In mercy there, to hide from mortal sight Like tulip-beds, (29) of different shape and dyes, Bending beneath the invisible West-wind's sighs? What new-made mystery now, for Faith to sign, And blood to seal, as genuine and divine,— O'er Moussa's cheek, (24) when down the Mount he trod, What dazzling mimickry of God's own power All glowing from the presence of his God! On either side, with ready hearts and hands, Ilis chosen guard of bold Believers stands; Young fire-eyed disputants, who deem their swords, On points of faith, more eloquent than words; And such their zeal, there's not a youth with brand Uplifted there, but, at the Chief's command, Would make his own devoted heart its sheath, And bless the lips that doom'd so dear a death! In hatred to the Caliph's hue of night,' (25) Their vesture, helms and all, is snowy white; Their weapons various;-some equipp'd, for speed, With javelins of the light Kathaian reed ; (26) Or bows of buffalo horn, and shining quivers Fill'd with the stems3 that bloom on Iran's rivers; (27) While some, for war's more terrible attacks, Wield the huge mace and ponderous battle-axe; And, as they wave aloft in morning's beam The milk-white plumage of their helms, they seem Like a chenar-tree grove, (28) when Winter throws O'er all its tufted heads his feathering snows. Between the porphyry pillars, that uphold The rich moresque-work of the roof of gold, Aloft the Haram's curtain'd galleries rise, Where, through the silken net-work, glancing eyes, From time to time, like sudden gleams that glow Through autumn clouds, shine o'er the pomp below. What impious tongue, ye blushing saints, would dare To hint that aught but Heaven hath placed you there? Or that the loves of this light world could bind, In their gross chain, your Prophet's soaring mind? No-wrongful thought!-commissioned from above To people Eden's bowers with shapes of love (Creatures so bright, that the same lips and eyes They wear on earth will serve in Paradise), There to recline among Heaven's native maids, And crown the Elect with bliss that never fades!Well hath the Prophet-Chief his bidding done; And every beauteous race beneath the sun, From those who kneel at Brahma's burning founts4 To the fresh nymphs bounding o'er Yemen's mounts; From Persia's eyes of full and fawnlike ray, To the small, half-shut glances of Kathay;5 And Georgia's bloom, and Azab's darker smiles, And the gold ringlets of the Western Isles; All, all are there;-each land its flower hath given, To form that fair young nursery for Heaven! But why this pageant now? this arm'd array? What triumph crowds the rich Divan to-day With turban'd heads, of every hue and race, Bowing before that veil'd and awful face, 1 Moses. Hath the bold Prophet plann'd to grace this hour? The creed and standard of the Heaven-sent Chief. Though few his years, the West already knows Young Azim's fame;-beyond the Olympian snows, Ere manhood darken'd o'er his downy cheek, O'erwhelm'd in fight and captive to the Greek,' He linger'd there till peace dissolved his chains;Oh! who could, even in bondage, tread the plains Of glorious Greece, nor feel his spirit rise Kindling within him? who, with heart and eyes, Could walk where Liberty had been, nor see The shining foot-prints of her Deity, Nor feel those God-like breathings in the air, Which mutely told her spirit had been there? Not he, that youthful warrior,—no, too well For his soul's quiet work'd the awakening spell; And, now returning to his own dear land, Full of those dreams of good that, vainly grand, Haunt the young heart ;-proud views of human-kind, Of men to gods exalted and refined;False views, like that horizon's fair deceit, Where earth and heaven but seem, alas, to meet!Soon as he heard an arm divine was raised To right the nations, and beheld, emblazed On the white flag Mokanna's host unfurl'd, Those words of sunshine, Freedom to the World!» At once his faith, his sword, his soul, obey'd The inspiring summons; every chosen blade, That fought beneath that banner's sacred text, Seem'd doubly edged-for this world and the next; And ne'er did Faith with her smooth bandage bind Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind, In Virtue's cause;-never was soul inspired With livelier trust in what it most desired, Than his, the enthusiast there, who kneeling, pałe With pious awe, before that Silver Veil, Believes the form to which he bends his knee, Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to free This fetter'd world from every bond and stain, And bring its primal glories back again! Low as young Azim knelt, that motley crowd Of all earth's nations sunk the knee and bow'd, With shouts of « Alla!» echoing long and loud; While high in air, above the Prophet's head, Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam spread, * Black was the colour adopted by the Caliphs of the house of Ab- Waved, like the wings of the white birds that fan bas, in their garments, turbans, and standards. 3 Pichula, used anciently for arrows by the Persians. 4 The burning fountains of Brahma, near Chittogong, esteemed as holy.-TURNER. • China. The flying throne of star-taught Soliman! (31) In the war of the Caliph Mahadi against the Empress Irene, for an account of which see GIBBOX, vol. x. Then thus he spoke :—« Stranger, though new the frame « Nor think 't is only the gross Spirits, warm'd To which all Heaven, except the Proud One, knelt:2 In Moussa's frame;—and, thence descending, flow'd In many a maze descending, bright through all, Again, throughout the assembly at these words, Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can wave;— But there was one among the chosen maids Has been like death;-you saw her pale dismay, She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, Ah Zelica! there was a time, when bliss << But these,» pursued the Chief, «< are truths sublime, Yet now he comes-brighter than even he That claim a holier mood and calmer time Than earth allows us now;-this sword must first E'er beam'd before,-but ah! not bright for thee; Once happy pair!-in proud Bokhara's groves, The Amoo, which rises in the Belur Tag, or Dark Mountains, and running nearly from east to west, splits into two bra nches, one of which falls into the Caspian Sea, and the other into Aral Nabr, or the Lake of Eagles. And virgin glance of first affection cast From her fond eyes, summon'd to join the array Of Grecian wild-fire,-and Love's gentle chains Month after month, in widowhood of soul Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll Their suns away-but ah! how cold and dim Even summer suns, when not beheld with him! From time to time ill-omen'd rumours came (Like spirit-tongues, muttering the sick man's name, Just ere he dies); at length, those sounds of dread Fell withering on her soul, Azim is dead!» Oh grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate First leaves the young heart lone and desolate In the wide world, without that only tie For which it loved to live or fear'd to die ;Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken Since the sad day its master-chord was broken! Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, Even reason blighted sunk beneath its touch; And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose Above the first dead pressure of its woes, Though health and bloom return'd, the delicate chain Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again. Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray;A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone All stars of heaven, except the guiding one! Again she smiled, nay, much and brightly smiled, But it was a lustre, strange, unreal, wild; And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 'T was like the notes, half ecstacy, half pain, The bulbul utters, ere her soul depart, When, vanquish'd by some minstrel's powerful art, She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her heart! Such was the mood in which that mission found Which the Veil'd Prophet destined for the skies!- Of some brave youth-ha! durst they say of some?" In her heart's core too deep to be effaced : The one whose memory, fresh as life, is twined With every broken link of her lost mind; Whose image lives, though Reason's self be wreck'd, Safe 'mid the ruins of her intellect! The nightingale. Alas, poor Zelica! it needed all The fantasy, which held thy mind in thrall, With souls like thine, which he hath ruin'd here! Which would have saved thee from the tempter's art, Glares like the maniac's moon, whose light is madness. 'T was from a brilliant banquet, where the sound Of poesy and music breathed around, Together picturing to her mind and ear The glories of that heaven, her destined sphere, Where all was pure, where every stain that lay Upon the spirit's light should pass away, And, realizing more than youthful love E'er wish'd or dream'd, she should for ever rove Through fields of fragrance by her Azim's side, His own bless'd, purified, eternal bride!— 'T was from a scene, a witching trance like this, He hurried her away, yet breathing bliss, To the dim charnel-house; through all its steams Of damp and death, led only by those gleams Which foul Corruption lights, as with design To show the gay and proud she too can shine!And, passing on through upright ranks of dead, Which to the maiden, doubly crazed by dread, Seem'd, through the bluish death-light round them cast, To move their lips in mutterings as she pass'dThere, in the awful place, when each had quaff'd And pledged in silence such a fearful draught, Such-oh! the look and taste of that red bowl Will haunt her till she dies-he bound her soul By a dark oath, in hell's own language framed, Never, while earth his mystic presence claim'd, While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both, Never, by that all-imprecating oath, In joy or sorrow from his side to sever. She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, Never, never!» From that dread hour, entirely, wildly given To him and she believed, lost maid!-to Heaven, Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflamed, How proud she stood, when in full Haram named The Priestess of the Faith!-how flash'd her eyes Had spells enough to make the world his own :- Across the uncalm, but beauteous firmament, Now shadow'd with the shames of earth-now cross'd And such was now young Zelica-so changed From her who, some years since, delighted ranged The almond groves that shade Bokhara's tide, All life and bliss, with Azim by her side! So alter'd was she now, this festal day, When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzling array, The vision of that Youth, whom she had loved, And wept as dead, before her breathed and moved;When-bright, she thought, as if from Eden's track But half-way trodden, he had wander'd back Again to earth, glistening with Eden's lightHer beauteous Azim shone before her sight. Oh Reason! who shall say what spells renew, When least we look for it, thy broken clew! Through what small vistas o'er the darken'd brain Thy intellectual day-beam bursts again; And how, like forts, to which beleaguerers win Unhoped-for entrance through some friend within, One clear idea, waken'd in the breast By Memory's magic, lets in all the rest! Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee! But, though light came, it came but partially; Enough to show the maze in which thy sense Wander'd about, but not to guide it thence; Enough to glimmer o'er the yawning wave, But not to point the harbour which might save. Hours of delight and peace, long left behind, With that dear form came rushing o'er her mind; But oh! to think how deep her soul had gone In shame and falsehood since those moments shone; And then her oath-there madness lay again, And, shuddering, back she sunk into her chain Of mental darkness, as if bless'd to flee From light, whose every glimpse was agony ! Yet, one relief this glance of former years Brought, mingled with its pain,-tears, floods of tears, Long frozen at her heart, but now like rills Let loose in spring-time from the snowy hills, And gushing warm, after a sleep of frost, Through valleys where their flow had long been lost! Sad and subdued, for the first time her frame Trembled with horror, when the summons came (A summons proud and rare, which all but she, And she, till now, had heard with ecstacy), To meet Mokanna at his place of prayer, A garden oratory, cool and fair, By the stream's side, where still at close of day The Prophet of the Veil retired to pray; Sometimes alone-but oftener far, with one, One chosen nymph to share his orison. Of late none found such favour in his sight Of the dire oath that made her all his own, Through flame and smoke, most welcome to the skies- These were the wildering dreams, whose cursed deceit Wan and dejected, through the evening dusk, She now went slowly to that small kiosk, Where, pondering alone his impious schemes, Mokanna waited her-too wrapt in dreams Of the fair-ripening future's rich success, To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, That sat upon his victim's downcast brow, Or mark how slow her step, how alter'd now From the quick ardent Priestess, whose light bound Came like a spirit's o'er th' unechoing ground,— From that wild Zelica, whose every glance Was thrilling fire, whose every thought a trance! Upon his couch the Veil'd Mokanna lay, 1 In holy Koom, or Mecca's dim arcades,— At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which broke your foul race, and without fear or check, Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame, My deep-felt, long-nursed loathing of man's name!- «Ye wise, ye learn'd, who grope your dull way on I know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothingness; By these learn'd slaves, the meanest of the throng; «Ye too, believers of incredible creeds, The cities of Com (or Koom) and Cashan are full of mosques, mausoleums, and sepulchres of the descendants of Ali, the saints of Persia.-CHARDIN. And your state priests, sole venders of the lore So let him-Eblis! grant this crowning curse, « Oh my lost soul!» exclaim'd the shuddering maid, Whose ears had drunk like poison all he said.Mokanna started-not abash'd, afraid, He knew no more of fear than one who dwells But, in those dismal words that reach'd his ear, Ha, my fair Priestess !»-thus with ready wile, Beyond the enthusiast's hope or Prophet's dream! ISTME's Ava, vol. ii, p. 376. |