To tearless eyes and hearts at ease
The leafy shores and sun-bright seas
That lay beneath that mountain's height
Had been a fair enchanting sight.
'Twas one of those ambrosial eyes
A day of storm so often leaves
At its calm setting—when the West
Opens her golden bowers of rest,
And a moist radiance from the skies
Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes
Of some meek penitent whose last
Bright hours atone for dark ones past,
And whose sweet tears o'er wrong forgiven
Shine as they fall with light from heaven!
'Twas stillness all—the winds that late
Had rushed through KERMAN'S almond groves,
And shaken from her bowers of date
That cooling feast the traveller loves.[256]
Now lulled to languor scarcely curl
The Green Sea wave whose waters gleam
Limpid as if her mines of pearl
Were melted all to form the stream:
And her fair islets small and bright
With their green shores reflected there
Look like those PERI isles of light
That hang by spell-work in the air
But vainly did those glories burst
On HINDA'S dazzled eyes, when first
The bandage from her brow was taken,
And, pale and awed as those who waken
In their dark tombs—when, scowling near,
The Searchers of the Grave[257] appear.—
She shuddering turned to read her fate
In the fierce eyes that flasht around;
And saw those towers all desolate,
That o'er her head terrific frowned,
As if defying even the smile
Of that soft heaven to gild their pile.
In vain with mingled hope and fear,
She looks for him whose voice so dear
Had come, like music, to her ear,—
Strange, mocking dream! again 'tis fled.
And oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread
That thro' her inmost bosom run,
When voices from without proclaim
"HAFED, the Chief"—and, one by one,
The warriors shout that fearful name!
He comes—the rock resounds his tread—
How shall she dare to lift her head
Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare
Not YEMEN'S boldest sons can bear?
In whose red beam, the Moslem tells,
Such rank and deadly lustre dwells
As in those hellish fires that light
The mandrake's charnel leaves at night.[258]
How shall she bear that voice's tone,
At whose loud battle-cry alone
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran,
Scattered like some vast caravan,
When stretched at evening round the well
They hear the thirsting tiger's yell.
Breathless she stands with eyes cast down
Shrinking beneath the fiery frown
Which, fancy tells her, from that brow
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now:
And shuddering as she hears the tread
Of his retiring warrior band.—
Never was pause full of dread;
Till HAFED with a trembling hand
Took hers and leaning o'er her said,
"HINDA;"—that word was all he spoke.
And 'twas enough—the shriek that broke
From her full bosom told the rest.—
Panting with terror, joy, surprise,
The maid but lifts her wandering eyes,
To hide them on her Gheber's breast!
'Tis he, 'tis he—the man of blood,
The fellest of the Fire-fiend's brood,
HAFED, the demon of the fight,
Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight,—
Is her own loved Gheber, mild
And glorious as when first he smiled
In her lone tower and left such beams
Of his pure eye to light her dreams,
That she believed her bower had given
Rest to some wanderer from heaven!
Moments there are, and this was one,
Snatched like a minute's gleam of sun
Amid the black Simoom's eclipse—
Or like those verdant spots that bloom
Around the crater's burning lips.
Sweetening the very edge of doom!
The past, the future—all that Fate
Can bring of dark or desperate
Around such hours but makes them cast
Intenser radiance while they last!
Even he, this youth—tho' dimmed and gone
Each Star of Hope that cheered him on—
His glories lost—his cause betrayed—
IRAN, his dear-loved country, made
A land of carcasses and slaves,
One dreary waste of chains and graves!
Himself but lingering, dead at heart,
To see the last, long struggling breath
Of Liberty's great soul depart,
Then lay him down and share her death—
Even he so sunk in wretchedness
With doom still darker gathering o'er him,
Yet, in this moment's pure caress,
In the mild eyes that shone before him,
Beaming that blest assurance worth
All other transports known on earth.
That he was loved-well, warmly loved—
Oh! in this precious hour he proved
How deep, how thorough-felt the glow
Of rapture kindling out of woe;—
How exquisite one single drop
Of bliss thus sparkling to the top
Of misery's cup—how keenly quaft,
Tho' death must follow on the draught!
She too while gazing on those eyes
That sink into her soul so deep,
Forgets all fears, all miseries,
Or feels them like the wretch in sleep,
Whom fancy cheats into a smile.
Who dreams of joy and sobs the while!
The mighty Ruins where they stood
Upon the mount's high, rocky verge
Lay open towards the ocean flood,
Where lightly o'er the illumined surge
Many a fair bark that, all the day,
Had lurkt in sheltering creek or bay
Now bounded on and gave their sails,
Yet dripping to the evening gales;
Like eagles when the storm is done,
Spreading their wet wings in the sun.
The beauteous clouds, tho' daylight's Star
Had sunk behind the hills of LAR,
Were still with lingering glories bright.—
As if to grace the gorgeous West
The Spirit of departing Light
That eve had left his sunny vest
Behind him ere he winged his flight.
Never was scene so formed for love!
Beneath them waves of crystal move
In silent swell—Heaven glows above
And their pure hearts, to transport given,
Swell like the wave and glow like heaven.
But ah! too soon that dream is past—
Again, again her fear returns;—
Night, dreadful night, is gathering fast,
More faintly the horizon burns,
And every rosy tint that lay
On the smooth sea hath died away
Hastily to the darkening skies
A glance she casts—then wildly cries
"At night, he said—and look, 'tis near—
"Fly, fly—if yet thou lovest me, fly—
"Soon will his murderous band be here.
"And I shall see thee bleed and die.—
"Hush! heardest thou not the tramp of men
"Sounding from yonder fearful glen?—
"Perhaps, even now they climb the wood—
"Fly, fly—tho' still the West is bright,
"He'll come—oh! yes—he wants thy blood—
"I know him—he'll not wait for night!"
In terrors even to agony
She clings around the wondering Chief;—
"Alas, poor wildered maid! to me
"Thou owest this raving trance of grief.
"Lost as I am, naught ever grew
"Beneath my shade but perisht too—
"My doom is like the Dead Sea air,
"And nothing lives that enters there!
"Why were our barks together driven
"Beneath this morning's furious heaven?
"Why when I saw the prize that chance
"Had thrown into my desperate arms,—
"When casting but a single glance
"Upon thy pale and prostrate charms,
"I vowed (tho' watching viewless o'er
"Thy safety thro' that hour's alarms)
"To meet the unmanning sight no more—
"Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow?
"Why weakly, madly met thee now?
"Start not—that noise is but the shock
"Of torrents thro' yon valley hurled—
"Dread nothing here—upon this rock
"We stand above the jarring world,
"Alike beyond its hope—its dread—
"In gloomy safety like the Dead!
"Or could even earth and hell unite
"In league to storm this Sacred Height,
"Fear nothing thou—myself, tonight,
"And each o'erlooking star that dwells
"Near God will be thy sentinels;—
"And ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow,
"Back to thy sire"—
"To-morrow!—no"—
The maiden screamed—"Thou'lt never see
"To-morrow's sun—death, death will be
"The night-cry thro' each reeking tower,
"Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour!
"Thou art betrayed—some wretch who knew
"That dreadful glen's mysterious clew-
"Nay, doubt not—by yon stars, 'tis true—
"Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire;
"This morning, with that smile so dire
"He wears in joy he told me all
"And stampt in triumph thro' our hall,
"As tho' thy heart already beat
"Its last life-throb beneath his feet!
"Good Heaven, how little dreamed I then
"His victim was my own loved youth!—
"Fly—send—let some one watch the glen—
"By all my hopes of heaven 'tis truth!"
Oh! colder than the wind that freezes
Founts that but now in sunshine played,
Is that congealing pang which seizes
The trusting bosom, when betrayed.
He felt it—deeply felt—and stood,
As if the tale had frozen his blood,
So mazed and motionless was he;—
Like one whom sudden spells enchant,
Or some mute, marble habitant
Of the still Halls of ISHMONIE![259]
But soon the painful chill was o'er,
And his great soul herself once more
Lookt from his brow in all the rays
Of her best, happiest, grandest days.
Never in moment most elate
Did that high spirit loftier rise:—
While bright, serene, determinate,
His looks are lifted to the skies,
As if the signal lights of Fate
Were shining in those awful eyes!
'Tis come—his hour of martyrdom
In IRAN'S sacred cause is come;
And tho' his life hath past away
Like lightning on a stormy day,
Yet shall his death-hour leave a track
Of glory permanent and bright
To which the brave of after-times,
The suffering brave, shall long look back
With proud regret,—and by its light
Watch thro' the hours of slavery's night
For vengeance on the oppressor's crimes.
This rock, his monument aloft,
Shall speak the tale to many an age;
And hither bards and heroes oft
Shall come in secret pilgrimage,
And bring their warrior sons and tell
The wondering boys where HAFED fell;
And swear them on those lone remains
Of their lost country's ancient fanes,
Never—while breath of life shall live
Within them—never to forgive
The accursed race whose ruthless chain
Hath left on IRAN'S neck a stain
Blood, blood alone can cleanse again!
Such are the swelling thoughts that now
Enthrone themselves on HAFED'S brow;
And ne'er did Saint of ISSA [260] gaze
On the red wreath for martyrs twined.
More proudly than the youth surveys
That pile which thro' the gloom behind,
Half lighted by the altar's fire,
Glimmers—his destined funeral pyre!
Heaped by his own, his comrades hands,
Of every wood of odorous breath.
There, by the Fire-God's shrine it stands,
Ready to fold in radiant death
The few still left of those who swore
To perish there when hope was o'er—
The few to whom that couch of flame,
Which rescues them from bonds and shame,
Is sweet and welcome as the bed
For their own infant Prophet spread,
When pitying Heaven to roses turned
The death-flames that beneath him burned![261]