The next evening LALLA ROOKH was
entreated by her Ladies to continue the relation
of her wonderful dream; but the fearful interest that hung round the fate
of HINDA and her lover had completely removed every trace of it from her
mind; --much to the disappointment of a fair seer or two in her train,
who prided themselves on their skill in interpreting visions, and who had
already remarked, as an unlucky omen, that the Princess, on the very morning
after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms of the sorrowful
tree, Nilica.[255]
FADLADEEN, whose indignation had
more than once broken out during the recital of some parts of this heterodox
poem, seemed at length to have made up his mind to the infliction; and
took his seat this evening with all the patience of a martyr while the
Poet resumed his profane and seditious story as follows:--
To tearless eyes and hearts at ease
The leafy shores and sun-bright
seas
That lay beneath that mountain's
height
Had been a fair enchanting sight.
'Twas one of those ambrosial eyes
A day of storm so often leaves
At its calm setting-- when the West
Opens her golden bowers of rest,
And a moist radiance from the skies
Shoots trembling down, as from the
eyes
Of some meek penitent whose last
Bright hours atone for dark ones
past,
And whose sweet tears o'er wrong
forgiven
Shine as they fall with light from
heaven!
'Twas stillness all-- the winds that
late
Had rushed through KERMAN'S almond
groves,
And shaken from her bowers of date
That cooling feast the traveller
loves,[256]
Now lulled to languor scarcely curl
The Green Sea wave whose waters
gleam
Limpid as if her mines of pearl
Were melted all to form the stream:
And her fair islets small and bright
With their green shores reflected
there
Look like those PERI isles of light
That hang by spell-work in the air.
But vainly did those glories burst
On HINDA'S dazzled eyes, when first
The bandage from her brow was taken,
And, pale and awed as those who
waken
In their dark tombs-- when, scowling
near,
The Searchers of the Grave[257]
appear--
She shuddering turned to read her
fate
In the fierce eyes that flasht around;
And saw those towers all desolate,
That o'er her head terrific frowned,
As if defying even the smile
Of that soft heaven to gild their
pile.
In vain with mingled hope and fear,
She looks for him whose voice so
dear
Had come, like music, to her ear,--
Strange, mocking dream! again 'tis
fled.
And oh, the shoots, the pangs of
dread
That thro' her inmost bosom run,
When voices from without proclaim
"HAFED, the Chief" --and, one by
one,
The warriors shout that fearful
name!
He comes-- the rock resounds his
tread--
How shall she dare to lift her head
Or meet those eyes whose scorching
glare
Not YEMEN'S boldest sons can bear?
In whose red beam, the Moslem tells,
Such rank and deadly lustre dwells
As in those hellish fires that light
The mandrake's charnel leaves at
night.[258]
How shall she bear that voice's
tone,
At whose loud battle-cry alone
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran,
Scattered like some vast caravan,
When stretched at evening round
the well
They hear the thirsting tiger's
yell.
Breathless she stands with eyes cast
down
Shrinking beneath the fiery frown
Which, fancy tells her, from that
brow
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now:
And shuddering as she hears the
tread
Of his retiring warrior band.--
Never was pause full of dread;
Till HAFED with a trembling hand
Took hers and leaning o'er her said,
"HINDA"-- that word was all he spoke.
And 'twas enough-- the shriek that
broke
From her full bosom told the rest.--
Panting with terror, joy, surprise,
The maid but lifts her wandering
eyes,
To hide them on her Gheber's breast!
'Tis he, 'tis he-- the man of blood,
The fellest of the Fire-fiend's
brood,
HAFED, the demon of the fight,
Whose voice unnerves, whose glances
blight,--
Is her own loved Gheber, mild
And glorious as when first he smiled
In her lone tower and left such
beams
Of his pure eye to light her dreams,
That she believed her bower had
given
Rest to some wanderer from heaven!
Moments there are, and this was one,
Snatched like a minute's gleam of
sun
Amid the black Simoom's eclipse--
Or like those verdant spots that
bloom
Around the crater's burning lips.
Sweetening the very edge of doom!
The past, the future-- all that
Fate
Can bring of dark or desperate
Around such hours but makes them
cast
Intenser radiance while they last!
Even he, this youth-- tho' dimmed
and gone
Each Star of Hope that cheered him
on--
His glories lost-- his cause betrayed--
IRAN, his dear-loved country, made
A land of carcasses and slaves,
One dreary waste of chains and graves!
Himself but lingering, dead at heart,
To see the last, long struggling
breath
Of Liberty's great soul depart,
Then lay him down and share her
death--
Even he so sunk in wretchedness
With doom still darker gathering
o'er him,
Yet, in this moment's pure caress,
In the mild eyes that shone before
him,
Beaming that blest assurance worth
All other transports known on earth.
That he was loved-well, warmly loved--
Oh! in this precious hour he proved
How deep, how thorough-felt the
glow
Of rapture kindling out of woe;--
How exquisite one single drop
Of bliss thus sparkling to the top
Of misery's cup-- how keenly quaft,
Tho' death must follow on the draught!
She too while gazing on those eyes
That sink into her soul so deep,
Forgets all fears, all miseries,
Or feels them like the wretch in
sleep,
Whom fancy cheats into a smile.
Who dreams of joy and sobs the while!
The mighty Ruins where they stood
Upon the mount's high, rocky verge
Lay open towards the ocean flood,
Where lightly o'er the illumined
surge
Many a fair bark that, all the day,
Had lurkt in sheltering creek or
bay
Now bounded on and gave their sails,
Yet dripping to the evening gales;
Like eagles when the storm is done,
Spreading their wet wings in the
sun.
The beauteous clouds, tho' daylight's
Star
Had sunk behind the hills of LAR,
Were still with lingering glories
bright.--
As if to grace the gorgeous West
The Spirit of departing Light
That eve had left his sunny vest
Behind him ere he winged his flight.
Never was scene so formed for love!
Beneath them waves of crystal move
In silent swell-- Heaven glows above
And their pure hearts, to transport
given,
Swell like the wave and glow like
heaven.
But ah! too soon that dream is past--
Again, again her fear returns;--
Night, dreadful night, is gathering
fast,
More faintly the horizon burns,
And every rosy tint that lay
On the smooth sea hath died away
Hastily to the darkening skies
A glance she casts-- then wildly
cries
"At night, he said-- and
look, 'tis near--
"Fly, fly-- if yet thou lovest me,
fly--
"Soon will his murderous band be
here.
"And I shall see thee bleed and
die.--
"Hush! heardest thou not the tramp
of men
"Sounding from yonder fearful glen?--
"Perhaps, even now they climb the
wood--
"Fly, fly-- tho' still the West
is bright,
"He'll come-- oh! yes-- he wants
thy blood--
"I know him-- he'll not wait for
night!"
In terrors even to agony
She clings around the wondering
Chief;--
"Alas, poor wildered maid! to me
"Thou owest this raving trance of
grief.
"Lost as I am, naught ever grew
"Beneath my shade but perisht too--
"My doom is like the Dead Sea air,
"And nothing lives that enters there!
"Why were our barks together driven
"Beneath this morning's furious
heaven?
"Why when I saw the prize that chance
"Had thrown into my desperate arms,--
"When casting but a single glance
"Upon thy pale and prostrate charms,
"I vowed (tho' watching viewless
o'er
"Thy safety thro' that hour's alarms)
"To meet the unmanning sight no
more--
"Why have I broke that heart-wrung
vow?
"Why weakly, madly met thee now?
"Start not-- that noise is but the
shock
"Of torrents thro' yon valley hurled--
"Dread nothing here-- upon this
rock
"We stand above the jarring world,
"Alike beyond its hope-- its dread--
"In gloomy safety like the Dead!
"Or could even earth and hell unite
"In league to storm this Sacred
Height,
"Fear nothing thou-- myself, tonight,
"And each o'erlooking star that
dwells
"Near God will be thy sentinels;--
"And ere to-morrow's dawn shall
glow,
"Back to thy sire"--
"To-morrow! --no"--
The maiden screamed-- "Thou'lt never
see
"To-morrow's sun-- death, death
will be
"The night-cry thro' each reeking
tower,
"Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour!
"Thou art betrayed-- some wretch
who knew
"That dreadful glen's mysterious
clew-
"Nay, doubt not-- by yon stars,
'tis true--
"Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire;
"This morning, with that smile so
dire
"He wears in joy he told me all
"And stampt in triumph thro' our
hall,
"As tho' thy heart already beat
"Its last life-throb beneath his
feet!
"Good Heaven, how little dreamed
I then
"His victim was my own loved youth!--
"Fly-- send-- let some one watch
the glen--
"By all my hopes of heaven 'tis
truth!"
Oh! colder than the wind that freezes
Founts that but now in sunshine
played,
Is that congealing pang which seizes
The trusting bosom, when betrayed.
He felt it-- deeply felt-- and stood,
As if the tale had frozen his blood,
So mazed and motionless was he;--
Like one whom sudden spells enchant,
Or some mute, marble habitant
Of the still Halls of ISHMONIE![259]
But soon the painful chill was o'er,
And his great soul herself once
more
Lookt from his brow in all the rays
Of her best, happiest, grandest
days.
Never in moment most elate
Did that high spirit loftier rise:--
While bright, serene, determinate,
His looks are lifted to the skies,
As if the signal lights of Fate
Were shining in those awful eyes!
'Tis come-- his hour of martyrdom
In IRAN'S sacred cause is come;
And tho' his life hath past away
Like lightning on a stormy day,
Yet shall his death-hour leave a
track
Of glory permanent and bright
To which the brave of after-times,
The suffering brave, shall long
look back
With proud regret, --and by its
light
Watch thro' the hours of slavery's
night
For vengeance on the oppressor's
crimes.
This rock, his monument aloft,
Shall speak the tale to many an
age;
And hither bards and heroes oft
Shall come in secret pilgrimage,
And bring their warrior sons and
tell
The wondering boys where HAFED fell;
And swear them on those lone remains
Of their lost country's ancient
fanes,
Never-- while breath of life shall
live
Within them-- never to forgive
The accursed race whose ruthless
chain
Hath left on IRAN'S neck a stain
Blood, blood alone can cleanse again!
Such are the swelling thoughts that
now
Enthrone themselves on HAFED'S brow;
And ne'er did Saint of ISSA[260]
gaze
On the red wreath for martyrs twined.
More proudly than the youth surveys
That pile which thro' the gloom
behind,
Half lighted by the altar's fire,
Glimmers-- his destined funeral
pyre!
Heaped by his own, his comrades'
hands,
Of every wood of odorous breath.
There, by the Fire-God's shrine
it stands,
Ready to fold in radiant death
The few still left of those who
swore
To perish there when hope was o'er--
The few to whom that couch of flame,
Which rescues them from bonds and
shame,
Is sweet and welcome as the bed
For their own infant Prophet spread,
When pitying Heaven to roses turned
The death-flames that beneath him
burned![261]
With watchfulness the maid attends
His rapid glance where'er it bends--
Why shoot his eyes such awful beams?
What plans he now? what thinks or
dreams?
Alas! why stands he musing here,
When every moment teems with fear?
"HAFED, my own beloved Lord,"
She kneeling cries-- "first, last
adored!
"If in that soul thou'st ever felt
"Half what thy lips impassioned
swore,
"Here on my knees that never knelt
"To any but their God before,
"I pray thee, as thou lovest me,
fly--
"Now, now-- ere yet their blades
are nigh.
"Oh haste-- the bark that bore me
hither
"Can waft us o'er yon darkening
sea
"East-- west-- alas, I care not
whither,
"So thou art safe, and I with thee!
"Go where we will, this hand in
thine,
"Those eyes before me smiling thus,
"Thro' good and ill, thro' storm
and shine,
"The world's a world of love for
us!
"On some calm, blessed shore we'll
dwell,
"Where 'tis no crime to love too
well;
"Where thus to worship tenderly
"An erring child of light like thee
"Will not be sin-- or if it be
"Where we may weep our faults away,
"Together kneeling, night and day,
"Thou, for my sake, at ALLA'S
shrine,
"And I-- at any God's, for
thine!"
Wildly these passionate words she
spoke--
Then hung her head and wept for
shame;
Sobbing as if a heart-string broke
With every deep-heaved sob that
came,
While he, young, warm-- oh! wonder
not
If, for a moment, pride and fame;
His oath-- his cause-- that shrine
of flame,
And IRAN'S self are all forgot
For her, whom at his feet he sees
Kneeling in speechless agonies.
No, blame him not if Hope awhile
Dawned in his soul and threw her
smile
O'er hours to come-- o'er days and
nights,
Winged with those precious, pure
delights
Which she who bends all beauteous
there
Was born to kindle and to share.
A tear or two which as he bowed
To raise the suppliant, trembling
stole,
First warned him of this dangerous
cloud
Of softness passing o'er his soul.
Starting he brusht the drops away
Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray;--
Like one who on the morn of fight
Shakes from his sword the dews of
night,
That had but dimmed not stained
its light.
Yet tho' subdued the unnerving thrill,
Its warmth, its weakness lingered
still
So touching in each look and tone,
That the fond, fearing, hoping maid
Half counted on the flight she prayed,
Half thought the hero's soul was
grown
As soft, as yielding as her own,
And smiled and blest him while he
said,--
"Yes-- if there be some happier
sphere
"Where fadeless truth like ours
is dear.--
"If there be any land of rest
"For those who love and ne'er forget,
"Oh! comfort thee-- for safe and
blest
"We'll meet in that calm region
yet!"
Scarce had she time to ask her heart
If good or ill these words impart,
When the roused youth impatient
flew
To the tower-wall, where high in
view
A ponderous sea-horn[262]
hung, and blew
A signal deep and dread as those
The storm-fiend at his rising blows.--
Full well his Chieftains, sworn
and true
Thro' life and death, that signal
knew;
For 'twas the appointed warning-blast,
The alarm to tell when hope was
past
And the tremendous death-die cast!
And there upon the mouldering tower
Hath hung this sea-horn many an
hour,
Ready to sound o'er land and sea
That dirge-note of the brave and
free.
They came-- his Chieftains at the
call
Came slowly round and with them
all--
Alas, how few! --the worn remains
Of those who late o'er KERMAN'S
plains
When gayly prancing to the clash
Of Moorish zel and tymbalon
Catching new hope from every flash
Of their long lances in the sun,
And as their coursers charged the
wind
And the white ox-tails streamed
behind,[263]
Looking as if the steeds they rode
Were winged and every Chief a God!
How fallen, how altered now! how
wan
Each scarred and faded visage shone,
As round the burning shrine they
came;--
How deadly was the glare it cast,
As mute they paused before the flame
To light their torches as they past!
'Twas silence all-- the youth hath
planned
The duties of his soldier-band;
And each determined brow declares
His faithful Chieftains well know
theirs.
But minutes speed-- night gems the
skies--
And oh, how soon, ye blessed eyes
That look from heaven ye may behold
Sights that will turn your star-fires
cold!
Breathless with awe, impatience,
hope,
The maiden sees the veteran group
Her litter silently prepare,
And lay it at her trembling feet;--
And now the youth with gentle care,
Hath placed her in the sheltered
seat
And prest her hand-- that lingering
press
Of hands that for the last time
sever;
Of hearts whose pulse of happiness
When that hold breaks is dead for
ever.
And yet to her this sad caress
Gives hope-- so fondly hope can
err!
'Twas joy, she thought, joy's mute
excess--
Their happy flight's dear harbinger;
'Twas warmth-- assurance-- tenderness--
'Twas any thing but leaving her.
"Haste, haste!" she cried, "the clouds
grow dark,
"But still, ere night, we'll reach
the bark;
"And by to-morrow's dawn-- oh bliss!
"With thee upon the sun-bright deep,
"Far off, I'll but remember this,
"As some dark vanisht dream of sleep;
"And thou" --but ah! --he answers
not--
Good Heaven! --and does she go alone?
She now has reached that dismal
spot,
Where some hours since his voice's
tone
Had come to soothe her fears and
ills,
Sweet as the angel ISRAFIL'S,[264]
When every leaf on Eden's tree
Is trembling to his minstrelsy--
Yet now-- oh, now, he is not nigh.--
"HAFED! my HAFED! --if it be
"Thy will, thy doom this night to
die
"Let me but stay to die with thee
"And I will bless thy loved name,
"Till the last life-breath leave
this frame.
"Oh! let our lips, our cheeks be
laid
"But near each other while they
fade;
"Let us but mix our parting breaths,
"And I can die ten thousand deaths!
"You too, who hurry me away
"So cruelly, one moment stay--
"Oh! stay-- one moment is not much--
"He yet may come-- for him
I pray--
"HAFED! dear HAFED!" --all the way
In wild lamentings that would touch
A heart of stone she shrieked his
name
To the dark woods-- no HAFED came:--
No-- hapless pair-- you've lookt
your last:--
Your hearts should both have broken
then:--
The dream is o'er-- your doom is
cast--
You'll never meet on earth again!
Alas for him who hears her cries!
Still half-way down the steep he
stands,
Watching with fixt and feverish
eyes
The glimmer of those burning brands
That down the rocks with mournful
ray,
Light all he loves on earth away!
Hopeless as they who far at sea
By the cold moon have just consigned
The corse of one loved tenderly
To the bleak flood they leave behind,
And on the deck still lingering
stay,
And long look back with sad delay
To watch the moonlight on the wave
That ripples o'er that cheerless
grave.
But see-- he starts-- what heard
he then?
That dreadful shout! --across the
glen
From the land-side it comes and
loud
Rings thro' the chasm, as if the
crowd
Of fearful things that haunt that
dell
Its Ghouls and Divs and shapes of
hell,
And all in one dread howl broke
out,
So loud, so terrible that shout!
"They come-- the Moslems come!"
--he cries,
His proud soul mounting to his eyes,--
"Now, Spirits of the Brave, who
roam
"Enfranchised thro' yon starry dome,
"Rejoice-- for souls of kindred
fire
"Are on the wing to join your choir!"
He said-- and, light as bridegrooms
bound
To their young loves, reclined the
steep
And gained the Shrine-- his Chiefs
stood round--
Their swords, as with instinctive
leap,
Together at that cry accurst
Had from their sheaths like sunbeams
burst.
And hark! --again--again it rings;
Near and more near its echoings
Peal thro' the chasm-- oh! who that
then
Had seen those listening warrior-men,
With their swords graspt, their
eyes of flame
Turned on their Chief-- could doubt
the shame,
The indignant shame with which they
thrill
To hear those shouts and yet stand
still?
He read their thoughts-- they were
his own--
"What! while our arms can wield
these blades,
"Shall we die tamely? die alone?
"Without one victim to our shades,
"One Moslem heart, where buried
deep
"The sabre from its toil may sleep?
"No-- God of IRAN'S burning skies!
"Thou scornest the inglorious sacrifice.
"No-- tho' of all earth's hope bereft,
"Life, swords, and vengeance still
are left.
"We'll make yon valley's reeking
caves
"Live in the awe-struck minds of
men
"Till tyrants shudder, when their
slaves
"Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen,
"Follow, brave hearts! --this pile
remains
"Our refuge still from life and
chains;
"But his the best, the holiest bed,
"Who sinks entombed in Moslem dead!"
Down the precipitous rocks they sprung,
While vigor more than human strung
Each arm and heart. --The exulting
foe
Still thro' the dark defiles below,
Trackt by his torches' lurid fire,
Wound slow, as thro' GOLCONDA'S
vale
The mighty serpent in his ire
Glides on with glittering, deadly
trail.
No torch the Ghebers need --so well
They know each mystery of the dell,
So oft have in their wanderings
Crost the wild race that round them
dwell,
The very tigers from their delves
Look out and let them pass as things
Untamed and fearless like themselves!
There was a deep ravine that lay
Yet darkling in the Moslem's way;
Fit spot to make invaders rue
The many fallen before the few.
The torrents from that morning's
sky
Had filled the narrow chasm breast-high,
And on each side aloft and wild
Huge cliffs and toppling crags were
piled,--
The guards with which young Freedom
lines
The pathways to her mountain-shrines,
Here at this pass the scanty band;
Of IRAN'S last avengers stand;
Here wait in silence like the dead
And listen for the Moslem's tread
So anxiously the carrion-bird
Above them flaps his wing unheard!
They come-- that plunge into the
water
Gives signal for the work of slaughter.
Now, Ghebers, now-- if e'er your
blades
Had point or prowess prove them
now--
Woe to the file that foremost wades!
They come-- a falchion greets each
brow,
And as they tumble trunk on trunk
Beneath the gory waters sunk,
Still o'er their drowning bodies
press
New victims quick and numberless;
Till scarce an arm in HAFED'S band,
So fierce their toil, hath power
to stir,
But listless from each crimson hand
The sword hangs clogged with massacre.
Never was horde of tyrants met
With bloodier welcome-- never yet
To patriot vengeance hath the sword
More terrible libations poured!
All up the dreary, long ravine,
By the red, murky glimmer seen
Of half-quenched brands, that o'er
the flood
Lie scattered round and burn in
blood,
What ruin glares! what carnage swims!
Heads, blazing turbans, quivering
limbs,
Lost swords that dropt from many
a hand,
In that thick pool of slaughter
stand;--
Wretches who wading, half on fire
From the tost brands that round
them fly,
'Twixt flood and flame in shrieks
expire;--
And some who grasp by those that
die
Sink woundless with them, smothered
o'er
In their dead brethren's gushing
gore!
But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed,
Still hundreds, thousands more succeed;
Countless as toward some flame at
night
The North's dark insects wing their
flight
And quench or perish in its light,
To this terrific spot they pour--
Till, bridged with Moslem bodies
o'er,
It bears aloft their slippery tread,
And o'er the dying and the dead,
Tremendous causeway! on they pass.
Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas,
What hope was left for you? for
you,
Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice
Is smoking in their vengeful eyes;--
Whose swords how keen, how fierce
they knew.
And burned with shame to find how
few.
Crusht down by that vast multitude
Some found their graves where first
they stood;
While some with hardier struggle
died,
And still fought on by HAFED'S side,
Who fronting to the foe trod back
Towards the high towers his gory
track;
And as a lion swept away
By sudden swell of JORDAN'S pride
From the wild covert where he lay,[265]
Long battles with the o'erwhelming
tide,
So fought he back with fierce delay
And kept both foes and fate at bay.
But whither now? their track is lost,
Their prey escaped-- guide, torches
gone--
By torrent-beds and labyrinths crost,
The scattered crowd rush blindly
on--
"Curse on those tardy lights that
wind,"
They panting cry, "so far behind;
"Oh, for a bloodhound's precious
scent,
"To track the way the Ghebers went!"
Vain wish-- confusedly along
They rush more desperate as more
wrong:
Till wildered by the far-off lights,
Yet glittering up those gloomy heights,
Their footing mazed and lost they
miss,
And down the darkling precipice
Are dasht into the deep abyss;
Or midway hang impaled on rocks,
A banquet yet alive for flocks
Of ravening vultures, --while the
dell
Re-echoes with each horrible yell.
Those sounds-- the last, to vengeance
dear.
That e'er shall ring in HAFED'S
ear,--
Now reached him as aloft alone
Upon the steep way breathless thrown,
He lay beside his reeking blade,
Resigned, as if life's task were
o'er,
Its last blood-offering amply paid,
And IRAN'S self could claim no more.
One only thought, one lingering
beam
Now broke across his dizzy dream
Of pain and weariness-- 'twas she,
His heart's pure planet shining
yet
Above the waste of memory
When all life's other lights were
set.
And never to his mind before
Her image such enchantment wore.
It seemed as if each thought that
stained,
Each fear that chilled their loves
was past,
And not one cloud of earth remained
Between him and her radiance cast;--
As if to charms, before so bright,
New grace from other worlds was
given.
And his soul saw her by the light
Now breaking o'er itself from heaven!
A voice spoke near him-- 'twas the
tone
Of a loved friend, the only one
Of all his warriors left with life
From that short night's tremendous
strife.--
"And must we then, my chief, die
here?
"Foes round us and the Shrine so
near!"
These words have roused the last
remains
Of life within him: --"What! not
yet
"Beyond the reach of Moslem chains!"
The thought could make even Death
forget
His icy bondage: --with a bound
He springs all bleeding from the
ground
And grasps his comrade's arm now
grown
Even feebler, heavier than his own.
And up the painful pathway leads,
Death gaining on each step he treads.
Speed them, thou God, who heardest
their vow!
They mount-- they bleed-- oh save
them now--
The crags are red they've clambered
o'er,
The rock-weed's dripping with their
gore;--
Thy blade too, HAFED, false at length,
How breaks beneath thy tottering
strength!
Haste, haste-- the voices of the
Foe
Come near and nearer from below--
One effort more-- thank Heaven!
'tis past,
They've gained the topmost steep
at last.
And now they touch the temple's
walls.
Now HAFED sees the Fire divine--
When, lo! --his weak, worn comrade
falls
Dead on the threshold of the shrine.
"Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled!
"And must I leave thee withering
here,
"The sport of every ruffian's tread,
"The mark for every coward's spear?
"No, by yon altar's sacred beams!"
He cries and with a strength that
seems
Not of this world uplifts the frame
Of the fallen Chief and toward the
flame
Bears him along; with death-damp
hand
The corpse upon the pyre he lays,
Then lights the consecrated brand
And fires the pile whose sudden
blaze
Like lightning bursts o'er OMAN'S
Sea.--
"Now, Freedom's God! I come to Thee,"
The youth exclaims and with a smile
Of triumph vaulting on the pile,
In that last effort ere the fires
Have harmed one glorious limb expires!
What shriek was that on OMAN'S tide?
It came from yonder drifting bark,
That just hath caught upon her side
The death-light-- and again is dark.
It is the boat-- ah! why delayed?--
That bears the wretched Moslem maid;
Confided to the watchful care
Of a small veteran band with whom
Their generous Chieftain would not
share
The secret of his final doom,
But hoped when HINDA safe and free
Was rendered to her father's eyes,
Their pardon full and prompt would
be
The ransom of so dear a prize.--
Unconscious thus of HAFED'S fate,
And proud to guard their beauteous
freight,
Scarce had they cleared the surfy
waves
That foam around those frightful
caves
When the curst war-whoops known
so well
Came echoing from the distant dell--
Sudden each oar, upheld and still,
Hung dripping o'er the vessel's
side,
And driving at the current's will,
They rockt along the whispering
tide;
While every eye in mute dismay
Was toward that fatal mountain turned.
Where the dim altar's quivering
ray
As yet all lone and tranquil burned.
Oh! 'tis not, HINDA, in the power
Of Fancy's most terrific touch
To paint thy pangs in that dread
hour--
Thy silent agony-- 'twas such
As those who feel could paint too
well,
But none e'er felt and lived to
tell!
'Twas not alone the dreary state
Of a lorn spirit crusht by fate,
When tho' no more remains to dread
The panic chill will not depart;--
When tho' the inmate Hope be dead,
Her ghost still haunts the mouldering
heart;
No-- pleasures, hopes, affections
gone,
The wretch may bear and yet live
on
Like things within the cold rock
found
Alive when all's congealed around.
But there's a blank repose in this,
A calm stagnation, that were bliss
To the keen, burning, harrowing
pain,
Now felt thro' all thy breast and
brain;--
That spasm of terror, mute, intense,
That breathless, agonized suspense
From whose hot throb whose deadly
aching,
The heart hath no relief but breaking!
Calm is the wave-- heaven's brilliant
lights
Reflected dance beneath the prow;--
Time was when on such lovely nights
She who is there so desolate now
Could sit all cheerful tho' alone
And ask no happier joy than seeing
That starlight o'er the waters thrown--
No joy but that to make her blest,
And the fresh, buoyant sense of
Being
Which bounds in youth's yet careless
breast,--
Itself a star not borrowing light
But in its own glad essence bright.
How different now! --but, hark!
again
The yell of havoc rings-- brave
men!
In vain with beating hearts ye stand
On the bark's edge-- in vain each
hand
Half draws the falchion from its
sheath;
All's o'er-- in rust your blades
may lie:--
He at whose word they've scattered
death
Even now this night himself must
die!
Well may ye look to yon dim tower,
And ask and wondering guess what
means
The battle-cry at this dead hour--
Ah! she could tell you-- she who
leans
Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast,
With brow against the dew-cold mast;--
Too well she knows-- her more than
life,
Her soul's first idol and its last
Lies bleeding in that murderous
strife.
But see-- what moves upon the height?
Some signal! --'tis a torch's light
What bodes its solitary glare?
In gasping silence toward the Shrine
All eyes are turned-- thine, HINDA,
thine
Fix their last fading life-beams
there.
'Twas but a moment-- fierce and
high
The death-pile blazed into the sky
And far-away o'er rock and flood
Its melancholy radiance sent:
While HAFED like a vision stood
Revealed before the burning pyre.
Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of
fire
Shrined in its own grand element!
"'Tis he!" --the shuddering maid
exclaims,--
But while she speaks he's seen no
more;
High burst in air the funeral flames,
And IRAN'S hopes and hers are o'er!
One wild, heart-broken shriek she
gave;
Then sprung as if to reach that
blaze
Where still she fixt her dying gaze,
And gazing sunk into the wave.--
Deep, deep, --where never care or
pain
Shall reach her innocent heart again!
* * * * *
Farewell-- farewell to thee. ARABY'S
daughter!
(Thus warbled a PERI beneath the
dark sea,)
No pearl ever lay under OMAN'S green
water
More pure in its shell than thy
Spirit in thee.
Oh! fair as the sea-flower close
to thee growing,
How light was thy heart till Love's
witchery came,
Like the wind of the south[266]
o'er a summer lute blowing,
And husht all its music and withered
its frame!
But long upon ARABY'S green sunny
highlands
Shall maids and their lovers remember
the doom
Of her who lies sleeping among the
Pearl Islands
With naught but the sea-star[267]
to light up her tomb.
And still when the merry date-season
is burning
And calls to the palm-groves the
young and the old,
The happiest there from their pastime
returning
At sunset will weep when thy story
is told.
The young village-maid when with
flowers she dresses
Her dark flowing hair for some festival
day
Will think of thy fate till neglecting
her tresses
She mournfully turns from the mirror
away.
Nor shall IRAN, beloved of her Hero!
forget thee--
Tho' tyrants watch over her tears
as they start,
Close, close by the side of that
Hero she'll set thee,
Embalmed in the innermost shrine
of her heart.
Farewell-- be it ours to embellish
thy pillow
With everything beauteous that grows
in the deep;
Each flower of the rock and each
gem of the billow
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine
thy sleep.
Around thee shall glisten the loveliest
amber
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird
has wept;[268]
With many a shell in whose hollow-wreathed
chamber
We Peris of Ocean by moonlight have
slept.
We'll dive where the gardens of coral
lie darkling
And plant all the rosiest stems
at thy head;
We'll seek where the sands of the
Caspian[269] are sparkling
And gather their gold to strew over
thy bed.
Farewell-- farewell! --Until Pity's
sweet fountain
Is lost in the hearts of the fair
and the brave,
They'll weep for the Chieftain who
died on that mountain,
They'll weep for the Maiden who
sleeps in this wave.
~~~~~~~~~~~
-- on to Part
Nine --
