Silent and happy-as if God had given
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven!
"Oh my lov'd mistress! whose enchantments still "Are with me, round me, wander where I will"It is for thee, for thee alone I seek
"The paths of glory—to light up thy cheek
"With warm approval-in that gentle look,
"To read my praise, as in an angel's book,
"And think all toils rewarded, when from thee
"I gain a smile, worth immortality!
"How shall I bear the moment, when restor❜d
"To that young heart where I alone am Lord,
"Though of such bliss unworthy,—since the best
"Alone deserve to be the happiest!-
"When from those lips, unbreath'd upon for years,
"I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears,
"And find those tears warm as when last they started, "Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted! "Oh my own life!-why should a single day, "A moment keep me from those arms away?"
While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, Each note of which but adds new, downy links To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. He turns him tow'rd the sound, and, far away Through a long vista, sparkling with the play Of countless lamps,-like the rich track which Day
Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us;
So long the path, its light so tremulous;—
He sees a group of female forms advance,
Some chain'd together in the mazy dance
By fetters, forg'd in the green sunny bowers,
As they were captives to the King of Flowers;-
And some disporting round, unlink'd and free,
Who seem'd to mock their sisters' slavery,
And round and round them still, in wheeling flight
Went like gay moths about a lamp at night;-
While others wak'd, as gracefully along
Their feet kept time, the very soul of song
From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill,
Or their own youthful voices, heavenlier still!
And now they come, now pass before his eye,
Forms such as Nature moulds, when she would vie
With Fancy's pencil, and give birth to things
Lovely beyond its fairest picturings!
Awhile they dance before him, then divide,
Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide
Around the rich pavilion of the sun,-
Till silently dispersing, one by one,
Through many a path that from the chamber leads
To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads,
Their distant laughter comes upon the wind,
And but one trembling nymph remains behind,
Beck'ning them back in vain, for they are gone,
And she is left in all that light alone;
No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow,
In its young bashfulness more beauteous now;
But a light, golden chain-work round her hair,
Such as the maids of YEZD and SHIRAZ wear,
From which, on either side, gracefully hung
A golden amulet, in th' Arab tongue,
Engraven o'er with some immortal line
From holy writ, or bard scarce less divine;
While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood,
Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood,
Which, once or twice, she touch'd with hurried strain,
Then took her trembling fingers off again.
But when at length a timid glance she stole
At AZIM, the sweet gravity of soul
She saw through all his features calm'd her fear,
And, like a half-tam'd antelope, more near,
Though shrinking still, she came;-then sat her down
Upon a musnud's* edge, and bolder grown,
In the pathetic mode of ISFAHANT
Touch'd a preluding strain, and thus began:
There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER's streamț,
And the nightingale sings round it all the day long;
In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream,
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
That bower and its music I never forget,
*Musnuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for per sons of distinction.
†The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call their musical modes or Perdas by the names of different countries or cities, as the mode of Isfahan, the mode of Irak, &c.
A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar.
But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think is the nightingale singing there yet?
Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER?
No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly they shone,
And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave
All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,
An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,
Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer!
"Poor maiden!" thought the youth, "if thou wert sent, "With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment, "To wake unholy wishes in this heart,
"Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art.
"For though thy lips should sweetly counsel wrong,
"Those vestal eyes would disavow its song.
"But thou hadst breath'd such purity, thy lay
"Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day,
"And leads thy soul-if e'er it wander'd thence"So gently back to its first innocence,
"That I would sooner stop th' unchained dove,
"When swift returning to its home of love,
"And round its snowy wing new fetters twine,
“Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine!”
Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when, sparkling through The gently open'd curtains of light blue
That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes
Peeping like stars through the blue evening skies,
Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair
That sat so still and melancholy there.—
And now the curtains fly apart, and in
From the cool air, 'mid showers of jessamine
Which those within fling after them in play,
Two lightsome maidens spring, lightsome as they
Who live in th' air on odours, and around
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground,
Chace one another, in a varying dance
Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance,
Too eloquently, like love's warm pursuit:~
While she, who sung so gently to the lute
Her dream of home, steals timidly away,
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,
But takes with her from Azım's heart that sigh
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain,
Creatures of light we never see again!
Around the white necks of the nymphs who danc'd
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd
More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er
The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore;*
"To the north of us, (on the coast of the Caspian, near Badku) was a mountain, which sparkled like diamonds, arising from the sea-glass and crystals, with which it abounds." Journey of the Russian Ambassador to Persia, 1746.
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