With her hands clasp’d, her lips apart and pale,
The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil
From which these words, like south winds through a fence
Of Kerzrah flowers, came fill’d with pestilence;[55]
So boldly utter’d too! as if all dread
Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled,
And the wretch felt assur’d that, once plung’d in,
Her woman’s soul would know no pause in sin!
At first, though mute she listen’d, like a dream
Seem’d all he said: nor could her mind, whose beam
As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme.
But when, at length, he utter’d, “Thou art she!”
All flash’d at once, and shrieking piteously,
“Oh not for worlds!” she cried—“Great God! to whom
“I once knelt innocent, is this my doom?
“Are all my dreams, my hopes of heavenly bliss,
“My purity, my pride, then come to this,—
“To live, the wanton of a fiend! to be
“The pander of his guilt—oh infamy!
“And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep
“In its hot flood, drag others down as deep!
“Others—ha! yes—that youth who came to-day—
“Not him I lov’d—not him—oh! do but say,
“But swear to me this moment ’tis not he,
“And I will serve, dark fiend, will worship even thee!”
“Beware, young raving thing!—in time beware,
“Nor utter what I cannot, must not bear,
“Even from thy lips. Go—try thy lute, thy voice,
“The boy must feel their magic;—I rejoice
“To see those fires, no matter whence they rise,
“Once more illuming my fair Priestess’ eyes;
“And should the youth, whom soon those eyes shall warm,
“Indeed resemble thy dead lover’s form,
“So much the happier wilt thou find thy doom,
“As one warm lover, full of life and bloom,
“Excels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb.
“Nay, nay, no frowning, sweet!—those eyes were made
“For love, not anger—I must be obey’d.”
“Obey’d!—’tis well—yes, I deserve it all—
“On me, on me Heaven’s vengeance cannot fall
“Too heavily—but Azim, brave and true
“And beautiful—must he be ruin’d too?
“Must he too, glorious as he is, be driven
“A renegade like me from Love and Heaven?
“Like me?—weak wretch, I wrong him—not like me;
“No—he’s all truth and strength and purity!
“Fill up your madd’ning hell-cup to the brim,
“Its witch’ry, fiends, will have no charm for him.
“Let loose your glowing wantons from their bowers,
“He loves, he loves, and can defy their powers!
“Wretch as I am, in his heart still I reign
“Pure as when first we met, without a stain!
“Though ruin’d—lost—my memory, like a charm
“Left by the dead, still keeps his soul from harm.
“Oh! never let him know how deep the brow
“He kiss’d at parting is dishonour’d now;—
“Ne’er tell him how debas’d, how sunk is she,
“Whom once he lov’d—once!—still loves dotingly.
“Thou laugh’st, tormentor,—what!—thou’lt brand my name?
“Do, do—in vain—he’ll not believe my shame—
“He thinks me true, that nought beneath God’s sky
“Could tempt or change me, and—so once thought I.
“But this is past—though worse than death my lot,
“Than hell—’tis nothing while he knows it not.
“Far off to some benighted land I’ll fly,
“Where sunbeam ne’er shall enter till I die;
“Where none will ask the lost one whence she came,
“But I may fade and fall without a name.
“And thou—curst man or fiend, whate’er thou art,
“Who found’st this burning plague-spot in my heart,
“And spread’st it—oh, so quick!—through soul and frame,
“With more than demon’s art, till I became
“A loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame!—
“If when I’m gone—”
“If when I’m gone—”“Hold, fearless maniac, hold,
“Nor tempt my rage—by Heaven, not half so bold
“The puny bird, that dares with teasing hum
“Within the crocodile’s stretch’d jaws to come![56]
“And so thou’lt fly, forsooth?—what!—give up all
“Thy chaste dominion in the Haram Hall,
“Where now to Love and now to Alla given,
“Half mistress and half saint, thou hang’st as even
“As doth Medina’s tomb, ’twixt hell and heaven!
“Thou’lt fly!—as easily may reptiles run,
“The gaunt snake once hath fix’d his eyes upon;
“As easily, when caught, the prey may be
“Pluck’d from his loving folds, as thou from me.
“No, no, ’tis fix’d—let good or ill betide,
“Thou’rt mine till death, till death Mokanna’s bride!
“Hast thou forgot thy oath?”
“Hast thou forgot thy oath?”At this dread word,
The Maid, whose spirit his rude taunts had stirr’d
Through all its depth, and rous’d an anger there,
That burst and lighten’d ev’n through her despair—
Shrunk back, as if a blight were in the breath
That spoke that word, and stagger’d, pale as death.
“Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in bowers
“Their bridal place—the charnel vault was ours!
“Instead of scents and balms, for thee and me
“Rose the rich steams of sweet mortality;
“Gay, flickering death-lights shone while we were wed,
“And, for our guests, a row of goodly Dead.
“(Immortal spirits in their time, no doubt,)
“From reeking shrouds upon the rite look’d out!
“That oath thou heard’st more lips than thine repeat—
“That cup—thou shudd’rest, Lady,—was it sweet?
“That cup we pledg’d, the charnel’s choicest wine,
“Hath bound thee—ay—body and soul all mine;
“Bound thee by chains that, whether blest or curst
“No matter now, not hell itself shall burst!
“Hence, woman, to the Haram, and look gay,
“Look wild, look—any thing but sad; yet stay—
“One moment more—from what this night hath pass’d,
“I see thou know’st me, know’st me well at last.
“Ha! ha! and so, fond thing, thou thought’st all true,
“And that I love mankind?—I do, I do—
“As victims, love them; as the sea-dog doats
“Upon the small, sweet fry that round him floats;
“Or, as the Nile-bird loves the slime that gives
“That rank and venomous food on which she lives![57]—
“And, now thou seest my soul’s angelic hue,
“’Tis time these features were uncurtain’d too;—
“This brow, whose light—oh rare celestial light!
“Hath been reserv’d to bless thy favour’d sight;
“These dazzling eyes, before whose shrouded might
“Thou’st seen immortal Man kneel down and quake—
“Would that they were heaven’s lightnings for his sake!
“But turn and look—then wonder, if thou wilt,
“That I should hate, should take revenge, by guilt,
“Upon the hand, whose mischief or whose mirth
“Sent me thus maim’d and monstrous upon earth;
“And on that race who, though more vile they be
“Than mowing apes, are demi-gods to me!
“Here—judge if hell, with all its power to damn,
“Can add one curse to the foul thing I am!”
He raised his veil—the Maid turn’d slowly round,
Look’d at him—shriek’d—and sunk upon the ground!

On their arrival, next night, at the place of encampment, they were surprised and delighted to find the groves all around illuminated; some artists of Yamtcheou[58] having been sent on previously for the purpose. On each side of the green alley, which led to the Royal Pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo-work[59] were erected, representing arches, minarets, and towers, from which hung thousands of silken lanterns, painted by the most delicate pencils of Canton.—Nothing could be more beautiful than the leaves of the mango-trees and acacias, shining in the light of the bamboo-scenery, which shed a lustre round as soft as that of the nights of Peristan.

Lalla Rookh, however, who was too much occupied by the sad story of Zelica and her lover, to give a thought to anything else, except, perhaps, him who related it, hurried on through this scene of splendour to her pavilion,—greatly to the mortification of the poor artists of Yamtcheou,—and was followed with equal rapidity by the Great Chamberlain, cursing, as he went, that ancient Mandarin, whose parental anxiety in lighting up the shores of the lake, where his beloved daughter had wandered and been lost, was the origin of these fantastic Chinese illuminations.[60]

Without a moment’s delay, young Feramorz was introduced, and Fadladeen, who could never make up his mind as to the merits of a poet till he knew the religious sect to which he belonged, was about to ask him whether he was a Shia or a Sooni, when Lalla Rookh impatiently clapped her hands for silence, and the youth, being seated upon the musnud near her, proceeded:—

Prepare thy soul, young Azim!—thou hast brav’d
The bands of Greece, still mighty though enslav’d;
Hast fac’d her phalanx, arm’d with all its fame,
Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame;
All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow,
But a more perilous trial waits thee now,—
Woman’s bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes
From every land where woman smiles or sighs;
Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise
His black or azure banner in their blaze;
And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash
That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash,
To the sly, stealing splendours, almost hid,
Like swords half-sheath’d, beneath the downcast lid:—
Such, Azim, is the lovely, luminous host
Now led against thee; and, let conquerors boast
Their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms
A young, warm spirit against beauty’s charms,
Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall,
Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all.
Now, through the Haram chambers, moving lights
And busy shapes proclaim the toilet’s rites;—
From room to room the ready handmaids hie,
Some skill’d 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:—[61]
While some bring leaves of Henna, to imbue
The fingers’ ends with a bright roseate hue,[62]
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,[63]
Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to cull
From fair Circassia’s vales, so beautiful.
All is in motion; rings and plumes and pearls
Are shining every where:—some younger girls
Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds,
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads;—
Gay creatures! sweet, though 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 friendships far away.
The maid of India, blest again to hold
In her full lap the Champac’s leaves of gold,[64]
Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges’ flood,
Her little playmates scatter’d 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 Elcaya,[65] and that courteous tree
Which bows to all who seek its canopy,[66]
Sees, call’d 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 sorrows back again!
Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls,
Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls
Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound
From many a jasper fount, is heard around,
Young Azim roams bewilder’d,—nor can guess
What means this maze of light and loneliness.
Here, the way leads, o’er tessellated floors
Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors,
Where, rang’d in cassolets and silver urns,
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns;
And spicy rods, such as illume at night
The bowers of Tibet,[67] 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’ enamell’d cupola, which towers
All rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers:
And the mosaic floor beneath shines through
The sprinkling of that fountain’s silv’ry dew,
Like the wet, glistening shells, 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
Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase
In which it undulates, small fishes shine,
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;—
While, on the other, latticed lightly in
With odoriferous woods of Comorin,[68]
Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;—
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between
The crimson blossoms of the coral tree[69]
In the warm Isles of India’s sunny sea:
Mecca’s blue sacred pigeon,[70] and the thrush
Of Hindostan,[71] whose holy warblings gush,
At evening, from the tall pagoda’s top;—
Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food[72]
Whose scent hath lur’d them o’er the summer flood;[73]
And those that under Araby’s soft sun
Build their high nests of budding cinnamon:[74]
In short, all rare and beauteous things, that fly
Through the pure element, here calmly lie
Sleeping in light, like the green birds[75] that dwell
In Eden’s radiant fields of asphodel!
So on, through scenes past all imagining,
More like the luxuries of that impious King,[76]
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,
Arm’d with Heaven’s sword, for man’s enfranchisement—
Young Azim wander’d, 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 dead’ning 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 godlike sages taught;
“It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease,
“Thy Freedom nurs’d her sacred energies;
“Oh! not beneath the’ enfeebling, withering glow
“Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow,
“With which she wreath’d 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 lustre 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 space,
“And be each purer soul’s high resting-place?
“But no—it cannot be, that one, whom God
“Hath 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—shine on, ’twill stand the blaze!”
So thought the youth;—but, ev’n while he defied
This witching scene, he felt its witchery glide
Through ev’ry 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;[77]
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;
Soften’d he sunk upon a couch, and gave
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave
Succeeding to 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 look’d into each other’s eyes,
Silent and happy—as if God had given
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven.
“Oh, my lov’d 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 restor’d
“To that young heart where I alone am Lord,
“Though of such bliss unworthy,—since the best
“Alone deserve to be the happiest;—
“When from those lips, unbreath’d 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 tow’rd the sound, and far away
Through 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 chain’d together in the mazy dance
By fetters, forg’d in the green sunny bowers,
As they were captives to the King of Flowers;[78]
And some disporting round, unlink’d and free,
Who seem’d 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 walk’d, 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 pass 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 even-tide
Around the rich pavilion of the sun,—
Till silently dispersing, one by one
Through 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,—
Beck’ning 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,[79]
Such as the maids of Yezd[80] and Shiras wear,
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 touch’d 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 through all his features calm’d her fear,
And, like a half-tam’d antelope, more near,
Though shrinking still, she came;—then sat her down
Upon a musnud’s[81] edge, and, bolder grown,
In the pathetic mode of Isfahan[82]
Touch’d a preluding strain, and thus began:—
There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s[83] 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 wither’d that hung o’er the wave,
But some blossoms were gather’d, while freshly they shone,
And a dew was distill’d 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 though thy lip should sweetly counsel wrong,
“Those vestal eyes would disavow its song.
“But thou hast breath’d such purity, thy lay
“Returns so fondly to youth’s virtuous day,
“And leads thy soul—if e’er it wander’d 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 pass’d, when, sparkling through
The gently open’d curtains of light blue
That veil’d the breezy casement, countless eyes,
Peeping like stars through the blue evening skies,
Look’d 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 odours,—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 pass 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 danc’d
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc’d
More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o’er
The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore;[84]
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,[85]
Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet,
As ’twere the’ extatic language of their feet.
At length the chase was o’er, and they stood wreath’d
Within each other’s arms; while soft there breath’d
Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs
Of moonlight flowers, music that seem’d to rise
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose;
And, as it swell’d again at each faint close,
The ear could track, through all that maze of chords
And young sweet voices, these impassion’d words;—
A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh
Is burning now through earth and air:
Where cheeks are blushing, 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[86]
Blue water-lilies,[87] 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 blushing unite,
Like the sun and wave,
When they meet at night;
By the tear that shows
When passion 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 hither, 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 turn’d away
From the light nymphs, and their luxurious lay,
To muse upon the pictures that hung round,—[88]
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 passionate, 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-veil’d is best,—
Like her own radiant planet of the west,
Whose orb when half retir’d looks loveliest.[89]
There hung the history of the Genii-King,
Traced through each gay, voluptuous wandering
With her from Saba’s bowers, in whose bright eyes
He read that to be blest is to be wise;—[90]
Here fond Zuleika[91] woos with open arms
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.[92]