Now pensive midnight’s sable mantle falls
O’er stately Tauris’ proud imbattled walls;
And there dark Desolation’s fix’d his throne;
No sound is there, save sigh or plaintive groan:—220
There drops the widow’s tear—there heaves the sigh
Of mourning sire—there sounds the orphan’s cry—
And there dark Azrail[7] sits, and grimly waves
His sable pinions o’er a thousand graves;
Yet e’en his rugged soul is tir’d—his hand
Would fain let drop his all-destructive brand—
Would gladly spread his deadly plumes, to fly
From such a scene of desolate misery.
For when Alvante’s brother claim’d a throne,
Which none but Ismael had the right to own;230
The tyrant, wak’ning from inglorious ease,
Rush’d to the battle, like the northern breeze:—
They fought! and young Moratcham’s lesser band
Fled in dismay before his brother’s hand.
But wo to Tauris’ chiefs!—for, there return’d,
With vengeful rage the haughty victor burn’d:
For they had help’d to place the daring brand,
Of red Rebellion, in Moratcham’s hand.
And, like some roaring whirlwind’s sweeping path,
That tears whole forests with its rabid wrath;240
Or, like some demon’s all-destroying form,
That wings the blast, and rides the gath’ring storm:
So fierce Alvante saw each coming day,
The luckless chiefs of Tauris sweep away.
Whence is that piercing scream?—Oh, turn thine eye
To view that scene of more than misery!
Yon maiden lov’d yon lifeless youth; he fell
Beneath Alvante’s rage,—the rest too well
That scream has told;—wide floats her streaming hair,
As if to ask compassion of the air,250
And her dark eye-balls’ wilder’d, frenzied roll,
Tell all the pangs that rend her madd’ning soul.
She press’d her lips to his, in vain to breathe
Life into lips, where all is death beneath;—
She feels his heart, for ever cold its glow,
And its high bound of rapture, silenc’d now!
And up she springs, and laughs—she laughs—but there
Burst forth the horrid laughter of Despair.
Vain, vain is reason, life against the stroke,
Dead on her love she falls—her faithful heart is broke.260
VI.
See the pale tyrant in his lofty tow’rs,
In reckless revelry employ his hours;
No blood, though torrents round his dwelling roll,
Dims the forbidden[8] sparkle of the bowl.
His form gigantic, and commanding mien,
The eye of memory ne’er could quit, once seen.
Yet there, no foulness stain’d, no beauty shone,
If each stern feature were remark’d alone;—
But all united, the tremendous whole269
Went, in an instant, through the awe-struck soul—
All, all appear’d t’ announce—this, this must be
Almost a demon, or a deity.
But lo! a messenger, whose reeking steed
Bears tacit witness to its rider’s speed,
Stops at the palace gate:—“Haste, haste, I bear
“Important tidings to the Sultan’s ear.”
Admittance granted, from his breast he drew
A scroll, and gave it to Alvante’s view:—
The Sultan open’d it—his steady cheek
Was little wont his inward thoughts to speak;280
But, as he read, his varying hue exprest
That Fury’s tortures rack’d his raging breast;—
Knit were his sable brows—his flashing eye
Shone like some orbit in a clouded sky;—
Fierce tow’rd his giant form, his hand of war
Stretch’d down to grasp his pond’rous scymitar;—
His sounding voice was like the thunder’s roll,
And all the hero swell’d his mighty soul:—
“’Tis well; the rebel boy shall rue the hour
“When first he dar’d to tempt Alvante’s pow’r:—
“Brav’d by a stripling! where is then this arm,
“At which whole squadrons fled with dire alarm?
“Am I not king? and shall this Ismael dare
“To seize a crown which I alone should wear?—
“No, never no! but hence—command Reylain
“To draw our troops before high Tauris’ plain.”
He ceas’d—but still his mutt’ring tongue, the fire
Which flash’d his eye, declar’d his inward ire.
While deepest passions o’er his senses came,
The monarch’s musing, and the hero’s flame,300
Mingled with many a pang that conscience brought,
To dampen courage, and t’ embitter thought.
VII.
His fav’rite slave approach’d, the salem made,
And some low words in whisp’ring accent said—
“’Tis right, them instant to our presence bring,”
With hasty tone replied the haughty king.
The doors of polish’d cedar open flew,
And gave a warrior legion to the view;
While, in the midst, fast bound in iron bands,
A warlike youth, with scorn indignant, stands:310
The simply-splendid garments that he wore,
Some blast of battle-storm had lately tore,
And the rich gold blush’d deep in harden’d gore;
Yet his bright face and form divine, where love
And war’s fierce monarch for the mastery strove,
Seem’d ’mid soil’d garb and fett’ring chains t’ exclaim,
“Behold a son of Conquest and of Fame.”
He that had seen his eye of azure fair,
(Tint in those darkly-glowing climes so rare,)
And the soft cygnet down, that now began320
His cheek to blossom, and to promise man,
And a sweet something o’er it spread—might trace
A woman’s softness in that god-like face.
But, had he seen the almost burning flame
That o’er his eye, when rous’d by wrath or fame,
Flash’d (like the lightning hurl’d from heav’nly arm,
When hush’d each wind, on ocean’s azure calm),
And, with a blaze that pierc’d the bosom’s core,
Made it still fiercer from the peace before:
And, had he mark’d the form, the tow’ring crest,330
The gait, that spurn’d the vile earth which it prest,
Oh! he would cry,—“Sure Glory’s charms alone
“Can call this youth of mightiness her own.”
As glares some lion on his num’rous foe;
So here and there bright flash’d his eye-ball’s glow:
Upon the guards who held him, first it beam’d;
Then to the Sultan’s lofty form it gleam’d:
Alvante met the fire with steady eye,
Which darted back the flame of majesty,339
Then, turning to the guards,—“Ye’ve speeded well,
“Where met ye this young warrior?—Sadi, tell.”—
With lowly salem, the time-serving man,
Pimp to his master’s vices, thus began:—