A skiff is seen upon the main,
The purple wave of Oman's sea;
Her prow doth long to kiss again
The perfumed shores of Araby.
A gentle Zephyr fills the sail.
But, ah, too soft, too mild the gale
For one on board, who, mounted high,
Scans the far shore with eagle eye.
'Tis Selim's bark that, long away,
Hath wandered on the salt sea foam,
And brings him after many a day
Back to this land, though not his home.
What in the distance glads his eye?
A sight none other can descry—
The kerchief he his mistress gave
Now from her casement high doth wave.
The signal yet is but a speck,
The cloud has vanished from his brow;
Yet chafing still, he walks the deck
Impatiently from helm to prow,
As if his eagerness could urge
His vessel faster through the surge.
But as the craft now nigher drew,
The signal note his swarthy crew.
Now gaily speeds the gallant bark,
Soon within grasp of land once more;
The sun has set, yet 'tis not dark.
Each swarthy sailor leaps ashore,
Yet almost ere they can alight
Their captain scales a dizzy height,
And in the moonlight hand in hand
Two lovers at the casement stand.
"Oh, Selim! why this long delay?"
A soft voice whispers 'neath the moon.
"I've wept for thee full many a day,
Watching the sea from morn till noon,
In hope— But hist! there're footsteps nigh;
The Caliph keeps a watchful eye.
The moon is up, thou must be gone—
One kiss. Farewell. We meet at dawn."
Zuleika to her bower turned—
Her jasmine bower's perfumed shade;
A fever in her bosom burned.
That night upon her couch being laid,
The nightingale that woos the rose
Breaks not so much on her repose
As the loud beating of her heart
With feelings she will ne'er impart
To mortal man, save him alone
Who wooed and won her from her sire.
Her love in secret long hath grown,
And much she fears her parents' ire;
She knows her father sets his face
Against her lover's impious race,
But still, her troth is plighted now.
"Or him or Death," thus ran her vow.
Canto the Second.
Zuleika's beauty from her birth
Had been such as might well entice
The saints above to visit Earth
From Mahommed's gay Paradise;
Her raven tresses shamed the night,
Her step so proud and yet so light,
'Twould seem as though she trod the air,
Like Peri; nor was she less less fair.
An eye that mocked the wild gazelle,
A voice, although untrained by art,
Sweet as a strain of Israfel,
The strings of whose melodious heart
A lyre are, with tones so sweet
That angels listen at his feet,
And the stars sink to the ground
When those living chords resound.