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The beauteous clouds, though daylight's star
Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight. Never was scene so form'd 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 heav'n! 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 nearFly, fly-if yet thou lov'st me, flySoon will his murderous band be here,
And I shall see thee bleed and die.Hush!-heard'st thou not the tramp of men Sounding from yonder fearful glen ?— Perhaps e'en now they climb the wood
Fly, fly-though still the west is bright, He'll come-oh! yes-he wants thy bloodI know him-he'll not wait for night!"
In terrors e'en to agony
She clings around the wondering chief ;— "Alas, poor wilder'd maid! to me
Thou ow'st this raving trance of grief. Lost as I am, nought ever grew Beneath my shade but perish'd too
My doom is like the Dead-Sea air,
Had thrown into my desperate arms,—
Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er
Thy safety through that hour's alarms) To meet th' 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 through yon valley hurl'd;
We stand above the jarring world,
"To-morrow !-no-" The maiden scream'd-" thou'lt never see To-morrow's sun-death, death will be The night-cry through each reeking tower, Unless we fly, aye, fly this hour! Thou art betray'd-some wretch who knew That dreadful glen's mysterious clewNay, doubt not-by yon stars, 'tis trueHath sold thee to my vengeful sire; This morning, with that smile so dire He wears in joy, he told me all, And stamp'd in triumph through our hall,
As though thy heart already beat
By all my hopes of heaven 'tis truth!"
Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd Is that congealing pang which seizes
The trusting bosom when betray'd. 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 !
But soon the painful chill was o'er,
Did that high spirit loftier rise;
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 though his life hath pass'd 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 through the hours of slavery's night For vengeance on th' oppressor's crimes!
This rock, his monument aloft,
Shall come in secret pilgrimage,
Such are the swelling thoughts that now
On the red wreath, for martyrs twined,
That pile, which through the gloom behind,
The few still left of those who swore
Alas! why stands he musing here,
Half what thy lips impassion'd swore,
So thou art safe, and I with thee! Go where we will, this hand in thine, Those eyes before me smiling thus, Through good and ill, through storm and shine, The world's a world of love for us! On some calm, blessèd 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.
His oath-his cause-that shrine of flame,