The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 153

Now, thro' the Haram chambers, moving lights And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites;-- From room to room the ready handmaids hie, Some skilled to wreath the turban tastefully, Or hang the veil in negligence of shade O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, Who, if between the folds but one eye shone, Like SEBA'S Queen could vanquish with that one:[55]--

While some bring leaves of Henna to imbue The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue,[56]

So bright that in the mirror's depth they seem Like tips of coral branches in the stream: And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye, To give that long, dark languish to the eye,[57]

Which makes the maids whom kings are proud to call From fair Circa.s.sia's vales, so beautiful.

All is in motion; rings and plumes and pearls Are s.h.i.+ning everywhere:--some younger girls Are gone by moonlight to the garden-beds, To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads;-- Gay creatures! sweet, tho' mournful, 'tis to see How each prefers a garland from that tree Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day And the dear fields and friends.h.i.+ps far away.

The maid of INDIA, blest again to hold In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold,[58]

Thinks of the time when, by the GANGES' flood, Her little playmates scattered many a bud Upon her long black hair with glossy gleam Just dripping from the consecrated stream; While the young Arab haunted by the smell Of her own mountain flowers as by a spell,-- The sweet Alcaya[59] and that courteous tree Which bows to all who seek its canopy,[60]

Sees called up round her by these magic scents The well, the camels, and her father's tents; Sighs for the home she left with little pain, And wishes even its sorrow back again!

Meanwhile thro' vast illuminated halls, Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls Of fragrant waters gus.h.i.+ng with cool sound From many a jasper fount is heard around, Young AZIM roams bewildered,--nor can guess What means this maze of light and loneliness.

Here the way leads o'er tesselated floors Or mats of CAIRO thro' long corridors, Where ranged in ca.s.solets and silver urns Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns, And spicy rods such as illume at night The bowers of TIBET[61] send forth odorous light, Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road For some pure Spirit to its blest abode:-- And here at once the glittering saloon Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon; Where in the midst reflecting back the rays In broken rainbows a fresh fountain plays High as the enamelled cupola which towers All rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers: And the mosaic floor beneath s.h.i.+nes thro'

The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew, Like the wet, glistening sh.e.l.ls of every dye That on the margin of the Red Sea lie.

Here too he traces the kind visitings Of woman's love in those fair, living things Of land and wave, whose fate--in bondage thrown For their weak loveliness--is like her own!

On one side gleaming with a sudden grace Thro' water brilliant as the crystal vase In which it undulates, small fishes s.h.i.+ne Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;-- While, on the other, latticed lightly in With odoriferous woods of COMORIN, Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;-- Gay, sparkling loories such as gleam between The crimson blossoms of the coral-tree[62]

In the warm isles of India's sunny sea: Mecca's blue sacred pigeon,[63] and the thrush Of Hindostan[64] whose holy warblings gush At evening from the tall paG.o.da's top;-- Those golden birds that in the spice time drop About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food[65]

Whose scent hath lured them o'er the summer flood;[66]

And those that under Araby's soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon;[67]

In short, all rare and beauteous things that fly Thro' the pure element here calmly lie Sleeping in light, like the green birds[68] that dwell In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel!

So on, thro' scenes past all imagining, More like the luxuries of that impious King,[69]

Whom Death's dark Angel with his lightning torch Struck down and blasted even in Pleasure's porch, Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent Armed with Heaven's sword for man's enfranchis.e.m.e.nt-- Young AZIM wandered, looking sternly round, His simple garb and war-boots clanking sound But ill according with the pomp and grace And silent lull of that voluptuous place.

"Is this, then," thought the youth, "is this the way "To free man's spirit from the deadening sway "Of worldly sloth,--to teach him while he lives "To know no bliss but that which virtue gives, "And when he dies to leave his lofty name "A light, a landmark on the cliffs of fame?

"It was not so, Land of the generous thought "And daring deed, thy G.o.d-like sages taught; "It was not thus in bowers of wanton ease "Thy Freedom nurst her sacred energies; "Oh! not beneath the enfeebling, withering glow "Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow "With which she wreathed her sword when she would dare "Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air "Of toil,--of temperance,--of that high, rare, "Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe "Life, health, and l.u.s.tre into Freedom's wreath.

"Who that surveys this span of earth we press.-- "This speck of life in time's great wilderness, "This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, "The past, the future, two eternities!-- "Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, "When he might build him a proud temple there, "A name that long shall hallow all its s.p.a.ce, "And be each purer soul's high resting-place.

"But no--it cannot be, that one whom G.o.d "Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod,-- "A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws "Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane its cause "With the world's vulgar pomps;--no, no,--I see-- "He thinks me weak--this glare of luxury "Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze "Of my young soul--s.h.i.+ne on, 'twill stand the blaze!"

So thought the youth;--but even while he defied This witching scene he felt its witchery glide Thro' every sense. The perfume breathing round, Like a pervading spirit;--the still sound Of falling waters, lulling as the song Of Indian bees at sunset when they throng Around the fragrant NILICA, and deep In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep;[70]

And music, too--dear music! that can touch Beyond all else the soul that loves it much-- Now heard far off, so far as but to seem Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream; All was too much for him, too full of bliss, The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this; Softened he sunk upon a couch and gave His soul up to sweet thoughts like wave on wave Succeeding in smooth seas when storms are laid; He thought of ZELICA, his own dear maid, And of the time when full of blissful sighs They sat and lookt into each other's eyes, Silent and happy--as if G.o.d had given Naught else worth looking at on this side heaven.

"Oh, my loved mistress, thou whose spirit still "Is with me, round me, wander where I will-- "It is for thee, for thee alone I seek "The paths of glory; to light up thy cheek "With warm approval--in that gentle look "To read my praise as in an angel's book, "And think all toils rewarded when from thee "I gain a smile worth immortality!

"How shall I bear the moment, when restored "To that young heart where I alone am Lord.

"Tho' of such bliss unworthy,--since the best "Alone deserve to be the happiest:-- "When from those lips unbreathed upon for years "I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears, "And find those tears warm as when last they started, "Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted.

"O my own life!--why should a single day, "A moment keep me from those arms away?"

While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, Each note of which but adds new, downy links To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks.

He turns him toward the sound, and far away Thro' a long vista sparkling with the play Of countless lamps,--like the rich track which Day Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us, So long the path, its light so tremulous;-- He sees a group of female forms advance, Some chained together in the mazy dance By fetters forged in the green sunny bowers, As they were captives to the King of Flowers;[71]

And some disporting round, unlinkt and free, Who seemed to mock their sisters' slavery; And round and round them still in wheeling flight Went like gay moths about a lamp at night; While others waked, as gracefully along Their feet kept time, the very soul of song From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill, Or their own youthful voices heavenlier still.

And now they come, now pa.s.s before his eye, Forms such as Nature moulds when she would vie With Fancy's pencil and give birth to things Lovely beyond its fairest picturings.

Awhile they dance before him, then divide, Breaking like rosy clouds at eventide Around the rich pavilion of the sun,-- Till silently dispersing, one by one, Thro' many a path that from the chamber leads To gardens, terraces and moonlight meads, Their distant laughter comes upon the wind, And but one trembling nymph remains behind,-- Beckoning them back in vain--for they are gone And she is left in all that light alone; No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow, In its young bashfulness more beauteous now; But a light golden chain-work round her hair,[72]

Such as the maids of YEZD and s.h.i.+RAS wear,[73]

From which on either side gracefully hung A golden amulet in the Arab tongue, Engraven o'er with some immortal line From Holy Writ or bard scarce less divine; While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood, Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood, Which once or twice she touched with hurried strain, Then took her trembling fingers off again.

But when at length a timid glance she stole At AZIM, the sweet gravity of soul She saw thro' all his features calmed her fear, And like a half-tamed antelope more near, Tho' shrinking still, she came;--then sat her down Upon a musnud's[74] edge, and, bolder grown.

In the pathetic mode of ISFAHAN[75]

Touched a preluding strain and thus began:--

There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER's[76] stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.

That bower and its music, I never forget, But oft when alone in the bloom of the year I think--is the nightingale singing there yet?

Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER?

No, the roses soon withered that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gathered while freshly they shone.

And a dew was distilled from their flowers that gave All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone.

Thus memory draws from delight ere it dies An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER!

"Poor maiden!" thought the youth, "if thou wert sent "With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment "To wake unholy wishes in this heart, "Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art.

"For tho' thy lips should sweetly counsel wrong, "Those vestal eyes would disavow its song.

"But thou hast breathed such purity, thy lay "Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day, "And leads thy soul--if e'er it wandered thence-- "So gently back to its first innocence, "That I would sooner stop the unchained dove, "When swift returning to its home of love, "And round its snowy wing new fetters twine.

"Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine!"

Scarce had this feeling past, when sparkling thro'

The gently open'd curtains of light blue That veiled the breezy cas.e.m.e.nt, countless eyes Peeping like stars thro' the blue evening skies, Looked laughing in as if to mock the pair That sat so still and melancholy there:-- And now the curtains fly apart and in From the cool air mid showers of jessamine Which those without fling after them in play, Two lightsome maidens spring,--lightsome as they Who live in the air on odors,--and around The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, Chase one another in a varying dance Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance, Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit:-- While she who sung so gently to the lute Her dream of home steals timidly away, Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,-- But takes with her from AZIM'S heart that sigh We sometimes give to forms that pa.s.s us by In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain, Creatures of light we never see again!

Around the white necks of the nymphs who danced Hung carcanets of orient gems that glanced More brilliant than the sea-gla.s.s glittering o'er The hills of crystal on the Caspian sh.o.r.e;[77]

While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall Of curls descending, bells as musical As those that on the golden-shafted trees Of EDEN shake in the eternal breeze,[78]

Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet.

As 'twere the ecstatic language of their feet.

At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreathed Within each other's arms; while soft there breathed Thro' the cool cas.e.m.e.nt, mingled with the sighs Of moonlight flowers, music that seemed to rise From some still lake, so liquidly it rose; And as it swelled again at each faint close The ear could track thro' all that maze of chords And young sweet voices these impa.s.sioned words:--

A SPIRIT there is whose fragrant sigh Is burning now thro' earth and air; Where cheeks are blus.h.i.+ng the Spirit is nigh, Where lips are meeting the Spirit is there!

His breath is the soul of flowers like these, And his floating eyes--oh! they resemble[79]

Blue water-lilies,[80] when the breeze Is making the stream around them tremble.

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power!

Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss!

Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

By the fair and brave Who blus.h.i.+ng unite, Like the sun and wave, When they meet at night;

By the tear that shows When pa.s.sion is nigh, As the rain-drop flows From the heat of the sky;

By the first love-beat Of the youthful heart, By the bliss to meet, And the pain to part;

By all that thou hast To mortals given, Which--oh, could it last, This earth were heaven!

We call thee thither, entrancing Power!

Spirit of Love! Spirit of Bliss!

Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

Impatient of a scene whose luxuries stole, Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, And where, midst all that the young heart loves most, Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost, The youth had started up and turned away From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay To muse upon the pictures that hung round,--[81]

Bright images, that spoke without a sound, And views like vistas into fairy ground.

But here again new spells came o'er his sense:-- All that the pencil's mute omnipotence Could call up into life, of soft and fair, Of fond and pa.s.sionate, was glowing there; Nor yet too warm, but touched with that fine art Which paints of pleasure but the purer part; Which knows even Beauty when half-veiled is best,-- Like her own radiant planet of the west, Whose orb when half retired looks loveliest.[82]

_There_ hung the history of the Genii-King, Traced thro' each gay, voluptuous wandering With her from SABA'S bowers, in whose bright eyes He read that to be blest is to be wise;-- _Here_ fond ZULEIKA woos with open arms[83]

The Hebrew boy who flies from her young charms, Yet flying turns to gaze and half undone Wishes that Heaven and she could _both_ be won; And here MOHAMMED born for love and guile Forgets the Koran in his MARY'S smile;-- Then beckons some kind angel from above With a new text to consecrate their love.[84]