By all that thou hast
To mortals given,
Which—oh, could it last,
This earth were heaven!
We call thee thither, entrancing Power!
Spirit of Love! Spirit of Bliss!
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,
And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.
Impatient of a scene whose luxuries stole,
Spite of himself, too deep into his soul,
And where, midst all that the young heart loves most,
Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost,
The youth had started up and turned away
From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay
To muse upon the pictures that hung round,—[81]
Bright images, that spoke without a sound,
And views like vistas into fairy ground.
But here again new spells came o'er his sense:—
All that the pencil's mute omnipotence
Could call up into life, of soft and fair,
Of fond and passionate, was glowing there;
Nor yet too warm, but touched with that fine art
Which paints of pleasure but the purer part;
Which knows even Beauty when half-veiled is best,—
Like her own radiant planet of the west,
Whose orb when half retired looks loveliest.[82]
There hung the history of the Genii-King,
Traced thro' each gay, voluptuous wandering
With her from SABA'S bowers, in whose bright eyes
He read that to be blest is to be wise;—
Here fond ZULEIKA woos with open arms[83]
The Hebrew boy who flies from her young charms,
Yet flying turns to gaze and half undone
Wishes that Heaven and she could both be won;
And here MOHAMMED born for love and guile
Forgets the Koran in his MARY'S smile;—
Then beckons some kind angel from above
With a new text to consecrate their love.[84]
With rapid step, yet pleased and lingering eye,
Did the youth pass these pictured stories by,
And hastened to a casement where the light
Of the calm moon came in and freshly bright
The fields without were seen sleeping as still
As if no life remained in breeze or rill.
Here paused he while the music now less near
Breathed with a holier language on his ear,
As tho' the distance and that heavenly ray
Thro' which the sounds came floating took away
All that had been too earthly in the lay.
Oh! could he listen to such sounds unmoved,
And by that light—nor dream of her he loved?
Dream on, unconscious boy! while yet thou may'st;
'Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste.
Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart,
Ere all the light that made it dear depart.
Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last,
Clear, beautiful, by naught of earth o'ercast;
Recall her tears to thee at parting given,
Pure as they weep, if angels weep in Heaven.
Think in her own still bower she waits thee now
With the same glow of heart and bloom of brow,
Yet shrined in solitude—thine all, thine only,
Like the one star above thee, bright and lonely.
Oh! that a dream so sweet, so long enjoyed,
Should be so sadly, cruelly destroyed!
The song is husht, the laughing nymphs are flown,
And he is left musing of bliss alone;—
Alone?—no, not alone—that heavy sigh,
That sob of grief which broke from some one nigh—
Whose could it be?—alas! is misery found
Here, even here, on this enchanted ground?
He turns and sees a female form close veiled,
Leaning, as if both heart and strength had failed,
Against a pillar near;—not glittering o'er
With gems and wreaths such as the others wore,
But in that deep-blue, melancholy dress.[85]
BOKHARA'S maidens wear in mindfulness
Of friends or kindred, dead or far away;—
And such as ZELICA had on that day
He left her—when with heart too full to speak
He took away her last warm tears upon his cheek.
A strange emotion stirs within him,—more
Than mere compassion ever waked before;
Unconsciously he opes his arms while she
Springs forward as with life's last energy,
But, swooning in that one convulsive bound,
Sinks ere she reach his arms upon the ground;—
Her veil falls off—her faint hands clasp his knees—
'Tis she herself!—it is ZELICA he sees!
But, ah, so pale, so changed—none but a lover
Could in that wreck of beauty's shrine discover
The once adorned divinity—even he
Stood for some moments mute, and doubtingly
Put back the ringlets from her brow, and gazed
Upon those lids where once such lustre blazed,
Ere he could think she was indeed his own,
Own darling maid whom he so long had known
In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both;
Who, even when grief was heaviest—when loath
He left her for the wars—in that worst hour
Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night-flower,[86]
When darkness brings its weeping glories out,
And spreads its sighs like frankincense about.
"Look up, my ZELICA—one moment show
"Those gentle eyes to me that I may know
"Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone,
"But there at least shines as it ever shone.
"Come, look upon thy AZIM—one dear glance,
"Like those of old, were heaven! whatever chance
"Hath brought thee here, oh, 'twas a blessed one!
"There—my loved lips—they move—that kiss hath run
"Like the first shoot of life thro' every vein,
"And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again.
"Oh the delight—now, in this very hour,
"When had the whole rich world been in my power,
"I should have singled out thee only thee,
"From the whole world's collected treasury—
"To have thee here—to hang thus fondly o'er
"My own, best, purest ZELICA once more!"
It was indeed the touch of those fond lips
Upon her eyes that chased their short eclipse.
And gradual as the snow at Heaven's breath
Melts off and shows the azure flowers beneath,
Her lids unclosed and the bright eyes were seen
Gazing on his—not, as they late had been,
Quick, restless, wild, but mournfully serene;
As if to lie even for that tranced minute
So near his heart had consolation in it;
And thus to wake in his beloved caress
Took from her soul one half its wretchedness.
But, when she heard him call her good and pure,
Oh! 'twas too much—too dreadful to endure!
Shuddering she broke away from his embrace.
And hiding with both hands her guilty face
Said in a tone whose anguish would have riven
A heart of very marble, "Pure!—oh Heaven!"—
That tone—those looks so changed—the withering blight,
That sin and sorrow leave where'er they light:
The dead despondency of those sunk eyes,
Where once, had he thus met her by surprise,
He would have seen himself, too happy boy,
Reflected in a thousand lights of joy:
And then the place,—that bright, unholy place,
Where vice lay hid beneath each winning grace
And charm of luxury as the viper weaves
Its wily covering of sweet balsam leaves,[87]—
All struck upon his heart, sudden and cold
As death itself;—it needs not to be told—
No, no—he sees it all plain as the brand
Of burning shame can mark—whate'er the hand,
That could from Heaven and him such brightness sever,
'Tis done—to Heaven and him she's lost for ever!
It was a dreadful moment; not the tears,
The lingering, lasting misery of years
Could match that minute's anguish—all the worst
Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst
Broke o'er his soul and with one crash of fate
Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate.