Part 4
“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⸺”
“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?”
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]