Zophiel Part 3

"They clung to an old palm and watched; nor breath Nor word dared utter; while the refluent flood Left on each countenance the hue of death, Ope'd lip and far strained eye spoke worse than death endured.

XVIII.

"But, down the flood, the dauntless boy appeared,-- Now rising--plunging--in the eddy whirled-- Mastering his course--but now a rock he neared-- And closing o'er his head, the deep, dark waters curled.

"Then Hope groaned forth her last; and drear despair Spoke in a shriek; but ere its echo wild Had ceased to thrill; restored to light and air-- He climbs, he gains the rock, and holds alive the child.

XIX.

"Now mark what chanced--that infant was the son E'vn of the king of Nineveh: and placed Before him was the youth who so had won From death the royal heir. A captive graced

"All o'er with Nature's gifts he sparkled--brave And panting for renown--blushing and praised The stripling stood; and closely prest, would crave Alone a place mid warlike men; and raised

"To his full wish, the kingly presence left, Buoyant and bright with hope; dreaming of nought While revelled his full soul in visions deft, But blessings from his sire and pleasures of a court.

XX.

"But when his mother heard, she wept; and said If he our only child be far away Or slain in war; how shall our years be stayed?

Friendless and old, where is the hand to lay

"Our white hairs in the earth?--So when her fears He saw would not be calmed, he did not part, But lived in low estate, to dry her tears, And crushed the full-grown-hopes, exulting at his heart."

XXI.

"The old man ceased; ere I could speak, his face Grew more than mortail fair: a mellow light Mantling around him fill'd the shady place And while I wondering stood; he vanished from my sight.

XXII.

"This I had told,--but shame withheld--and fear Thou'dst deem some spirit guilded me--disapprove-- Perchance forbid my customed wanderings here; But whencesoe'er the vision, I have strove

"Still vainly to forget--I've heard the mourn Kindred afar, and captive--oh! my mother-- Should he--my heaven announced--exist, return-- And meet me drear--lost--wedded to another"--

Then thus Sephora, "In the city where Our kindred distant dwelt--blood has been shed-- Dreamer, had such heroic boy been there, Belike he's numbered with the silent dead.

"Or doth he live he knows not--would not know (Thralled--dead, to thee--in fair a.s.syrian arms.) Who pines for him afar in fruitless woe A phantom's bride--wasting love, life and charms.

XXIII.

"'Tis as a vine of Galilee should say, Culturer, I reck not thy support, I sigh For a young palm tree, of Euphrates; nay-- Or let me him entwine or in my blossom die.

"Thy heart is set on joys it may not prove, And, panting ingrate, scorns the blessings given?-- Hoping from dust formed man, a seraph's love And days on earth like to the days of heaven.

XXIV.

"But to my theme, maiden, a lord for thee, And not of thee unworthy--I have chose-- Dispel the dread, that in thy looks I see-- Nor make it task of anguish to disclose,

"What should be--thine heart's dew. Remember'st thou When to the Altar, by thy father reared, We suppliant went with sacrifice and vow, A victim-dove escaped? and there appeared

"And would have brought thee others to supply Its loss, a Median?--thou, dissolved, to praise, Didst note the beauty of his shape and eye, And, as he parted, in the sunny rays

"The ringlets of his black locks cl.u.s.tering bright Around his pillar-neck," ''tis pity he'

Thou saidst, 'in all the comeliness and might Of perfect man--pity like him, should be

"But an idolater: how n.o.bly sweet He tempereth pride with courtesy; a flower Drops honey when he speaks. Yet 'twere most meet To praise his majesty: he stands--a tower.'

"The same, a false idolater no more, Now bows him to the G.o.d, for whose dread ire Fall'n on us loved but sinning, we deplore This long but just captivity. Thy sire

"Receives him well and harkens his request For know, he comes to ask thee-for a bride And to be one among a people, blest Tho' deep in suffering. Nor to him denied

"Art thou, sad daughter--weep--if't be thy will-- E'vn on the breast that nourished thee and ne'er Distrest thee or compelled; this bosom still Ev'n should'st though blight its dearest hopes, will share

"Nay, bear thy pains; but sooner in the grave 'Twill quench my waning years, if reckless thou Of what I not command, but only crave, Let my heart pine regardless of thy vow."

XXV.

She thus, 'O think not, kindest, I forget, Receiving so much love, how much is due From me to thee: the Mede I'll wed--but yet I cannot stay these tears that gush to pain thy view.'

XXVI.

Sephora held her to heart, the while Grief had its way--then saw her gently laid And bade her, kissing her blue eyes, beguile Slumbering the fervid noon. Her leafy bed

Sighed forth o'erpowering breath; increased the heat; Sleepless had been the night; her weary sense Could now no more. Lone in the still retreat, Wounding the flowers to sweetness more intense,

She sank. 'Tis thus, kind Nature lets our woe Swell 'til it bursts forth from the o'erfraught breast; Then draws an opiate from the bitter flow, And lays her sorrowing child soft in the lap to rest.

XXVII.

Now all the mortal maid lies indolent Save one sweet cheek which the cool velvet turf Had touched too rude, tho' all the blooms besprent, One soft arm pillowed. Whiter than the surf

That foams against the sea-rock, looked her neck, By the dark, glossy, odorous shrubs relieved, That close inclining o'er her seemed to reck What 'twas they canopied; and quickly heaved

Beneath her robe's white folds and azure zone, Her heart yet incomposed; a fillet thro'

Peeped brightly azure, while with tender moan As if of bliss, Zephyr her ringlets blew

Sportive;--about her neck their gold he twined, Kissed the soft violet on her temples warm, And eye brow--just so dark might well define Its flexile arch;--throne of expression's charm.

XXVIII.