Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Moore

  Are wilder still — is this the bark,

  The same, that from HARMOZIA’S bay

  Bore her at morn — whose bloody way

  The sea-dog trackt? — no — strange and new

  Is all that meets her wondering view.

  Upon a galliot’s deck she lies,

  Beneath no rich pavilion’s shade, —

  No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes,

  Nor jasmine on her pillow laid.

  But the rude litter roughly spread

  With war-cloaks is her homely bed,

  And shawl and sash on javelins hung

  For awning o’er her head are flung.

  Shuddering she lookt around — there lay

  A group of warriors in the sun,

  Resting their limbs, as for that day

  Their ministry of death were done.

  Some gazing on the drowsy sea

  Lost in unconscious revery;

  And some who seemed but ill to brook

  That sluggish calm with many a look

  To the slack sail impatient cast,

  As loose it bagged around the mast.

  Blest ALLA! who shall save her now?

  There’s not in all that warrior band

  One Arab sword, one turbaned brow

  From her own Faithful Moslem land.

  Their garb — the leathern belt that wraps

  Each yellow vest252 — that rebel hue —

  The Tartar fleece upon their caps253 —

  Yes — yes — her fears are all too true,

  And Heaven hath in this dreadful hour

  Abandoned her to HAFED’S power; —

  HAFED, the Gheber! — at the thought

  Her very heart’s blood chills within;

  He whom her soul was hourly taught

  To loathe as some foul fiend of sin,

  Some minister whom Hell had sent

  To spread its blast where’er he went

  And fling as o’er our earth he trod

  His shadow betwixt man and God!

  And she is now his captive, — thrown

  In his fierce hands, alive, alone;

  His the infuriate band she sees,

  All infidels — all enemies!

  What was the daring hope that then

  Crost her like lightning, as again

  With boldness that despair had lent

  She darted tho’ that armed crowd

  A look so searching, so intent,

  That even the sternest warrior bowed

  Abasht, when he her glances caught,

  As if he guessed whose form they sought.

  But no — she sees him not— ’tis gone,

  The vision that before her shone

  Thro’ all the maze of blood and storm,

  Is fled— ’twas but a phantom form —

  One of those passing, rainbow dreams,

  Half light, half shade, which Fancy’s beams

  Paint on the fleeting mists that roll

  In trance or slumber round the soul.

  But now the bark with livelier bound

  Scales the blue wave — the crew’s in motion.

  The oars are out and with light sound

  Break the bright mirror of the ocean,

  Scattering its brilliant fragments round.

  And now she sees — with horror sees,

  Their course is toward that mountain-hold, —

  Those towers that make her life-blood freeze,

  Where MECCA’S godless enemies

  Lie like beleaguered scorpions rolled

  In their last deadly, venomous fold!

  Amid the illumined land and flood

  Sunless that mighty mountain stood;

  Save where above its awful head,

  There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red,

  As ‘twere the flag of destiny

  Hung out to mark where death would be!

  Had her bewildered mind the power

  Of thought in this terrific hour,

  She well might marvel where or how

  Man’s foot could scale that mountain’s brow,

  Since ne’er had Arab heard or known

  Of path but thro’ the glen alone. —

  But every thought was lost in fear,

  When, as their bounding bark drew near

  The craggy base, she felt the waves

  Hurry them toward those dismal caves

  That from the Deep in windings pass

  Beneath that Mount’s volcanic mass; —

  And loud a voice on deck commands

  To lower the mast and light the brands! —

  Instantly o’er the dashing tide

  Within a cavern’s mouth they glide,

  Gloomy as that eternal Porch

  Thro’ which departed spirits go: —

  Not even the flare of brand and torch

  Its flickering light could further throw

  Than the thick flood that boiled below.

  Silent they floated — as if each

  Sat breathless, and too awed for speech

  In that dark chasm where even sound

  Seemed dark, — so sullenly around

  The goblin echoes of the cave

  Muttered it o’er the long black wave

  As ‘twere some secret of the grave!

  But soft — they pause — the current turns

  Beneath them from its onward track; —

  Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns

  The vexed tide all foaming back,

  And scarce the oar’s redoubled force

  Can stem the eddy’s whirling course;

  When, hark! — some desperate foot has sprung

  Among the rocks — the chain is flung —

  The oars are up — the grapple clings,

  And the tost bark in moorings swings.

  Just then, a day-beam thro’ the shade

  Broke tremulous — but ere the maid

  Can see from whence the brightness steals,

  Upon her brow she shuddering feels

  A viewless hand that promptly ties

  A bandage round her burning eyes;

  While the rude litter where she lies,

  Uplifted by the warrior throng,

  O’er the steep rocks is borne along.

  Blest power of sunshine! — genial Day,

  What balm, what life is in thy ray!

  To feel thee is such real bliss,

  That had the world no joy but this

  To sit in sunshine calm and sweet. —

  It were a world too exquisite

  For man to leave it for the gloom,

  The deep, cold shadow of the tomb.

  Even HINDA, tho’ she saw not where

  Or whither wound the perilous road,

  Yet knew by that awakening air,

  Which suddenly around her glowed,

  That they had risen from the darkness there,

  And breathed the sunny world again!

  But soon this balmy freshness fled —

  For now the steepy labyrinth led

  Thro’ damp and gloom — mid crash of boughs,

  And fall of loosened crags that rouse

  The leopard from his hungry sleep,

  Who starting thinks each crag a prey,

  And long is heard from steep to steep

  Chasing them down their thundering way!

  The jackal’s cry — the distant moan

  Of the hyena, fierce and lone —

  And that eternal saddening sound

  Of torrents in the glen beneath,

  As ‘twere the ever-dark Profound

  That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death!

  All, all is fearful — even to see,

  To gaze on those terrific things

  She now but blindly hears, would be

  Relief to her imaginings;

  Since never yet was shape so dread,

  But Fancy thus in darkness thrown

  And by such sounds of horror fed<
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  Could frame more dreadful of her own.

  But does she dream? has Fear again

  Perplext the workings of her brain,

  Or did a voice, all music, then

  Come from the gloom, low whispering near —

  “Tremble not, love, thy Gheber’s here?”

  She does not dream — all sense, all ear,

  She drinks the words, “Thy Gheber’s here.”

  ’Twas his own voice — she could not err —

  Throughout the breathing world’s extent

  There was but one such voice for her,

  So kind, so soft, so eloquent!

  Oh, sooner shall the rose of May

  Mistake her own sweet nightingale,

  And to some meaner minstrel’s lay

  Open her bosom’s glowing veil,254

  Than Love shall ever doubt a tone,

  A breath of the beloved one!

  Though blest mid all her ills to think

  She has that one beloved near,

  Whose smile tho’ met on ruin’s brink

  Hath power to make even ruin dear, —

  Yet soon this gleam of rapture crost

  By fears for him is chilled and lost.

  How shall the ruthless HAFED brook

  That one of Gheber blood should look,

  With aught but curses in his eye,

  On her — a maid of ARABY —

  A Moslem maid — the child of him,

  Whose bloody banners’ dire success

  Hath left their altars cold and dim,

  And their fair land a wilderness!

  And worse than all that night of blood

  Which comes so fast — Oh! who shall stay

  The sword, that once hath tasted food

  Of Persian hearts or turn its way?

  What arm shall then the victim cover,

  Or from her father shield her lover?

  “Save him, my God!” she inly cries —

  “Save him this night — and if thine eyes

  “Have ever welcomed with delight

  “The sinner’s tears, the sacrifice

  “Of sinners’ hearts — guard him this night,

  “And here before thy throne I swear

  “From my heart’s inmost core to tear

  “Love, hope, remembrance, tho’ they be

  “Linkt with each quivering life-string there,

  “And give it bleeding all to Thee!

  “Let him but live, — the burning tear,

  “The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear,

  “Which have been all too much his own,

  “Shall from this hour be Heaven’s alone.

  “Youth past in penitence and age

  “In long and painful pilgrimage

  “Shall leave no traces of the flame

  “That wastes me now — nor shall his name

  “E’er bless my lips but when I pray

  “For his dear spirit, that away

  “Casting from its angelic ray

  “The eclipse of earth, he too may shine

  “Redeemed, all glorious and all Thine!

  “Think — think what victory to win

  “One radiant soul like his from sin,

  “One wandering star of virtue back

  “To its own native, heavenward track!

  “Let him but live, and both are Thine,

  “Together Thine — for blest or crost,

  “Living or dead, his doom is mine,

  “And if he perish, both are lost!”

  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 Grave257 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 fu
ll 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;