1170 | The swan that swims upon the lake, |
One mate, and one alone, will take. | |
And let the fool still prone to range, | |
And sneer on all who cannot change, | |
Partake his jest with boasting boys; | |
1175 | I envy not his varied joys, |
But deem such feeble, heartless man, | |
Less than yon solitary swan; | |
Far, far beneath the shallow maid | |
He left believing and betray’d. | |
1180 | Such shame at least was never mine – |
Leila! each thought was only thine! | |
My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe, | |
My hope on high – my all below. | |
Earth holds no other like to thee, | |
1185 | Or, if it doth, in vain for me: |
For worlds I dare not view the dame | |
Resembling thee, yet not the same. | |
The very crimes that mar my youth, | |
This bed of death – attest my truth! | |
1190 | ’Tis all too late – thou wert, thou art |
The cherish’d madness of my heart! | |
‘And she was lost – and yet I breathed, | |
But not the breath of human life: | |
A serpent round my heart was wreathed, | |
1195 | And stung my every thought to strife. |
Alike all time, abhorred all place, | |
Shuddering I shrunk from Nature’s face, | |
Where every hue that charm’d before | |
The blackness of my bosom wore. | |
1200 | The rest thou dost already know, |
And all my sins, and half my woe. | |
But talk no more of penitence; | |
Thou see’st I soon shall part from hence: | |
And if thy holy tale were true, | |
1205 | The deed that’s done canst |
Think me not thankless – but this grief | |
Looks not to priesthood for relief. | |
My soul’s estate in secret guess: | |
But wouldst thou pity more, say less. | |
1210 | When thou canst bid my Leila live, |
Then will I sue thee to forgive; | |
Then plead my cause in that high place | |
Where purchased masses proffer grace. | |
Go, when the hunter’s hand hath wrung | |
1215 | From forest-cave her shrieking young, |
And calm the lonely lioness: | |
But soothe not – mock not | |
‘In earlier days, and calmer hours, | |
When heart with heart delights to blend, | |
1220 | Where bloom my native valley’s bowers |
I had – Ah! have I now? – a friend! | |
To him this pledge I charge thee send, | |
Memorial of a youthful vow; | |
I would remind him of my end: | |
1225 | Though souls absorb’d like mine allow |
Brief thought to distant friendship’s claim, | |
Yet dear to him my blighted name. | |
‘Tis strange – he prophesied my doom, | |
And I have smiled – I then could smile – | |
1230 | When Prudence would his voice assume, |
And warn – I reck’d not what – the while: | |
But now remembrance whispers o’er | |
Those accents scarcely mark’d before. | |
Say - that his bodings came to pass, | |
1235 | And he will start to hear their truth, |
And wish his words had not been sooth: | |
Tell him, unheeding as I was, | |
Through many a busy bitter scene | |
Of all our golden youth had been, | |
1240 | In pain, my faltering tongue had tried |
To bless his memory ere I died; | |
But Heaven in wrath would turn away, | |
If Guilt should for the guiltless pray. | |
I do not ask him not to blame, | |
1245 | Too gentle he to wound my name; |
And what have I to do with fame? | |
I do not ask him not to mourn, | |
Such cold request might sound like scorn; | |
And what than friendship’s manly tear | |
1250 | May better grace a brother’s bier? |
But bear this ring, his own of old, | |
And tell him – what thou dost behold! | |
The wither’d frame, the ruin’d mind, | |
The wrack by passion left behind, | |
1255 | A shrivelled scroll, a scatter’d leaf, |
Sear’d by the autumn blast of grief! | |
* * * * * | |
‘Tell me no more of fancy’s gleam, | |
No, father, no, ’twas not a dream; | |
Alas! the dreamer first must sleep, | |
1260 | I only watch’d, and wish’d to weep; |
But could not, for my burning brow | |
Throbb’d to the very brain as now: | |
I wish’d but for a single tear, | |
As something welcome, new, and dear: | |
1265 | I wish’d it then, I wish it still; |
Despair is stronger than my will. | |
Waste not thine orison, despair | |
Is mightier than thy pious prayer: | |
I would not, if I might, be blest; | |
1270 | I want no paradise, but rest. |
‘Twas then, I tell thee, father! then | |
I saw her; yes, she lived again; | |
And shining in her white symar, | |
As through yon pale gray cloud the star | |
1275 | Which now I gaze on, as on her, |
Who look’d and looks far lovelier; | |
Dimly I view its trembling spark; | |
To-morrow’s night shall be more dark; | |
And I, before its rays appear, | |
1280 | That lifeless thing the living fear. |
I wander, father! for my soul | |
Is fleeting towards the final goal. | |
I saw her, friar! and I rose | |
Forgetful of our former woes; | |
1285 | And rushing from my couch, I dart, |
And clasp her to my desperate heart; | |
I clasp – what is it that I clasp? | |
No breathing form within my grasp, | |
No heart that beats reply to mine, | |
1290 | Yet, Leila! yet the form is thine! |
And art thou, dearest, changed so much, | |
As meet my eye, yet mock my touch? | |
Ah! were thy beauties e’er so cold, | |
I care not; so my arms enfold | |
1295 | The all they ever wish’d to hold. |
Alas! around a shadow prest | |
They shrink upon my lonely breast; | |
Yet still ’tis there! In silence stands, | |
And beckons with beseeching hands! | |
1300 | With braided hair, and bright-black eye— |
I knew ’twas false – she could not die! | |
But he is dead! within the dell | |
I saw him buried where he fell; | |
He comes not, for he cannot break | |
1305 | From earth; why then art thou awake? |
They told me wild waves roll’d above | |
The face I view, the form I love; | |
They told me – ’twas a hideous tale! | |
I’d tell it, but my tongue would fail: | |
1310 | If true, and from thine ocean-cave |
Thou com’st to claim a calmer grave, | |
Oh! pass thy dewy fingers o’er | |
This brow that then will burn no more; | |
Or place them on my hopeless heart: | |
1315 | But, shape or shade! whate’er thou art, |
In mercy ne’er again depart! | |
Or farther with thee bear my soul | |
Than winds can waft or waters roll! | |
* * * * * | |
‘Such is my name, and such my tale. | |
1320 | Confessor! to thy secret ear |
I breathe the sorrows I bewail, | |
And thank thee for the generous tear | |
This glazing eye could never shed. | |
Then lay me with the humblest dead, | |
1325 | And, save the cross above my head, |
Be neither name nor emblem spread, | |
By prying stranger to be read, | |
Or stay the passing pilgrim’s tread.’ | |
He pass’d – nor of his name and race | |
1330 | Hath left a token or a trace, |
Save what the father must not say | |
Who shrived him on his dying day: | |
This broken tale was all we knew | |
Of her he loved, or him he slew. |
THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS
A Turkish Tale
‘Had we never loved so kindly,
Had we never loved so blindly,
Never met or never parted,
We had ne’er been broken-hearted.’