No-had not reason's light totally set,
And left thee dark, thou had'st an amulet
In the lov'd image, graven on thy heart,
Which would have sav'd thee from the tempter's art,
And kept alive, in all its bloom of breath,
That purity, whose fading is love's death! -
But lost, inflam'd, — a restless zeal took place
Of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace; -
First of the Prophet's favourites, proudly first
In zeal and charms, too well th' Impostor nurs'd
Her soul's delirium, in whose active flame,
Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant frame,
He saw more potent sorceries to bind
To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind,
More subtle chains than hell itself e'er twin'd.
No art was spar'd, no witchery; all the skill
His demons taught him was employ'd to fill
Her mind with gloom and extacy by turns
That gloom, through which Frenzy but fiercer burns;
That extacy, which from the depth of sadness
Glares like the maniac's moon, whose light is madness!
'Twas from a brilliant banquet, where the sound Of poesy and music breath'd around,
Together picturing to her mind and ear
The glories of that heav'n, her destin'd sphere,
Where all was pure, where every stain that lay
Upon the spirit's light should pass away,
And, realizing more than youthful love
E'er wish'd or dream'd, she should for ever rove
Through fields of fragrance by her Azım's side,
His own bless'd, purified, eternal bride! —
'Twas from a scene, a witching trance like this,
He hurried her away, yet breathing bliss,
To the dim charnel-house; - through all its steams
Of damp and death, led only by those gleams
Which foul Corruption lights, as with design
To show the gay and proud she too can shine! -
And, passing on through upright ranks of Dead,
Which to the maiden, doubly craz'd by dread,
Seem'd, through the bluish death-light round them cast,
To move their lips in mutterings as she pass'd-
There, in that awful place, when each had quaff'd
And pledg'd in silence such a fearful draught,
Such oh! the look and taste of that red bowl
Will haunt her till she dies-he bound her soul
By a dark oath, in hell's own language fram'd,
Never, while earth his mystic presence claim'd,
While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both,
Never, by that all-imprecating oath,
In joy or sorrow from his side to sever.
She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, "never, never!"
From that dread hour, entirely, wildly given
To him and she believ'd, lost maid! -to heaven;
Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflam'd,
How proud she stood, when in full Haram nam’d
The Priestess of the Faith! - how flash'd her eyes
With light, alas! that was not of the skies,
When round, in trances only less than hers,
She saw the Haram kneel, her prostrate worshippers!
Well might MOKANNA think that form alone
Had spells enough to make the world his own:
Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit's play
Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray,
When from its stem the small bird wings away!
Lips in whose rosy labyrinth, when she smil❜d,
The soul was lost; and blushes, swift and wild
the momentary meteors sent
Across th' uncalm, but beauteous firmament.
And then her look!-oh! where's the heart so wise, Could unbewilder'd meet those matchless eyes?
Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal,
Like those of angels, just before their fall;
Now shadow'd with the shames of earth
By glimpses of the Heav'n her heart had lost;
In every glance there broke, without controul,
The flashes of a bright but troubled soul,
Where sensibility still wildly play'd,
Like lightning, round the ruins it had made!
From her who, some years since, delighted rang'd
The almond groves, that shade BOKHARA's tide,
All life and bliss, with Azim by her side!
So alter'd was she now, this festal day,
When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzling array,
The vision of that Youth, whom she had lov'd,
And wept as dead, before her breath'd and mov'd;-
When-bright, she thought, as if from Eden's track
But half-way trodden, he had wander'd back
Again to earth, glistening with Eden's light -
Her beauteous AZIM shone before her sight.
Oh Reason! who shall say what spells renew,
When least we look for it, thy broken clew!
Through what small vistas o'er the darken'd brain
Thy intellectual day-beam bursts again;
And how, like forts, to which beleaguerers win
Unhop'd-for entrance through some friend within,
One clear idea, wakened in the breast
By memory's magic, lets in all the rest!
Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee!
But, though light came, it came but partially;
Enough to show the maze, in which thy sense
Wander'd about, — but not to guide it thence
Enough to glimmer o'er the yawning wave,
But not to point the harbour which might save.
Hours of delight and peace, long left behind,
With that dear form came rushing o'er her mind;
But oh! to think how deep her soul had gone
In shame and falsehood since those moments shone;
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