand)
He, he alone, of all his armies yield,
Is absent now from Caymyr’s tented field;
When mark’d by royal jealousy’s keen eye,
The Sage of Ardevil[6] was doom’d to die;
He, whose high soul e’er soar’d on sacred wings,
Above the toils of kingdoms and of kings.50
Three sons he left; and two their danger knew,
Of age to see them, and to fly them too.
The third, young Ismael, then of infant age,
His father’s friends convey’d from Rustam’s rage.
And flying hence, to Pyrchilim the Brave,
His sire’s illustrious friend, the child they gave:
And there he grew, and every virtuous grace
Enrich’d the noblest of Shich-Eidar’s race;
Talent and honour all his soul possest,
In form of scarcely human beauty drest.60
In earliest youth, ere yet the toils of man,
Ambitious fire, and war’s alarms, began,
He lov’d a maid, the flow’r of Ava’s race;
No rose, no lily match’d that maiden’s face.
He sigh’d his love, and Selyma return’d
The chasten’d flame with which his bosom burn’d.
Oh! mid the beauties of those heav’nly shores,
Where all her charms, luxuriant Nature pours;
Not such cold charms, as, in the frozen North,
Few, and half ripe, her niggard hand puts forth;70
But such, as on Love’s warmest, brightest shrine
She strews around, all glowing, all divine.
Oh, it were sweet to mark those lovers’ bliss—
Bliss far too great for such a world as this.
And they would sit beneath some spreading palm,
When mellowing eve put forth her fragrant balm,
And watch the setting sun’s last dazzling sheen,
Sink slow, as loth to quit so soft, so fair a scene.
And he would cull fresh flowrets’ varied glow,
To form a wreath to deck her lovely brow,80
And twine his fingers in her locks of night,
As down her breast they stray’d, as envious of its white;—
And, as they lay, their breathing lips would meet,
And hearts, that love first taught th’ ecstatic beat.
And oh, to part at night, the ling’ring pain,
And oh, the happiness to meet again.
Yes, love like their’s so rapturous, yet so pure,
Alas! could never, never long endure!