"Oh! curse me not," she cried, as wild he tost
His desperate hand towards Heav'n—"tho' I am lost,
"Think not that guilt, that falsehood made me fall,
"No, no—'twas grief, 'twas madness did it all!
"Nay, doubt me not—tho' all thy love hath ceased—
"I know it hath—yet, yet believe, at least,
"That every spark of reason's light must be
"Quenched in this brain ere I could stray from thee.
"They told me thou wert dead—why, AZIM, why
"Did we not, both of us, that instant die
"When we were parted? oh! couldst thou but know
"With what a deep devotedness of woe
"I wept thy absence—o'er and o'er again
"Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,
"And memory like a drop that night and day
"Falls cold and ceaseless wore my heart away.
"Didst thou but know how pale I sat at home,
"My eyes still turned the way thou wert to come,
"And, all the long, long night of hope and fear,
"Thy voice and step still sounding in my ear—
"Oh God! thou wouldst not wonder that at last,
"When every hope was all at once o'ercast,
"When I heard frightful voices round me say
"Azim is dead!—this wretched brain gave way,
"And I became a wreck, at random driven,
"Without one glimpse of reason or of Heaven—
"All wild—and even this quenchless love within
"Turned to foul fires to light me into sin!—
"Thou pitiest me—I knew thou wouldst—that sky
"Hath naught beneath it half so lorn as I.
"The fiend, who lured me hither—hist! come near.
"Or thou too, thou art lost, if he should hear—
"Told me such things—oh! with such devilish art.
"As would have ruined even a holier heart—
"Of thee, and of that ever-radiant sphere,
"Where blest at length, if I but served him here,
"I should for ever live in thy dear sight.
"And drink from those pure eyes eternal light.
"Think, think how lost, how maddened I must be,
"To hope that guilt could lead to God or thee!
"Thou weep'st for me—do weep—oh, that I durst
"Kiss off that tear! but, no—these lips are curst,
"They must not touch thee;—one divine caress,
"One blessed moment of forgetfulness
"I've had within those arms and that shall lie
"Shrined in my soul's deep memory till I die;
"The last of joy's last relics here below,
"The one sweet drop, in all this waste of woe,
"My heart has treasured from affection's spring,
"To soothe and cool its deadly withering!
"But thou—yes, thou must go—for ever go;
"This place is not for thee—for thee! oh no,
"Did I but tell thee half, thy tortured brain
"Would burn like mine, and mine go wild again!
"Enough that Guilt reigns here—that hearts once good
"Now tainted, chilled and broken are his food.—
"Enough that we are parted—that there rolls
"A flood of headlong fate between our souls,
"Whose darkness severs me as wide from thee
"As hell from heaven to all eternity!"
"ZELICA, ZELICA!" the youth exclaimed.
In all the tortures of a mind inflamed
Almost to madness—"by that sacred Heaven,
"Where yet, if prayers can move, thou'lt be forgiven,
"As thou art here—here, in this writhing heart,
"All sinful, wild, and ruined as thou art!
"By the remembrance of our once pure love,
"Which like a church-yard light still burns above
"The grave of our lost souls—which guilt in thee
"Cannot extinguish nor despair in me!
"I do conjure, implore thee to fly hence—
"If thou hast yet one spark of innocence,
"Fly with me from this place"—
"With thee! oh bliss!
"'Tis worth whole years of torment to hear this.
"What! take the lost one with thee?—let her rove
"By thy dear side, as in those days of love,
"When we were both so happy, both so pure—
"Too heavenly dream! if there's on earth a cure
"For the sunk heart, 'tis this—day after day
"To be the blest companion of thy way;
"To hear thy angel eloquence—to see
"Those virtuous eyes for ever turned on me;
"And in their light re-chastened silently,
"Like the stained web that whitens in the sun,
"Grow pure by being purely shone upon!
"And thou wilt pray for me—I know thou wilt—
"At the dim vesper hour when thoughts of guilt
"Come heaviest o'er the heart thou'lt lift thine eyes
"Full of sweet tears unto the darkening skies
"And plead for me with Heaven till I can dare
"To fix my own weak, sinful glances there;
"Till the good angels when they see me cling
"For ever near thee, pale and sorrowing,
"Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven,
"And bid thee take thy weeping slave to Heaven!
"Oh yes, I'll fly with thee"—
Scarce had she said
These breathless words when a voice deep and dread
As that of MONKER waking up the dead
From their first sleep—so startling 'twas to both—
Rang thro' the casement near, "Thy oath! thy oath!"
Oh Heaven, the ghastliness of that Maid's look!—
"'Tis he," faintly she cried, while terror shook
Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her eyes,
Tho' thro' the casement, now naught but the skies
And moonlight fields were seen, calm as before—
"'Tis he, and I am his—all, all is o'er—
"Go—fly this instant, or thou'rt ruin'd too—
"My oath, my oath, oh God! 'tis all too true,
"True as the worm in this cold heart it is—
"I am MOKANNA'S bride—his, AZIM, his—
"The Dead stood round us while I spoke that vow,
"Their blue lips echoed it—I hear them now!
"Their eyes glared on me, while I pledged that bowl,
"'Twas burning blood—I feel it in my soul!
"And the Veiled Bridegroom—hist! I've seen to-night
"What angels know not of—so foul a sight.
"So horrible—oh! never may'st thou see
"What there lies hid from all but hell and me!
"But I must hence—off, off—I am not thine,
"Nor Heaven's, nor Love's, nor aught that is divine—
"Hold me not—ha! think'st thou the fiends that sever
"Hearts cannot sunder hands?—thus, then—for ever!"
With all that strength which madness lends the weak
She flung away his arm; and with a shriek
Whose sound tho' be should linger out more years
Than wretch e'er told can never leave his ears—
Flew up thro' that long avenue of light,
Fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of night,
Across the sun; and soon was out of sight!
LALLA ROOKH could think of nothing all day but the misery of those two young lovers. Her gayety was gone, and she looked pensively even upon FADLAPEEN. She felt, too, without knowing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure in imagining that AZIM must have been just such a youth as FERAMORZ; just as worthy to enjoy all the blessings, without any of the pangs, of that illusive passion, which too often like the sunny apples of Istkahar[88] is all sweetness on one side and all bitterness on the other.
As they passed along a sequestered river after sunset they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank, whose employment seemed to them so strange that they stopped their palankeens to observe her. She had lighted a small lamp filled with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthen dish adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand to the stream; and was now anxiously watching its progress down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. LALLA ROOKH was all curiosity;—when one of her attendants, who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges, (where this ceremony is so frequent that often in the dusk of the evening the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like the Oton-tala or Sea of Stars,)[89] informed the princess that it was the usual way in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe return. If the lamp sunk immediately the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream and continued to burn till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain.
LALLA ROOKH as they moved on more than once looked back to observe how the young Hindoo's lamp proceeded; and while she saw with pleasure that it was still unextinguished she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river. The remainder of the journey was passed in silence. She now for the first time felt that shade of melancholy which comes over the youthful maiden's heart as sweet and transient as her own breath upon a mirror; nor was it till she heard the lute of FERAMOKZ, touched lightly at the door of her pavilion that she waked from the revery in which she had been wandering. Instantly her eyes were lighted up with pleasure; and after a few unheard remarks from FADLADEEN upon the indecorum of a poet seating himself in presence of a Princess everything was arranged as on the preceding evening and all listened with eagerness while the story was thus continued:—
Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way,
Where all was waste and silent yesterday?
This City of War which, in a few short hours,
Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers[90]
Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star,
Built the high pillared halls of CHILMINAR,[91]
Had conjur'd up, far as the eye can see,
This world of tents and domes and sunbright armory:—
Princely pavilions screened by many a fold
Of crimson cloth and topt with balls of gold:—
Steeds with their housings of rich silver spun,
Their chains and poitrels glittering in the sun;
And camels tufted o'er with Yemen's shells[92]
Shaking in every breeze their light-toned bells!
But yester-eve, so motionless around,
So mute was this wide plain that not a sound
But the far torrent or the locust bird[93]
Hunting among thickets could be heard;—
Yet hark! what discords now of every kind,
Shouts, laughs, and screams are revelling in the wind;
The neigh of cavalry;—the tinkling throngs
Of laden camels and their drivers' songs;—
Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze
Of streamers from ten thousand canopies;—[94]
War-music bursting out from time to time
With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime;—
Or in the pause when harsher sounds are mute,
The mellow breathings of some horn or flute,
That far off, broken by the eagle note
Of the Abyssinian trumpet, swell and float.[95]
Who leads this mighty army?—ask ye "who?"
And mark ye not those banners of dark hue,
The Night and Shadow, over yonder tent?—[96]
It is the CALIPH'S glorious armament.
Roused in his Palace by the dread alarms,
That hourly came, of the false Prophet's arms,
And of his host of infidels who hurled
Defiance fierce at Islam and the world,[97]
Tho' worn with Grecian warfare, and behind
The veils of his bright Palace calm reclined,
Yet brooked he not such blasphemy should stain,
Thus unrevenged, the evening of his reign;
But having sworn upon the Holy Grave[98]
To conquer or to perish, once more gave
His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze,
And with an army nurst in victories,
Here stands to crush the rebels that o'errun
His blest and beauteous Province of the Sun.
Ne'er did the march of MAHADI display
Such pomp before;—not even when on his way
To MECCA'S Temple, when both land and sea
Were spoiled to feed the Pilgrim's luxury;[99]
When round him mid the burning sands he saw
Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw,
And cooled his thirsty lip beneath the glow
Of MECCA'S sun with urns of Persian snow:—
Nor e'er did armament more grand than that
Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat.
First, in the van, the People of the Rock[100]
On their light mountain steeds of royal stock:[101]
Then chieftains of DAMASCUS proud to see
The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry;—[102]
Men from the regions near the VOLGA'S mouth
Mixt with the rude, black archers of the South;
And Indian lancers in white-turbaned ranks
From the far SINDE or ATTOCK'S sacred banks,
With dusky legions from the Land of Myrrh,[103]
And many a mace-armed Moor and Midsea islander.