CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH OCCURS MR. PARNASSUS' BALLAD--THE CHIEFTAIN'S DESTINY.
"Wretched weather, eh?" remarked Mr. Oldstone. "We shall have to callfor lights soon. Here, Cyanite, a game of chess, what do you say? Astory from whom ever loses."
"Thank you," replied the Professor, "but I have a letter to write whichis of some importance."
"Come now, Crucible, have at _you_," quoth Oldstone.
"I have not played for years," replied Crucible, "and as I have no storywherewith to pay the penalty and am consequently out of practice andsure to lose and----"
"What do you say, Blackdeed?" asked Oldstone.
"Well, to say the truth," answered the chemist, "I find myself much inthe same position as my friend Mr. Crucible, for were I to lose, anevent which amounts to a dead certainty, I am perfectly sure I shouldnot be able to pay the forfeit, even if I were to be imprisoned forit."
"Perhaps you'll oblige me, Hardcase," said the antiquary.
"Another time, thank you, Oldstone," replied the lawyer; "but the factis that I've promised Bleedem a game of cards."
"Well really, gentlemen, I don't know what has come over you all," saidMr. Oldstone. "Perhaps Mr. Parnassus will oblige me, as nobody elsewill."
"Well, I never piqued myself upon being much of a chess-player," repliedParnassus, "but as the other gentlemen have refused, and I have nothingparticular to do, I don't mind doing you a favour, and if I lose anddon't happen to recollect a story, well I must owe it you."
"Agreed," said Oldstone. "Draw your chair to the table and set theboard."
The game began. Hardcase and Bleedem also had taken their seats andcommenced theirs. Professor Cyanite retired to write his letter, whilstMessrs. Blackdeed and Crucible drew their chairs up to the fire andtalked politics.
A stillness reigned through the club as the last-mentioned gentlemenconversed together in a low tone and the rest remained absorbed in theirseveral occupations. Suddenly, in the midst of this unusual silence, thetriumphant voice of Mr. Oldstone was heard to cry out the magic word,"check-mate."
"Now then, Parnassus, my boy," said he, rubbing his hands, "a story, youknow; there's no getting out of it. Give us a little ode or ballad likethat you gave us once before, on the night of our grand saturnalia."
"When I can think of one and a propitious moment presents itself, I amat your service, but these gentlemen, you see, are otherwise occupied;besides, here comes Helen to lay the cloth for supper."
"Well, Helen," cried Mr. Oldstone, "and what has become of yourenamoured portrait painter?"
"Mr. McGuilp?" inquired Helen, blushing deeply. "Is he not here? I lefthim some time ago cleaning his palette and brushes."
"Ah! here he comes at last," exclaimed Crucible, halting in the middleof his politics. "Lucky dog! to be able to have so much beauty all tohimself."
"Well, if he _has_ had Helen to himself all this time, we've had a storyduring his absence," said the antiquary.
"Ah, but so have we," said McGuilp. "Haven't we Helen?"
"Yes, we have indeed, and a long one," replied Helen.
"The deuce you have," said Crucible. "Upon my word, Mr. McGuilp, I thinkthat's hardly fair; first robbing us of our lady and then telling her astory all to yourself, from which we are debarred."
"Come now," retorted McGuilp, "are we not quits? Have you alreadyforgotten my story of the 'Scharfrichter,' with which I purchased asitting from Helen? If Helen and I have had a story together from whichyou have been shut out, at least you have had one that we have notenjoyed."
"Yes, Crucible, I think it is all fair," said Oldstone, backing up hisyoung friend.
The cloth now being laid, the members drew their chairs to the table,and the supper went off amidst laughter and jovial conversation. Thebottle went round a few times at the last before the cloth was finallycleared, when each drew round the fire, which was now blazing fiercely,our host having just put on a fresh log, and each lighting his pipe,waited, according to custom, for someone to broach a new story.
"Now, Parnassus, my boy," said Oldstone, "we are quite ready for yourstory. What is it to be?"
"Well then, gentlemen, since I must pay my forfeit, I will, according toa wish expressed by Mr. Oldstone, sing you a little ballad of my owncomposing."
"Yes, yes; hear, hear! A song, a song! Make ready for a song."
The members re-settled themselves on their chairs, and pronouncedthemselves "all attention," while the young poet, throwing himself backcarelessly in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, began in aclear rich voice, the following ditty.
THE CHIEFTAIN'S DESTINY.
CANTO THE FIRST.
A skiff is seen upon the main, The purple wave of Oman's sea; Her prow doth long to kiss again The perfumed shores of Araby. A gentle Zephyr fills the sail. But, ah, too soft, too mild the gale For one on board, who, mounted high, Scans the far shore with eagle eye.
'Tis Selim's bark that, long away, Hath wandered on the salt sea foam, And brings him after many a day Back to this land, though not his home. What in the distance glads his eye? A sight none other can descry-- The kerchief he his mistress gave Now from her casement high doth wave.
The signal yet is but a speck, The cloud has vanished from his brow; Yet chafing still, he walks the deck Impatiently from helm to prow, As if his eagerness could urge His vessel faster through the surge. But as the craft now nigher drew, The signal note his swarthy crew.
Now gaily speeds the gallant bark, Soon within grasp of land once more; The sun has set, yet 'tis not dark. Each swarthy sailor leaps ashore, Yet almost ere they can alight Their captain scales a dizzy height, And in the moonlight hand in hand Two lovers at the casement stand.
"Oh, Selim! why this long delay?" A soft voice whispers 'neath the moon. "I've wept for thee full many a day, Watching the sea from morn till noon, In hope-- But hist! there're footsteps nigh; The Caliph keeps a watchful eye. The moon is up, thou must be gone-- One kiss. Farewell. We meet at dawn."
Zuleika to her bower turned-- Her jasmine bower's perfumed shade; A fever in her bosom burned. That night upon her couch being laid, The nightingale that woos the rose Breaks not so much on her repose As the loud beating of her heart With feelings she will ne'er impart
To mortal man, save him alone Who wooed and won her from her sire. Her love in secret long hath grown, And much she fears her parents' ire; She knows her father sets his face Against her lover's impious race, But still, her troth is plighted now. "Or him or Death," thus ran her vow.
CANTO THE SECOND.
Zuleika's beauty from her birth Had been such as might well entice The saints above to visit Earth From Mahommed's gay Paradise; Her raven tresses shamed the night, Her step so proud and yet so light, 'Twould seem as though she trod the air, Like Peri; nor was she less less fair.
An eye that mocked the wild gazelle, A voice, although untrained by art, Sweet as a strain of Israfel, The strings of whose melodious heart A lyre are, with tones so sweet That angels listen at his feet, And the stars sink to the ground When those living chords resound.
That cheek that paled the rose in hue Grows pallid, and her bosom heaves; Those lips, like rosebuds in the dew Enclosing pearls within their leaves, Are trembling, and her fairy form, Like lily bending to the storm, Quivers as an aspen grove, With sore misgivings of her love.
The Caliph was a man of might; Zuleika was his only child, He scarce could bear her from his sight, Nor was he of a temper mild; And woe to him, the caitiff Giaour Who fell in dread El Amin's power. Zuleika sighs, what fears appal Her soul, lest this should him befall.
The maiden slumbered scarce that night, Or she slumbered but to dream, Such dreams as bravest souls affright; Then waking with a start or scream,
She soon forsook her fitful sleep, O'er Selim's likely fate to weep, Till the morning star's dim ray Now heralds the approach of day.
The morning shed a ghastly light, Appearing to Zuleika's eye Full ominous. The clouds in sight Like streaks of blood across the sky, While gazing on the distance drear, Hark! what footsteps greet her ear? She spies afar at fullest speed Her lover on his Arab steed.
CANTO THE THIRD.
One bound, and he is by her side; She greets him with a sorrowing eye. "What ails thee now, my love, my bride, And wherefore dost thou deeply sigh? There is a shade upon thy brow That I have never seen till now. Shake off these moods, dispel all fear. Is't not enough that I am here?"
Zuleika heaved a heavy sigh. "Oh, Selim, if thou still art mine, Take me, and this instant fly Unto thy home across the brine; For if there's danger hovering nigh With thee, and not alone, I'd die. Set off at once, nor more delay; See how yon orb leads on the day."
"Nay, loved one, but I have a vow. Seest thou yon peak where clouds do lower; That mountain doth contain, I trow, A talisman of mighty power Within its heart, and I have sworn To seize it ere to-morrow's dawn. When at thy feet the gem I lay, Then, but not erst, our wedding day.
"This is the vow I must fulfil, And ere we fly across the main The talisman, come good or ill, Is thine. I've sworn it thee to gain. It gives eternal life and youth, Annulling time's remorseless tooth. The mountain opens once a day; 'Tis guarded by a Genii grey."
"Thou shalt not run this risk for me," Zuleika cried. But Selim's brow Grew darker. "Never maid," quoth he, "Shall counsel me to break my vow. Know'st thou not a warrior's word Is sacred ever as his sword? An thou wouldst be a chieftain's bride, Cease me for my vow to chide."
Then round his neck her arms she flings. "Oh, Selim, hear me once and stay. Azrael flaps his dusky wings, Al Hassan smiles and points the way." These words in boding tones she saith-- "Thou ridest on to certain death. Last night I dreamed, my chieftain free, That Eblis ope'd its jaws for thee."
Then with a smile he sought to lure Her fancies from their dark abode. "Thy maiden fears to but conjure These phantoms that the mind corrode." Then added, whilst his brows he bent, "Unworthy were I my descent, Could I be scared from this my theme By warning through a word or dream.
"With thee I through the world would rove; But ere I seek to make thee mine, I'd prove me worthy of thy love, For I am of a Gheber line. The chieftain of a race whose breath Flows freer in the face of Death; No coward fear can e'er entwine Its coils around a heart like mine.
"Think'st thou a warrior bred in strife And nurtured at the breast of woe Could bide a tame voluptuous life, Or stand in dread of mortal foe? I tell thee, girl, I live to brave The hairbreadth chances of the grave; Full weary were my life to me, Were danger not a luxury.
"I carve my fate with my right arm, My life I dedicate to thee, I'll guard thee 'gainst the world from harm, And hold thee like a warrior free, Though Eblis' self should seek to wrest Thee from this true and loving breast. The sun is high; cease to repine. Farewell. The charm ere eve is thine."
CANTO THE FOURTH.
He on the pommel lays his hand, And lightly leaps into his seat; His steed impatiently the sand Is pawing with his eager feet. Now forward, and away! away! Fast onward speeds that charger gay; Fleet as the wind is Selim's flight To reach the goal ere fall of night.
His charger's mettle's at the test, For until the setting sun Gilds yonder slope he must not rest; His and his master's will are one. The journey will brook no delay To stop for water on the way, So onward fly at fullest speed The rider and his barb Djerid.
Still onward flies the goaded steed; Full half the day is sped and gone. In foam and sweat the bold Djerid Still towards the mountain's base rides on. Now with a crash the mountain's side Is rent in twain. A cavern wide Displays to view a jewelled hall; 'Tis guarded by a Genii tall.
Arrived now at the mountain's base, One hour ere the set of sun, The cavern yawns before his face, And soon the charger's course is run. A voice of thunder from the cave, That shakes the mountain, utters, "Slave, Forbear this sacred soil to tread, Thy death be else on thine own head."
But Selim draws from out his vest A bough, plucked from some distant shore-- A magic bough, compelling rest On those whom he should wave it o'er. He waves it, and the Genii sleeps; No guardian now the threshold keeps. He enters; views the jewel bright Suspended from the cavern's height,
One wrench, 'tis his, that jewel bright; That talisman, that oft of yore Sages have searched for day and night, And burned their midnight oil for. Caressing now his brave Djerid, Still mounted, yet spurs on his steed. Now, as the sun sinks 'neath the main, The cavern closes once again.
But now the clouds eclipse the sky, The air grows sultry, and the wind Is lulled, yet on Djerid doth fly; The mountain is left far behind. "Zuleika! Oh, my love, my bride. Who now shall tear thee from my side? If not to-night, to-morrow's morn Shall see this gem thy brow adorn."
The lowering sky grew black as night, And vivid flashes rent the air, No human dwelling lay in sight-- For miles and miles the plain seemed bare. An awful stillness reigned around, A horse's hoofs made all the sound, And even Selim 'gan to fear Some unknown danger hovering near.
And still more sultry grew the air, And peal on peal of thunder rolled, No wild beast ventured from his lair; Yet onward sped that courser bold-- O'er crags, through marshes, bush or briar, He trampling tore with feet of fire, When sudden, without shriek or yell, The horse was struck, the rider fell.
CANTO THE FIFTH.
A lightning flash hath cleft a rock, And formed a chasm in the stone. Within the cleft, with mighty shock, Selim from off his steed is thrown. His limbs are jambed between its walls; In vain for aid he loudly calls. No earthly power now can save The victim from his living grave.
In vain he puts forth all his strength To free him from the horrid cleft; Those limbs so free are bound at length, For of all power he's bereft. Eternal life is in his hand To live on thus dread Fate's command, His doom is sealed, he cannot die, But lingers through eternity.
Zuleika waits the coming morn With heaving breast and watchful eye. She scans the plain at early dawn But nought of her lover can descry. No tidings through the livelong day No footsteps tread that haunted way; Day after day, yet no return; His fate she now herself will learn.
Then mounting at the break of day Her milk-white palfrey, leaves her home Behind her, and away! away! Upon her lover's tracks to roam. The noontide sun's fierce glowing ray Checks not her palfrey's onward way; She goads him on, nor slacks his speed Till pants for thirst her jaded steed.
No water near his thirst to slake Beneath that glowing sultry sky. Her maiden fears now 'gin to wake, as were some threatening danger nigh. Her palfrey rears and ere a groan Escapes her, a stout arm is thrown Around her. As she calls aloud The Genii stands half-fiend, half-cloud.
Then whisking her high up in air, The fiend in voice of thunder cried, "Behold thy lover in his lair; Thou'st torn for ever from his side. Nought can avert his destiny, For ever through eternity Within yon cleft he must abide. I claim thee now to be my bride."
"Oh, Allah!" cried she, "hear my prayer: Help me this Genii to defy. If Selim's bride I may be ne'er, Take back my soul and let me die!" Her prayer is heard; her gentle soul Now wanders towards a higher goal, And in those realms of endless light The angels greet a sister sprite.
Then Selim, gazing high in air, Beholds his loved one, hears her pray. He cries aloud in wild despair, The Genii clasps a thing of clay; Relaxing then his giant force, To Earth he hurls her lily corse. Now lie for ever side by side Th' undying chief and his dead bride.
Zuleika's palfrey wanders home, Alas! without its gentle freight. El Amin hath set out to roam For tidings of his daughter's fate. Ne'er more to see her was his lot; The Genii guards that haunted spot, And close where his Zuleika lay, The chieftain lingers to this day.
* * * * *
Scarce had the last word of the song died in the echo, than unboundedapplause once more shook the old panelled walls of the "Headless Lady."After which Mr. Oldstone, rising and seizing the young poet by the hand,poured forth so warm an eulogium on his poetical talent as to make thatyoung gentleman blush up to the roots of his hair.
The laurel crown was even hinted at again. This, however, Mr. Parnassusmodestly but firmly refused, saying that he could not sit crowned in themidst of such a talented assembly merely because his weak endeavours toentertain the company were given out in rhyme instead of in prose;besides which, he added, that he had merely paid the forfeit agreed uponfor losing at chess, and that he was entitled to no thanks or marks ofhonour for merely discharging his debt.
The laurel tree outside was therefore suffered to continue its growthuntil some future occasion, and after various comments on our friendParnassus' poem, and much pleasant conversation, the company broke upfor the night, and each lighting his candle, retired to his ownchamber.
Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume II Page 5