Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Moore

  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 im
passioned 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-horn262 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,