Bears him along;-with death-damp hand The corpse upon the pyre he lays, Then lights the consecrated brand, And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze, Like lightning bursts o'er Oman's Sea.-Now Freedom's God! I come to thee,» The youth exclaims, and with a smile Of triumph vaulting on the pile, In that last effort, ere the fires Have harm'd one glorious limb, expires! What shriek was that on Oman's tide? The death-light, and again is dark. Of a small veteran band, with whom Was toward that fatal mountain turn'd, As yet all lone and tranquil burn'd. Oh! 't is not, Hinda, in the power As those who feel could paint too well, A calm stagnation, that were bliss To the keen, burning, harrowing pain, Now felt through all thy breast and brain- That breathless, agonised suspense, Calm is the wave-Heaven's brilliant lights Reflected dance beneath the prow;Time was when, on such lovely nights, She who is there, so desolate now, Could sit all cheerful, though alone, And ask no happier joy than seeing That star-light o'er the waters thrownNo joy but that to make her blest, And the fresh buoyant sense of Being That bounds in youth's yet careless breast,Itself a star, not borrowing light, But in its own glad essence bright. How different now!-but, hark, again The yell of havoc rings-brave men! In vain, with beating hearts, ye stand On the bark's edge-in vain each hand Half draws the falchion from its sheath; All's o'er-in rust your blades may lie; He, at whose word they 've scatter'd death, Even now, this night, himself must die! Well may ye look to dim tower, And ask, and wondering guess what means The battle-cry at this dead hour yon Ah! she could tell you-she, who leans Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast, With brow against the dew-cold mastToo well she knows-her more than life, Her soul's first idol and its last, Lies bleeding in that murderous strife. But see what moves upon the height? Fix their last failing life-beams there. Its melancholy radiance sent; Shrined in its own grand element! "T is he!-the shuddering maid exclaims,-But, while she speaks, he 's seen no more; High burst in air the funeral flames, And Iran's hopes and hers are o'er! One wild, heart-broken shriek she gaveThen sprung, as if to reach the blaze, Where still she fix'd her dying gaze, And, gazing, sunk into the wave,Deep, deep,-where never care or pain Shall reach her innocent heart again! Farewell-farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Oh! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, How light was thy heart till Love's witchery came, Like the wind of the south1 o'er a summer lute blowing, But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands, Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom Of her, who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, With nought but the sea-star2 to light up her tomb. And still, when the merry date-season is burning, evening of recital,-which appeared to this worthy Chamberlain to contain language and principles, for which nothing short of the summary criticism of the Chabuk would be advisable. It was his intention, therefore, immediately on their arrival at Cashmere, to give information to the King of Bucharia of the very dangerous sentiments of his minstrel; and if, unfortunately, that monarch did not act with suitable vigour on the occasion (that is, if he did not give the Chabuk And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old, 3 to Feramorz, and a place to Fadladeen), there would be The happiest there, from their pastime returning, At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero! forget thee,- Farewell-be it ours to embellish thy pillow With every thing beauteous that grows in the deep; Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber, That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept;4 We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, Farewell-farewell-until Pity's sweet fountain Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that mountain, They 'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this wave. The singular placidity with which Fadladeen had listened, during the latter part of this obnoxious story, surprised the Princess and Feramorz exceedingly; and even inclined towards him the hearts of these unsuspicious young persons, who little knew the source of a complacency so marvellous. The truth was, he had been organizing, for the last few days, a most notable plan of persecution against the poet, in consequence of some passages that had fallen from him on the second an end, he feared, of all legitimate government in Bucharia. He could not help, however, auguring better both for himself and the cause of potentates in general; and it was the pleasure arising from these mingled anticipations that diffused such unusual satisfaction through his features, and made his eyes shine out, like poppies of the desert, over the wide and lifeless wilderness of that countenance. Having decided upon the poet's chastisement in this manner, he thought it but humanity to spare him the minor tortures of criticism. Accordingly, when they assembled next evening in the pavilion, and Lalla Rookh expected to see all the beauties of her bard melt away, one by one, in the acidity of criticism, like pearls in the cup of the Egyptian Queen,-he agreeably disappointed her by merely saying, with an ironical smile, that the merits of such a poem deserved to be tried at a much higher tribunal; and then suddenly passing off into a panegyric upon all Mussulman sovereigns, more particularly his august and imperial master, Aurungzebe,-the wisest and best of the descendants of Timur, -who, among other great things he had done for mankind, had given to him, Fadladeen, the very profitable posts of Betel-Carrier and Taster of Sherbets to the Emperor, Chief Holder of the Girdle of Beautiful Forms, and Grand Nazir, or Chamberlain of the Haram. They were now not far from that forbidden river, 3(117) beyond which no pure Hindoo can pass; and were reposing for a time in the rich valley of Hussun Abdaul, which had always been a favourite resting-place of the emperors in their annual migrations to Cashmere. Here often had the Light of the Faith, Jehanguire, wandered with his beloved and beautiful Nourmahal; and here would Lalla Rookh have been happy to remain for ever, giving up the throne of Bucharia and the world, for Feramorz and love in this sweet lonely valley. The time was now fast approaching when she must see him no longer,—or see him with eyes whose every look belonged to another; and there was a melancholy preciousness in these last moments, which made her heart cling to them as it would to life. During the latter part of the journey, indeed, she had sunk into a deep sadness, from which nothing but the presence of the young minstrel could awake her. Like those lamps in 1. This wind (the Samoor) so softens the strings of lutes, that they tombs, which only light up when the air is admitted, can never be tuned while it lasts. STEPHEN'S Persia. One of the greatest curiosities found in the Persian Gulf is a fish which the English call Star-Fish. It is circular, and at night very luminous, resembling the full moon surrounded by rays. MIRZU ABU TALEB. For a description of the merriment of the date-time, of their work, their dances, and their return home from the palm-groves at the end of autumn with the fruits, see KEMPFER, Amanit. Exot. 4 Some naturalists have imagined that amber is a concretion of the tears of birds.-See Trevoux, CHAMBERS. it was only at his approach that her eyes became smiling and animated. But here, in this dear valley, every mo The application of whips or rods.» -DUBOU. 2. KEMPFER mentions such an officer among the attendants of the King of Persia, and calls him « formæ corporis estimator. His business was, at stated periods, to measure the ladies of the Haram by a sort of regulation-girdle, whose limits it was not thought graceful to exceed. If any of them outgrew this standard of shape, they were The bay Kieselarke, which is otherwise called the Golden Bay, reduced by abstinence till they came within its bounds. the sand whereof shines as fire.-STRUT. The Attock. ment was an age of pleasure; she saw him all day, and was, therefore, all day happy,-resembling, she often thought, that people of Zinge, (118) who attribute the unfading cheerfulness they enjoy to one genial star that rises nightly over their heads.1 The whole party, indeed, seemed in their liveliest mood during the few days they passed in this delightful solitude. The young attendants of the Princess, who were here allowed a freer range than they could safely be indulged with in a less sequestered place, ran wild among the gardens, and bounded through the meadows, lightly as young roes over the aromatic plains of Tibet. While Fadladeen, besides the spiritual comfort he derived from a pilgrimage to the tomb of the saint from whom the valley is named, had opportunities of gratifying, in a small way, his taste for victims, by putting to death some hundreds of those unfortunate little lizards, (119) which all pious Mussulmans make it a point to kill; taking for granted, that the manner in which the creature hangs its head is meant as a mimicry of the attitude in which the faithful say their prayers. About two miles from Hussun Abdaul were those royal gardens, (120) which had grown beautiful under the care of so many lovely eyes, and were beautiful still, though those eyes could see them no longer. This place, with its flowers and its holy silence, interrupted only by the dipping of the wings of birds in its marble basins filled with the pure water of those hills, was to Lalla Rookh all that her heart could fancy of fragrance, coolness, and almost heavenly tranquillity. As the Prophet said of Damascus, « it was too delicious; » (121) --and here, in listening to the sweet voice of Feramorz, or reading in his eyes what yet he never dared to tell her, the most exquisite moments of her whole life were passed. One evening, when they had been talking of the Sultana Nourmahal,-the Light of the Haram, who had so often wandered among these flowers, and fed with her own hands, in those marble basins, the small shining fishes of which she was so fond,3-the youth, in order to. delay the moment of separation, proposed to recite a short story, or rather rhapsody, of which this adored Sultana was the heroine. It related, he said, to the reconcilement of a sort of lovers' quarrel, which took place between her and the Emperor during a Feast of Roses at Cashmere; and would remind the Princess of that difference (122) between Haroun-al-Raschid and his fair mistress Marida, which was so happily made up by the soft strains of the musician, Moussali. As the story was chiefly to be told in song, and Feramorz had unluckily forgotten his own lute in the valley, he borrowed the vina of Lalla Rook's little Persian slave, and thus began: THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. Its temples, and grottos, and fountains as clear Oh! to see it at sunset,-when warm o'er the lake Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws, And each hallows the hour by some rites of its own. Here the Magian his urn full of perfume is swinging, And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is ringing.' Or to see it by moonlight,-when mellowly shines The light o'er its palaces, gardens and shrines; When the water-falls gleam like a quick fall of stars, And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet From the cool, shining walks where the young people meet: Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes And Day with his banner of radiance unfurl'd, Shines in through the mountainous3 portal that opes, Sublime, from that valley of bliss to the world! But never yet, by night or day, The Valley holds its Feast of Roses.4 The flowret of a hundred leaves,5 Behind the palms of Baramoule :6 Who has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere, The star Soheil, or Canopus. Nourmahal signifies Light of the Haram. She was afterwards called Nourjehan, or the Light of the World. 1 See note, p. 40. The rose of Kashmere, for its brilliancy and delicacy of odour, bas long been proverbial in the East.-FORSTER. Tied round her waist the zone of bells, that sounded with ravishing melody."—Song of Jayadeva. 2 The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire are set with arbours and large-leaved aspen-trees, slender and tall."-BERNIER. 3 The Tuct Suliman, the name bestowed by the Mahometans on this hill, forms one side of a grand portal to the Lake..-FonSTER. 4 The Feast of Roses continues the whole time of their remaining in bloom.-See PIETRO DE LA VALLE. Gul sad berk, the Rose of a hundred leaves. I believe a particular species."—OUSELEY. 6 Bernier. Where they had slept the sun away, And fields and pathways, far and near, That you could see, in wandering round, And all exclaim'd to all they met, So clear as that which bless'd them there; Nor they themselves look'd half so fair. Had fallen upon it from the sky! From neighbouring Haram, wild and sweet;- From gardens, where the silken swing (123) Like those of Kathay utter'd music, and gave An answer in song to the kiss of each wave!' (124) To be near the loved One,-what a rapture is his, So felt the magnificent son of Acbar, When from power and pomp and the trophies of war There's a beauty for ever unchangingly bright, And the sounds from the Lake,—the low whispering Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages. 3 in boats, While her laugh, full of life, without any control As they shoot through the moonlight;-the dipping But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul; of oars, And the wild, airy warbling that every where floats Through the groves, round the islands as if all the shores 'A place mentioned in the Tootek Jehangeery or Memoirs of Jehanguire, where there is an account of the beds of saffron flowers about Cashmere. It is the custom among the women to employ the Maazeen to chaunt from the gallery of the nearest minaret, which on that occasion is illuminated, and the women assembled at the house respond at intervals with a ziraleet or joyous chorus.-RUSSELL. At the keeping of the Feast of Roses, we beheld an infinite number of tents pitched, with such a crowd of men, women, boys, and girls, with music, dances, etc. etc.-HERBERT. And where it most sparkled no glance could discover, An old commentator of the Chou-King says, the ancients baring remarked that a current of water made some of the stones near its banks send forth a sound, they detached some of them, and, being charmed with the delightful sound they emitted, constructed King or musical instruments of them.»-GROSIR. Jehangaire was the son of the Great Achar. 3 In the wars of the Dives with the Peris, whenever the former took the latter prisoners, they shut them up in iron cages, and bung them on the highest trees. Here they were visited by their companions, who brought them the choicest odours.-RICHARDSON. Such, such were the peerless enchantments that gave Nourmahal the proud Lord of the East for her slave; And though bright was his Haram,-a living parterre Of the flowers of this planet-though treasures were there, For which Soliman's self might have given all the store But where is she now, this night of joy, That one might think, who came by chance Into the vale this happy night, He saw that City of Delight In Fairy-land, whose streets and towers When mirth brings out the young and fair, Alas-how light a cause may move That stood the storm when waves were rough, Like ships, that have gone down at sea, A word unkind or wrongly taken- A breath, a touch like this hath shaken. Breaks into floods, that part for ever. Whose wings, though radiant when at rest Lose all their glory when he flies! Some difference, of this dangerous kind,— Come crowding round-the cheeks are pale, What is it to the nightingale, If there his darling rose is not?3 Hence is it too that Nourmahal, Amid the luxuries of this hour, Far from the joyous festival, Sits in her own sequester'd bower, With no one near, to soothe or aid, But that inspired and wondrous maid, Namouna, the enchantress;-one, O'er whom his race the golden Sun For unremember'd years has run, Yet never saw her blooming brow Younger or fairer than 't is now. Nay, rather, as the west-wind's sigh Freshens the flower it passes by, Time's wing but seem'd, in stealing o'er, To leave her lovelier than before. Yet on her smiles a sadness hung, And when, as oft, she spoke or sung Of other worlds, there came a light From her dark eyes so strangely bright, That all believed nor man nor earth Were conscious of Namouna's birth! Among the birds of Tonquin is a species of goldfinch, which sings so melodiously that it is called the Celestial Bird. Its wings, when it is perched, appear variegated with beautiful colours, but when it flies, they lose all their splendour.-GROSIER. As these birds on the Bosphorus are never known to rest, they are called by the French les âmes damnées.'-DALLOWAY. 3 You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the nightingale, yet he wishes not, in his constant heart, for more than the sweet breath of his beloved rose.-JAMI. |