When all was still, save the faint cry
Of some crush'd wretch, who, ere he die,
Wishing one look upon the sky,
With strength which is not of the world,
A burning mass aside has hurl'd,
And breathes the freshening air again,—
Alas! 'tis but to breathe in pain!-
A band of stragglers roving round
The field, the bleeding Selim found,
And, when they knew him for their chief,
They bore him to the Pasha's tent,
Who soon, to give his son relief,
A leach of skill unrivall'd sent,
And piteous 'twas to see him vent
O'er his fond boy a father's grief.
But ere had set the blushing sun,
That this foul scene had look'd upon,
One litter slowly took the road
Towards many a gilded minaret
Whereon his last effulgence glow'd,
As on the green-sea wave he set;
And ere the night breeze had blown o'er
Full many a prostrate arch and tower
That erst his liberal course had stay'd,
Ere Osman fell by Selim's blade,
That youth had reach'd his father's home,
The conquering Ali's princely dome.
Hark! to the notes of the hute and the timbrel,
And fairy footfall of Almas dancing,
Where late was the clang of the trumpet and cymbal,
And thundering tramp of the war-steed prancing!
Red flow the goblets in Ali's hall,
And the lamps hanging over are wond'rous bright, But oh! far redder and brighter than all
Are the lips that they moisten,-the eyes that
they light!
For won in the battle where thousands died,-
Like gems upthrown by the stormy tide,-
With cheeks that youth and passion dyed
Deep as the hue of recent slaughters,
Saved for the victor's love or pride,
Each blooming as the Bulbul's bride,
Like ivory note-keys side by side,
Were ranged the fairest of Asia's daughters.
The splendid scene had awhile removed
The grief of many for those they loved,-
For kindred slain, and fortune lost,→
For blighted hopes, and wishes crost.
The crystal fountains were sparkling around,
And leapt to the roof with exulting bound,-
As if eager to bask in the silvery light
Which broke from the latticed window's height
On the spice- lamp's luminous, fragrant, breath,—
Then murmuring sank to their prisons bencath,
Where in basins of marble they darkening lie,
Still charming with coolness, though veil'd from
The board with richest fruits was spread
That glow beneath an eastern sky,
The sweet pomegranate's living red,
And golden grapes whose hue may vie
With that bright orb which gave their dye:It seem'd as if each ripening ray
Of summer light which on them fell, Had lov'd the resting-place too well To wing again its heaven-ward way, But there, in rebel brightness stood, To emulate its parent-god.
But glistens no eye with a tearful beam,
Like the tremulous rays on the midnight wave?—
Which, awaken'd from pleasure's unreal dream,
Would willingly close in the sleep of the grave?
Oh! Zella, though now thy beauteous face
Beams out amidst the admiring throng,
Though now with that unearthly grace
Among the crowd thou mov'st along,
The fairest in that festal place,
Thy heart, alas! is far away;
And when the thoughts are bent to stray,
However drear and sad their way,
Not all the charms of wine and song
Can lure the wanderers back again,
Such fascination is in pain:
Or if, perchance, the tearful eye
Light on some object passing by,
Whate'er it be, it makes but food
To nourish on that joyless mood;
For melancholy throws o'er all,
Alike her black funereal pall,
Bidding the darken'd soul despond
'Mid scenes as bright as eye e'er saw;
And as the bees of Trebizond
From purest flowers can venom draw,
So from the sparkling ore of joy
Can grief extract a dark alloy.
And thus it proved, when from behind
The sacred Harem's curtain'd shades,
A blooming group was seen to wind,
Of Iran's and of Yemen's maids,
Footing it on the marble floor
With step so delicately light,
As would not crush the tenderest flower
That fears to ope its leaves till night.
There was a likeness in that sight
To scenes she oft had view'd before,
When in her own dear native land
Among the comates of her youth
Through the gay valleys hand in hand,
At eve she led the laughing band
Over the green sward cool and smooth; And o'er her cheek that mindfulness, Midst all the mirth and revel here, Dash'd the salt spray of many a tear.Could it from any eyelid less,
That oped not on one object dear ;On one the heart could wish to bless,
On one it loved with soul sincere? For Zella breathed a warmer sigh Than that for childhood's hour gone by. "Oh! Selim, Selim! where art thou?" She inly cried," I'd rather gaze "A moment on the dark eye now "'That flashes from under thy manly brow,
"Than all these bright-lamps' dazzling blaze;
"I'd rather hear one angel tone
"Of thy loved voice in desert lone,
"Than all the notes now gaily ringing
Through this high and princely hall, "Where pleasure seems to shine on all, "From yonder virgin-minstrel singing.". And yet it was a thrilling strain
That Zella deem'd so lowly of,
And might have lighten'd any pain
But from the rankling wound of love,
Which, like the flower-fed insect, brings
At once life's sweetness and its stings.
And lovely was the maid who swept
With magic touch the silver strings,
Whilst all such deep attention kept
As when the Soul of Music sings,
Where none but angels whose eyes are glistening, Like their own high towers of gems are listening,
From her own Yemen's happy vales
The girl was borne by hostile sails;
Wild as the goats that clamber o'er
Her native crags so steep and hoar,
Yet graceful as the antelope
That springs along the mountain slope,
And here her dulcet minstrelsy,
Which o'er her fellows raised her high
Oft soothed her long captivity.
She paused a moment,-till the tone
Of that preluding strain had died
Away, while rising murmurs own
The tuneful power on every side,-
Then playfully off the mask she drew
With which Arabian maids are shaded,
And blushingly disclosed to view
A face where not a rose had faded;
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