But once beguiled – and ever more beguiling; | |
Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision | |
To Sorrow’s phantom-peopled slumber given, | |
When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian, | |
165 | And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven; |
Soft, as the memory of buried love; | |
Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above; | |
Was she – the daughter of that rude old Chief, | |
Who met the maid with tears – but not of grief. | |
170 | Who hath not proved how feebly words essay |
To fix one spark of Beauty’s heavenly ray? | |
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight | |
Faints into dimness with its own delight, | |
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess | |
175 | The might – the majesty of Loveliness? |
Such was Zuleika – such around her shone | |
The nameless charms unmark’d by her alone; | |
The light of love, the purity of grace, | |
The mind, the Music | |
180 | The heart whose softness harmonized the whole – |
And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul! | |
Her graceful arms in meekness bending | |
Across her gently-budding breast; | |
At one kind word those arms extending | |
185 | To clasp the neck of him who blest |
His child caressing and carest | |
Zuleika came – and Giaffir felt | |
His purpose half within him melt: | |
Not that against her fancied weal | |
190 | His heart though stern could ever feel; |
Affection chain’d her to that heart; | |
Ambition tore the links apart. | |
VII | |
‘Zuleika! child of gentleness! | |
How dear this very day must tell, | |
195 | When I forget my own distress, |
In losing what I love so well, | |
To bid thee with another dwell: | |
Another! and a braver man | |
Was never seen in battle’s van. | |
200 | We Moslem reck not much of blood; |
But yet the line of Carasman | |
Unchanged, unchangeable hath stood | |
First of the bold Timariot bands | |
That won and well can keep their lands. | |
205 | Enough that he who comes to woo |
Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou: | |
His years need scarce a thought employ; | |
I would not have thee wed a boy. | |
And thou shalt have a noble dower: | |
210 | And his and my united power |
Will laugh to scorn the death-firman, | |
Which others tremble but to scan, | |
And teach the messenger | |
The bearer of such boon may wait. | |
215 | And now thou know’st thy father’s will; |
All that thy sex hath need to know: | |
‘Twas mine to teach obedience still – | |
The way to love, thy lord may show.’ | |
VIII | |
In silence bow’d the virgin’s head; | |
220 | And if her eye was fill’d with tears |
That stifled feeling dare not shed, | |
And changed her cheek from pale to red, | |
And red to pale, as through her ears | |
Those winged words like arrows sped, | |
225 | What could such be but maiden fears? |
So bright the tear in Beauty’s eye, | |
Love half regrets to kiss it dry; | |
So sweet the blush of Bashfulness, | |
Even Pity scarce can wish it less! | |
230 | What’er it was the sire forgot; |
Or if remember’d, mark’d it not; | |
Thrice clapp’d his hands, and call’d his steed, | |
Resign’d his gem-adorn’d chibouque, | |
And mounting featly for the mead, | |
235 | With Maugrabee |
His way amid his Delis took, | |
To witness many an active deed | |
With sabre keen, or blunt jerreed. | |
The Kislar only and his Moors | |
240 | Watch well the Haram’s massy doors. |
IX | |
His head was leant upon his hand, | |
His eye look’d o’er the dark blue water | |
That swiftly glides and gently swells | |
Between the winding Dardanelles; | |
245 | But yet he saw nor sea nor strand, |
Nor even his Pacha’s turban’d band | |
Mix in the game of mimic slaughter, | |
Careering cleave the folded felt | |
With sabre stroke right sharply dealt; | |
250 | Nor mark’d the javelin-darting crowd, |
Nor heard their Ollahs | |
He thought but of old Giaffir’s daughter! | |
X | |
No word from Selim’s bosom broke; | |
One sigh Zuleika’s thought bespoke: | |
255 | Still gazed he through the lattice grate, |
Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate. | |
To him Zuleika’s eye was turn’d, | |
But little from his aspect learn’d: | |
Equal her grief, yet not the same; | |
260 | Her heart confess’d a gentler flame: |
But yet that heart alarm’d or weak, | |
She knew not why, forbade to speak. | |
Yet speak she must – but when essay? | |
‘How strange he thus should turn away! | |
265 | Not thus we e’er before have met; |
Not thus shall be our parting yet.’ | |
Thrice pac’d she slowly through the room, | |
And watch’d his eye – it still was fix’d: | |
She snatch’d the urn whercin was mix’d | |
270 | The Persian Atar-gul’s |
And sprinkled all its odours o’er | |
The pictured roof | |
The drops, that through his glittering vest | |
The playful girl’s appeal address’d, | |
275 | Unheeded o’er his bosom flew, |
As if that breast were marble too. | |
‘What, sullen yet? it must not be – | |
Oh! gentle Selim, this from thee!’ | |
She saw in curious order set | |
280 | The fairest flowers of eastern land – |
‘He lov’d them once; may touch them yet, | |
If offer’d by Zuleika’s hand.’ | |
The childish thought was hardly breathed | |
Before the Rose was pluck’d and wreathed; | |
285 | The next fond moment saw her seat |
Her fairy form at Selim’s feet: | |
‘This rose to calm my brother’s cares | |
A message from the Bulbul | |
It says to-night he will prolong | |
290 | For Selim’s ear his sweetest song; |
And though his note is somewhat sad, | |
He’ll try for once a strain more glad, | |
With some faint hope his alter’d lay | |
May sing these gloomy thoughts away. | |
XI | |
295 | ‘What! not receive my foolish flower? |
Nay then I am indeed unblest: | |
On me can thus thy forehead lower? | |
And know’st thou not who loves thee best? | |
Oh, Selim dear! oh, more than dearest! | |
300 | Say, is it me thou hat’st or fearest? |
Come, lay thy head upon my breast, | |
And I will kiss thee into rest, | |
Since words of mine, and songs must fail, | |
Ev’n from my fabled nightingale. | |
305 | I knew our sire at times was stern, |
But this from thee had yet to learn: | |
Too well I know he loves thee not; | |
But is Zuleika’s love forgot? | |
Ah! deem I right? the Pacha’s plan – | |
310 | This kinsman Bey of Carasman |
Perhaps may prove some foe of thine. | |
If so, I swear by Mecca’s shrine, | |
If shrines that ne’er approach allow | |
To woman’s step admit her vow, | |
315 | Without thy free consent, command, |
The Sultan should not have my hand! | |
Think’st thou that I could bear to part | |
With thee, and learn to halve my heart? | |
Ah! were I sever’d from thy side, | |
320 | Where were thy friend – and who my guide? |