Oh, you that have the charge of Love,
Keep him in rosy bondage bound,
As in the Fields of Bliss above
He sits with flowerets fettered round;—
Loose not a tie that round him clings.
Nor ever let him use his wings;
For even an hour, a minute's flight
Will rob the plumes of half their light.
Like that celestial bird whose nest
Is found beneath far Eastern skies,
Whose wings tho' radiant when at rest
Lose all their glory when he flies![292]
Some difference of this dangerous kind,—
By which, tho' light, the links that bind
The fondest hearts may soon be riven;
Some shadow in Love's summer heaven,
Which, tho' a fleecy speck at first
May yet in awful thunder burst;—
Such cloud it is that now hangs over
The heart of the Imperial Lover,
And far hath banisht from his sight
His NOURMAHAL, his Haram's Light!
Hence is it on this happy night
When Pleasure thro' the fields and groves
Has let loose all her world of loves
And every heart has found its own
He wanders joyless and alone
And weary as that bird of Thrace
Whose pinion knows no resting place.[293]
In vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes
This Eden of the Earth supplies
Come crowding round—the cheeks are pale,
The eyes are dim:—tho' rich the spot
With every flower this earth has got
What is it to the nightingale
If there his darling rose is not?[294]
In vain the Valley's smiling throng
Worship him as he moves along;
He heeds them not—one smile of hers
Is worth a world of worshippers.
They but the Star's adorers are,
She is the Heaven that lights the Star!
Hence is it too that NOURMAHAL,
Amid the luxuries of this hour,
Far from the joyous festival
Sits in her own sequestered bower,
With no one near to soothe or aid,
But that inspired and wondrous maid,
NAMOUNA, the Enchantress;—one
O'er whom his race the golden sun
For unremembered years has run,
Yet never saw her blooming brow
Younger or fairer than 'tis now.
Nay, rather,—as the west wind's sigh
Freshens the flower it passes by,—
Time's wing but seemed in stealing o'er
To leave her lovelier than before.
Yet on her smiles a sadness hung,
And when as oft she spoke or sung
Of other worlds there came a light
From her dark eyes so strangely bright
That all believed nor man nor earth
Were conscious of NAMOUNA'S birth!
All spells and talismans she knew,
From the great Mantra,[295] which around
The Air's sublimer Spirits drew,
To the gold gems[296] of AFRIC, bound
Upon the wandering Arab's arm
To keep him from the Siltim's[297] harm.
And she had pledged her powerful art,—
Pledged it with all the zeal and heart
Of one who knew tho' high her sphere,
What 'twas to lose a love so dear,—
To find some spell that should recall
Her Selim's[298] smile to NOURMAHAL!
'Twas midnight—thro' the lattice wreathed
With woodbine many a perfume breathed
From plants that wake when others sleep.
From timid jasmine buds that keep
Their odor to themselves all day
But when the sunlight dies away
Let the delicious secret out
To every breeze that roams about;—
When thus NAMOUNA:—"'Tis the hour
"That scatters spells on herb and flower,
"And garlands might be gathered now,
"That twined around the sleeper's brow
"Would make him dream of such delights,
"Such miracles and dazzling sights
"As Genii of the Sun behold
"At evening from their tents of gold
"Upon the horizon—where they play
"Till twilight comes and ray by ray
"Their sunny mansions melt away.
"Now too a chaplet might be wreathed
"Of buds o'er which the moon has breathed,
"Which worn by her whose love has strayed
"Might bring some Peri from the skies,
"Some sprite, whose very soul is made
"Of flowerets' breaths and lovers' sighs,
"And who might tell"—
"For me, for me,"
Cried NOURMAHAL impatiently,—
"Oh! twine that wreath for me to-night."
Then rapidly with foot as light
As the young musk-roe's out she flew
To cull each shining leaf that grew
Beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams.
Anemones and Seas of Gold,[299]
And new-blown lilies of the river,
And those sweet flowerets that unfold
Their buds on CAMADEVA'S quiver;[300]—
The tuberose, with her silvery light,
That in the Gardens of Malay
Is called the Mistress of the Night,[301]
So like a bride, scented and bright,
She comes out when the sun's away:—
Amaranths such as crown the maids
That wander thro' ZAMARA'S shades;[302]—
And the white moon-flower as it shows,
On SERENDIB'S high crags to those
Who near the isle at evening sail,
Scenting her clove-trees in the gale;
In short all flowerets and all plants,
From the divine Amrita tree[303]
That blesses heaven's habitants
With fruits of immortality,
Down to the basil tuft[304] that waves
Its fragrant blossom over graves,
And to the humble rosemary
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed
To scent the desert[305]and the dead:—
All in that garden bloom and all
Are gathered by young NOURMAHAL,
Who heaps her baskets with the flowers
And leaves till they can hold no more;
Then to NAMOUNA flies and showers
Upon her lap the shining store.
With what delight the Enchantress views
So many buds bathed with the dews
And beams of that blest hour!—her glance
Spoke something past all mortal pleasures,
As in a kind of holy trance
She hung above those fragrant treasures,
Bending to drink their balmy airs,
As if she mixt her soul with theirs.
And 'twas indeed the perfume shed
From flowers and scented flame that fed
Her charmed life—for none had e'er
Beheld her taste of mortal fare,
Nor ever in aught earthly dip,
But the morn's dew, her roseate lip.
Filled with the cool, inspiring smell,
The Enchantress now begins her spell,
Thus singing as she winds and weaves
In mystic form the glittering leaves:—
I know where the winged visions dwell
That around the night-bed play;
I know each herb and floweret's bell,
Where they hide their wings by day.
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
The image of love that nightly flies
To visit the bashful maid,
Steals from the jasmine flower that sighs
Its soul like her in the shade.
The dream of a future, happier hour
That alights on misery's brow,
Springs out of the silvery almond-flower
That blooms on a leafless bough.[306]
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
The visions that oft to worldly eyes
The glitter of mines unfold
Inhabit the mountain-herb[307] that dyes
The tooth of the fawn like gold.
The phantom shapes—oh touch not them—
That appal the murderer's sight,
Lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem,
That shrieks when pluckt at night!
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
The dream of the injured, patient mind
That smiles at the wrongs of men
Is found in the bruised and wounded rind
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then.
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
No sooner was the flowery crown
Placed on her head than sleep came down,
Gently as nights of summer fall,
Upon the lids of NOURMAHAL;—
And suddenly a tuneful breeze
As full of small, rich harmonies
As ever wind that o'er the tents
Of AZAB[308] blew was full of scents,
Steals on her ear and floats and swells
Like the first air of morning creeping
Into those wreathy, Red-Sea shells
Where Love himself of old lay sleeping;[309]
And now a Spirit formed, 'twould seem,
Of music and of light,—so fair,
So brilliantly his features beam,
And such a sound is in the air
Of sweetness when he waves his wings,—
Hovers around her and thus sings: