Rapidly as comets run
To the embraces of the Sun;—
Fleeter than the starry brands
Flung at night from angel hands[147]
At those dark and daring sprites
Who would climb the empyreal heights,
Down the blue vault the PERI flies,
And lighted earthward by a glance
That just then broke from morning's eyes,
Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.
But whither shall the Spirit go
To find this gift for Heaven;—"I know
The wealth," she cries, "of every urn
In which unnumbered rubies burn
Beneath the pillars of CHILMINAR:[148]
I know where the Isles of Perfume are[149]
Many a fathom down in the sea,
To the south of sun-bright ARABY;[150]
I know too where the Genii hid
The jewelled cup of their King JAMSHID,[151]
"With Life's elixir sparkling high—
"But gifts like these are not for the sky.
"Where was there ever a gem that shone
"Like the steps of ALLA'S wonderful Throne?
"And the Drops of Life—oh! what would they be
"In the boundless Deep of Eternity?"
While thus she mused her pinions fanned
The air of that sweet Indian land
Whose air is balm, whose ocean spreads
O'er coral rocks and amber beds,[152]
Whose mountains pregnant by the beam
Of the warm sun with diamonds teem,
Whose rivulets are like rich brides,
Lovely, with gold beneath their tides,
Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice
Might be a Peri's Paradise!
But crimson now her rivers ran
With human blood—the smell of death
Came reeking from those spicy bowers,
And man the sacrifice of man
Mingled his taint with every breath
Upwafted from the innocent flowers.
Land of the Sun! what foot invades
Thy Pagods and thy pillared shades—
Thy cavern shrines and Idol stones,
Thy Monarch and their thousand Thrones?[153]
'Tis He of GAZNA[154], fierce in wrath
He comes and INDIA'S diadems
Lie scattered in his ruinous path.-
His bloodhounds he adorns with gems,
Torn from the violated necks
Of many a young and loved Sultana;[155]
Maidens within their pure Zenana,
Priests in the very fane he slaughters,
And chokes up with the glittering wrecks
Of golden shrines the sacred waters!
Downward the PERI turns her gaze,
And thro' the war-field's bloody haze
Beholds a youthful warrior stand
Alone beside his native river,—
The red blade broken in his hand
And the last arrow in his quiver.
"Live," said the Conqueror, "live to share
"The trophies and the crowns I bear!"
Silent that youthful warrior stood—
Silent he pointed to the flood
All crimson with his country's blood,
Then sent his last remaining dart,
For answer, to the Invader's heart.
False flew the shaft tho' pointed well;
The Tyrant lived, the Hero fell!—
Yet marked the PERI where he lay,
And when the rush of war was past
Swiftly descending on a ray
Of morning light she caught the last—
Last glorious drop his heart had shed
Before its free-born spirit fled!
"Be this," she cried, as she winged her flight,
"My welcome gift at the Gates of Light.
"Tho' foul are the drops that oft distil
"On the field of warfare, blood like this
"For Liberty shed so holy is,
"It would not stain the purest rill
"That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss!
"Oh, if there be on this earthly sphere
"A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear,
"'Tis the last libation Liberty draws
"From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!"
"Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave
The gift into his radiant hand,
"Sweet is our welcome of the Brave
"Who die thus for their native Land.—
"But see—alas! the crystal bar
"Of Eden moves not—holier far
"Than even this drop the boon must be
"That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee!"
Her first fond hope of Eden blighted,
Now among AFRIC'S lunar Mountains[156]
Far to the South the PERI lighted
And sleeked her plumage at the fountains
Of that Egyptian tide whose birth
Is hidden from the sons of earth
Deep in those solitary woods
Where oft the Genii of the Floods
Dance round the cradle of their Nile
And hail the new-born Giant's smile.[157]
Thence over EGYPT'S palmy groves
Her grots, and sepulchres of Kings,[158]
The exiled Spirit sighing roves
And now hangs listening to the doves
In warm ROSETTA'S vale;[159] now loves
To watch the moonlight on the wings
Of the white pelicans that break
The azure calm of MOERIS' Lake.[160]
'Twas a fair scene: a Land more bright
Never did mortal eye behold!
Who could have thought that saw this night
Those valleys and their fruits of gold
Basking in Heaven's serenest light,
Those groups of lovely date-trees bending
Languidly their leaf-crowned heads,
Like youthful maids, when sleep descending
Warns them to their silken beds,[161]
Those virgin lilies all the night
Bathing their beauties in the lake
That they may rise more fresh and bright,
When their beloved Sun's awake,
Those ruined shrines and towers that seem
The relics of a splendid dream,
Amid whose fairy loneliness
Naught but the lapwing's cry is heard,—
Naught seen but (when the shadows flitting,
Fast from the moon unsheath its gleam,)
Some purple-winged Sultana sitting[162]
Upon a column motionless
And glittering like an Idol bird!—
Who could have thought that there, even there,
Amid those scenes so still and fair,
The Demon of the Plague hath cast
From his hot wing a deadlier blast,
More mortal far than ever came
From the red Desert's sands of flame!
So quick that every living thing
Of human shape touched by his wing,
Like plants, where the Simoom hath past
At once falls black and withering!
The sun went down on many a brow
Which, full of bloom and freshness then,
Is rankling in the pest-house now
And ne'er will feel that sun again,
And, oh! to see the unburied heaps
On which the lonely moonlight sleeps—
The very vultures turn away,
And sicken at so foul a prey!
Only the fierce hyaena stalks[163]
Throughout the city's desolate walks[164]
At midnight and his carnage plies:—
Woe to the half-dead wretch who meets
The glaring of those large blue eyes
Amid the darkness of the streets!
"Poor race of men!" said the pitying Spirit,
"Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall—
"Some flowerets of Eden ye still inherit,
"But the trail of the Serpent is over them all!"
She wept—the air grew pure and clear
Around her as the bright drops ran,
For there's a magic in each tear
Such kindly Spirits weep for man!
Just then beneath some orange trees
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze
Were wantoning together, free,
Like age at play with infancy—
Beneath that fresh and springing bower
Close by the Lake she heard the moan
Of one who at this silent hour,
Had thither stolen to die alone.
One who in life where'er he moved,
Drew after him the hearts of many;
Yet now, as tho' he ne'er were loved,
Dies here unseen, unwept by any!
None to watch near him—none to slake
The fire that in his bosom lies,
With even a sprinkle from that lake
Which shines so cool before his eyes.
No voice well known thro' many a day
To speak the last, the parting word
Which when all other sounds decay
Is still like distant music heard;—
That tender farewell on the shore
Of this rude world when all is o'er,
Which cheers the spirit ere its bark
Puts off into the unknown Dark.
Deserted youth! one thought alone
Shed joy around his soul in death
That she whom he for years had known,
And loved and might have called his own
Was safe from this foul midnight's breath,—
Safe in her father's princely halls
Where the cool airs from fountain falls,
Freshly perfumed by many a brand
Of the sweet wood from India's land,
Were pure as she whose brow they fanned.