None to watch near him,
-none to slake
The fire that in his bosom lies,
With even a sprinkle from that lake
Which shines so cool before his eyes.
No voice, well known through many a day,
To speak the last, the parting word,
Which, when all other sounds decay,
Is still like distant music heard;
That tender farewell on the shore
Of this rude world, when all is o'er,
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark
Puts off into the unknown Dark.
Deserted youth! one thought alone
Shed joy around his soul in death, -
That she, whom he for years had known,
And loved, and might have called his own,
Was safe from this foul midnight's breath,
Safe in her father's princely halls,
Where the cool airs from fountain falls,
Freshly perfumed by many a brand
Of the sweet wood from India's land,
Were pure as she whose brow they fanned.
who yonder comes by stealth,
This melancholy bower to seek, Like a young envoy, sent by Health,
With rosy gifts upon her cheek?
"T is she, far off, through moonlight dim,
He knew his own betrothed bride,
She, who would rather die with him,
Than live to gain the world beside!
Her arms are round her lover now,
His livid cheek to hers she presses, And dips, to bind his burning brow,
In the cool lake her loosened tresses. Ah! once, how little did he think
An hour would come, when he should shrink With horror from that dear embrace,
Those gentle arms, that were to him
Holy as is the cradling-place
Of Eden's infant cherubim !
And now he yields,
Shuddering as if the venom lay
All in those proffered lips alone,
Those lips that, then so fearless grown,
Never until that instant came
Near his unasked, or without shame.
"Oh! let me only breathe the air,
The blessed air, that's breathed by thee,
And, whether on its wings it bear
Healing or death, 't is sweet to me!
There, -drink my tears, while yet they fall,
Would that my bosom's blood were balm,
And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all,
To give thy brow one minute's calm.
Nay, turn not from me that dear face,
Am I not thine, - thy own loved bride,
The one, the chosen one, whose place,
In life or death, is by thy side?
Think'st thou that she, whose only light,
In this dim world, from thee hath shone,
Could bear the long, the cheerless night,
That must be hers when thou art gone? That I can live, and let thee go,
Who art my life itself? —No, no,-
When the stem dies, the leaf that grew
Out of its heart must perish too!
Then turn to me, my own love, turn,
Before, like thee, I fade and burn;
Cling to these yet cool lips, and share
The last pure life that lingers there!"
She fails, she sinks, – -as dies the lamp
In charnel airs, or cavern-damp,
So quickly do his baleful sighs
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes.
One struggle, and his pain is past, -
Her lover is no longer living!
One kiss the maiden gives, one last,
Long kiss, which she expires in giving!
Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stole The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, As true as e'er warmed a woman's breast, "Sleep on, in visions of odorous rest, In balmier airs than ever yet stirred The enchanted pile of that lonely bird, Who sings at the last his own death-lay, And in music and perfume dies away!" Thus saying, from her lips she spread
Unearthly breathings through the place, And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed Such lustre o'er each paly face,
That like two lovely saints they seemed,
Upon the eve of doomsday taken From their dim graves, in odor sleeping
While that benevolent Peri beamed Like their good angel, calmly keeping
Watch o'er them till their souls would waken.
But morn is blushing in the sky;
Again the Peri soars above,
Bearing to Heaven that precious sigh
Of pure, self-sacrificing love.
High throbbed her heart, with hope elate,
The Elysian palm she soon shall win,
For the bright Spirit at the gate
Smiled as she gave that offering in;
And she already hears the trees
Of Eden, with their crystal bells
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze
That from the throne of Alla swells;
And she can see the starry bowls
That lie around that lucid lake,
Upon whose banks admitted souls
Their first sweet draught of glory take!
But, ah! even Peris' hopes are vain,
Again the Fates forbade, again
The immortal barrier closed,
The angel said, as, with regret,
He shut from her that glimpse of glory, – "True was the maiden, and her story, Written in light o'er Alla's head,
By seraph eyes shall long be read.
But, Peri, see, the crystal bar
Of Eden moves not, - holier far
Than even this sigh the boon must be
That opes the gates of Heaven for thee."
Now, upon Syria's land of roses
Softly the light of eve reposes,
And, like a glory, the broad sun
Hangs over sainted Lebanon ;
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer, in a vale of flowers,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
To one who looked from upper air
O'er all the enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melous on their banks,
More golden where the sunlight falls ;-
Gay lizards glittering on the walls
Of ruined shrines, busy and bright
As they were all alive with light;
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks,
With their rich restless wings, that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam
Of the warm West, as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine, or made
Of tearless rainbows, such as span
|
