The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 156

Eager they listen--while each accent darts New life into their chilled and hope-sick hearts; Such treacherous life as the cool draught supplies To him upon the stake who drinks and dies!

Wildly they point their lances to the light Of the fast sinking sun, and shout "To-night!"-- "To-night," their Chief re-echoes in a voice Of fiend-like mockery that bids h.e.l.l rejoice.

Deluded victims!--never hath this earth Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth.

_Here_, to the few whose iron frames had stood This racking waste of famine and of blood, Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out:-- _There_, others, lighted by the smouldering fire, Danced like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre Among the dead and dying strewed around;-- While some pale wretch lookt on and from his wound Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled, In ghastly transport waved it o'er his head!

'Twas more than midnight now--a fearful pause Had followed the long shouts, the wild applause, That lately from those Royal Gardens burst, Where the veiled demon held his feast accurst, When ZELICA, alas, poor ruined heart, In every horror doomed to bear its part!-- Was bidden to the banquet by a slave, Who, while his quivering lip the summons gave, Grew black, as tho' the shadows of the grave Compast him round and ere he could repeat His message thro', fell lifeless at her feet!

Shuddering she went--a soul-felt pang of fear A presage that her own dark doom was near, Roused every feeling and brought Reason back Once more to writhe her last upon the rack.

All round seemed tranquil even the foe had ceased As if aware of that demoniac feast His fiery bolts; and tho' the heavens looked red, 'Twas but some distant conflagration's spread.

But hark--she stops--she listens--dreadful tone!

'Tis her Tormentor's laugh--and now, a groan, A long death-groan comes with it--can this be The place of mirth, the bower of revelry?

She enters--Holy ALLA, what a sight Was there before her! By the glimmering light Of the pale dawn, mixt with the flare of brands That round lay burning dropt from lifeless hands, She saw the board in splendid mockery spread, Rich censers breathing--garlands overhead-- The urns, the cups, from which they late had quaft All gold and gems, but--what had been the draught?

Oh! who need ask that saw those livid guests, With their swollen heads sunk blackening on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Or looking pale to Heaven with gla.s.sy glare, As if they sought but saw no mercy there; As if they felt, tho' poison racked them thro', Remorse the deadlier torment of the two!

While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plain Would have met death with transport by his side, Here mute and helpless gasped;--but as they died Lookt horrible vengeance with their eyes' last strain, And clenched the slackening hand at him in vain.

Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare, The stony look of horror and despair, Which some of these expiring victims cast Upon their souls' tormentor to the last; Upon that mocking Fiend whose Veil now raised, Showed them as in death's agony they gazed, Not the long promised light, the brow whose beaming Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming, But features horribler than h.e.l.l e'er traced On its own brood;--no Demon of the Waste,[134]

No church-yard Ghoul caught lingering in the light Of the blest sun, e'er blasted human sight With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those The Impostor now in grinning mockery shows:-- "There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your Star-- "Ye _would_ be dupes and victims and ye _are_.

"Is it enough? or must I, while a thrill "Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still?

"Swear that the burning death ye feel within "Is but the trance with which Heaven's joys begin: "That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgraced "Even monstrous men, is--after G.o.d's own taste; "And that--but see!--ere I have half-way said "My greetings thro', the uncourteous souls are fled.

"Farewell, sweet spirits! not in vain ye die, "If EBLIS loves you half so well as I.-- "Ha, my young bride!--'tis well--take thou thy seat; "Nay come--no shuddering--didst thou never meet "The Dead before?--they graced our wedding, sweet; "And these, my guests to-night, have brimmed so true "Their parting cups, that _thou_ shalt pledge one too.

"But--how is this?--all empty? all drunk up?

"Hot lips have been before thee in the cup, "Young bride,--yet stay--one precious drop remains, "Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins;-- "Here, drink--and should thy lover's conquering arms "Speed hither ere thy lip lose all its charms, "Give him but half this venom in thy kiss, "And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss!

"For, _me_--I too must die--but not like these "Vile rankling things to fester in the breeze; "To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown, "With all death's grimness added to its own, "And rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes "Of slaves, exclaiming, 'There his G.o.ds.h.i.+p lies!'

"No--cursed race--since first my soul drew breath, "They've been my dupes and _shall_ be even in death.

"Thou seest yon cistern in the shade--'tis filled "With burning drugs for this last hour distilled; "There will I plunge me, in that liquid flame-- "Fit bath to lave a dying Prophet's frame!-- "There perish, all--ere pulse of thine shall fail-- "Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale.

"So shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave, "Proclaim that Heaven took back the Saint it gave;-- "That I've but vanished from this earth awhile, "To come again with bright, unshrouded smile!

"So shall they build me altars in their zeal, "Where knaves shall minister and fools shall kneel; "Where Faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell, "Written in blood--and Bigotry may swell "The sail he spreads for Heaven with blasts from h.e.l.l!

"So shall my banner thro' long ages be "The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy;-- "Kings yet unborn shall rue MOKANNA'S name, "And tho' I die my spirit still the same "Shall walk abroad in all the stormy strife, "And guilt and blood that were its bliss in life.

"But hark! their battering engine shakes the wall-- "Why, _let_ it shake--thus I can brave them all.

"No trace of me shall greet them when they come, "And I can trust thy faith, for--thou'lt be dumb.

"Now mark how readily a wretch like me "In one bold plunge commences Deity!"

He sprung and sunk as the last words were said-- Quick closed the burning waters o'er his head, And ZELICA was left--within the ring Of those wide walls the only living thing; The only wretched one still curst with breath In all that frightful wilderness of death!

More like some bloodless ghost--such as they tell, In the Lone Cities of the Silent dwell,[135]

And there unseen of all but ALLA sit Each by its own pale carca.s.s watching it.

But morn is up and a fresh warfare stirs Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers.

Their globes of fire (the dread artillery lent By GREECE to conquering MAHADI) are spent; And now the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent From high balistas and the s.h.i.+elded throng Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along, All speak the impatient Islamite's intent To try, at length, if tower and battlement And bastioned wall be not less hard to win, Less tough to break down than the hearts within.

First he, in impatience and in toil is The burning AZIM--oh! could he but see The impostor once alive within his grasp, Not the gaunt lion's hug nor boa's clasp Could match thy gripe of vengeance or keep pace With the fell heartiness of Hate's embrace!

Loud rings the ponderous ram against the walls; Now shake the ramparts, now a b.u.t.tress falls, But, still no breach--"Once more one mighty swing "Of all your beams, together thundering!"

There--the wall shakes--the shouting troops exult, "Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult "Right on that spot and NEKSHEB is our own!"

'Tis done--the battlements come cras.h.i.+ng down, And the huge wall by that stroke riven in two Yawning like some old crater rent anew, Shows the dim, desolate city smoking thro'.

But strange! no sign of life--naught living seen Above, below--what can this stillness mean?

A minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes-- "In thro' the breach," impetuous AZIM cries; But the cool CALIPH fearful of some wile In this blank stillness checks the troops awhile.-- Just then a figure with slow step advanced Forth from the ruined walls and as there glanced A sunbeam over it all eyes could see The well-known Silver Veil!--"'Tis He, 'tis He, "MOKANNA and alone!" they shout around; Young AZIM from his steed springs to the ground-- "Mine, Holy Caliph! mine," he cries, "the task "To crush yon daring wretch--'tis all I ask."

Eager he darts to meet the demon foe Who still across wide heaps of ruin slow And falteringly comes, till they are near; Then with a bound rushes on AZIM'S spear, And casting off the Veil in falling shows-- Oh!--'tis his ZELICA'S life-blood that flows!

"I meant not, AZIM," soothingly she said, As on his trembling arm she leaned her head, And looking in his face saw anguish there Beyond all wounds the quivering flesh can bear-- "I meant not _thou_ shouldst have the pain of this:-- "Tho' death with thee thus tasted is a bliss "Thou wouldst not rob me of, didst thou but know "How oft I've prayed to G.o.d I might die so!

"But the Fiend's venom was too scant and slow;-- "To linger on were maddening--and I thought "If once that Veil--nay, look not on it--caught "The eyes of your fierce soldiery, I should be "Struck by a thousand death-darts instantly.

"But this is sweeter--oh! believe me, yes-- "I would not change this sad, but dear caress.

"This death within thy arms I would not give "For the most smiling life the happiest live!

"All that stood dark and drear before the eye "Of my strayed soul is pa.s.sing swiftly by; "A light comes o'er me from those looks of love, "Like the first dawn of mercy from above; "And if thy lips but tell me I'm forgiven, "Angels will echo the blest words in Heaven!

"But live, my AZIM;--oh! to call thee mine "Thus once again! _my_ AZIM--dream divine!

"Live, if thou ever lovedst me, if to meet "Thy ZELICA hereafter would be sweet, "Oh, live to pray for her--to bend the knee "Morning and night before that Deity "To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain, "As thine are, AZIM, never breathed in vain,-- "And pray that He may pardon her,--may take "Compa.s.sion on her soul for thy dear sake, "And naught remembering but her love to thee, "Make her all thine, all His, eternally!

"Go to those happy fields where first we twined "Our youthful hearts together--every wind "That meets thee there fresh from the well-known flowers "Will bring the sweetness of those innocent hours "Back to thy soul and thou mayst feel again "For thy poor ZELICA as thou didst then.

"So shall thy orisons like dew that flies "To Heaven upon the morning's suns.h.i.+ne rise "With all love's earliest ardor to the skies!

"And should they--but, alas, my senses fail-- "Oh for one minute!--should thy prayers prevail-- "If pardoned souls may from that World of Bliss "Reveal their joy to those they love in this-- "I'll come to thee--in some sweet dream--and tell-- "Oh Heaven--I die--dear love! farewell, farewell."

Time fleeted--years on years had past away, And few of those who on that mournful day Had stood with pity in their eyes to see The maiden's death and the youth's agony, Were living still--when, by a rustic grave, Beside the swift Amoo's transparent wave, An aged man who had grown aged there By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer, For the last time knelt down--and tho' the shade Of death hung darkening over him there played A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek, That brightened even Death--like the last streak Of intense glory on the horizon's brim, When night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim.

His soul had seen a Vision while he slept; She for whose spirit he had prayed and wept So many years had come to him all drest In angel smiles and told him she was blest!

For this the old man breathed his thanks and died.-- And there upon the banks of that loved tide, He and his ZELICA sleep side by side.

The story of the Veiled Prophet of Khora.s.san being ended, they were now doomed to hear FADLADEEN'S criticisms upon it. A series of disappointments and accidents had occurred to this learned Chamberlain during the journey.

In the first place, those couriers stationed, as in the reign of Shah Jehan, between Delhi and the Western coast of India, to secure a constant supply of mangoes for the Royal Table, had by some cruel irregularity failed in their duty; and to eat any mangoes but those of Mazagong was of course impossible.[136] In the next place, the elephant laden with his fine antique porcelain,[137] had, in an unusual fit of liveliness, shattered the whole set to pieces:--an irreparable loss, as many of the vessels were so exquisitely old, as to have been used under the Emperors Yan and Chun, who reigned many ages before the dynasty of Tang. His Koran too, supposed to be the identical copy between the leaves of which Mahomet's favorite pigeon used to nestle, had been mislaid by his Koran-bearer three whole days; not without much spiritual alarm to FADLADEEN who though professing to hold with other loyal and orthodox Mussulmans that salvation could only be found in the Koran was strongly suspected of believing in his heart that it could only be found in his own particular copy of it. When to all these grievances is added the obstinacy of the cooks in putting the pepper of Canara into his dishes instead of the cinnamon of Serendib, we may easily suppose that he came to the task of criticism with at least a sufficient degree of irritability for the purpose.

"In order," said he, importantly swinging about his chaplet of pearls, "to convey with clearness my opinion of the story this young man has related, it is necessary to take a review of all the stories that have ever"---"My good FADLADEEN!" exclaimed the Princess, interrupting him, "we really do not deserve that you should give yourself so much trouble. Your opinion of the poem we have just heard, will I have no doubt be abundantly edifying without any further waste of your valuable erudition."--"If that be all,"

replied the critic,--evidently mortified at not being allowed to show how much he knew about everything but the subject immediately before him--"if that be all that is required the matter is easily despatched." He then proceeded to a.n.a.lyze the poem, in that strain (so well known to the unfortunate bards of Delhi), whose censures were an infliction from which few recovered and whose very praises were like the honey extracted from the bitter flowers of the aloe. The chief personages of the story were, if he rightly understood them, an ill-favored gentleman with a veil over his face;--a young lady whose reason went and came according as it suited the poet's convenience to be sensible or otherwise;--and a youth in one of those hideous Bokharian bonnets, who took the aforesaid gentleman in a veil for a Divinity. "From such materials," said he, "what can be expected?--after rivalling each other in long speeches and absurdities through some thousands of lines as indigestible as the filberts of Berdaa, our friend in the veil jumps into a tub of aquafortis; the young lady dies in a set speech whose only recommendation is that it is her last; and the lover lives on to a good old age for the laudable purpose of seeing her ghost which he at last happily accomplishes, and expires. This you will allow is a fair summary of the story; and if Na.s.ser, the Arabian merchant, told no better, our Holy Prophet (to whom be all honor and glory!) had no need to be jealous of his abilities for story-telling."

With respect to the style, it was worthy of the matter;--it had not even those politic contrivances of structure which make up for the commonness of the thoughts by the peculiarity of the manner nor that stately poetical phraseology by which sentiments mean in themselves, like the blacksmith's [138] ap.r.o.n converted into a banner, are so easily gilt and embroidered into consequence. Then as to the versification it was, to say no worse of it, execrable: it had neither the copious flow of Ferdosi, the sweetness of Hafez, nor the sententious march of Sadi; but appeared to him in the uneasy heaviness of its movements to have been modelled upon the gait of a very tired dromedary. The licenses too in which it indulged were unpardonable;--for instance this line, and the poem abounded with such;--

Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream.

"What critic that can count," said FADLADEEN, "and has his full complement of fingers to count withal, would tolerate for an instant such syllabic superfluities?"--He here looked round, and discovered that most of his audience were asleep; while the glimmering lamps seemed inclined to follow their example. It became necessary therefore, however painful to himself, to put an end to his valuable animadversions for the present and he accordingly concluded with an air of dignified candor, thus:--

"Notwithstanding the observations which I have thought it my duty to make, it is by no means my wish to discourage the young man:--so far from it indeed that if he will but totally alter his style of writing and thinking I have very little doubt that I shall be vastly pleased with him."

Some days elapsed after this harangue of the Great Chamberlain before LALLA ROOKH could venture to ask for another story. The youth was still a welcome guest in the pavilion--to _one_ heart perhaps too dangerously welcome;--but all mention of poetry was as if by common consent avoided.

Though none of the party had much respect for FADLADEEN, yet his censures thus magisterially delivered evidently made an impression on them all. The Poet himself to whom criticism was quite a new operation, (being wholly unknown in that Paradise of the Indies, Cashmere,) felt the shock as it is generally felt at first, till use has made it more tolerable to the patient;--the Ladies began to suspect that they ought not to be pleased and seemed to conclude that there must have been much good sense in what FADLADEEN said from its having set them all so soundly to sleep;--while the self-complacent Chamberlain was left to triumph in the idea of having for the hundred and fiftieth time in his life extinguished a Poet. LALLA ROOKH alone--and Love knew why--persisted in being delighted with all she had heard and in resolving to hear more as speedily as possible. Her manner however of first returning to the subject was unlucky. It was while they rested during the heat of noon near a fountain on which some hand had rudely traced those well-known words from the Garden of Sadi.--"Many like me have viewed this fountain, but they are gone and their eyes are closed for ever!"--that she took occasion from the melancholy beauty of this pa.s.sage to dwell upon the charms of poetry in general. "It is true," she said, "few poets can imitate that sublime bird which flies always in the air and never touches the earth:[139]--it is only once in many ages a Genius appears whose words, like those on the Written Mountain last for ever:[140]--but still there are some as delightful perhaps, though not so wonderful, who if not stars over our head are at least flowers along our path and whose sweetness of the moment we ought gratefully to inhale without calling upon them for a brightness and a durability beyond their nature. In short," continued she, blus.h.i.+ng as if conscious of being caught in an oration, "it is quite cruel that a poet cannot wander through his regions of enchantment without having a critic for ever, like the old Man of the Sea, upon his back!"[141]--FADLADEEN, it was plain took this last luckless allusion to himself and would treasure it up in his mind as a whetstone for his next criticism. A sudden silence ensued; and the Princess, glancing a look at FERAMORZ, saw plainly she must wait for a more courageous moment.

But the glories of Nature and her wild, fragrant airs playing freshly over the current of youthful spirits will soon heal even deeper wounds than the dull Fadladeens of this world can inflict. In an evening or two after, they came to the small Valley of Gardens which had been planted by order of the Emperor for his favorite sister Rochinara during their progress to Cashmere some years before; and never was there a more sparkling a.s.semblage of sweets since the Gulzar-e-Irem or Rose-bower of Irem. Every precious flower was there to be found that poetry or love or religion has ever consecrated; from the dark hyacinth to which Hafez compares his mistress's hair to be _Camalata_ by whose rosy blossoms the heaven of Indra is scented.[142] As they sat in the cool fragrance of this delicious spot and LALLA ROOKH remarked that she could fancy it the abode of that flower-loving Nymph whom they wors.h.i.+p in the temples of Kathay, [143] or of one of those Peris, those beautiful creatures of the air who live upon perfumes and to whom a place like this might make some amends for the Paradise they have lost,--the young Poet in whose eyes she appeared while she spoke to be one of the bright spiritual creatures she was describing said hesitatingly that he remembered a Story of a Peri, which if the Princess had no objection he would venture to relate. "It is," said he, with an appealing look to FADLADEEN, "in a lighter and humbler strain than the other:" then, striking a few careless but melancholy chords on his kitar, he thus began:--

PARADISE AND THE PERI.

One morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood disconsolate; And as she listened to the Springs Of Life within like music flowing And caught the light upon her wings Thro' the half-open portal glowing, She wept to think her recreant race Should e'er have lost that glorious place!

"How happy," exclaimed this child of air, "Are the holy Spirits who wander there "Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall; "Tho' mine are the gardens of earth and sea "And the stars themselves have flowers for me, "One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all!

"Tho' sunny the Lake of cool CASHMERE "With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,[144]

"And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall; "Tho' bright are the waters of SING-SU-HAY And the golden floods that thitherward stray,[145]

Yet--oh, 'tis only the Blest can say How the waters of Heaven outs.h.i.+ne them all!

"Go, wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world as far As the universe spreads its flaming wall: Take all the pleasures of all the spheres And multiply each thro' endless years One minute of Heaven is worth them all!"

The glorious Angel who was keeping The gates of Light beheld her weeping, And as he nearer drew and listened To her sad song, a tear-drop glistened Within his eyelids, like the spray From Eden's fountain when it lies On the blue flower which--Bramins say-- Blooms nowhere but in Paradise.[146]

"Nymph of a fair but erring line!"