Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works
Page 82
Upon the wandering Arab’s arm
To keep him from the Siltim’s297 harm.
And she had pledged her powerful art, —
Pledged it with all the zeal and heart
Of one who knew tho’ high her sphere,
What ’twas to lose a love so dear, —
To find some spell that should recall
Her Selim’s298 smile to NOURMAHAL!
’Twas midnight — thro’ the lattice wreathed
With woodbine many a perfume breathed
From plants that wake when others sleep.
From timid jasmine buds that keep
Their odor to themselves all day
But when the sunlight dies away
Let the delicious secret out
To every breeze that roams about; —
When thus NAMOUNA:—”’Tis the hour
“That scatters spells on herb and flower,
“And garlands might be gathered now,
“That twined around the sleeper’s brow
“Would make him dream of such delights,
“Such miracles and dazzling sights
“As Genii of the Sun behold
“At evening from their tents of gold
“Upon the horizon — where they play
“Till twilight comes and ray by ray
“Their sunny mansions melt away.
“Now too a chaplet might be wreathed
“Of buds o’er which the moon has breathed,
“Which worn by her whose love has strayed
“Might bring some Peri from the skies,
“Some sprite, whose very soul is made
“Of flowerets’ breaths and lovers’ sighs,
“And who might tell” —
“For me, for me,”
Cried NOURMAHAL impatiently, —
“Oh! twine that wreath for me to-night.”
Then rapidly with foot as light
As the young musk-roe’s out she flew
To cull each shining leaf that grew
Beneath the moonlight’s hallowing beams
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams.
Anemones and Seas of Gold,299
And new-blown lilies of the river,
And those sweet flowerets that unfold
Their buds on CAMADEVA’S quiver;300 —
The tuberose, with her silvery light,
That in the Gardens of Malay
Is called the Mistress of the Night,301
So like a bride, scented and bright,
She comes out when the sun’s away: —
Amaranths such as crown the maids
That wander thro’ ZAMARA’S shades;302 —
And the white moon-flower as it shows,
On SERENDIB’S high crags to those
Who near the isle at evening sail,
Scenting her clove-trees in the gale;
In short all flowerets and all plants,
From the divine Amrita tree303
That blesses heaven’s habitants
With fruits of immortality,
Down to the basil tuft304 that waves
Its fragrant blossom over graves,
And to the humble rosemary
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed
To scent the desert305and the dead: —
All in that garden bloom and all
Are gathered by young NOURMAHAL,
Who heaps her baskets with the flowers
And leaves till they can hold no more;
Then to NAMOUNA flies and showers
Upon her lap the shining store.
With what delight the Enchantress views
So many buds bathed with the dews
And beams of that blest hour! — her glance
Spoke something past all mortal pleasures,
As in a kind of holy trance
She hung above those fragrant treasures,
Bending to drink their balmy airs,
As if she mixt her soul with theirs.
And ’twas indeed the perfume shed
From flowers and scented flame that fed
Her charmed life — for none had e’er
Beheld her taste of mortal fare,
Nor ever in aught earthly dip,
But the morn’s dew, her roseate lip.
Filled with the cool, inspiring smell,
The Enchantress now begins her spell,
Thus singing as she winds and weaves
In mystic form the glittering leaves: —
I know where the winged visions dwell
That around the night-bed play;
I know each herb and floweret’s bell,
Where they hide their wings by day.
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
The image of love that nightly flies
To visit the bashful maid,
Steals from the jasmine flower that sighs
Its soul like her in the shade.
The dream of a future, happier hour
That alights on misery’s brow,
Springs out of the silvery almond-flower
That blooms on a leafless bough.306
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
The visions that oft to worldly eyes
The glitter of mines unfold
Inhabit the mountain-herb307 that dyes
The tooth of the fawn like gold.
The phantom shapes — oh touch not them —
That appal the murderer’s sight,
Lurk in the fleshly mandrake’s stem,
That shrieks when pluckt at night!
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
The dream of the injured, patient mind
That smiles at the wrongs of men
Is found in the bruised and wounded rind
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then.
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
No sooner was the flowery crown
Placed on her head than sleep came down,
Gently as nights of summer fall,
Upon the lids of NOURMAHAL; —
And suddenly a tuneful breeze
As full of small, rich harmonies
As ever wind that o’er the tents
Of AZAB308 blew was full of scents,
Steals on her ear and floats and swells
Like the first air of morning creeping
Into those wreathy, Red-Sea shells
Where Love himself of old lay sleeping;309
And now a Spirit formed, ’twould seem,
Of music and of light, — so fair,
So brilliantly his features beam,
And such a sound is in the air
Of sweetness when he waves his wings, —
Hovers around her and thus sings:
From CHINDARA’S310 warbling fount I come,
Called by that moonlight garland’s spell;
From CHINDARA’S fount, my fairy home,
Wherein music, morn and night, I dwell.
Where lutes in the air are heard about
And voices are singing the whole day long,
And every sigh the heart breathes out
Is turned, as it leaves the lips, to song!
Hither I come
From my fairy home,
And if there’s a magic in Music’s strain
I swear by the breath
Of that moonlight wreath
Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again.
For mine is the lay that lightly floats
And mine are the murmuring, dying notes
That fall as soft as snow on the sea
And melt in the heart as instantly: —
And the passionate strain that, deeply going,
Refines the bosom it trembles thro’
As the musk-wind over the water blowing
Ruffles the wave but sweetens it too.
Mine is the charm whose mystic sway
The Spirits of past Delight obey; —
Let but the tuneful talisman sound,
And they come like Genii hovering round.
And mine is the gentle song that bears
From soul to soul the wishes of love,
As a bird that wafts thro’ genial airs
The cinnamon-seed from grove to grove.311
’Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure
The past, the present and future of pleasure;
When Memory links the tone that is gone
With the blissful tone that’s still in the ear;
And Hope from a heavenly note flies on
To a note more heavenly still that is near.
The warrior’s heart when touched by me,
Can as downy soft and as yielding be
As his own white plume that high amid death
Thro’ the field has shone — yet moves with a breath!
And oh, how the eyes of Beauty glisten.
When Music has reached her inward soul,
Like the silent stars that wink and listen
While Heaven’s eternal melodies roll.
So hither I come
From my fairy home,
And if there’s a magic in Music’s strain,
I swear by the breath
Of that moonlight wreath
Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again.
’Tis dawn — at least that earlier dawn
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn,312
As if the morn had waked, and then
Shut close her lids of light again.
And NOURMAHAL is up and trying
The wonders of her lute whose strings —
Oh, bliss! — now murmur like the sighing
From that ambrosial Spirit’s wings.
And then her voice— ’tis more than human —
Never till now had it been given
To lips of any mortal woman
To utter notes so fresh from heaven;
Sweet as the breath of angel sighs
When angel sighs are most divine. —
“Oh! let it last till night,” she cries,
“And he is more than ever mine.”
And hourly she renews the lay,
So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness
Should ere the evening fade away, —
For things so heavenly have such fleetness!
But far from fading it but grows
Richer, diviner as it flows;
Till rapt she dwells on every string
And pours again each sound along,
Like echo, lost and languishing,
In love with her own wondrous song.
That evening, (trusting that his soul
Might be from haunting love released
By mirth, by music and the bowl,)
The Imperial SELIM held a feast
In his magnificent Shalimar:313 —
In whose Saloons, when the first star
Of evening o’er the waters trembled,
The Valley’s loveliest all assembled;
All the bright creatures that like dreams
Glide thro’ its foliage and drink beams
Of beauty from its founts and streams;314
And all those wandering minstrel-maids,
Who leave — how can they leave? — the shades
Of that dear Valley and are found
Singing in gardens of the South315
Those songs that ne’er so sweetly sound
As from a young Cashmerian’s mouth.
There too the Haram’s inmates smile; —
Maids from the West, with sun-bright hair,
And from the Garden of the NILE,
Delicate as the roses there;316 —
Daughters of Love from CYPRUS rocks,
With Paphian diamonds in their locks;317 —
Light PERI forms such as there are
On the gold Meads of CANDAHAR;318
And they before whose sleepy eyes
In their own bright Kathaian bowers
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies
That they might fancy the rich flowers
That round them in the sun lay sighing
Had been by magic all set flying.319
Every thing young, every thing fair
From East and West is blushing there,
Except — except — oh, NOURMAHAL!
Thou loveliest, dearest of them all,
The one whose smile shone out alone,
Amidst a world the only one;
Whose light among so many lights
Was like that star on starry nights,
The seaman singles from the sky,
To steer his bark for ever by!
Thou wert not there — so SELIM thought,
And every thing seemed drear without thee;
But, ah! thou wert, thou wert, — and brought
Thy charm of song all fresh about thee,
Mingling unnoticed with a band
Of lutanists from many a land,
And veiled by such a mask as shades
The features of young Arab maids,320 —
A mask that leaves but one eye free,
To do its best in witchery, —
She roved with beating heart around
And waited trembling for the minute
When she might try if still the sound
Of her loved lute had magic in it.
The board was spread with fruits and wine,
With grapes of gold, like those that shine
On CASBIN hills;321 — pomegranates full
Of melting sweetness, and the pears,
And sunniest apples322 that CAUBUL
In all its thousand gardens323 bears; —
Plantains, the golden and the green,
MALAYA’S nectared mangusteen;324
Prunes of BOCKHARA, and sweet nuts
From the far groves of SAMARCAND,
And BASRA dates, and apricots,
Seed of the Sun,325 from IRAN’S land; —
With rich conserve of Visna cherries,326
Of orange flowers, and of those berries
That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles
Feed on in ERAC’s rocky dells.327
All these in richest vases smile,
In baskets of pure santal-wood,
And urns of porcelain from that isle328
Sunk underneath the Indian flood,
Whence oft the lucky diver brings
Vases to grace the halls of kings.
Wines too of every clime and hue
Around their liquid lustre threw;
Amber Rosolli,329 — the bright dew
From vineyards of the Green-Sea gushing;330
And SHIRAZ wine that richly ran
As if that jewel large and rare,
The ruby for which KUBLAI-KHAN
Offered a city’s wealth,331 was blushing
Melted within the goblets there!
And amply SELIM quaffs of each,
And seems resolved the flood shall reach
His inward heart, — shedding around
A genial deluge, as they run,
That soon shall leave no spot undrowned
For Love to rest his wings upon.
He little knew how well the boy
Can float upon a goblet’s streams,
Lighting them with his smile of joy; —
As bards have seen him in their dreams,
Down the blue GANGES laughing glide
Upon a rosy lotus wreath,332
Catching new lustre from the tide
That with his image shone beneath.
But what are cups without the aid
Of song to speed them as they flow?
And see — a lovely Georgian mai
d
With all the bloom, the freshened glow
Of her own country maidens’ looks,
When warm they rise from Teflis’ brooks;333
And with an eye whose restless ray
Full, floating, dark — oh, he, who knows
His heart is weak, of Heaven should pray
To guard him from such eyes as those! —
With a voluptuous wildness flings
Her snowy hand across the strings
Of a syrinda334 and thus sings: —
Come hither, come hither — by night and by day,
We linger in pleasures that never are gone;
Like the waves of the summer as one dies away
Another as sweet and as shining comes on.
And the love that is o’er, in expiring gives birth
To a new one as warm, as unequalled in bliss;
And, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.335
Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh
As the flower of the Amra just oped by a bee;336
And precious their tears as that rain from the sky,337
Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea.
Oh! think what the kiss and the smile must be worth
When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss,
And own if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.
Here sparkles the nectar that hallowed by love
Could draw down those angels of old from their sphere,
Who for wine of this earth338 left the fountains above,
And forgot heaven’s stars for the eyes we have here.
And, blest with the odor our goblet gives forth,
What Spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss?
For, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.
The Georgian’s song was scarcely mute,
When the same measure, sound for sound,
Was caught up by another lute
And so divinely breathed around
That all stood husht and wondering,
And turned and lookt into the air,
As if they thought to see the wing
Of ISRAFIL339 the Angel there; —
So powerfully on every soul
That new, enchanted measure stole.
While now a voice sweet as the note
Of the charmed lute was heard to float
Along its chords and so entwine
Its sounds with theirs that none knew whether
The voice or lute was most divine,
So wondrously they went together: —
There’s a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told,
When two that are linkt in one heavenly tie,
With heart never changing and brow never cold,
Love on thro’ all ills and love on till they die!
One hour of a passion so sacred is worth
Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss;
And, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.