With watchfulness the maid attends
His rapid glance where'er it bends—
Why shoot his eyes such awful beams?
What plans he now? what thinks or dreams?
Alas! why stands he musing here,
When every moment teems with fear?
"HAFED, my own beloved Lord,"
She kneeling cries—"first, last adored!
"If in that soul thou'st ever felt
"Half what thy lips impassioned swore,
"Here on my knees that never knelt
"To any but their God before,
"I pray thee, as thou lovest me, fly—
"Now, now—ere yet their blades are nigh.
"Oh haste—the bark that bore me hither
"Can waft us o'er yon darkening sea
"East—west—alas, I care not whither,
"So thou art safe, and I with thee!
"Go where we will, this hand in thine,
"Those eyes before me smiling thus,
"Thro' good and ill, thro' storm and shine,
"The world's a world of love for us!
"On some calm, blessed shore we'll dwell,
"Where 'tis no crime to love too well;
"Where thus to worship tenderly
"An erring child of light like thee
"Will not be sin—or if it be
"Where we may weep our faults away,
"Together kneeling, night and day,
"Thou, for my sake, at ALLA'S shrine,
"And I—at any God's, for thine!"
Wildly these passionate words she spoke—
Then hung her head and wept for shame;
Sobbing as if a heart-string broke
With every deep-heaved sob that came,
While he, young, warm—oh! wonder not
If, for a moment, pride and fame;
His oath—his cause—that shrine of flame,
And IRAN'S self are all forgot
For her, whom at his feet he sees
Kneeling in speechless agonies.
No, blame him not if Hope awhile
Dawned in his soul and threw her smile
O'er hours to come—o'er days and nights,
Winged with those precious, pure delights
Which she who bends all beauteous there
Was born to kindle and to share.
A tear or two which as he bowed
To raise the suppliant, trembling stole,
First warned him of this dangerous cloud
Of softness passing o'er his soul.
Starting he brusht the drops away
Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray;—
Like one who on the morn of fight
Shakes from his sword the dews of night,
That had but dimmed not stained its light.
Yet tho' subdued the unnerving thrill,
Its warmth, its weakness lingered still
So touching in each look and tone,
That the fond, fearing, hoping maid
Half counted on the flight she prayed,
Half thought the hero's soul was grown
As soft, as yielding as her own,
And smiled and blest him while he said,—
"Yes—if there be some happier sphere
"Where fadeless truth like ours is dear.—
"If there be any land of rest
"For those who love and ne'er forget,
"Oh! comfort thee—for safe and blest
"We'll meet in that calm region yet!"
Scarce had she time to ask her heart
If good or ill these words impart,
When the roused youth impatient flew
To the tower-wall, where high in view
A ponderous sea-horn[262] hung, and blew
A signal deep and dread as those
The storm-fiend at his rising blows.—
Full well his Chieftains, sworn and true
Thro' life and death, that signal knew;
For 'twas the appointed warning-blast,
The alarm to tell when hope was past
And the tremendous death-die cast!
And there upon the mouldering tower
Hath hung this sea-horn many an hour,
Ready to sound o'er land and sea
That dirge-note of the brave and free.
They came—his Chieftains at the call
Came slowly round and with them all—
Alas, how few!—the worn remains
Of those who late o'er KERMAN'S plains
When gayly prancing to the clash
Of Moorish zel and tymbalon
Catching new hope from every flash
Of their long lances in the sun,
And as their coursers charged the wind
And the white ox-tails streamed behind,[263]
Looking as if the steeds they rode
Were winged and every Chief a God!
How fallen, how altered now! how wan
Each scarred and faded visage shone,
As round the burning shrine they came;—
How deadly was the glare it cast,
As mute they paused before the flame
To light their torches as they past!
'Twas silence all—the youth hath planned
The duties of his soldier-band;
And each determined brow declares
His faithful Chieftains well know theirs.
But minutes speed—night gems the skies—
And oh, how soon, ye blessed eyes
That look from heaven ye may behold
Sights that will turn your star-fires cold!
Breathless with awe, impatience, hope,
The maiden sees the veteran group
Her litter silently prepare,
And lay it at her trembling feet;—
And now the youth with gentle care,
Hath placed her in the sheltered seat
And prest her hand—that lingering press
Of hands that for the last time sever;
Of hearts whose pulse of happiness
When that hold breaks is dead for ever.
And yet to her this sad caress
Gives hope—so fondly hope can err!
'Twas joy, she thought, joy's mute excess—
Their happy flight's dear harbinger;
'Twas warmth—assurance—tenderness—
'Twas any thing but leaving her.
"Haste, haste!" she cried, "the clouds grow dark,
"But still, ere night, we'll reach the bark;
"And by to-morrow's dawn—oh bliss!
"With thee upon the sun-bright deep,
"Far off, I'll but remember this,
"As some dark vanisht dream of sleep;
"And thou"—but ah!—he answers not—
Good Heaven!—and does she go alone?
She now has reached that dismal spot,
Where some hours since his voice's tone
Had come to soothe her fears and ills,
Sweet as the angel ISRAFIL'S,[264]
When every leaf on Eden's tree
Is trembling to his minstrelsy—
Yet now—oh, now, he is not nigh.—
"HAFED! my HAFED!—if it be
"Thy will, thy doom this night to die
"Let me but stay to die with thee
"And I will bless thy loved name,
"Till the last life-breath leave this frame.
"Oh! let our lips, our cheeks be laid
"But near each other while they fade;
"Let us but mix our parting breaths,
"And I can die ten thousand deaths!
"You too, who hurry me away
"So cruelly, one moment stay—
"Oh! stay—one moment is not much—
"He yet may come—for him I pray—
"HAFED! dear HAFED!"—all the way
In wild lamentings that would touch
A heart of stone she shrieked his name
To the dark woods—no HAFED came:—
No—hapless pair—you've lookt your last:—
Your hearts should both have broken then:—
The dream is o'er—your doom is cast—
You'll never meet on earth again!
Alas for him who hears her cries!
Still half-way down the steep he stands,
Watching with fixt and feverish eyes
The glimmer of those burning brands
That down the rocks with mournful ray,
Light all he loves on earth away!
Hopeless as they who far at sea
By the cold moon have just consigned
The corse of one loved tenderly
To the bleak flood they leave behind,
And on the deck still lingering stay,
And long look back with sad delay
To watch the moonlight on the wave
That ripples o'er that cheerless grave.
But see—he starts—what heard he then?
That dreadful shout!—across the glen
From the land-side it comes and loud
Rings thro' the chasm, as if the crowd
Of fearful things that haunt that dell
Its Ghouls and Divs and shapes of hell,
And all in one dread howl broke out,
So loud, so terrible that shout!
"They come—the Moslems come!"—he cries,
His proud soul mounting to his eyes,—
"Now, Spirits of the Brave, who roam
"Enfranchised thro' yon starry dome,
"Rejoice—for souls of kindred fire
"Are on the wing to join your choir!"
He said—and, light as bridegrooms bound
To their young loves, reclined the steep
And gained the Shrine—his Chiefs stood round—
Their swords, as with instinctive leap,
Together at that cry accurst
Had from their sheaths like sunbeams burst.
And hark!—again—again it rings;
Near and more near its echoings
Peal thro' the chasm—oh! who that then
Had seen those listening warrior-men,
With their swords graspt, their eyes of flame
Turned on their Chief—could doubt the shame,
The indignant shame with which they thrill
To hear those shouts and yet stand still?
He read their thoughts—they were his own—
"What! while our arms can wield these blades,
"Shall we die tamely? die alone?
"Without one victim to our shades,
"One Moslem heart, where buried deep
"The sabre from its toil may sleep?
"No—God of IRAN'S burning skies!
"Thou scornest the inglorious sacrifice.
"No—tho' of all earth's hope bereft,
"Life, swords, and vengeance still are left.
"We'll make yon valley's reeking caves
"Live in the awe-struck minds of men
"Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves
"Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen,
"Follow, brave hearts!—this pile remains
"Our refuge still from life and chains;
"But his the best, the holiest bed,
"Who sinks entombed in Moslem dead!"
Down the precipitous rocks they sprung,
While vigor more than human strung
Each arm and heart.—The exulting foe
Still thro' the dark defiles below,
Trackt by his torches' lurid fire,
Wound slow, as thro' GOLCONDA'S vale
The mighty serpent in his ire
Glides on with glittering, deadly trail.
No torch the Ghebers need—so well
They know each mystery of the dell,
So oft have in their wanderings
Crost the wild race that round them dwell,
The very tigers from their delves
Look out and let them pass as things
Untamed and fearless like themselves!