The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 161

The day is lowering--stilly black Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack, Disperst and wild, 'twixt earth and sky Hangs like a shattered canopy.

There's not a cloud in that blue plain But tells of storm to come or past;-- Here flying loosely as the mane Of a young war-horse in the blast;-- There rolled in ma.s.ses dark and swelling, As proud to be the thunder's dwelling!

While some already burst and riven Seen melting down the verge of heaven; As tho' the infant storm had rent The mighty womb that gave him birth, And having swept the firmament Was now in fierce career for earth.

On earth 'twas yet all calm around, A pulseless silence, dread, profound, More awful than the tempest's sound.

The diver steered for ORMUS' bowers, And moored his skiff till calmer hours; The sea-birds with portentous screech Flew fast to land;--upon the beach The pilot oft had paused, with glance Turned upward to that wild expanse;-- And all was boding, drear and dark As her own soul when HINDA'S bark Went slowly from the Persian sh.o.r.e.-- No music timed her parting oar,[244]

Nor friends upon the lessening strand Lingering to wave the unseen hand Or speak the farewell, heard no more;-- But lone, unheeded, from the bay The vessel takes its mournful way, Like some ill-destined bark that steers In silence thro' the Gate of Tears.[245]

And where was stern AL Ha.s.sAN then?

Could not that saintly scourge of men From bloodshed and devotion spare One minute for a farewell there?

No--close within in changeful fits Of cursing and of prayer he sits In savage loneliness to brood Upon the coming night of blood,-- With that keen, second-scent of death, By which the vulture snuffs his food In the still warm and living breath![246]

While o'er the wave his weeping daughter Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter,-- As a young bird of BABYLON,[247]

Let loose to tell of victory won, Flies home, with wing, ah! not unstained By the red hands that held her chained.

And does the long-left home she seeks Light up no gladness on her cheeks?

The flowers she nurst--the well-known groves, Where oft in dreams her spirit roves-- Once more to see her dear gazelles Come bounding with their silver bells; Her birds' new plumage to behold And the gay, gleaming fishes count, She left all filleted with gold Shooting around their jasper fount;[248]

Her little garden mosque to see, And once again, at evening hour, To tell her ruby rosary In her own sweet acacia bower.-- Can these delights that wait her now Call up no sunshine on her brow?

No,--silent, from her train apart,-- As if even now she felt at heart The chill of her approaching doom,-- She sits, all lovely in her gloom As a pale Angel of the Grave; And o'er the wide, tempestuous wave Looks with a shudder to those towers Where in a few short awful hours Blood, blood, in streaming tides shall run, Foul incense for to-morrow's sun!

"Where art thou, glorious stranger! thou, "So loved, so lost, where art thou now?

"Foe--Gheber--infidel--whate'er "The unhallowed name thou'rt doomed to bear, "Still glorious--still to this fond heart "Dear as its blood, whate'er thou art!

"Yes--ALLA, dreadful ALLA! yes-- "If there be wrong, be crime in this, "Let the black waves that round us roll, "Whelm me this instant ere my soul "Forgetting faith--home--father--all "Before its earthly idol fall, "Nor worship even Thyself above him-- "For, oh, so wildly do I love him, "Thy Paradise itself were dim "And joyless, if not shared with him!"

Her hands were claspt--her eyes upturned, Dropping their tears like moonlight rain; And, tho' her lip, fond raver! burned With words of pa.s.sion, bold, profane.

Yet was there light around her brow, A holiness in those dark eyes, Which showed,--tho' wandering earthward now,-- Her spirit's home was in the skies.

Yes--for a spirit pure as hers Is always pure, even while it errs; As sunshine broken in the rill Tho' turned astray is sunshine still!

So wholly had her mind forgot All thoughts but one she heeded not The rising storm--the wave that cast A moment's midnight as it past-- Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread Of gathering tumult o'er her head-- Clasht swords and tongues that seemed to vie With the rude riot of the sky.-- But, hark!--that war-whoop on the deck-- That crash as if each engine there, Mast, sails and all, were gone to wreck, Mid yells and stampings of despair!

Merciful Heaven! what _can_ it be?

'Tis not the storm, tho' fearfully The ship has shuddered as she rode O'er mountain-waves--"Forgive me, G.o.d!

"Forgive me"--shrieked the maid and knelt, Trembling all over--for she felt As if her judgment hour was near; While crouching round half dead with fear, Her handmaids clung, nor breathed nor stirred-- When, hark!--a second crash--a third-- And now as if a bolt of thunder Had riven the laboring planks asunder, The deck falls in--what horrors then!

Blood, waves and tackle, swords and men Come mixt together thro' the chasm,-- Some wretches in their dying spasm Still fighting on--and some that call "For G.o.d and IRAN!" as they fall!

Whose was the hand that turned away The perils of the infuriate fray, And s.n.a.t.c.ht her breathless from beneath This wilderment of wreck and death?

She knew not--for a faintness came Chill o'er her and her sinking frame Amid the ruins of that hour Lay like a pale and scorched flower Beneath the red volcano's shower.

But, oh! the sights and sounds of dread That shockt her ere her senses fled!

The yawning deck--the crowd that strove Upon the tottering planks above-- The sail whose fragments, shivering o'er The stragglers' heads all dasht with gore Fluttered like b.l.o.o.d.y flags--the clash Of sabres and the lightning's flash Upon their blades, high tost about Like meteor brands[249]--as if throughout The elements one fury ran, One general rage that left a doubt Which was the fiercer, Heaven or Man!

Once too--but no--it could not be-- 'Twas fancy all--yet once she thought, While yet her fading eyes could see High on the ruined deck she caught A glimpse of that unearthly form, That glory of her soul,--even then, Amid the whirl of wreck and storm, Shining above his fellow-men, As on some black and troublous night The Star of EGYPT,[250] whose proud light Never hath beamed on those who rest In the White Islands of the West, Burns thro' the storm with looks of flame That put Heaven's cloudier eyes to shame.

But no--'twas but the minute's dream-- A fantasy--and ere the scream Had half-way past her pallid lips, A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse Of soul and sense its darkness spread Around her and she sunk as dead.

How calm, how beautiful comes on The stilly hour when storms are gone, When warring winds have died away, And clouds beneath the glancing ray Melt off and leave the land and sea Sleeping in bright tranquillity,-- Fresh as if Day again were born, Again upon the lap of Morn!-- When the light blossoms rudely torn And scattered at the whirlwind's will, Hang floating in the pure air still, Filling it all with precious balm, In grat.i.tude for this sweet calm;-- And every drop the thundershowers Have left upon the gra.s.s and flowers Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem[251]

Whose liquid flame is born of them!

When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze, There blow a thousand gentle airs And each a different perfume bears,-- As if the loveliest plants and trees Had va.s.sal breezes of their own To watch and wait on them alone, And waft no other breath than theirs: When the blue waters rise and fall, In sleepy sunshine mantling all; And even that swell the tempest leaves Is like the full and silent heaves Of lovers' hearts when newly blest, Too newly to be quite at rest.

Such was the golden hour that broke Upon the world when HINDA woke From her long trance and heard around No motion but the water's sound Rippling against the vessel's side, As slow it mounted o'er the tide.-- But where is she?--her eyes are dark, Are wilder still--is this the bark, The same, that from HARMOZIA'S bay Bore her at morn--whose b.l.o.o.d.y 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 vest[252]--that rebel hue-- The Tartar fleece upon their caps[253]-- 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 h.e.l.l had sent To spread its blast where'er he went And fling as o'er our earth he trod His shadow betwixt man and G.o.d!

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 pa.s.sing, 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 G.o.dless 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 pa.s.s Beneath that Mount's volcanic ma.s.s;-- 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 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 G.o.d!" 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 sh.o.r.es 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]