^J" " 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT 
 
 
 

 
 THOMAS MOORE. 1779-1852. 
 
 LALLA ROOKH appeared in 1817, and in it the 
 world found a poem sui generis: and they were 
 not elow in showing their appreciation of it. It 
 was in every one's hands upon every one's lips. 
 Learned men and Oriental travellers bore testi- 
 mony, not only to its historical correctness, but 
 to the fidelity and beauty of its scenic descrip- 
 tions. The original went through seven editions 
 within a year, found its way through the world, 
 and was soon translated into every language. 
 "There are," said Jeffrey, in the Edinburgh Review, 
 "passages, indeed, and these neither few nor 
 brief, over which the very genius of poetry seems 
 to have breathed his richest enchantment where 
 the melody of the verse and the beauty of the 
 images conspire so harmoniously with the force 
 and tenderness of the emotion, that the whole is 
 blended into one deep and bright stream of sweet- 
 ness and feeling, along which the spirit of the 
 reader is borne passively away through long 
 reaches of delight."
 
 Copyright. 1899. l.y Henry Altr
 
 <rt% 
 
 .ALLA ROOKM 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 ALTENUS COMPANY
 
 College 
 Library 
 
 50E4 
 1. 15 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE g 
 
 LALLA ROOKH 2$ 
 
 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN . 33 
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERI lz ^ 
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS 152 
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM 239
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 \Written originally for " Lalla Rookh n in the col" 
 lected edition of Moore's works, ,] 
 
 THE Poem, or Romance, of " Lalla Rookh n 
 having now reached, I understand, its twentieth 
 edition, a short account of the origin and progress 
 of a work which has been hitherto so very unfortu- 
 nate in its course may not be deemed, perhaps, 
 superfluous or misplaced. 
 
 It was about the year 1812, that, far more through 
 the encouraging suggestions of friends than from 
 any confident promptings of my own ambition, I 
 conceived the design of writing a Poem upon some 
 Oriental subject, and of those quarto dimensions 
 which Scott's successful publications in that form 
 had then rendered the regular poetical standard. A 
 negotiation on the subject was opened with the 
 Messrs. Longman in the same year ; but, from 
 some causes which I cannot now recollect, led to 
 no decisive result ; nor was it until a year or two 
 after, that any further steps were taken in the mat- 
 ter, their house being the only one, it is right to 
 add, with which, from first to last, I held any com- 
 munication upon the subject. 
 
 On this last occasion, Mr. Perry kindly offered 
 
 9
 
 IO AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 himself as my representative in the treaty; and, 
 what with the friendly zeal of my negotiator on the 
 one side, and the prompt and liberal spirit with 
 which he was met on the other, there has seldom, 
 I think, occurred any transaction in which Trade 
 and Poesy have shone out so advantageously in each 
 other's eyes. The short discussion that then took 
 place, between the two parties, may be comprised 
 in a very few sentences. " I am of opinion," said 
 Mr. Perry, enforcing his view of the case by 
 arguments which it is not for me to cite, " that 
 Mr. Moore ought to receive for his poem the lar- 
 gest price that has been given, in our day, for such a 
 work." "That was," answered the Messrs. Long- 
 man, " three thousand guineas." " Exactly so," 
 replied Mr. Perry, " and no less a sum ought he to 
 receive." 
 
 It was then objected, and very reasonably, on the 
 part of the firm, that they had never yet seen a 
 single line of the Poem ; and that a perusal of the 
 work ought to be allowed to them, before they em- 
 barked so large a sum in the purchase. But, no ; 
 the romantic view which my friend Perry took of 
 the matter was, that this price should be given as a 
 tribute to reputation already acquired, without any 
 condition for a previous perusal of the new work. 
 This high tone, I must confess, not a little startled 
 and alarmed me ; but to the honor and glory of 
 Romance as well on the publishers 1 side as the 
 poet's, this very generous view of the transaction
 
 AUTHORS PREFACE. II 
 
 was, without any difficulty, acceded to, and the firm 
 agreed, before we separated, that I was to receive 
 three thousand guineas for my Poem. 
 
 At the time of this agreement, but little of the 
 work, as it stands at present, had yet been written. 
 But the ready confidence in my success shown by 
 others made up for the deficiency of that requisite 
 feeling within myself; while a strong desire not 
 wholly to disappoint this " auguring hope " became 
 almost a substitute for inspiration. In the year 
 
 1815, therefore, having made some progress in my 
 task, I wrote to report the state of the work to the 
 Messrs. Longman, adding, that I was now most 
 willing and ready, should they desire it, to submit 
 the manuscript for their consideration. Their 
 answer to this offer was as follows: "We are cer- 
 tainly impatient for the perusal of the Poem ; but 
 solely for our gratification. Your sentiments are 
 always honorable." 
 
 I continued to pursue my task for another year, 
 being likewise occasionally occupied with the " Irish 
 Melodies," two or three numbers of which made 
 their appearance during the period employed in 
 writing " Lalla Rookh." At length, in the year 
 
 1816, I found my work sufficiently advanced to be 
 placed in the hands of the publishers. But the state 
 of distress to which England was reduced, in that 
 dismal year, by the exhausting effects of the series 
 of wars she had just then concluded, and the general 
 embarrassment of all classes both agricultural and
 
 12 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 commercial, rendered it a juncture the least favor- 
 able that could well be conceived for the first launch 
 into print of so light and costly a venture as " Lalla 
 Rookh." Feeling conscious, therefore, that under 
 such circumstances I should act but honestly in put- 
 ting it in the power of the Messrs. Longman to 
 reconsider the terms of their engagement with me, 
 
 leaving them free to postpone, modify, or even, 
 should such be their wish, relinquish it altogether, 
 
 I wrote them a letter to that effect, and recshed 
 the following answer: "We shall be most happy 
 in the pleasure of seeing you in February. We agree 
 with you, indeed, that the times are most inauspi- 
 cious for ' poetry and thousands ; ' but we believe 
 that your poetry would do more than that of any 
 other living poet at the present moment." 
 
 The length of time I employed in writing the few 
 stories strung together in "Lalla Rookh" will 
 appear, to some persons, much more than was ne- 
 cessary for the production of such easy and " light o' 
 love " fictions. But, besides that I have been, at all 
 times, a far more slow and painstaking workman 
 than would ever be guessed, I fear, from the result, 
 I felt that in this instance I had taken upon myself 
 a more than ordinary responsibility, from the im- 
 mense stake risked by others on my chance of suc- 
 cess. For a long time, therefore, after the agree- 
 ment had been concluded, though generally at work 
 -with a view to this task, I made but very little real 
 progress in it ; and I have still by me the begin-
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 13 
 
 nings of several stories continued, some of them, to 
 the length of three or four hundred lines, which, 
 after in vain endeavoring to mould them into shape, 
 I threw aside, like the tale of Cambuscan, "left 
 half-told." One of these stories, entitled "The 
 Peri's Daughter," was meant to relate the loves of a 
 nymph of this aerial extraction with a youth of mor- 
 tal race, the rightful Prince of Ormuz, who had 
 been, from his infancy, brought up in seclusion on 
 the banks of the river Amou, by an aged guardian 
 named Mohassan. The story opens with the first 
 meeting of these destined lovers, then in their child- 
 hood ; the Peri having wafted her daughter to this 
 holy retreat, in a bright, enchanted boat, whose 
 first appearance is thus described : 
 
 For, down the silvery tide afar, 
 There came a boat, as swift and bright, 
 
 As shines, in heaven, some pilgrim-star, 
 That leaves its own high home, at night, 
 To shoot to distant shrines of light. 
 
 ' It comes, it comes,' young Orian cries, 
 And panting to Mohassan flies. 
 Then, down upon the flowery grass 
 Reclines to see the vision pass ; 
 With partly joy and partly fear, 
 To End its wondrous light so near,
 
 14 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 And hiding oft his dazzled eyes 
 Among the flowers on which he lies. 
 
 Within the boat a baby slept, 
 
 Like a young pearl within its shell ; 
 While one, who seem'd of riper years, 
 But not of earth, or earth-like spheres, 
 
 Her watch beside the slumbercr kept; 
 
 Gracefully waving, in her hand, 
 The feathers of some holy bird, 
 With which, from time to time, she stirr'd 
 
 The fragrant air, and coolly fann'd 
 
 The baby's brow, or brush'd away 
 The butterflies that, bright and blue 
 
 As on the mountains of Malay, 
 Around the sleeping infant flew. 
 
 And now the fairy boat hath stopp'd 
 Beside the bank, the nymph has dropp'd 
 Her golden anchor in the stream. 
 
 A song is sung by the Peri in approaching, of 
 which the following forms a part : 
 
 My child she is but half divine, 
 
 Her father sleeps in the Caspian water; 
 
 Sea-weeds twine 
 
 His funeral shrine, 
 But he lives again in the Peri's daughter.
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 15 
 
 Fain would I fly from mortal sight 
 
 To my own sweet bowers of Peristan ; 
 But there, the flowers are all too bright 
 For the eyes of a baby born of man. 
 On flowers of earth her feet must tread ; 
 
 So hither my light-wing'd bark hath brought her; 
 Stranger, spread 
 Thy leafiest bed, 
 To rest the wandering Peri's daughter. 
 
 In another of these inchoate fragments, a proud 
 female saint, named Banou, plays a principal part ; 
 and her progress through the streets of Cufa, on the 
 night of a great illuminated festival, I find thus de- 
 scribed : 
 
 It was a scene of mirth that drew 
 
 A smile from even the Saint Banou, 
 
 As, through the hush'd admiring throng, 
 
 She went with stately steps along, 
 
 And counted o'er, that all might see, 
 
 The rubies of her rosary. 
 
 But none might see the worldly smile 
 
 That lurk'd beneath her veil the while : 
 
 Alia, forbid ! for, who would wait 
 
 Her blessing at the temple's gate, 
 
 What holy man would ever run 
 
 To kiss the ground she knelt upon, 
 
 If once, by luckless chance, he knew 
 
 She look'd and smiled as others do ? 
 
 Her hands were join'd, and from each wrist 
 
 By threads of pearl and golden twist
 
 1 6 AUTHOR'S f-REFACE. 
 
 Hung relics of the saints of yore, 
 And scraps of talismanic lore, 
 Charms for the old, the sick, the frail, 
 Some made for use, and all for sale. 
 On either side, the crowd withdrew, 
 To let the Saint pass proudly through; 
 While turban 'd heads of every hue, 
 Green, white, and crimson, bow'd around, 
 And gay tiaras touched the ground, 
 As tulip-bells, when o'er their beds 
 The musk-wind passes, bend their heads. 
 Nay, some there were, among the crowd 
 Of Moslem heads that round her bow'd, 
 So fiil'd with zeal by many a draught 
 Of Shiraz wine profanely quaff 'd, 
 That, sinking low in reverence then, 
 They never rose till morn again. 
 
 There are yet two more of these unfinished 
 sketches, one of which extends to a much greater 
 length than I was aware of; and, as far as I can 
 judge from a hasty renewal of my acquaintance with 
 it, is not incapable of being yet turned to account. 
 
 In only one of these unfinished sketches, the tale 
 of "The Peri's Daughter," had I yet ventured to 
 invoke that most home-felt of all my inspirations, 
 which has lent to the story of " The Fire-Wor- 
 shippers " its main attraction and interest. That it 
 was my intention, in the concealed Prince of Ormuz, 
 to shadow out some impersonation of this feeling, 
 I take for granted from the prophetic words sup-
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 1 7 
 
 posed to be addressed to him by his aged guard- 
 ian: 
 
 Bright child of destiny ! even now 
 I read the promise on that brow, 
 That tyrants shall no more defile 
 The glories of the Green Sea Isle, 
 But Ormuz shall again be free, 
 And hail her native Lord in thee I 
 
 In none of the other fragments do I find any trace 
 of this sort of feeling, either in the subject or the 
 personages of the intended story ; and this was 
 the reason, doubtless, though hardly known, at the 
 time, to myself, that, finding my subjects so slow 
 in kindling my own sympathies, I began to despair 
 of their ever touching the hearts of others ; and felt 
 often inclined to say : 
 
 " Oh no, I have no voice or hand 
 For such a song in such a land." 
 
 Had this series of disheartening experiments been 
 carried on much further, I must have thrown aside 
 the work in despair. But at last, fortunately, as it 
 proved, the thought occurred to me of founding a 
 story on the fierce struggle so long maintained 
 between the Ghebers l or ancient Fire- Worshippers 
 of Persia, and their haughty Moslem masters. From 
 
 1 Voltaire, in his tragedy of " Les Guebres," written with a similar 
 under-current of meaning, was accused of having transformed his 
 Fire- Worshippers into Jansenists. " Quelques figuristes,"he says, 
 "pretendeot que les Guebies sont les Jansenistes."
 
 1 8 AUTHOR'S PREFACE, 
 
 that moment, a new and deep interest in my whole 
 task took possession of me. The cause of tolerance 
 was again my inspiring theme ; and the spirit that 
 had spoken in the melodies of Ireland soon found 
 Itself at home in the East. 
 
 Having thus laid open the secrets of the workshop 
 to account for the time expended in writing this 
 work, I must also, in justice to my own industry, 
 notice the pains I took in long and laboriously read- 
 ing for it. To form a storehouse, as it were, of 
 illustration purely Oriental, and so familiarize my- 
 self with its various treasures, that, as quick as 
 Fancy required the aid of fact, in herspiritings, the 
 memory was ready, like another Ariel, at her 
 " strong bidding," to furnish materials for the spell- 
 work, such was, for a long while, the sole object 
 of my studies ; and whatever time and trouble this 
 preparatory process may have cost me, the effects 
 resulting from it, as far as the humble merit of truth- 
 fulness is concerned, have been such as to repay me 
 more than sufficiently for my pains. I have not 
 forgotten how great was my pleasure, when told by 
 the late Sir James Mackintosh that he was once 
 
 asked by Colonel W s, the historian of British 
 
 India, " whether it was true that Moore had never 
 been in the East? " " Never," answered Mackintosh. 
 
 " Well, that shows me," replied Colonel W s, 
 
 ' that reading over D'Herbelot is as good as riding 
 on the back of a camel." 
 
 I need hardly subjoin to this lively speech, that,
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 1 9 
 
 although D'Herbelot's valuable work was, of course, 
 one of my manuals, I took the whole range of all 
 such Oriental reading as was accessible to me ; and 
 became, for the time, indeed, far more conversant 
 with all relating to that distant region, than I have 
 ever "been with the scenery, productions, or modes 
 of life of any of those countries lying most within 
 my reach. We know that D'Anville, though never 
 in his life out of Paris, was able to correct a num- 
 ber of errors in a plan of the Troad taken by De 
 Choiseul, on the spot ; and for my own very differ- 
 ent, as well as far inferior, purposes, the knowledge 
 I had thus acquired of distant localities, seen only by 
 me in my day-dreams, was no less ready and useful. 
 
 An ample reward for all this painstaking has been 
 found in such welcome tributes as I have just now 
 cited ; nor can I deny myself the gratification of 
 citing a few more of the same description. From 
 another distinguished authority on Eastern subjects, 
 the late Sir John Malcolm, I had myself the pleas- 
 ure of hearing a similar opinion publicly expressed ; 
 that eminent person, in a speech spoken by him 
 at a Literary Fund Dinner, having remarked, that, 
 together with those qualities of a poet which he 
 much too partially assigned to me, was combined 
 also " the truth of the historian." 
 
 Sir William Ouseley, another high authority, in 
 giving his testimony to the same effect, thus notices 
 an exception to the general accuracy for which he 
 gives me credit : " Dazzled by the beauties of this
 
 2O AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 composition ["The Fire Worshippers "] , few readers 
 can perceive, and none surely can regret, that the 
 poet, in his magnificent catastrophe, has forgotten, 
 or boldly and most happily violated, the precept of 
 Zoroaster, above noticed, which held it impious to 
 consume any portion of a human body by fire, espe- 
 cially by that which glowed upon their altars." 
 Having long lost, I fear, most of my Eastern learn- 
 ing, I can only cite, in defence of my catastrophe, 
 an old Oriental tradition, which relates that Nimrod, 
 when Abraham refused, at his command, to wor- 
 ship the fire, ordered him to be thrown into the 
 midst of the flames. 1 A precedent so ancient for 
 this sort of use of the worshipped element would 
 appear, for all the purposes at least of poetry, fully 
 sufficient. 
 
 In addition to these agreeable testimonies, I have 
 also heard, and need hardly add, with some pride 
 and pleasure, that parts of this work have been 
 rendered into Persian, and have found their way 
 to Ispahan. To this fact, as I am willing to think 
 it, allusion is made in some lively verses, written 
 many years since, by my friend, Mr. Luttrell : 
 
 " I'm told, dear Moore, your lays are sung, 
 
 (Gin it be true, you lucky man?) 
 By moonlight, in the Persian tongue, 
 Along the streets of Ispahan." 
 
 ' "Tradunt autem Hebnei hanc fabulam, quod Abraham ia 
 ignem missus sit, quia ignera adorare noluit." ST. HIBRON, in 
 Qua it in Gentsim.
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 21 
 
 That some knowledge of the work may have really 
 reached that region appears not improbable from a 
 passage in the " Travels " of Mr. Frazer, who says, 
 that " being delayed for some time at a town on the 
 shores of the Caspian, he was lucky enough to be 
 able to amuse himself with a copy of ' Lalla Rookh,' 
 which a Persian had lent him." 
 
 Of the description of Balbec, in " Paradise and 
 the Peri," Mr. Came, in his " Letters from the East," 
 thus speaks: "The description in * Lalla Rookh' 
 of the plain and its ruins is exquisitely faithful. The 
 minaret is on the declivity near at hand, and there 
 wanted only the muezzin's cry to break the silence." 
 
 I shall now tax my reader's patience with but one 
 more of these generous vouchers. Whatever of 
 vanity there may be in citing such tributes, they 
 show, at least, of what great value, even in poetry, 
 is that prosaic quality, industry ; since, as the reader 
 of the foregoing pages is now fully apprised, it was 
 in a slow and laborious collection of small facts, 
 that the first foundations of this fanciful Romance 
 were laid. 
 
 The friendly testimony I have just referred to ap- 
 peared, some years since, in the form in which I 
 now give it, and, if I recollect right, in the Athe- 
 nceum : 
 
 " I embrace this opportunity of bearing my indi- 
 vidual testimony (if it be of any value) to the 
 extraordinary accuracy of Mr. Moore, in his topo- 
 graphical, antiquarian, and characteristic details.
 
 22 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 whether of costume, minners, or less changing 
 monuments, both in his Lalla Rookh 1 and in The 
 Epicurean. 1 It has been my fortune to read his 
 Atlantic, Bermudean, and American Odes and Epis- 
 tles, in the countries and among the people to which 
 and to whom they related ; I enjoyed also the ex- 
 quisite delight of reading his ' Lalla Rookh ' in Per- 
 sia itself; and I have perused ' The Epicurean 1 
 while all my recollections of Egypt and its still 
 existing wonders are as fresh as when I quitted the 
 banks of the Nile for Arabia : I owe it, therefore, 
 as a debt of^ratitude (though the payment is most 
 inadequate), for the great pleasure I have derived 
 from his productions, to bear my humble testimony 
 to their local fidelity. J. S. B." 
 
 Among the incidents connected with this work, 
 I must not omit to notice the splendid Divertisse- 
 ment, founded upon it, which was acted at the Cha- 
 teau Royal of Berlin, during the visit of the Grand 
 Duke Nicholas to that capital, in the year 1822. 
 The different stories composing the work were rep- 
 resented in Tableaux Vivans and songs ; and among 
 the crowd of royal and noble personages engaged 
 in the performances, I shall mention those dnly who 
 represented the principal characters, and whom I 
 find thus enumerated in the published account cf 
 the Divertissement, l 
 
 1 " Lalla Rmikh, Divertissement mile" de Chants et de Danses." 
 Berlin, 1822. The work contains a series of colored engraving*, 
 representing groups, processions, etc., in different Oriental cos-
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 2$ 
 
 Fadladin, Grand- Nasir . . . Comte Haack(Marichal de Cmtr\ 
 Aliris, Roi de Bucharie . . . S. A. T. le Grand-Due. 
 Lalla Roukh S. A. I. la Grande-Duchesse. 
 
 Aurungieb, le Grand Mogol j S '/ re * H <,,f """ G * Ulaufta ' 
 Abdallah, P4re d' Aliris . . . S. A . R. le Due de Cumberland. 
 La Reine, so:i Spouse . . . \S. A.R.la Pr^tceiu Lou 
 
 Besides these and other leading personages, there 
 were also brought into action, under the various de- 
 nominations of Seigneurs et Dames de Bucharie, 
 Dames de Cachemirc, Seigneurs et Dames dansans 
 a la fete des Roses, etc., nearly one hundred and 
 fifty persons. 
 
 Of the manner and style in which the Tableaux 
 of the different stories are described in the work 
 from which I cite, the following account of the per- 
 formance of " Paradise and the Peri " will afford 
 some specimen : 
 
 " La decoration reprdsentoit les portes brillantes 
 du Paradis, entoure"es de nuages. Dans le premier 
 tableau on voyoit la P6ri, triste et dsol6e, couch6e 
 sur le seuil des portes ferme"es, et TAnge de lumiere 
 qui lui adresse des consolations et desconseils. Le 
 secand repre"sente le moment ou la P6ri, dans Tes- 
 poir que ce don lui ouvrira l'entre du Paradis, re- 
 cueille la derniere goutte de sang que vient de verser 
 le jeune guerrier indien. . . . 
 
 " La Pdri et TAnge de lumiere r6pondoient pieine- 
 ment a Timage et a 1'idee qu'on est tcnt^ de se faire 
 de ces deux individus, et Timpression qu'a faite g- 
 n^ralenient la suite des tableaux decet 6pisode d61i-
 
 24 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 cat et intressant est loin de s'effacer de notre 
 souvenir. 1 " 
 
 In this grand file, it appears, originated the 
 translation of " Lalla Rookh " into German l 
 verse, by the Baron de la Motte Fouqu6 ; and 
 the circumstances which led him to undertake the 
 task are described by himself in a Dedicatory Poem 
 to the Empress of Russia, which he has prefixed to 
 his translation. As soon as the performance, he 
 tells us, had ended, Lalla Rookh (the Empress hep- 
 self) exclaimed, with a sigh, Is it, then, all over? 
 Are we now at the close of all that has given us so 
 much delight? and lives there no poet who will 
 impart to others, and to future times, some notion 
 of the happiness we have enjoyed this evening?" 
 On hearing this appeal, a Knight of Cashmere (who 
 b no other than the poetical Baron himself) comes 
 forward and promises to attempt to present to the 
 world " the Poem itself in the measure of the origi- 
 nal : " whereupon Lalla Rookh, it is added, approv- 
 ingly smiled. 
 
 1 Since this was written, another translation of " Lalla Rookh " 
 into German verse has been made by Thcodor Oelckers (Leipzig. 
 Taudmiu).
 
 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 IN the eleventh year of the reign of Aurungzebe, 
 Abdalla, King of the Lesser Bucharia, a lineal 
 descendant from the Great Zingis, having abdi- 
 cated the throne in favor of his son, set out on a 
 pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Prophet ; and pass- 
 ing into India through the delightful valley of Cash- 
 mere, rested for a short tie at Delhi on his way. 
 He was entertained by Aurungzebe in a style of 
 magnificent hospitality, worthy alike of the visitor 
 and the host, and was afterwards escorted with the 
 same splendor to Surat, where he embarked for 
 Arabia. During the stay of the Royal Pilgrim at 
 Delhi, a marriage was agreed upon between the 
 Prince, his son, and the youngest daughter of the 
 Emperor, Lalla Rookh ; a Princess described by 
 the poets of her time as more beautiful than Leila, 
 Shirine, Dewilde, or any of those heroines whose 
 names and loves embellish the songs of Persia and 
 Hindostan. It was intended that the nuptials 
 should be celebrated at Cashmere ; where the 
 young King, as soon as the cares of empire would 
 permit, was to meet, for the first time, his lovely 
 25
 
 26 LALLA ROOKIf. 
 
 bride, and, after a few months' repose in that 
 enchanting valley, conduct her over the snowy hills 
 into Bucharia. 
 
 The day of Lalla Rookh's departure from Delhi 
 was as splendid as sunshine and pageantry could 
 make it. The bazaars and baths were all covered 
 with the richest tapestry ; hundreds of gilded 
 barges upon the Jumna floated with their banners 
 shining in the water ; while through the streets 
 groups of beautiful children went strewing the most 
 delicious flowers around, as in that Persian festival 
 called the Scattering of the Roses ; till every part 
 of the city r,-as as fragrant as if a caravan of musk 
 from Khoten ^ad passed through it. The Princess, 
 having taken leave of her kind father (who at part- 
 ing hung a cornelian of Yemen round her neck, on 
 which was inscribed a verse from the Koran) and 
 having sent a considerable present to the Fakirs, 
 who kept up the Perpetual Lamp in her sister's 
 tomb, meekly ascended the palankeen prepared for 
 her; and, while Aurungzebe stood to take a last 
 look from his balcony, the procession moved slowly 
 on the road to Lahore. 
 
 Seldom had the Eastern world seen a cavalcade 
 so superb. From the gardens in the suburbs to 
 the Imperial palace, it was one unbroken line of 
 splendor. The gallant appearance of the Rajahs 
 and Mogul Lords, distinguished by those insignia 
 of the Emperor's favor, the feathers of the egret of 
 Cashmere in their turbans, and the small silver*
 
 LALLA ROOKIL 2J 
 
 rimmed kettledrums at the bows of their saddles ; 
 the costly armor of their cavaliers, who vied, 
 on this occasion, with the guards of the great Keder 
 Khan, in the brightness of their silver battle-axes 
 and the massiness of their maces of gold ; the 
 glittering of the gilt pine-apples on the tops of the 
 palankeens ; the embroidered trappings of the 
 elephants, bearing on their backs small turrets in 
 the shape of little antique temples, within which 
 the Ladies of Lalla Rookh lay as it were enshrined ; 
 . the rose-colored veils of the Princess's own 
 sumptuous litter, at the front of which a fair young 
 female slave sat fanning her through the curtains, 
 with feathers of the Argus pheasant's wing ; and 
 the lovely troop of Tartarian and Cashmerian maids 
 of honor, whom the young King had sent to accom- 
 pany his bride, and who rode on each side of the 
 litter, upon small Arabian horses ; all was bril- 
 liant, tasteful, and magnificent, and pleased even the 
 critical and fastidious Fadladeen, Great Nazir or 
 Chamberlain of the Haram, who was borne in his 
 palankeen immediately after the Princess, and con- 
 sidered himself not the least important personage 
 of the pageant. 
 
 Fadladeen was a judge of everything, from the 
 pencilling of a Circassian's eyelids to the deepest 
 questions of science, and literature ; from the mix- 
 ture of a conserve of rose-leaves to the composition 
 of an epic poem ; and such influence had his opin- 
 ion upon the various tastes of the day, that all the
 
 23 LALLA KOOK'IL 
 
 cooks and poets of Delhi stood in awe of him. His 
 political conduct and opinions were founded upon 
 that line of Sadi, " Should the Prince at noon-clay 
 say, It is night, declare that you behold the moon 
 and stars. 1 " And his zeal for religion, of which Au- 
 rungzebe was a munificent protector, was about as 
 disinterested as that of the goldsmith who fell in 
 love with the diamond eyes of the Idol of Jagher- 
 naut. 
 
 During the first days of their journey, Lalla 
 Rookh, who had passed all her life within the 
 shadow of the Royal Gardens at Delhi, found 
 enough in the beauty of the scenery thrpugh which 
 they passed to interest her mind and delight her 
 imagination ; and when at evening or in the heat 
 of the day, they turned off from the high road to 
 those retired and romantic places which had been 
 selected for her encampments, sometimes on the 
 banks of a small rivulet, as clear as the waters of 
 the Lake of Pearl ; sometimes under the sacred 
 shade of a Banyan tree, from which the view 
 opened upon a glade covered with antelopes ; and 
 often in those hidden, embowered spots, described 
 by one from the Isles of the West, as " places of 
 melancholy, delight, and safety, where all the com- 
 pany around were wild peacocks and turtle-doves ; " 
 she felt a charm in these scenes, so lovely and so 
 new to her, which, for a time, made her indifferent 
 to every other amusement. But Lalla Rookh was 
 young, and the young love variety ; nor could the
 
 LALLA ROOKH. 2$ 
 
 conversation of her Ladies and the Great Cham- 
 berlain Fadladeen (the only persons, of course, ad- 
 mitted to her pavilion) sufficiently enliven those 
 many vacant hours, which were devoted neither to 
 the pillow nor the palankeen. There was a little 
 Persian slave who sung sweetly to the Vina, and 
 who, now and then, lulled the Princess to sleep with 
 the ancient ditties of her country, about the loves 
 of Wamak and Ezra, the fair-haired Zal and his 
 mistress Rodahver; not forgetting the combat of 
 Rustam with the terrible White Demon. At other 
 times she was amused by those graceful dancing- 
 girls of Delhi, who had been permitted by the 
 Bramins of the Great Pagoda to attend her, much 
 to the horror of the good Mussulman Fadladeen, 
 who could see nothing graceful or agreeable in idol- 
 aters, and to whom the very tinkling of their golden 
 anklets was an abomination. 
 
 But these and many other diversions were re- 
 peated till they lost all their charm, and the nights 
 and noon-days were beginning to move heavily, 
 when, at length, it was recollected that among the 
 attendants sent by the bridegroom, was a young poet 
 of Cashmere, much celebrated throughout the val- 
 ley for his manner of reciting the stories of the 
 East, on whom his Royal Master had conferred 
 the privilege of being admitted to the pavilion of the 
 Princess, that he might help to beguile the tedious- 
 ness of the journey by some of his most agreeable 
 recitals. At the mention of the poet, Fadladeen
 
 3O LALLA ROOK'H. 
 
 elevated his critical eyebrows, and having refreshed 
 his faculties with a dose of that delicious opium 
 which is distilled from the black poppy of the 
 Thebais, gave orders for the minstrel to be forth- 
 with introduced into the presence. 
 
 The Princess, who had once in her life seen a 
 poet from behind the screens of gauze in her 
 Father's hall, and had conceived from that speci- 
 men no very favorable ideas of the Caste, expected 
 but little in this new exhibition to interest her ; 
 she felt inclined, however, to alter her opinion on 
 the very first appearance of Feramorz. He was a 
 youth about Lalla Rookh's own age, and graceful 
 as that idol of women, Crishna, such as he ap- 
 pears to their young imaginations, heroic, beautiful, 
 breathing music from his very eyes, and exalting 
 the religion of his worshippers into love. His dress 
 was simple, yet not without some marks of costli- 
 ness ; and the ladies of the Princess were not long 
 in discovering that the cloth which encircled his 
 high Tartarian cap was of the most delicate kind 
 that the shawl-goats of Tibet supply. Here and 
 there, too, over his vest, which was confined by a 
 flowered girdle of Kashan, hung strings of fine 
 pearl, disposed with an air of studied negligence ; 
 nor did the exquisite embroidery of his sandals 
 escape the observation of these fair critics ; who, 
 however they might give way to Fadladeen upon 
 the unimportant topics of religion and govern- 
 ment, had the spirit of martyrs in everything re-
 
 LALLA ROOK'IL 3! 
 
 lating to such momentous matters as jewels and 
 embroidery. 
 
 For the purpose of relieving the pauses of reci- 
 tation by music, the young Cashmerian held in his 
 hand a guitar such as, in old times, the Arab 
 maids of the West used to listen to by moonlight 
 in the gardens of the Alhambra; and having 
 premised, with much humility, that the story he was 
 about to relate was founded on the adventures of 
 that Veiled Prophet of Khorassan who, in the year 
 of the Hegira 163, created such alarm throughout 
 the Eastern Empire, made an obeisance to the 
 Princess, and thus began.
 
 THE 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 
 
 IN that delightful Province of the Sun, 
 The first of Persian lands he shines upon, 
 Where all the loveliest children of his beam, 
 Flowerets and fruits, blush over every stream, 
 And fairest of all streams, the Murga roves 
 Among Merou's bright palaces and groves, 
 There on that throne, to which the blind belief 
 Of millions raised him, sat the Prophet-Chief, 
 The Great Mokanna. O'er his features hung 
 The Veil, the Silver Veil, which he had flung 
 In mercy there, to hide from mortal sight 
 His dazzling brow, till man could bear its light. 
 For, far less luminous, his vojtaries said, 
 Were even the gleams, miraculously shed 
 O'er Moussa's cheek, when down the Mount he trod/ 
 All glowing from the presence of his God ! 
 
 On either side, with ready hearts and hands, 
 His chosen guard of bold Believers stands ; 
 Young fire-eyed disputants, who deem their swords, 
 On points of faith, more eloquent than words ; 
 And such their zeal, there's not a youth with brand 
 
 33
 
 34 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Uplifted there, but, at the Chiefs command, 
 Would make his own devoted heart its sheath, 
 And bless the lips that doom'd so dear a death ! 
 In hatred to the Caliph's hue of night, 
 Their vesture, helms and all, is snowy white ; 
 Their weapons various some equipp'd, for speed, 
 With javelins of the light Kathaian reed ; 
 Or bows of buffalo-horn and shining quivers 
 Fill'd with the stems that bloom on Iran's rivers; 
 While some, for war's more terrible attacks, 
 Wield the huge mace and ponderous battle-axe ; 
 And as they wave aloft in morning's beam 
 The milk-white plumage of their helms, they seem 
 Like a chenar-tree grove, when Winter throws 
 O'er all its tufted heads his feathering snows. 
 
 Between the porphyry pillars, that uphold 
 The rich moresque-work of the roof of gold, 
 Aloft the Karam's curtain'd galleries rise, 
 Where, through the silken network, glancing eyes, 
 From time to time, like sudden gleams that glow 
 Through autumn clouds, shine o'er the pomp below. 
 What impious tongue, ye blushing saints, would 
 
 dare 
 To hint that aught but Heaven hath placed you 
 
 there ? 
 
 Or that the loves of this light worfd could bind, 
 In their gross chain, your Prophet's soaring mind ? 
 No wrongful thought! commission'd from above 
 To people Eden's bowers with shapes of love,
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF A'ffOR ASSAM. ^ 
 
 (Creatures so bright, that the same lips and eyes 
 They wear on earth will serve in Paradise,) 
 There to recline among Heaven's native maids, 
 And crown the Elect with bliss that never fades 
 Well hath the Prophet-Chief his bidding done ; 
 And every beauteous race beneath the sun, 
 From those who kneel at Brahma's burning founts, 
 To the fresh nymphs bounding o'er Yemen's 
 
 mounts ; 
 
 From Persia's eyes of full and fawn-like ray 
 To the small, half-shut glances of Kathay; 
 And Georgia's bloom, and Azab's darker smiles, 
 And the gold ringlets of the Western Isles ; 
 All, all are there ; each Land its flower hath given, 
 To form that fair young Nursery for heaven ! 
 
 But why this pageant now ? this arm'd array ? 
 What triumph crowds the rich Divan to-day 
 With turban'd heads, of every hue and race, 
 Bowing before that veil'd and awful face, 
 Like tulip-beds, of different shape and dyes, 
 Bending beneath the invisible West-wind's sighs ? 
 What new-made mystery now, for Faith to sign, 
 And blood to seal, as genuine and divine, 
 What dazzling mimickry of God's own power 
 Hath the bold Prophet plann'd to grace this hour? 
 
 Not such the pageant now, though not less proud ; 
 Yon warrior youth, advancing from the crowd,
 
 36 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 With silver bow, with belt of broider'd crape, 
 And fur-bound bonnet of Buchanan shape, 
 So fiercely beautiful in form and eye, 
 Like war's wild planet in a summer sky, 
 That youth to-day a proselyte, worth hordes 
 Of cooler spirits and less practised swords 
 Is come to join, all bravery and belief, 
 The creed and standard of the heaven-sent Chief. 
 
 Though few his years, the West already knows 
 Young Azim's fame ; beyond the Olympian snows, 
 Ere manhood darken'd o'er his downy cheek, 
 O'erwhelm'd in fight and captive to the Greek, 
 He linger'd there, till peace dissolved his chains; 
 Oh, who could, even in bondage, tread the plains 
 Of glorious Greece, nor feel his spirit rise 
 Kindling within him? who, with heart and eyes, 
 Could walk where Liberty had been, nor see 
 The shining footprints of her Deity, 
 Nor feel those godlike breathings in the air, 
 Which mutely told her spirit had been there? 
 Not he, that youthful warrior, no, too well 
 For his soul's quiet work'd the awakening spell ; 
 And now, returning to his own dear land. 
 Full of those dreams of good that, vainly grand. 
 Haunt the young heart, proud views of human- 
 kind, 
 
 Of men to gods exalted and refined, 
 False views, like that horizon's fair deceit. 
 Where earth and heaven but seem, alas, to meet !
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 37 
 
 Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was raised 
 To right the nations, and beheld, emblazed 
 On the white flag Mokanna's host unfurl'd, 
 Those words of sunshine, " Freedom to the World," 
 At once his faith, his sword, his soul obey'd 
 The inspiring summons ; every chosen blade 
 That fought beneath that banner's sacred text 
 Seem'd doubly edged, for this world and the next ; 
 And ne'er did Faith with her smooth bandage 
 
 bind 
 
 Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind, 
 In virtue's cause ; never was soul inspired 
 With livelier trust in what it most desired, 
 Than his, the enthusiast there, who kneeling, pale 
 With pious awe, before that Silver Veil, 
 Believes the form, to which he bends his knee, 
 Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to free 
 This fetter'd world from every bond and stain, 
 And bring its primal glories back again ! 
 
 Low as young Azim knelt, that motley crowd 
 Of all earth's nations sunk the knee and bow'd, 
 With shouts of " Alia ! " echoing long and loud ; 
 While high in air, above the Prophet's head, 
 Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam spread, 
 Waved, like the wings of the white birds that fan 
 The flying throne of star-taught Soliman. 
 Then thus he spoke : " Stranger, though new the 
 
 frame 
 
 Thy soul inhabits now, I've tracked its flam 
 B
 
 38 LALLA ROOKIt. 
 
 For many an age, in every chance and change 
 Of that existence, through whose varied range, 
 As through a torch-race where, from hand to hand, 
 The flying youths transmit their shining brand, 
 From frame to frame the unextinguish'd soul 
 Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal ! 
 
 " Nor think 'tis only the gross Spirits, warm'd 
 With duskier fire and for earth's medium form'd, 
 That run this course ; Beings the most divine 
 Thus deign through dark mortality to shine. 
 Such was the Essence that in Adam dwelt, 
 To which all Heaven, except the Proud One, knelt : 
 Such the refined Intelligence that glow'd 
 In Moussa's frame, and, thence descending, flow'd 
 Through many a Prophet's breast ; in Issa shone, 
 And in Mohammed burn'd ; till, hastening on, 
 (As a bright river that, from fall to fall 
 In many a maze descending, bright through all. 
 Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth past, 
 In. one full lake of light it rests at last ! ) 
 That Holy Spirit, settling calm and free 
 From lapse or shadow, centres all in me ! " 
 
 Again, throughout the assembly, at these words. 
 Thousands of voices rung : the warriors' swords 
 Were pointed up to heaven ; a sudden wind 
 In the open banners play'd, and from behind 
 Those Persian hangings that but ill could screen 
 The Haram's loveliness, white hands were seen
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KIIORASSAN. 39 
 
 Waving embroiclerd scarves, whose motion gave 
 A perfume forth ; like those the Houris wave 
 When beckoning to their bowers the immortal Brave, 
 
 "But these," pursued the Chief, " are truths sub- 
 lime, 
 
 That claim a holier mood and calmer time 
 Than earth allows us now ; this sword must first 
 The darkling prison-house of Mankind burst, 
 Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in 
 Her wakening daylight on a world of sin. 
 But then, celestial warriors, then, when all 
 Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall \ 
 When the glad Slave shall at these feet lay down 
 His broken chain, the tyrant Lord his crown, 
 The Priest his book, the Conqueror his wreath, 
 And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath 
 Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze 
 That whole dark pile of human mockeries ; 
 Then shall the reign of Mind commence on earth, 
 And starting fresh, as from a second birth, 
 Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring, 
 Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing! 
 Then, too, your Prophet from his angel brow 
 Shall cast the Veil that hides its splendors now, 
 And gladden'd Earth shall, through her wide 
 
 expanse; 
 
 Bask in the glories of this countenance ! 
 For thee, young warrior, welcome ! thou hast yet 
 Some tasks to learn, some frailties to forget,
 
 40 LALLA ROOK'H. 
 
 Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can wave ; 
 But, once mine own, mine all till in the grave ! " 
 
 The pomp is at an end the crowds are gone 
 Each ear and heart still haunted by the tone 
 Of that deep voice, which thrill'd like Alla's own ! 
 The Young all dazzled by the plumes and lances, 
 The glittering throne, and Haram's half-caught 
 
 glances : 
 
 The Old deep pondering on the promised reign 
 Of peace and truth ; and all the female train 
 Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze 
 A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze ! 
 
 But there was one, among the chosen maids. 
 Who blush'd behind the gallery's silken shades, 
 One, to whose soul the pageant of to-day 
 Has been like death ; you saw her pale dismay, 
 Ye wandering sisterhood, and heard the burst 
 Of exclamation from her lips, when first 
 She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, 
 Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne. 
 
 Ah, Zelica! there -was a time, when bliss 
 Shone o'er thine heart from every look of his ; 
 When but to see him, hear him, breathe the air 
 In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer; 
 When round him hung such a perpetual spell, 
 Whate'er he did none ever did so well.
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 4! 
 
 Too happy days ! when, if he touch 'd a flower 
 
 Or gem of thine, 'twas saored from that hour; 
 
 When thou didst study him till every tone 
 
 And gesture and dear look became thine own, 
 
 Thy voice like his, the changes of his face 
 
 In thine reflected with still lovelier grace : 
 
 Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught 
 
 With twice the aerial sweetness it had brought! 
 
 Yet now he comes, brighter than even he 
 
 E'er beam'd before, but ah ! not bright for 
 
 thee; 
 
 No dread, unlook'd for, like a visitant 
 From the other world, he comes as if to haunt 
 Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight, 
 Long lost to all but memory's aching sight; 
 Sad dreams ! as when the Spirit of our Youth 
 Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth 
 And innocence once ours, and leads us back, 
 In mournful mockery, o'er the shining track 
 Of our young life, and points out every ray 
 Of hope and peace we've lost upon the way ! 
 
 Once happy pair ! in proud Bokhara's groves, 
 Who had not heard of their first youthful loves? 
 Born by that ancient flood, which from its spring 
 In the Dark Mountains swiftly wandering, 
 Enrich'd by every pilgrim brook that shines 
 With relics from Bucharia's ruby mines, 
 And lending to the Caspian half its strength, 
 In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length ;
 
 42 LALLA ROOKff. 
 
 There, on the banks of thai bright river born, 
 t The flowers that hung above its wave at morn 
 Bless'd not the waters, as they murmur'd by, 
 With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh 
 And virgin-glance of first affection cast 
 Upon their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd ! 
 But war disturb 'd this vision, far away 
 From her fond eyes summon'd to join the array 
 Of Persia's warriors on the hills of Thrace, 
 The youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling-place 
 For the rude tent and war-field's deathful clash ; 
 His Zelica's sweet glances for the flash 
 Of Grecian wild-fire, and Love's gentle chains 
 For bleeding bondage on Byzantium's plains. 
 
 Month after month, in widowhood of soul 
 Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll 
 Their suns away but ah! how cold and dim 
 Even summer suns, when not beheld with him! 
 From time to time ill-omen'd rumors came, 
 Like spirit-tongues muttering the sick man's name, 
 Just ere he dies: at length those sounds of 
 
 dread 
 
 Fell withering on her soul, " Azin is dead ! " 
 O Grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate 
 First leaves the young heart lone and desolate 
 In the wide world, without that only tie 
 For which it loved to live or fear'd to die ; 
 Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken 
 Since the sad day its master-chord was broken (
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KIIORASSAN. 43. 
 
 Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, 
 Even reason sunk, blighted beneath its touch : 
 And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose 
 Above the first dead pressure of its woes, 
 Though health and bloom return'd, the delicate 
 
 chain 
 
 Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again. 
 Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, 
 The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray ; 
 A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone 
 All stars of heaven, except the guiding one ! 
 Again she smiled, nay, much and brightly smiled,, 
 But 'twas a lustre, strange, unreal, wild ; 
 And when she sung to her lute's touching strain,. 
 'Twas like the notes, half ecstasy, half pain, 
 The bulbul utters, ere her soul depart, 
 When, vanquish'd by some minstrel's powerful art, 
 She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her 
 
 heart! 
 
 Such was the mood in which that mission found 
 Young Zelica, that mission, which around 
 The Eastern world, in every region blest 
 With woman's smile, sought out its loveliest, 
 To grace that galaxy of lips and eyes 
 Which the Veil'd Prophet destined for the skies : 
 And such quick welcome as a spark receives 
 Dropp'd on a bed of autumn's wither'd leaves, 
 Did every tale of these enthusiasts find 
 In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind.
 
 44 LALLA ROOKIf. 
 
 All fire at once the maddening zeal she caught ; 
 Elect of Paradise ! blest, rapturous thought ! 
 Predestined bride, in heaven's eternal dome, 
 Of some brave youth ha! durst they say " of 
 
 some " ? 
 
 No of the one, one only object traced 
 In her heart's core too deep to be effaced ; 
 The one whose memory, fresh as life, is twined 
 With every broken link of her lost mind ; 
 Whose image lives, though Reason's self be 
 
 wreck 'd, 
 Safe 'mid the ruins of her intellect! 
 
 Alas, poor Zelica ! it needed all 
 The fantasy which held thy mind in thrall, 
 To see in that gay Haram's glowing maids 
 A sainted colony for Eden's shades ; 
 Or dreamed that he, of whose unholy flame 
 Thou wert too soon the victim, shining came 
 From Paradise, to people its pure sphere 
 With souls like thine, which he hath ruin'd here ! 
 No had not Reason's light totally set, 
 And left thee dark, thou hadst an amulet 
 In the loved image, graven on thy heart, 
 Which would have saved 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, inflamed, a restless zeal took place 
 Of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace ;
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 45 
 
 First of the Prophet's favorites, proudly first 
 
 In zeal and charms, too well the Impostor nursed 
 
 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 subtile chains than hell itself e'er twined. 
 
 No art was spared, no witchery : all the skill 
 
 His demons taught him was employ'd to fill 
 
 Her mind with gloom and ecstasy by turns 
 
 That gloom, through which Frenzy but fiercer 
 
 burns ; 
 
 That ecstasy, which from the depth of sadness 
 Glares like the maniac's moon, whose light is mad- 
 ness. 
 
 'Twas from a brilliant banquet, where the sound 
 Of poesy and music breathed around, 
 Together picturing to her mind and ear 
 The glories of that heaven, her destined 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 forever TOTC 
 Through fields of fragrance by her Azim'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 streams 
 Of damp and death, led only by those gleams
 
 40 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 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 crazed by dread, 
 Seem'd, thro' the bluish death-light round them cast 
 To move their lips in mutterings as she passed, 
 There, in that awful place, when each had quaffd 
 And pledged 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 framed, 
 Never, while earth his mystic presence claimed, 
 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 believed, lost maid! to 
 
 Heaven, 
 
 Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflamed, 
 How proud she stood, when in full Haram named 
 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 wor- 
 shippers ! 
 
 Well might Mokanna think that form alone 
 Had spells enough to make the world his own :
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAK. tf 
 
 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 smiled, 
 The soul was lost; and blushes, swift and wild 
 'As are the momentary meteors sent 
 Across the 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 now crost 
 By glimpses of the heaven her heart had lost ; 
 In every glance there broke, without control, 
 The flashes of a bright but troubled soul, 
 Where sensibility still wildly play'd, 
 
 Like lightning, round the ruins it had made ! 
 
 
 
 And such was now young Zelica so changed 
 From her who, some years since, delighted ranged 
 The almond groves that shade Bokhara's tide, 
 All life and bliss, with Azim by her side ! 
 So alter'd was she npw, this festal day, 
 When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzling array, 
 The vision of that Youth whom she had loved, 
 Had wept as dead, before her breathed and moved' 
 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.
 
 48 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 O 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 
 Unhoped-for entrance through some friend within, 
 One clear idea, waken'd 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 harbor 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 I 
 And then, her oath there madness lay again, 
 And, shuddering, back she sunk into her chain 
 Of mental darkness, as if blest to flee 
 From light, whose every glimpse was agony ! 
 Yet, one relief this glance of former years 
 Brought, mingled with its pain, tears, floods of 
 
 tears, 
 
 Long frozen at her heart, but now like rills 
 Let loose in spring-time from the snowy hills, 
 And gushing warm, after a sleep of frost, 
 Through valleys where their flow had long been 
 
 lost.
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 49 
 
 Sad and subdued, for the first time her frame 
 Trembled with horror, when the summons came 
 (A summons proud and rare, which all but she, 
 And she till now, had heard with ecstasy) 
 To meet Mokanna at his place of prayer, 
 A garden oratory, cool and fair, 
 By the stream's side, where still at close of day 
 The Prophet of the Veil retired to pray ; 
 Sometimes alone but, oftener far, with one, 
 One chosen nymph to share his orison. 
 
 Of late none found such favor in his sight 
 As the young Priestess ; and though, since that night 
 When the death-caverns echoed every tone 
 Of the dir oath that made her all his own, 
 The Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize, 
 Had more than once thrown off his soul's disguise, 
 And ut.ter'd such unheavenly, monstrous things, 
 As even across the desperate wanderings 
 Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out, 
 Threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt, 
 Yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow, 
 The thought, still haunting her, of that bright brow, 
 Whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye conceal'd, 
 Would soon, proud triumph ! be to her reveal'd, 
 To her alone ; and then the hope, most dear, 
 Most wild of all, that her transgression here 
 Was but a passage through Earth's grosser fire, 
 From ^rhich the spirit would at last aspire,
 
 5<D LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Even purer than before : as perfumes rise 
 
 Thro 1 flame and smoke, most welcome to the skies ; 
 
 And that when Azim's fond, divine embrace 
 
 Should circle her in heaven, no darkening trace 
 
 Would on that bosom he once loved remain, 
 
 But all be bright, be pure, be his again ! 
 
 These were the wildering dreams, whose curst 
 
 deceit 
 
 Had chain'd her soul beneath the tempter's feet, 
 And made her think even damning falsehood sweet. 
 But now that Shape, which had appall'd her view, 
 That Semblance oh, how terrible, if true! 
 Which came across her frenzy's full career 
 With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, severe, 
 As when, in northern seas, at midnight dark, 
 An isle of ice encounters some swift bark, 
 And, startling all its wretches from their sleep, 
 By one cold impulse hurls them to the deep ; 
 So came that shock not frenzy's self could bear, 
 And waking up each long-lull'd image there, 
 But check'd her headlong soul, to sink it in despair! 
 
 Wan and dejected, through the evening dusk, 
 She now went slowly to that small kiosk, 
 Where, pondering alone his impious schemes, 
 Mokanna waited her : too rapt in dreams 
 Of the fair-ripening future's rich success, 
 To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, 
 That sat upon his victim's downcast brow, 
 Or mark how slow her step, how alter'd now
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 5! 
 
 From the quick, ardent Priestess, whose light bound 
 Came like a spirit's o'er the unechoing ground, 
 From that wild Zelica, whose every glance 
 Was thrilling fire, whose every thought a trance ! 
 
 Upon his couch the Veil'd Mokanna lay, 
 While lamps around not such as lend their ray, 
 Glimmering and cold, to those who nightly pray 
 In holy Koom, or Mecca's dim arcades, 
 But brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely maids 
 Look loveliest in, shed their luxurious glow 
 Upon his mystic Veil's white glittering flow. 
 Beside him, 'stead of beads and books of prayer, 
 Which the world fondly thought he mused on there, 
 Stood vases, fill'd with Kishmee's golden wine, 
 And the red weepings of the Shiraz vine ; 
 Of which his curtain'd lips full many a draught 
 Took zealously, as if each drop they quaffd, 
 Like Zemzem's Spring of Holiness, had power 
 T_o freshen the soul's virtues into flower ! 
 And still he drank and ponder'd, nor could see 
 The approaching maid, so deep his reverie ; 
 At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which 
 
 broke 
 
 From Eblis at the Fall- of Man, he spoke : 
 " Yes, ye vile race, for hell's amusement given, 
 Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin. with heaven: 
 God's images, forsooth ! such Gods as he 
 Whom India serves, the monkey deity;
 
 52 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Ye creatures of a breath, proud things of clay, 
 To whom if Lucifer, as grandams say, 
 Refused, though at the forfeit of heaven's light, 
 To bend in worship, Lucifer was right ! 
 Soon shall I plant this foot upon the neck 
 Of your foul race, and without fear or check, 
 Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame, 
 My deep-felt, long-nurst loathing of man's name; 
 Soon at the head of myriads, blind and fierce 
 As hooded falcons, through the universe 
 111 sweep my darkening, desolating way, 
 Weak man my instrument, curst man my prey ! 
 
 "Ye wise, ye learn'd, who grope your dull way 
 
 on 
 
 By the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone, 
 Like superstitious thieves, who think the light 
 From dead men's marrow guides them best at 
 
 night, 
 
 Ye shall have honors, wealth, yes, Sages, yes ! 
 I know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothingness ; 
 Undazzled it can track yon starry sphere, 
 But a gilt stick, a bauble, blinds it here. 
 How I shall laugh, when trumpeted along 
 In lying speech and still more lying song, 
 By these learn'd slaves, the meanest of the throng, 
 Their wits bought up, their wisdom shrunk so 
 
 small, 
 A sceptre's puny point can wield it all ! 
 
 I
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 53 
 
 "Ye, too, believers of incredible creeds, 
 Whose faith enshrines the monsters which it 
 
 breeds ; 
 
 Who, bolder even than Nemrod, think to rise, 
 By nonsense heap'd on nonsense, to the skies ; 
 Ye shall have miracles, ay, sound ones too, 
 Seen, heard, attested, everything but true. 
 Your preaching zealots, too inspired to seek 
 One grace of meaning for the things they speak ; 
 Your martyrs, ready to shed out their blood 
 For truths too heavenly to be understood ; 
 And your State Priests, sole vendors of the lore 
 That works salvation, as, on Ava's shore, 
 Where none but priests are privileged to trade 
 In that best marble of which gods are made ; 
 They shall have mysteries ay, precious stuff 
 For knaves to thrive by mysteries enough ; 
 Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can weave, 
 Which simple votaries shall on trust receive, 
 While craftier feign belief, till they believe. 
 A Heaven, too, ye must have, ye lords of dust, 
 A splendid Paradise, pure souls, ye must : 
 That Prophet ill sustains his holy call 
 Who finds not heavens to suit the tastes of all ; 
 Houris for boys, omniscience for sages, 
 And wings and glories for all ranks and ages. 
 Vain things ! as lust or vanity inspires, 
 The Heaven of each is but what each desires ; 
 And, soul or sense, whate'er the object be, 
 Man would be man to all eternity !
 
 54 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 So let him Eblis .' grant this crowning curse, 
 But keep him what he is, no Hell were worse." 
 
 " O my lost soul ! " exclaim'd the shuddering maid, 
 Whose ears had drunk like poison all he said ; 
 Mokanna started not abash'd, afraid, 
 He knew no more of fear than one who dwells 
 Beneath the tropics knows of icicles ! 
 But, in those dismal words that reached his ear, 
 " O my lost soul ! " there was a sound so drear, 
 So like that voice, among the sinful dead, 
 In which the legend o'er Hell's Gate is read, 
 That, new as 'twas from her whom nought could dim 
 Or sink tiil now, it startled even him. 
 
 " Ha, my fair Priestess ! " thus, with ready wile, 
 The impostor turn'd to greet her " thou whose 
 
 smile 
 
 Hath inspiration in its rosy beam 
 Beyond the Enthusiast's hope or Prophet's dream ! 
 Light of the faith ! who twin'st religion's zeal 
 So close with love's, men know not which they feei ; 
 Nor which to sigh for, in their trance of heart, 
 The heaven thou preachest or the heaven thou art ! 
 What should I be without thee? without thee 
 How dull were power, how joyless victory ! 
 Though borne by angels, if that smile of thine 
 Bless'd not my banner, 'twere but half divine. 
 But why so mournful, child? those eyes, that shone 
 All life last night what '! is their glory gone ?
 
 VEILED PROPHET OP KPIORASSAN. 5$ 
 
 Come, come this morn's fatigue hath made them 
 
 pale, 
 
 They want rekindling: suns themselves would fail, 
 Did not their comets bring, as I to thee, 
 From light's own fount supplies of brilliancy. 
 Thou seest this cup no juice of earth is here, 
 But the pure waters of that upper sphere 
 Whose rills over ruby beds and topaz flow, 
 Catching the gem's bright color as they go. 
 Nightly my Genii come and fill these urns 
 Nay, drink in every drop life's essence burns ; 
 'Twill make that soul all fire, those eyes all light 
 Come, come, I want thy loveliest smiles to-night : - 
 There is a youth why start? thou saw'st him 
 
 then ; 
 
 Look'd he not nobly? such the godlike men 
 Thou'lt have to woo thee in the bowers above ; 
 Though he, I fear, hath thoughts too stern for love. 
 Too ruled by that cold enemy of bliss 
 The world calls virtue we must conquer this; 
 Nay, shrink not, pretty sage ! 'tis not for thee 
 To scan the mazes of heaven's mystery : 
 The steel must pass through fire, ere it can yield 
 Fit instruments for mighty hands to wield. 
 This very night I mean to try the art 
 Of powerful beauty on that warriors heart. 
 All that my Haram boasts of bloom and wit, 
 Of skill and charms most rare and exquisite, 
 Shall tempt the boy ; young Mirzala's blue eyes, 
 Whose sleepy lid like snow on violets lies ;
 
 56 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Arouya's cheeks, warm as a spring-day sun, 
 And lips that, like the seal of Solomon, 
 Have magic in their pressure ; Zeba's lute, 
 And Lilians dancing feet, that gleam and shoot 
 Rapid and white as sea-birds o'er the deep 
 All shall combine their witching powers to steep 
 My convert's spirit in that softening trance, 
 From which to heaven is but the next advance ; 
 That glowing, yielding fusion of the breast, 
 On which Religion stamps her image best. 
 But hear me, Priestess ! Tho' each nymph of these 
 Hath some peculiar, practised power to please, 
 Some glance or step which, at the mirror tried, 
 First charms herself, then all the world beside ; 
 There still wants one, to make the victory sure, 
 One who in every look joins every lure ; 
 Thro' whom all beauty's beams concentred pass, 
 Dazzling and warm, as thro' love's burning-glass; 
 Whose gentle lips persuade without a word, 
 Whose words, even when unmeaning, are adored, 
 Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine, 
 Which our faith takes for granted are divine ! 
 Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and light, 
 To crown the rich temptations of to-night : 
 Such the refined enchantress that must be 
 This hero's vanquisher, and thou art she!" 
 
 With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart and pale, 
 The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. $? 
 
 From which these words, like south winds through 
 
 a fence 
 
 Of Kerzrah's flowers, came filled with pestilence ; 
 So boldly utter'd, too ! as if all dread 
 Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled, 
 And the wretch felt assured that, once plunged in, 
 Her woman's soul would know no pause in sin ! 
 
 At first, though mute she listen'd, like a dream 
 Seem'd all he said : nor could her mind, whose beam 
 As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme. 
 But when, at length, he utter'd, " Thou art she ! " 
 All flash'd at once, and shrieking piteously, 
 " Oh, not for worlds ! " she cried. " Great God ! to 
 
 whom 
 
 I once knelt innocent, is this my doom? 
 Are all my dreams, my hopes of heavenly bliss, 
 My purity, my pride, then come to this, 
 To live, the wanton of a fiend ! to be 
 The pander of his guilt oh, infamy ! 
 And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep 
 In its hot flood, drag others down as deep ! 
 Others ha ! yes that youth who came to-day 
 Not him I loved not him oh ! do but say, 
 But swear to me this moment 'tis not he, 
 And I will serve, dark fiend, will worship even 
 
 thee ! " 
 
 " Beware, young raving thing ! in time beware, 
 Nor utter what I cannot, must not bear,
 
 $8 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Even from thy lips. Go try thy lute, thy voice, 
 The boy must feel their magic ; I rejoice 
 To see those fires, no matter whence they rise, 
 Once more illuming my fair Priestess 1 eyes ; 
 And should the youth, whom soon those eyes shall 
 
 warm, 
 
 Indeed resemble thy dead lover's form, 
 So much the happier wilt thou find thy doom, 
 As one warm lover, full of life and bloom, 
 Excels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb. 
 Nay, nay, no frowning, sweet! those eyes were 
 
 made 
 For love, not anger I must be obeyed." 
 
 " Obey'd ! 'tis well yes, I deserve it all ; 
 On me, on me Heaven's vengeance cannot fall 
 Too heavily; but Azim, brave and true 
 And beautiful must he be ruin'd too? 
 Must he too, glorious as he is, be driven 
 A renegade like me from Love and Heaven? 
 Like me? weak wretch, I wrong him; not like 
 
 me; 
 
 No he's all truth and strength and purity ! 
 Fill up your maddening hell-cup to the brim, 
 Its witchery, fiends, will have no charm for him. 
 Let loose your glowing wantons from their bowers, 
 He loves, he loves, and can defy their powers ! 
 Wretch as I am, in his heart still I reign 
 Pure as when first we met, without a stain!
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 59 
 
 Though ruin'd lost my memory, like a charm. 
 Left by the dead, still keeps his soul from harm. 
 Oh, never let him know how deep the brow 
 He kiss'd at parting is dishonor'd now ; 
 Ne'er tell him how debased, how sunk is she, 
 Whom once he loved once ! still loves dotingly. 
 Thou laugh'st, tormentor; what! thou'lt brand my 
 
 name? 
 
 Do, do in vain he'll not believe my shame 
 He thinks me true ; that nought beneath God's 
 
 sky 
 
 Could tempt or change me, and so once thought I. 
 But this is past though worse than death my lot, 
 Than hell 'tis nothing while he knows it not. 
 Far off to some benighted land I'll fly, 
 Where sunbeam ne'er shall enter till I die ; 
 Where none will ask the lost one whence she came, 
 But I may fade and fall without a name. 
 And thou curst man or fiend, whate'er thou art, 
 Who found'st this burning plague-spot in my heart, 
 And spread'st it oh, so quick ! through soul and 
 
 frame, 
 
 With more than demon's art, till I became 
 A loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame ! -* 
 If when I'm gone " 
 
 " Hold, fearless maniac, hold, 
 Nor tempt my raga by Heaven, not half so bold 
 The puny bird, that dares with teasing hum 
 Within the crocodile's stretch'd jaws to come !
 
 6O LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 And so thou'lt fly, forsooth ? What ! give up ali 
 Thy chaste dominion in the Haram Hall, 
 Where now to Love and now to Alia given, 
 Half mistress and half saint, thou hang'st as even 
 As doth Medina's tomb, 'twixt hell and heaven! 
 Thou'lt fly ! as easily may reptiles run, 
 The gaunt snake once hath fix'd his eyes upon ; 
 As easily, when caught, the prey may be 
 Pluck'd from his loving folds, as thou from me. 
 No, no, 'tis fix'd let good or ill betide, 
 Thou'rt mine till death, till death Mokanna's bride ! 
 Hast thou forgot thy oath ? " 
 
 At this dread word, 
 
 The maid, whose spirit his rude taunts had stirr'd 
 Through all its depth, and roused an anger there 
 That burst and lighten'd even through her despair, 
 Shrunk back, as if a blight were in the breath 
 That spoke that word, and stagger'd, pale as death. 
 
 " Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in bowers 
 Their bridal place the charnel vault was ours ! 
 Instead of scents and balms, for thee and me 
 Rose the rich streams of sweet mortality ; 
 Gay,flickering death-lights shone while we were wed, 
 And, for our guests, a row of goodly Dead 
 (Immortal spirits in their time, no doubt,) 
 From reeking shrouds upon the rite look'd out ! 
 That oath thou heard'st more lips than thine repeat ; 
 That cup thou shudderest, Lady, was it sweet?
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 6 1 
 
 That cup we pledged, the charnePs choicest wine, 
 Hath bound thee ay, body and soul are mine ; 
 Bound thee by chains that, whether blest or curst 
 No matter now, not hell itself shall burst ! 
 Hence, woman, to the Haram, and look gay, 
 Look wild, look anything but sad ; yet stay 
 One moment more from what this night hath 
 
 pass'd, 
 
 I see thou know'st me, know'st me well at last. 
 Ha ! ha ! and so, fond thing, thou thought'st all true, 
 And that I love mankind ! I do, I do 
 As victims, love them ; as the sea-dog doats 
 Upon the small, sweet fry that round him floats; 
 Or as the Nile-bird loves the slime that gives 
 That rank and venomous food on which she lives ! 
 
 " And, now thou see'st my soufs angelic hue, 
 'Tis time these features were uncurtain'd, too; 
 This brow, whose light oh, rare celestial light ! 
 Hath been reserved to bless thy favor'd sight ; 
 These dazzling eyes, before whose shrouded might 
 Thou'st seen immortal Man kneel down and quake 
 Would that they were heaven's lightnings for his 
 
 sake ! 
 
 But turn and look then wonder, if thou wilt, 
 That I should hate, should take revenge, by guilt, 
 Upon the hand whose mischief or whose mirth 
 Sent me thus maimM and monstrous upon earth ; 
 And on that race who, though more vile they be 
 Than mowing apes, are demi-gods to me !
 
 62 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Here judge if hell, with all its power to damn, 
 Can add one curse to the foul thing I am ! " 
 
 He raised his veil the maid turn'd slowly round, 
 Look'd at him shriek'd and sunk upon the 
 ground ! 
 
 ON their arrival, next night, at the place of en- 
 campment, they were surprised and delighted to 
 find the groves all around illuminated ; some artists 
 of Yamtcheou having been sent on previously for 
 the purpose. On each side of the green alley, 
 which led to the Royal Pavilion, artificial sceneries 
 of bamboo-work were erected, representing arches, 
 minarets, and towers, from which hung thousands 
 of silken lanterns, painted by the most delicate 
 pencils of Canton. Nothing could be more beautiful 
 than the leaves of the mango-trees and acacias, 
 shining in the light of the bamboo-scenery, which 
 shed a lustre round as soft as that of the nights of 
 Peristan. 
 
 Lalla Rookh, however, who was too much occu- 
 pied by the sad story of Zelica and her lover, to 
 give a thought to anything else, except, perhaps, 
 to him who related it, hurried on through this scene 
 of splendor to her pavilion; greatly to the mor- 
 tification of the poor artists of Yamtcheou, and 
 was followed with equal rapidity by the Great 
 Chamberlain, cursing, as he went, that ancient 
 Mandarin whose parental anxiety in lighting up the
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN". 63 
 
 shores of the lake, where his beloved daughter had 
 wandered and been lost, was the origin of these 
 fantastic Chinese illuminations. 
 
 Without a moment's delay, young Feramorz was 
 introduced ; and Fadladeen, who could never make 
 up his mind as to the merits of a poet till he knew 
 the religious sect to which he belonged, was about 
 to ask him whether he was a Shia or a Sooni, when 
 Lalla Rookh impatiently clapped her hands for 
 silence, and the youth, being seated upon the 
 musnud near her, proceeded : 
 
 PREPARE thy soul, young Azim ! thou hast braved 
 
 The bands of Greece, still mighty though enslaved ; 
 
 Hast faced her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame, 
 
 Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame ; 
 
 All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow, 
 
 But a more perilous trial waits thee now, 
 
 Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes 
 
 From every land where woman smiles or sighs : 
 
 Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise 
 
 His black or azure banner in their blaze ; 
 
 And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash 
 
 That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash, 
 
 To the sly, stealing splendors, almost hid, 
 
 Like swords half-sheathed, beneath the downcast 
 
 lid: 
 
 Such, Azim, is the lovely luminous host 
 Now led against thee ; and, let conquerors boast 
 Their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms 
 A young, warm spirit against beauty's charms,
 
 64 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall, 
 Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all. 
 
 Now, thro' the Haram chambers, moving lights 
 And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites ; 
 From room to room the ready handmaids hie, 
 Some skill'd to wreathe the turban tastefully, 
 Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade, 
 O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, 
 Who, if between the folds but one eye shone, 
 Like Seba's Queen could vanquish with that one ; 
 While some bring leaves of Henna, to imbue 
 The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue, 
 So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem 
 Like tips of coral branches in the stream ; 
 And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye, 
 To give that long, dark languish to the eye, 
 Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to 
 
 cull 
 
 From fair Circassians vales, so beautiful. 
 All is in motion ; rings and plumes and pearls 
 Are shining everywhere : some younger girls 
 Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds, 
 To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads ; 
 Gay creatures ! sweet, tho' mournful, 'tis to see 
 How each prefers a garland from that tree 
 Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent 
 
 day, 
 And the dear fields and friendships far away.
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 65 
 
 The maid of India, blest again to hold 
 In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold, 
 Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood, 
 Her little playmates scatter'd many a bud 
 Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam 
 Just dripping from the consecrated stream ; 
 While the young Arab, haunted by the smell 
 Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell, 
 The sweet Elcaya, and that courteous tree 
 Which bows to all who seek its canopy, 
 Sees, call'd up round her by these magic scents, 
 The well, the camels, and her father's tents ; 
 Sighs for the home she left with little pain, 
 And wishes even its sorrows back again ! 
 
 Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, 
 Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls 
 Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound 
 From many a jasper fount, is heard around, 
 Young Azim roams bewilder'd, nor can guess 
 What means this maze of light and loneliness. 
 Here the way leads, o'er tessellated floors 
 Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors, 
 Where, ranged in cassolets and silver urns, 
 Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns ; 
 And spicy rods, such as illume at night 
 The bowers of Tibet, send forth odorous light, 
 Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road 
 For some pure Spirit to its blest abode :
 
 66 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 And here, at once, the glittering saloon 
 Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon ; 
 Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays 
 In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays 
 High as the enamell'd cupola, which towers 
 All rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers : 
 And the mosaic floor beneath shines through 
 The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew, 
 Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye, 
 That on the margin of the Red Sea lie. 
 
 Here too he traces the kind visitings 
 Of woman's love, in those fair living things 
 Of land and wave, whose fate in bondage thrown 
 For their weak loveliness is like her own ! 
 On one side, gleaming with a sudden grace 
 Through water brilliant as the crystal vase 
 In which it undulates, small fishes shine, 
 Like golden ingots from a fairy mine ; 
 While, on the other, latticed lightly in 
 With odoriferous woods of Comorin, 
 Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen : 
 Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between 
 The crimsom blossoms of the coral tree 
 In the warm Isles of India's sunny sea : 
 Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, and the thrush 
 Of Hindostan, whose holy warblings gush, 
 At evening, from the tall pagoda's top ; 
 Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 6/ 
 
 About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food 
 Whose scent hath lured them o'er the summer 
 
 flood; 
 
 And those that under Araby's soft sun 
 Build their high nests of budding cinnamon ; 
 In short, all rare and beauteous things, that fly 
 Through the pure element, here calmly lie 
 Sleeping in light, like the green birds that dwell 
 In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel. 
 
 So on, through scenes past all imagining, 
 More like the luxuries of that impious King 
 Whom Death's dark angel, with his lightning torch, 
 Struck down and blasted even in Pleasure's porch, 
 Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent, 
 Arm'd with Heaven's sword, for man's enfranchise- 
 ment, 
 
 Young Azim wander'd, looking sternly round ; 
 His simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound 
 But 111 according with the pomp and grace 
 And silent lull of that voluptuous place. 
 
 "Is this, then," thought the youth. " is this the way 
 To free man's spirit from the deadening sway 
 Of worldly sloth, to teach him, while he lives, 
 To know no bliss but that which virtue gives, 
 And, when he dies, to leave his lofty name 
 A light, a landmark on the cliffs of fame? 
 It was not so, Land of the generous thought 
 And daring deed, thy godlike sages taught ;
 
 68 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease, 
 
 Thy freedom nursed her sacred energies ; 
 
 Oh, not beneath the enfeebling, withering glow 
 
 Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow, 
 
 With which she wreathed her sword, when she 
 
 would dare 
 
 Immortal deeds ; but in the bracing air 
 Of toil, of temperance, of that high, rare, 
 Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe 
 Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath. 
 Who that surveys this span of earth we press, 
 This speck of life in Time's great wilderness, 
 This narrow isthmus ' twixt two boundless seas, 
 The past, the future, two eternities ! 
 Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, 
 When he might build him a proud temple there, 
 A name that long shall hallow all its space, 
 And be each purer soul's high resting-place? 
 But no it cannot be, that one whom God 
 Hath sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod, 
 A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws 
 Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane its cause 
 With the world's vulgar pomp ; no, no, I see 
 He thinks me weak this glare of luxury 
 Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze 
 Of my young sou! : shine on, 'twill stand the blaze ! " 
 
 So thought the youth ; but, even while he defied 
 This witching scene, he felt its witchery glide
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 69 
 
 Thro' every sense. The perfume breathing round, 
 
 Like a pervading spirit ; the still sound 
 
 Of falling waters, lulling as the song 
 
 Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng ^ 
 
 Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep 
 
 In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep ; 
 
 And music, too dear music! that can touch 
 
 Beyond all else the soul that loves it much 
 
 Now heard far off, so far as but to seem 
 
 Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream, 
 
 All was too much for him, too full of bliss, 
 
 The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this : 
 
 Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave 
 
 His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave 
 
 Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid : 
 
 He thought of Zelica, his own dear maid, 
 
 And of the time when, full of blissful sighs, 
 
 They sat and look'd into each other's eyes, 
 
 Silent and happy as if God had given 
 
 Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven. 
 
 " O my loved mistress, thou whose spirit still 
 Is 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 ! 
 C
 
 70 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 How shall I bear the moment when restored 
 
 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, unbreathed 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? 
 
 O 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 toward 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, forged 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 1 slavery ; 
 And round and round them still, in wheeling flight, 
 Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night ; 
 While others walk'd, as gracefully along 
 Their feet kept time, the very soul of song,
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. /I 
 
 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 
 Lively 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, 
 Beckoning 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 the Arab tongue 
 Engraven o'er with some immortal line 
 From Holy Writ, or bard scarce less divin ; 
 While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood, 
 Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood, / 
 
 Which once or twice she touched 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
 
 /2 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 She saw through all his features calm'd her fear, 
 And like a half-tamed 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 Isfahan 
 Touch'd a preluding strain, and thus began : 
 
 There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, 
 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 ; 
 
 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 mine eyes, 
 Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer.
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 73 
 
 "Poor maiden!" thought the youth, "if thoa 
 
 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 lip should sweetly counsel wrong, 
 Those vestal eyes would disavow its song. , 
 
 But thou hast breathed such purity, thy lay j 
 
 Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day, 
 And leads thy soul if e'er it wanderd thence 
 So gently back to its first innocence, 
 That I would sooner stop the unchain'd 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 without fling after them in play, 
 Two lightsome maidens spring lightsome as they 
 Who live in the air on odors, and around 
 The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground,
 
 74 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Chase 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 Azim'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 
 
 danced 
 
 Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanced 
 More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er 
 The hills of crystal on their Caspian shore ; 
 While from their long dark tresses, in a fall 
 Of curls descending, bells as musical 
 As those that, on the golden-shafted trees 
 Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze, 
 Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet, 
 As 'twere the ecstatic language of their feet. 
 At length the chase was o'er, and they stood 
 
 wreathed 
 
 Within each others arms ; while soft there breathed 
 Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs 
 Of moonlight flowers, music that seem'd to rise 
 From some still lake, so liquidly it rose ; 
 And, as it swell'd again at each faint close,
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 75 
 
 The ear could track, through all that maze of chords 
 And young sweet voices, these impassion'd words : 
 
 A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh 
 Is burning now through earth and air : 
 
 Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh ; 
 Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there ! 
 
 His breath is the soul of flowers like these, 
 And his floating eyes oh, they resemble 
 
 Blue water-lilies, when the breeze 
 
 Is making the stream around them tremble. 
 
 Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power ! 
 
 Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss ! 
 Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 
 
 And there never was moonlight so sweet as this, 
 
 By the fair and brave 
 
 Who blushing unite, 
 Like the sun and wave, 
 
 When they meet at night ; 
 
 By the tear that shows 
 
 When passion is nigh, 
 As the rain-drop flows 
 
 From the heat of the sky ; 
 
 By the first love-beat 
 
 Of the youthful heart, 
 By the bliss to meet, 
 
 And the pain to part ;
 
 76 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 By all that thou hast 
 
 To mortals given, 
 Which oh, could it last, 
 
 This earth were heaven, 
 
 We call thee hither, entrancing Power ! 
 
 Spirit of Love ! Spirit of Bliss ! 
 Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 
 
 And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. 
 
 Impatient of a scene whose luxuries stole, 
 Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, 
 And where, midst all that the young heart loves 
 
 most 
 
 Flowers, music, smiles to yield was to be lost, 
 The youth had started up and turned away 
 From the light nymphs, and their luxurious lay, 
 To muse upon the pictures that hung round, 
 Bright images, that spoke without a sound, 
 And views like vistas into fairy ground. 
 But here again new spells came o'er his sense : 
 All that the pencil's mute omnipotence 
 Could call up into life, of soft and fair, 
 Of fond and passionate, was glowing there ; 
 Nor yet too warm, but touch'd with that fine art 
 Which paints of pleasure but the purer part ; 
 Which knows even Beauty when half-veil'd is best, 
 Like her own radient planet of the west, 
 Whose orb when half retired looks loveliest
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 77 
 
 There hung the history of .the Genii King, 
 Traced through each gay voluptuous wandering 
 With her from Saba's bowers, in whose bright eyes 
 He read that to be blest is to be wise ; 
 Here fond Zuleikawoos with open arms 
 The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms. 
 Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone, 
 Wishes that Heaven and she could both be won; 
 And here Mohammed, born for love and guile, 
 Forgets the Koran in his Mary's smile, 
 Then beckons some kind angel from above 
 With a new text to consecrate their love. 
 
 With rapid step, yet pleased and lingering eye, 
 Did the youth pass these pictured stories by, 
 And hasten'd to a casement, where the light 
 Of the calm moon came in, and freshly bright 
 The fields without were seen, sleeping as still 
 As if no life remain'd in breeze or rill. 
 Here paused he, while the music, now less near, 
 Breathed with a holier language on his ear, 
 As though the distance, and that heavenly ray 
 Through which the sounds came floating, took away 
 All that had been too earthly in the lay. 
 
 Oh, could he listen to such sounds unmoved, 
 And by that light, nor dream of her he loved? 
 Dream on, unconscious boy ! while yetthou mayst; 
 'T is the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste.
 
 /8 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart, 
 Ere all the light that made it dear depart. 
 Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last. 
 Clear, beautiful, by nought of earth o'ercast ; 
 Recall her tears, to thee at parting given, 
 Pure as they weep, if angels weep, in Heaven. 
 Think, in her own still bower she waits thee now, 
 With the same glow of heart and bloom of brow, 
 Yet shrined in solitude thine all, thine only, 
 Like the one star above thee, bright and lonely. 
 Oh, that a dream so sweet, so long enjoy 'd, 
 Should be so sadly, cruelly destroyed ! 
 
 The song is hush'd, the laughing nymphs are 
 
 flown, 
 
 And he is left, musing of bliss, alone ; 
 Alone? no, not alone ; that heavy sigh, 
 That sob of grief, which broke from some one 
 
 nigh 
 
 Whose could it be ? alas ! is misery found 
 Here, even here, on this enchanted ground ? 
 He turns, and sees a female form, close veiled, 
 Leaning, as if both heart and strength had fail'd, 
 Against a pillar near : not glittering o'er 
 With gems and wreaths, such as the others wore, 
 But in that deep-blue melancholy dress 
 Bokhara's maidens wear in mindfulness 
 Of friends or kindred, dead or far away; 
 And such as Zelica had on that day
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 79 
 
 He left her when, with heart too full to speak, 
 He took away hei last warm tears upon his cheek. 
 
 A strange emotion stirs within him, more 
 Than mere compassion ever waked before ; 
 Unconsciously he opes his arms, while she 
 Springs forward, as wifh life's last energy, 
 But, swooning in that one convulsive bound, 
 Sinks, ere she reach his arms, upon the ground ; 
 Her veil falls off: her faint hands clasp his knees: 
 1 Tis she herself ! 'tis Zelica he sees ! 
 But, ah, so pale, so changed none but a lover 
 Could in that wreck of beauty's shrine discover 
 The once adored divinity, even he 
 Stood for some moments mute, and doubtingly 
 Put back the ringlets from her brow, and gazed 
 Upon those lids, where once such lustre blazed, 
 Ere he could think she was indeed his own, 
 Own darling maid whom he so long had known 
 In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both ; 
 Who, even when grief was heaviest when loth 
 He left her for the wars in that worst hour 
 Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night-flower, 
 When darkness brings its weeping glories out, 
 And spreads its sighs like frankincense about. 
 
 " Look up, my Zelica ! one moment show 
 Those gentle eyes to me, that I may know 
 Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, 
 But there, at least, shines as it ever shone.
 
 SO LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Come, look upon thine Azim, one dear glance, 
 Like those of old, were heaven ! whatever chance 
 Hath brought thee here, oh, 'twas a blessed one! 
 There my loved lips they move ; that kiss hath 
 
 run 
 
 Like the first shoot of life through every vein, 
 And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again. 
 Oh, the delight ! now, in this very hour, 
 When had the whole rich world been in my power 
 I should have singled out thee, only thee, 
 From the whole world's collected treasury 
 To have thee here to hang thus fondly o'er 
 My own, best, purest Zelica once more ! " 
 
 It was indeed the touch of those fond lips 
 Upon her eyes that chased their short eclipse > 
 And, gradual as the snow, at Heaven's breath, 
 Melts off and shows the azure flowers beneath, 
 Her lids unclosed, and the bright eyes were seen 
 Gazing on his not, as they late had been, 
 Quick, restless, wild, but mournfully serene; 
 As if to lie, even for that tranced minute, 
 So near his heart, had consolation in it ; 
 And thus to wake in his beloved caress 
 Took from her soul one half its wretchedness. 
 But when she heard him call her good and pure, 
 Oh, 'twas too much too dreadful to endure ! 
 Shuddering, she broke away from his embrace, 
 And, hiding with both hands her guilty face,
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 8 1 
 
 Said, in a tone whose anguish would have riven 
 A heart of very marble, " Pure ! O Heaven ! " 
 That tone those looks so changed the 
 
 withering blight 
 
 That sin and sorrow leave where'er they light ; 
 The dead despondency of those sunk eyes, 
 Where once had he thus met her by surprise, 
 He would have seen himself, too happy boy, 
 Reflected in a thousand lights of joy; 
 And then the place, that bright unholy place, 
 Where vice lay hid beneath each winning grace 
 And charm of luxury, as the viper weaves 
 Its wily covering of sweet balsam leaves, 
 All struck upon his heart sudden and cold 
 As death itself; it needs not to be told 
 No, no he sees it all, plain as the brand 
 Of burning shame can mark ; whatever the hand 
 That could from Heaven and him such brightness 
 
 sever, 
 
 Tis done to Heaven and him she's lost forever ! 
 It was a dreadful moment ; not the tears, 
 The lingering, lasting misery of years, 
 Could match that minute's anguish ; all the worst 
 Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst 
 Broke o'er his soul, and, with one crash of fete, 
 Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate. 
 
 " Oh, curse me not," she cried, as wild he toss'd 
 His desperate hand toward Heaven; "tho' I aro 
 lost,
 
 82 Z.ALLA ROOKIl. 
 
 Think not that guilt, that falsehood made me fall : 
 No, no 'twas grief, 'twas madness did it all ! 
 Nay, doubt me not ; though all thy love hath 
 
 ceased 
 
 I know it hath yet, yet believe, at least, 
 That every spark of reason's light must be 
 Quench'd in this brain, ere I could stray from thee ! 
 They told me thou wert dead why, Azim, why 
 Did we not, both of us, that instant die 
 When we were parted? Oh, couldst thou but know 
 With what a deep devotedness of woe 
 I wept thine absence o'er and o'er again 
 Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain, 
 And memory, like a drop that night and day 
 Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away. 
 Didst thou but know how pale I sat at home, 
 Mine eyes still turn'd the way thou wert to come, 
 And, all the long, long nights of hope and fear, 
 Thy voice and step still sounding in mine ear 
 O God ! thou wouldst not wonder that, at last, 
 When every hope was all at once o'ercast, 
 When I heard frightful voices round me say, 
 Azim is dead! this wretched brain gave way, 
 And I became a wreck, at random driven, 
 Without one glimpse of reason or of Heaven 
 All wild and even this quenchless love within 
 Turn'd to foul fires to light me into sin ! 
 Thou pitiest me I knew thou wouldst that 
 
 sky 
 Hath nought beneath it half so lorn as I.
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 83 
 
 The fiend who lured me hither hist ! come near, 
 
 Or thou too, thou art lost, if he should hear 
 
 Told me such things oh, with such devilish art 
 
 As would have ruin'd even a holier heart 
 
 Of thee, and of that ever-radiant sphere, 
 
 Where blest at length, if I but served ////// here, 
 
 I should forever live in thy dear sight, 
 
 And drink from those pure eyes eternal light. 
 
 Think, think how lost, how madden'd I must be, 
 
 To hope that guilt could lead to God or thee ! 
 
 Thou weep'st for me do weep! oh, that I durst 
 
 Kiss off that tear ! but, no these lips are curst, 
 
 They must not touch thee ; one divine caress, 
 
 One blessed moment of forgetfulness 
 
 I've had within those arms, and that shall lie, 
 
 Shrined in my soul's deep memory till I die ; 
 
 The last of joy's last relics here below, 
 
 The one sweet drop, in all this waste of woe, 
 
 My heart has treasured from affection's spring, 
 
 To sooth and cool its deadly withering ! 
 
 But thou yes, thou must go forever go ; 
 
 This place is not for thee for thee ! oh, no ! 
 
 Did I but tell the half, thy tortured brain 
 
 Would burn like mine, and mine grow wild again ! 
 
 Enough, that Guilt reigns here that hearts, once 
 
 good, 
 
 Now tainted, chill'd, and broken, are his food ; 
 Enough, that we are parted that their rolls 
 A flood of headlong fate between our souls, 
 Whose darkness severs me as wide from thee 
 As Hell from Heaven, to all eternity ! "
 
 84 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 " Zelica, ZelicaP'the youth exclaim'd, 
 In all the tortures of a mind inflamed 
 Almost to madness " by that sacred Heaven, 
 Where yet, if prayers can move, thou'lt be forgive* 
 As thou art here here, in this writhing heart, 
 All sinful, wild, and ruinM as thou art! 
 By the remembrance of our once pure love, 
 Which, like a churchyard light, still burns at>ove 
 The grave of our lost souls which guilt in thee 
 Cannot extinguish, nor despair in me, 
 I do conjure, implore the to fly hence ! 
 If thou host yet one spark of innocence 
 Fly with me from this place " 
 
 "With thee? oh, blist! 
 
 'Tis worth whole years of torment to hear this ! 
 What ! take the lost one with thee ? let her rove 
 By thy dear side, as in those days of love 
 When we were both so happy, both so pure? 
 Too heavenly dream ! if there's on earth a cure 
 For the sunk heart, His this day after day 
 To be the blest companion of thy way ; 
 To hear thine angel eloquence to see 
 Those virtuous eyes forever turn'd on me ; 
 And, in their light re-chasten'd silently, 
 Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun, 
 Grow pure by being purely shone upon ! 
 And thou wilt pray for me I know thou wilt 
 At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt
 
 Copyrighted by S. E. Casein 
 
 Lalla Rookh I
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KIIORASSAN. 8$ 
 
 Come heaviest o'er the heart, thou'lt lift thine eyes 
 Full of sweet tears, unto the darkening skies, 
 And plead for me with Heaven, till I can dare 
 To fix my own weak sinful glances there ; 
 Till the good angels, when they see me cling 
 Forever near thee, pale and sorrowing, 
 Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven, 
 And bid thee take thy weeping slave to Heaven ! 
 Oh, yes, 1 '11 fly with thee " 
 
 Scarce had she said 
 These breathless words, when a voice deep and 
 
 dread 
 
 As that of Monker, waking up the dead 
 From their first sleep so startling 'twas to both 
 Rung through the casement near: "Thine oath! 
 
 thine oath ! " 
 
 Heaven, the ghastliness of that maid's look ! 
 " 'Tis he !" faintly she cried, while terror shook 
 Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her eyes, 
 Tho' thro' the casement now nought but the skies 
 And moonlit fields were seen, calm as before, 
 "'Tis he and I am his all, all is o'er! 
 
 Go fly this instant, or thou'rt ruin'd too 
 Mine oath, mine oath ! O God ! 'tis all too true ! 
 True as the worm in this cold heart it is 
 
 1 am Mokanna's bride his, Azim, his ! 
 
 The Dead stood round us, while I spoke that vow ; 
 Their blue lips echoed it I hear them now !
 
 86 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Their eyes glared on me while I pledged that bowl : 
 'Twas burning blood I feel it in my soul ! 
 And the Veil'd Bridegroom hist ! I've seen to- 
 night 
 
 What angels know not of so foul a sight, 
 So horrible oh, never may'st thou see 
 What there lies hid from all but hell and me ! 
 But I must hence off, off! I am not thine, 
 Nor Heaven's, nor Love's, nor aught that is divine ! 
 Hold me not ha! think'st thou the fiends that 
 
 sever 
 
 Hearts, cannot sunder hands? thus, then for- 
 ever ! " 
 
 With all that strength which madness lends the 
 
 weak, 
 
 She flung away his arm ; and with a shriek 
 Whose sound, though he should linger out more 
 
 years 
 
 Than wretch e'er told, can never leave his ears 
 Flew up through that long avenue of light, 
 Fleetly as some dark ominous bird of night 
 Across the sun, and soon was out of sight ! 
 
 LALLA ROOKH could think of nothing all day 
 but the misery of these two young lovers. H.r 
 gayety was gone, and she looked pensively even 
 upon Fadladeen. She felt, too, without knowing 
 why, a sort of uneasy pleasure in imagining that 
 Azim must have been just such a youth as Fera-
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KIIORAsSAfr. 8/ 
 
 morz ; just as worthy to enjoy all the blessings, 
 without any of the pangs, of that illusive passion 
 which too often, like the sunny apples of Istkahar, 
 is all sweetness on one side, and all bitterness on 
 the other. 
 
 As they passed along a sequestered river after 
 sunset, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the 
 bank, whose employment seemed to them so 
 strange that they stopped their palankeens to observe 
 her. She had lighted a small lamp, filled with oil 
 of cocoa, and, placing it in an earthen dish, 
 adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it 
 with a trembling hand to the stream ; and was now 
 anxiously watching its progress down the current, 
 heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up 
 beside her. Lalla Rookh was all curiosity ; when 
 one of her attendants, who had lived upon the banks 
 of the Ganges (where this ceremony is so freqient, 
 that often, in the dusk of the evening, the river is 
 seen glittering all over with lights, like the Oton- 
 tala, or Sea of Stars) , informed the Princess that it 
 was the usual way in which the friends of those 
 who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows 
 for their safe return. If the lamp sunk immediately, 
 the omen was disastrous ; but if it went shining 
 down the stream, and continued to burn until 
 entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object 
 was considered as certain. 
 
 Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than once 
 looked back to observe how the young Hindoo's
 
 88 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 lamp proceeded ; and, while she saw with pleasure 
 that it was still unextinguished, she could not help 
 fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better 
 than that feeble light upon the river. The re- 
 mainder of the journey was passed in silence. She 
 now, for the first time, felt that shade of melancholy 
 which comes over the youthful maiden's heart, as 
 sweet and transient as her own breath upon a mirror ; 
 nor was it till she heard the lute of Feramorz, 
 touched lightly at the door of her pavilion, that she 
 waked from the reverie in which she had been 
 wandering. Instantly her eyes were lighted up 
 with pleasure ; and after a few unheard remarks 
 from Fadladeen, upon the indecorum of a poet 
 seating himself in presence of a Princess, everything 
 was arranged as on the preceding evening, and all 
 listened with eagerness, while the story was thus 
 continued : 
 
 WHOSE are the gilded tents that crowd the way, 
 Where all was waste and silent yesterday? 
 This City of War, which, in a few short hours, 
 Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers 
 Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star, 
 Built the high pillar'd halls of Chilminar, 
 Had conjured up, far as the eye can see, 
 This world of tents, and domes, and sun-bright 
 
 armory : 
 
 Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a fold 
 Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold;
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 89 
 
 Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun, 
 Their chains and poitrels, glittering in the sun ; 
 And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's shells, 
 Shaking in every breeze their light-toned bells ! 
 
 But yester-eve, so motionless aroun 
 So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound 
 But the far torrent, or the locust bird 
 Hunting among the thickets, could be heard ; 
 Yet hark ! what discords now, of every kind ! 
 Shouts, laughs, and screams, are revelling in the 
 
 wind ; 
 
 The neigh of cavalry ; the tinkling throngs 
 Of laden camels and their drivers' songs ; 
 Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze 
 Of streamers from ten thousand canopies ; 
 War music, bursting out from time to time, 
 With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime ; 
 Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds are mute* 
 The mellow breathings of some horn or flute, 
 That far off, broken by the eagle note 
 Of the Abyssinian trumpet, swell and float. 
 
 Who leads this mighty army ? ask ye who? 
 And mark ye not those banners of dark hue, 
 The Night and Shadow, over yonder tent? 
 It is the Caliph's glorious armament. 
 Roused in his Palace by the dread alarms, 
 That hourly came, of the false Prophet's arms,
 
 9O LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 And of his host of infidels, who hurl'd 
 Defiance fierce at Islam and the world, 
 Though worn with Grecian warfare, and behind 
 The veils of his bright Palace calm reclined, 
 Yet brook'd he not such blasphemy should stain, 
 Thus unrevenged, the evening of his reign ; 
 But, having sworn upon the Holy Grave 
 To conquer or to perish, once more gave 
 His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze, 
 And with an army nursed in victories, 
 Here stands to crush the rebels that o'errun 
 His blest and beauteous Province of the Sun. 
 
 Ne'er did the march of Mahadi display 
 Such pomp before ; not even when on his way 
 To Mecca's Temple, wlien both land and sea 
 Were spoil'd to feed the Pilgrim's luxury ; 
 When round him, 'mid the burning sands, he saw 
 Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw, 
 And cool'd his thirsty lip, beneath the glow 
 Of Mecca's sun, with urns of Persian snow ; 
 Nor e'er did armament more grand than that 
 Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat. 
 First, in the van, the People of the Rock, 
 On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock; 
 Then, chieftains of Damascus, proud to see 
 The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry ; 
 Men from the regions near the Volga's mouth 
 Mix'd with the rude black archers of the South ;
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 91 
 
 And Indian lancers, in white-turban'd ranks, 
 From the far Sinde, or Attock's sacred banks, 
 With dusky legions from the land of Myrrh, 
 And many a mace-arnVd Moor and Mid-sea islander. 
 
 Nor less in number, though more new and rude 
 In warfare's school, was the vast multitude 
 That, fired by zeal, or by oppression wrong'd, 
 Round the white standard of the Impostor throng'd ; 
 Beside his thousands of Believers blind, 
 Burning and headlong as the Samiel wind 
 Many who felt and more who fear'd to feel 
 The bloody Islamite's converting steel, 
 Flock'd to his banner : Chiefs of the Uzbek race, 
 Waving their heron crests with martial grace ; 
 Turkomans, countless as their flocks, led forth 
 From the aromatic pastures of the North ; 
 Wild warriors of the turquoise hills, and those 
 Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows 
 Of Hindoo Kosh, in stormy freedom bred, 
 Their fort the rock, their camp the torrent's bed. 
 But none, of all who own'd the Chiefs command, 
 Rush'd to that battle-field with bolder hand, 
 Or sterner hate, than Iran's outlaw'd men, 
 Her Worshippers of Fire, all panting then 
 For vengeance on the accursed Saracen, 
 Vengeance at last for their dear country spurn'd, 
 Her throne usurp'd, and her bright shrines o'er- 
 turn'd.
 
 92 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 From Yezd's eternal Mansion of the Fire, 
 Where aged saints in dreams of Heaven expire ; 
 From Badku, and those fountains of blue flame 
 That burn in the Caspian, fierce they came, 
 Careless for what or whom the blow was sped, 
 So vengeance triumph'd, and their tyrants bled. 
 
 Such was the wild and miscellaneous host 
 That high in air their motley banners tost 
 Around the Prophet-Chief all eyes still bent 
 Upon that glittering Veil, where'er it went, 
 That beacon through the battle's stormy flood, 
 That rainbow of the field, whose showers were blood. 
 
 Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set, 
 And risen again, and found them grappling yet ; 
 While streams of carnage, in the noontide blaze, 
 Smoke up to Heaven hot as that crimson haze 
 By which the prostrate Caravan is awed, 
 In the red Desert, when the wind's abroad. 
 " On, Swords of God ! " the panting Caliph calls, 
 "Thrones for the living Heaven for him who 
 
 falls ! " 
 
 " On, brave avengers, on ! " Mokanna cries, 
 " And Eblis blast the recreant slave that flies ! " 
 Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day : 
 They clash, they strive, the Caliph's troops give 
 
 way ! 
 
 Mokanna's self plucks the black Banner down, 
 And now the Orient World's Imperial Crown
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 93 
 
 Is just within its grasp when, hark ! that shout! 
 
 Some hand hath check'd the flying Moslem's rout ; 
 
 And now they turn, they rally at their head 
 
 A warrior (like those angel youths who led, 
 
 In glorious panoply of heaven's own mail, 
 
 The Champions of the Faith through Beder's vale). 
 
 Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, 
 
 .Turns on the fierce pursuers' blades, and drives 
 
 At once the multitudinous torrent back, 
 
 While hope and courage kindle in his track ; 
 
 And, at each step, his bloody falchion makes 
 
 Terrible vistas through which victory breaks ! 
 
 In vain Mokanna, 'midst the general flight, 
 
 Stands, like the red moon on some stormy night. 
 
 Among the fugitive clouds that, hurrying by, 
 
 Leave only her unshaken in the sky ; 
 
 In vain he yells his desperate curses out, 
 
 Deals death promiscuously to all about 
 
 To foes that charge and coward friends that fly, 
 
 And seems of all the Great Arch-enemy. 
 
 The panic spreads. " A miracle ! " throughout 
 
 The Moslem ranks, " a miracle ! " they shout, 
 
 All gazing on that youth, whose coming seems 
 
 A light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams ; 
 
 And every sword, true as o'er billows dim 
 
 The needle tracks the lodestar, following him ! 
 
 Right towards Mokanna now he cleaves his path, 
 Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath 
 He bears from Heaven withheld its awful burst
 
 94 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 From weaker heads, and souls but half-way curst, 
 To break o'er Him, the mightiest and the worst! 
 But vain his speed though, in that hour of blood, 
 Had all God's seraphs round Mokanna stood, 
 With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall, 
 Mokanna's soul would have defied them all ; 
 Yet now the rush of fugitives, too strong 
 For human force, hurries even him along ; 
 In vain he struggles 'mid the wedged array 
 Of flying thousands he is borne away ; 
 And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows, 
 In this forced flight, is murdering as he goes ! 
 As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might 
 Surprises in some parch'd ravine at night, 
 Turns, even in drowning, on the wretched flocks, 
 Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks, 
 And, to the last, devouring on his way, 
 Bloodies the stream he hath not power to stay. 
 
 " Alia ilia Alia I" the glad shout renew 
 " Alia Akbar ! " the Caliph's in Merou. 
 Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, 
 And light your shrines and chant your ziraleets. 
 The swords of God have triumph'd on his throne 
 Your Caliph sits, and the Veil'd Chief hath flown. 
 Who does not envy that young warrior now 
 To whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow, 
 In all the graceful gratitude of power, 
 For his throne's safety in that perilous hour?
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 95 
 
 Who doth not wonder, when, amidst the acclaim 
 Of thousands, heralding to Heaven his name, 
 'Mid all those holier harmonies of fame 
 Which sounds along the path of virtuous souls, 
 Like music round a planet as it rolls, 
 He turns away coldly, as if some gloom 
 Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume, 
 Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted gaze 
 Though Glory's light may play, in vain it plays? 
 Yes, wretched Azim ! thine is such a grief, 
 Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief; 
 A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break. 
 Or warm or brighten like the Syrian Lake, 
 Upon whose surface morn and summer shed 
 Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead ! 
 Hearts there have been, o'er which this weight of 
 
 woe 
 
 Came by long use of suffering, tame and slow ; 
 But thine, lost youth ! was sudden over thee 
 It broke at once, when all seem'd ecstasy; 
 When Hope look'd up, and saw the gloomy Past 
 Malt into splendor, and Bliss dawn at last 
 'Tvvas then, even then, o'er joys so freshly blown, 
 This mortal blight of misery came down ; 
 Even then, the full, warm gushings of thy heart 
 Were check'd like fount-drops, frozen as they 
 
 start ; 
 
 And there, like them, cold, sunless relics hang, 
 Kach fix'd and chill'd into a lasting pang.
 
 9<5 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 One sole desire, one passion now remains 
 To keep life's fever still within his veins, 
 Vengeance ! dire vengeance on the wretch who 
 
 cast 
 
 O'er him and all he loved that ruinous blast. 
 For this, when rumors reach'd him in his flight 
 Far, far away, after that fatal night, 
 Rumors of armies thronging to the attack 
 Of the Veil'd Chief for this he wing'd him back, 
 Fleet as the vulture speeds to flags unfurl'd, 
 And, when all hope seem'd desperate, wildly hurl'd 
 Himself into the scale, and saved a world. 
 For this he still lives on, careless of all 
 The wreaths that Glory on his path lets fall ; 
 For this alone exists like lightning-fire, 
 To speed one bolt of vengeance, and expire ! 
 
 But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives ; 
 With a small band of desperate fugitives, 
 The last sole stubborn fragment, left unriven, 
 Of the proud host that late stood fronting Heaven, 
 He gain'd Merou breathed a short curse of 
 
 blood 
 O'er his lost throne then pass'd the Jihon's 
 
 flood, 
 
 And gathering all whose madness of, belief 
 Still saw a Saviour in their down-fallen Chief, 
 Raised the white banner within Neksheb's gates, 
 And there, untamed, the approaching conqueror 
 
 waits.
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 9? 
 
 Of all his Haram, all that busy hive, 
 With music and with sweets sparkling alive, 
 He took but one, the partner of his flight, 
 One not for love, not for her beauty's light; 
 No, Zelica stood withering 'midst the gay, 
 Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday 
 From the Alma tree and dies, while overhead 
 To-day's young flower is springing in its stead. 
 Oh, not for love the deepest Damn'd must be 
 Touch'd with Heaven's glory, ere such fiends as he 
 Can feel one glimpse of Love's divinity ! 
 But no, she is his victim ; there lie all 
 Her charms for him charms that can never pall, 
 As long as Hell within his heart can stir, 
 Or one faint trace of Heaven is lef: in her. 
 To work an angel's ruin, to behold 
 As white a page as Virtue e'er unroM'd 
 Blacken, beneath his touch, into a scroll 
 Of damning sins, seal'd with a burning soul: 
 This is his triumph ; this the joy accirst, 
 That ranks him among demons all but first : 
 This gives the victim that before him ies, 
 Blighted and lost, a glory in his eyes, 
 A light like that with which hell-fire i!lu-nes 
 The ghastly writhing wretch whom it coisumes I 
 
 But other tasks now wait him tasks that need 
 All the deep daringness of thought and deed 
 With which the Dives have gifted him, formark 
 Over yon plains, which night had else made
 
 98 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Those lanterns, countless as the winged lights 
 That spangle India's fields on showery nights; 
 Far as their formidable gleams they shed, 
 The mighty tents of the beleaguerer spread, 
 Glimmering along the horizon's dusky line, 
 And thence in nearer circles till they shine 
 Among the founts and groves o'er which the town 
 In all its arm'd magnificence looks down. 
 Yet, fearless, from his lofty battlements 
 Mokanna views :hat multitude of tents, 
 Nay, smiles to trunk that, though entoil'd, beset, 
 Not less than myriads dare to front him yet ; 
 That friendless, throneless, he thus stands at bay, 
 Even thus a mat:h for myriads such as they. 
 "Oh, for a sweep of that dark Angel's wing 
 Who brush'd the thousands of the Assyrian King 
 To darkness in a moment, that I might 
 People Hell's chambers with yon host to-night ! 
 But come wha: may, let who will grasp the throne, 
 Caliph or Prophet, Man alike shall groan ; 
 Let who will torture him Priest, Caliph, King . 
 Alike this loithsome world of his shall ring 
 With victims' shrieks and howlings of the 
 
 slave, 
 
 Sounds tlat shall glad me even within my grave!" 
 Thus to iiaiself ; but to the scanty train 
 Still left around him, a far different strain : 
 " Glorious Defenders of the sacred Crown 
 I bear from Heaven, whose light nor blood shall 
 
 drown
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 99 
 
 Nor shadow of earth eclipse, before whose gems 
 The paly pomp of this world's diadems, 
 The crown of Gerashid, the pillar'd throne 
 Of Parviz, and the heron crest that shone 
 Magnificent o'er Ali's beauteous eyes, 
 Fade like the stars when morn is in the skies, 
 Warriors, rejoice the port to which we've pass'd. 
 O'er Destiny's dark wave, beams out at last ! 
 Victory's our own 'tis written in that Book 
 Upon whose leaves none but the angels look, 
 That Islam's sceptre shall beneath the power 
 Of her great foe fall broken in that hour, 
 When the moon's mighty orb, before all eyes, 
 From Neksheb's Holy Well portentously shall rise ! 
 Now turn and see ! " 
 
 They turn'd, and, as he spoke, 
 A sudden splendor all around them broke, 
 And they beheld an orb, ample and bright, 
 Rise from the Holy Well and cast its light 
 Round the rich city and the plain for miles, 
 Flinging such radiance o'er the gilded tiles 
 Of many a dome and fair-roof 'd minaret 
 As autumn suns shed round them when they set. 
 Instant, from all who saw the illusive sign, 
 A murmur broke " Miraculous ! divine ! " 
 The Gheber bow'd, thinking his idol star 
 Had waked and burst impatient through the bar 
 Of midnight, to inflame him to the war ; 
 While he of Moussa's creed saw, in that ray, 
 The glorious Light which, in his freedom's day,
 
 TOO LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Had rested on the Ark, and now again 
 Shone out to bless the breaking of his chain. 
 
 " To victory ! " is at once the cry of all 
 Nor stands Mokanna loitering at that call ; 
 But instant the huge gates are flung aside, 
 And forth, like a diminutive mountain-tide 
 Into the boundless sea, they speed their course 
 Right on into the Moslem's mighty force. 
 The watchmen of the camp, who, in their rounds, 
 Had paused, and even forgot the punctual sounds 
 Of the small drum with which they count the night, 
 To gaze upon that supernatural light, 
 Now sink beneath an unexpected arm, 
 And in a death-groan give their last alarm. 
 " On for the lamps that light yon lofty screen, 
 Nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean ; 
 There rests the Caliph : speed : one lucky lance 
 May now achieve mankind's deliverance." 
 Desperate the die such as they only cast 
 Who venture for a world, and stake their last. 
 But Fate's no longer with him, blade for blade 
 Springs up to meet them thro' the glimmering shade, 
 And, as the clash is heard, new legions soon 
 Pour to the spot, like bees of Kauzeroon 
 To the shrill timbril's summon's, till at length 
 The mighty camp swarms out in all its strength, 
 And back to Neksheb's gates, covering the plain 
 With random slaughter, drives the adventurous 
 train :
 
 
 
 Copyrighted by S. E. Caseino. 
 
 Lalla Rookh a
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. IOI 
 
 Among the last of whom the Silver Veil 
 Is seen glittering at times, like the white sail 
 Of some toss'd vessel on a stormy night, 
 Catching the tempest's momentary light ! 
 
 And hath not this brought the proud spirit low ? 
 Nor dash'd his brow, nor check'd his daring ? No. 
 Though half the wretches whom at night he led 
 To thrones and victory lie disgraced and dead, 
 Yet morning hears him, with unshrinking crest, 
 Still vaunt of thrones and victory to the rest. 
 And they believe him ! oh, the lover may 
 Distrust that look which steals his soul away ; 
 The babe may cease to think that it can play 
 With Heaven's rainbow ; alchymists may doubt 
 The shining gold their crucible gives out ; 
 But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast 
 To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last. 
 
 And well the Impostor knew all lures and arts 
 That Lucifer e'er taught to tangle hearts ; 
 Nor, 'mid these last bold workings of his plot 
 Against men's souls, is Zelica forgot. 
 Ill-fated Zelica ! had reason been 
 Awake through half the horrors thou hast seen, 
 Thou never couldst have borne it : Death had come 
 At once, and taken thy wrung spirit home. 
 But 'twas not so, a torpor, a suspense 
 Of thought, almost of life, came o'er the intense 
 D
 
 102 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 And passionate struggles of that fearful night, 
 When her last hope of peace and heaven took flight : 
 And though, at times, a gleam of frenzy broke, 
 As through some dull volcano's veil of smoke 
 , Ominous flashings now and then will start, 
 Which show the fire's still busy at its heart, 
 Yet was she mostly wrapp'd in solemn gloom ; 
 Not such as Azinrs, brooding o'er its doom, 
 And calm without as is the brow of death, 
 While busy worms are gnawing underneath, 
 But in a blank and pulseless torpor, free 
 From thought or pain, a seal'd-up apathy, 
 Which left her oft, with scarce one living thrill, 
 The cold pale victim of her torturer's will. 
 
 Again, as in Merou, he had her deck'd 
 Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect ; 
 And led her glittering forth before the eyes 
 Of his rude train, as to a sacrifice, 
 Pallid as she, the young devoted Bride 
 Of the fierce Nile, when, deck'd in all the pride 
 Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide. 
 And while the wretched maid hung down her head 
 And stood, as one just risen from the dead, 
 Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would tell , 
 His credulous slaves it was some charm or spell 
 Possess'd her now, and from that darkened trance 
 Should dawn ere long their Faith's deliverance ; 
 Or if, at times, goaded by guilty shame, 
 Her soul was roused, and words of wildness came,
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 1 03 
 
 Instant the bold blasphemer would translate 
 Her ravings into oracles of fate, 
 Would hail Heaven's signals in her flashing eyes, 
 And call her shrieks the language of the skies ! 
 
 But vain at length his arts : despair is seen 
 Gathering around, and famine comes to glean 
 All that the sword had left unreap'd : in vain 
 At morn and eve across the northern plain 
 He looks impatient for the promised spears 
 Of the wild Hordes and Tartar mountaineers : 
 They come not while his fierce beleaguerers pour 
 Engines of havoc in, unknown before, 
 And horrible as new: javelins, that fly 
 Enwreathed with smoky flames thro' the dark sky, 
 And red-hot globes, that, opening as they mount, 
 Discharge, as from a kindled Naptha fount, 
 Showers of consuming fire o'er all below,' 
 Looking, as through the illumined night they go, 
 Like those wild birds that by the Magians oft, 
 At festivals of fire, were sent aloft 
 Into the air, with blazing fagots tied 
 To their huge wings, scattering combustion wide. 
 All night the groans of wretches who expire 
 In agony, beneath these darts of fire, 
 Ring through the city ; while, descending o'er 
 Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore, 
 Its lone bazaars, with their bright cloths of gold, 
 Since the last peaceful pageant left unroll'd,
 
 IO4 LALLA ROOXff. 
 
 Its beauteous marble baths, whose idle jets 
 Now gush with blood, and its tall minarets, 
 That late have stood up in the evening glare 
 Of the red sun, unhallow'd by a prayer ; 
 O'er each, in turn, the dreadful flame-bolts fall. 
 And death and conflagration throughout all 
 The desolate city hold high festival ! 
 
 Mokanna sees the world is his no more : 
 One sting at parting, and his grasp is o'er. 
 "What! drooping now?" thus, with unblushing 
 
 cheek, 
 
 He hails the few who yet can hear him speak, 
 Of all those famish'd slaves around him lying, 
 And by the light of blazing temples dying ; 
 "What! drooping now? now, when at length we 
 
 press 
 
 Home o'er the very threshold of success ! 
 When Aila from our ranks hath thinn'd away 
 Those grosser branches that kept out his ray 
 Of favor from us, and we stand at length 
 Heirs of his light and children of his strength, 
 The chosen few, who shall survive the fall 
 Of Kings and Thrones, triumphant over all ! 
 Have you then lost, weak murmurers as you are, 
 All faith in him who was your Light, your Star? 
 Have you forgot the eye of glory, hid 
 Beneath this Veil, the flashing of whose lid 
 Could, like a sun-stroke of the desert, wither 
 Millions of such as yonder Chief brings hither?
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 10$ 
 
 Long have its lightnings slept, too long, but now 
 All earth shall feel the unveiling of this brow ! 
 To-night, yes, sainted men! this very night, 
 I bid you all to a fair festal rite, 
 Where, having deep refresh'd each weary limb 
 With viands, such as feast Heaven's cherubim, 
 And kindled up your souls, now sunk and dim, 
 With that pure wine the Dark-eyed Maids above ( 
 Keep, seal'd with precious musk, for those they 
 
 love, 
 
 I will myself uncurtain in your sight 
 The wonders of this brow's ineffable light ; 
 Then lead you forth, and with a wink disperse 
 Yon myriads, howling through the universe ! 
 
 Eager they listen, while each accent darts 
 New life into their chill'd and hope-sick hearts, 
 Such treacherous life as the cool draught supplies 
 To him upon the stake, who drinks and dies ! 
 Wildly they point their lances to the light 
 Of the fast-sinking sun, and shout, "To-night!" 
 " To-night ! " their Chief re-echoes in a voice 
 Of fiend-like mockery that bids Hell rejoice. 
 Deluded victims ! never hath this earth 
 Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth. ' 
 Here, to the few whose iron frames had stood 
 This racking waste of famine and of blood, 
 Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout 
 Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out ;
 
 106 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 There, others, lighted by the smouldering fire, 
 Danced like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre, 
 Among the dead and dying, strew'd around ; 
 While some pale wretch look'd on, and from his 
 
 wound 
 
 Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled 
 In ghastly transport waved it o'er his head ! 
 
 'Twas more than midnight now ; a fearful pause 
 Had follow'd the long shouts, the wild applause, 
 That lately from those Royal Gardens burst, 
 Where the Veil'd demon held his feast accurst. 
 When Zelica alas, poor ruin'd heart, 
 In every horror doonrd to bear its part ! 
 Was bidden to the banquet by a slave, 
 Who, while his quivering lip the summons gave, 
 Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave 
 Compassed him round, and ere he could repeat 
 His message through, fell lifeless at her feet ! 
 Shuddering, she went : a soul-felt pang of fear. 
 A presage that her own dark doom was near, 
 Roused every feeling, and brought Reason back 
 Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack. 
 All round seem'd tranquil even the foe had;ceased, 
 As if aware of that demoniac feast, 
 His fiery bolts ; and though the heavens look'd red, 
 'Twas but some distant conflagration's spread. 
 But hark ! she stops, she listens dreadful tone ! 
 'Tis her Tormentor's laugh ! and now a groan.
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. IO/ 
 
 A long death-groan comes with it : can this be 
 
 The place of mirth, the bower of revelry? 
 
 She enters Holy Alia, what a sight 
 
 Was there before her ! By the glimmering light 
 
 Of the pale dawn, mix'd with the flare of brands 
 
 That round lay burning, dropped from lifeless hands, 
 
 She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread, 
 
 Rich censers breathing, garlands overhead, 
 
 The urns, the cups, from which they late had 
 
 quafTd, 
 All gold and gems, but what had been the 
 
 Oh, who need ask, that saw those livid guests, 
 With their swollen heads sunk blackening on their 
 
 breasts, 
 
 Or looking pale to Heaven with glassy glare, 
 As if they sought, but saw no mercy there ; > 
 As if they felt, though poison rack'd them through, 
 Remorse the deadlier torment of the two ! 
 While some, the bravest, hardiest of the train 
 Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plain 
 Would have met death with transport by his side, 
 Here mute and helpless gasp'd ; but, as they 
 
 died, 
 Look'd horrible vengeance with their eyes' last 
 
 strain, 
 And clench'd the slackening hand at him in vain- 
 
 Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare, 
 The stony look of horror and despair,
 
 IO8 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Which some of these expiring victims cast 
 Upon their souls' tormentor to the last, 
 Upon that mocking Fiend, whose Veil, now raised, 
 Showed them, as in death's agony they gazed 
 Not the long-promised light, the brow whose 
 
 beaming 
 
 Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming, 
 But features horribler than Hell e'er traced 
 On its own brood : no Demon of the Waste, 
 No churchyard Ghole caught lingering in the light 
 Of the blest sun, e'er blasted human sight 
 With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those 
 The Impostor now in grinning mockery shows : 
 "There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your 
 
 Star! 
 
 Ye ivonld'bz dupes and victims, and ye are! 
 Is it enough? or must I, while a thrill 
 Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still? 
 Swear that the burning death ye feel within 
 Is but the trance with which Heaven's joys begin ; 
 That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgraced 
 Even monstrous man, is after God's own taste ; 
 And that but see ! ere I have half-way said 
 My greetings through, the uncourteous souls are fled. 
 Farewell, sweet spirits ; not in vain ye die, 
 If Eblis loves you half so well as I. 
 Ha, my young bride ! 'tis well, take thou thy seat ; 
 Nay, come, no shuddering, didst thou never meet 
 The dead before ? they graced our wedding, 
 
 sweet ;
 
 VEILED rROFHET OF KHORASSAN, IOQ 
 
 And these, my guests to-night, have brimm'd so 
 
 true 
 
 Their parting cups, that them shalt pledge one too. 
 But how is this ? all empty ? all drunk up ? 
 Hot lips have been before thee in the cup, 
 Young bride, yet stay, one precious drop remains, 
 Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins : 
 Here, drink, and should thy lover's conquering arms 
 Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charms, 
 Give him but half this venom in thy kiss, 
 And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss ! 
 
 " For me I too must die, but not like these 
 Vile rankling things, to fester in the breeze, 
 To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown, 
 With all Death's grimness added to its own, 
 And rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes 
 Of slaves, exclaiming, ' There his Godship lies !' 
 No, cursed race ! since first my soul drew breath, 
 They've been my dupes, and shall be e'en in death. 
 Thou seest yon cistern in the shade, 'tis fill'd 
 With burning drugs, for this last hour distill'd: 
 There will I plunge me, in that liquid flame 
 Fit bath to lave a dying Prophet's frame ! 
 There perish, all, ere pulse of thine shall fail, 
 Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale. 
 So shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave, 
 Proclaim that Heaven took back the Saint it gave ; 
 That I've but vanish'd from this earth awhile, 
 To come again, with bright, unshrouded smile !
 
 IIO LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 So shall they build me altars in their zeal, 
 
 Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel; 
 
 Where Faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell, 
 
 Written in blood, and Bigotry may swell 
 
 The sail he spreads for Heaven with blasts from 
 
 Hell! 
 
 So shall my banner, through long ages, be 
 The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy ; 
 Kings yet unborn shall rue Mokanna's name, 
 And though I die, my spirit, still the same, 
 Shall walk abroad in all the stormy strife 
 And guilt and blood that were its bliss in life. 
 But hark ! their battering engine shakes the wall 
 Why, let it shake ! thus I can brave them all : 
 No trace of me shall greet them when they come : 
 And I can trust thy faith, for thou'lt be dumb. 
 Now mark how readily a wretch like me 
 In one bold plunge commences Deity ! " 
 
 He sprung and sunk, as the last words were said : 
 Quick closed the burning waters o'er his head : 
 And Zelica was left, within the ring 
 Of those wide walls the only living thing ; 
 The only wretched one, still cursed with breath, 
 In all that frightful wilderness of death ! 
 More like some bloodless ghost, such as they tell 
 In the lone Cities of the Silent dwell, 
 And there, unseen of all but Alia, sit 
 Each by its own pale carcass, watching it.
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. Ill 
 
 But morn is up, and a fresh warfare stirs 
 Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers. 
 Their globes of fire the dread artillery lent 
 By Greece to conquering Mahadi are spent; 
 ,And now the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent 
 From high ballistas, and the shielded throng 
 Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along, 
 All speak the impatient Islamite's intent 
 To try, at length, if tower and battlement 
 And bastion'd wall be not less hard to win, 
 Less tough to break down than the hearts within. 
 First in impatience and in toil is he, 
 The burning Azim oh, could he but see 
 The Impostor once alive with his grasp, 
 Not the gaunt lion's hug, nor boa's clasp, 
 Could match that gripe of vengeance, or keep pace 
 With the fell heartiness of Hate's embrace ! 
 
 Loud rings the ponderous ram against the walls ; 
 Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls, 
 But still no berach " Once more, one mighty 
 
 swing 
 
 Of all your beams, together thundering ! " 
 There the wall shakes the shouting troops exult, 
 " Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult 
 Right on that spot, and Neksheb is our own ! " 
 'Tis done the battlements come crashing down, 
 And the huge wall, by that stroke riven in two, 
 Yawning, like some old crater rent anew, 
 Shows the dim desolate city smoking through.
 
 112 LALLA ROOKFL 
 
 But strange ! no signs of life nought living 
 
 seen 
 
 Above, below what can this stillness mean? 
 A minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes, 
 "In through the breach !" impetuous Azim cries; 
 But the cool Caliph, fearful of some wile 
 In this blank stillness, checks the troops awhile. 
 Just then, a figure, with slow step advanced 
 Forth from the ruin'd walls, and as there glanced 
 A sunbeam over it, all eyes could see 
 The well-known Silver Veil ! " Tis He, 'tis He, 
 Mokanna, and alone ! " they shout around ; 
 Young Azim from his steed springs to the ground 
 " Mine, Holy Caliph ! mine," he cries, " the task 
 To crush yon daring wretch 'tis all I ask! " 
 Eager he darts to meet the demon foe, 
 Who still across wide heaps of ruin slow 
 And falteringly comes, till they are near ; 
 Then, with a bound, rushes on Azim's spear, 
 And casting off the Veil in falling, shows 
 Oh ! 'tis his Zelica's life-blood that flows ! 
 
 " I meant not, Azim," soothingly she said, 
 As on his trembling arm she lean'd her head, 
 And looking in his face, saw anguish there 
 Beyond all wounds the quivering flesh can bear, 
 " I meant not thou shouldst have the pain of this : 
 Though death, with thee thus tasted, is a bliss 
 Thou wouldst not rob me of, didst thou but know
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KKORASSAN. 113 
 
 How oft I've pray'd to God I might die so ! 
 But the Fiend's venom was too scant and slow : 
 To linger on were maddening, and I thought 
 If once that Veil nay, look not on it! caught 
 The eyes of your fierce soldiery, I should be 
 Struck by a thousand death-darts instantly. 
 But this is sweeter oh, believe me, yes 
 I would not change this sad but dear caress, 
 This death within thine arms I would not give 
 For the most smiling life the happiest live ! 
 All that stood dark and drear before the eye 
 Of my stray'd soul, is passing swiftly by ; 
 A light comes o : er me from those looks of love, 
 Like the first dawn of mercy from above ; 
 And if thy lips but tell me I'm forgiven, 
 Angels will echo the blest words in Heaven ! 
 But live, mine Azim ; oh, to call thee mine 
 Thus once again ! mine Azim, dream divine ! 
 Live, if thou ever lovedst me, if to meet 
 Thy Zelica hereafter would be sweet, 
 Oh, live to pray for her to bend the knee 
 Morning and night before that Deity, 
 To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain, 
 As thine are, Azim, never breathed in vain; 
 And pray that he may pardon her, may take 
 Compassion on her soul for thy dear sake, 
 And nought remembering but her love to thee, 
 Make her all thine, all His, eternally ! 
 Go to those happy fields where first we twined 
 Our youthful hearts together, every wind
 
 114 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 That meets thee there, fresh from the well-known 
 
 flowers, 
 
 Will bring the sweetness of those innocent hours 
 Back to thy soul, and mayst thou feel again 
 For thy poor Zelica as thou didst then. 
 So shall thine orisons, like dew that flies 
 To Heaven upon the morning's sunshine, rise 
 With all love's earliest ardor to the skies ! 
 And should they but, alas, my senses fail ! 
 Oh, for one minute ! should thy prayers pre- 
 vail 
 
 If pardon'd souls may, from that World of Bliss, 
 Reveal their joy to those they love in this 
 I'll come to thee in some sweet dream and 
 
 tell 
 
 Oh, Heaven ! I die dear love ! farewell, fare- 
 well ! " 
 
 Time fleeted, years on years had pass'd away, 
 And few of those who on that mournful day 
 Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see 
 The maiden's death and the youth's agony, 
 Were living still, when, by a rustic grave, 
 Beside the swift Amoo's transparent wave, 
 An aged man, who had grown aged there 
 By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer.
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 115 
 
 For the last time knelt down ; and, tho' the shade 
 
 Of death hung darkening over him, there play'd 
 
 A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek, 
 
 That brighten'd even Death like the last streak 
 
 Of intense glory on the horizon's brim, 
 
 When night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim. f 
 
 His soul had seen a Vision, while he slept : 
 
 She for whose spirit he had pray'd and wept 
 
 So many years, had come to him, all drest 
 
 In angel smiles, and told him she was blest ! 
 
 For this the old man breathed his thanks, and 
 
 died. 
 
 And there, upon the banks of that loved tide, 
 He and his Zelica sleep side by side. 
 
 THE story of the Veiled Prophet of Khorassan 
 being ended, they were now doomed to hear Fad- 
 ladeen's criticisms upon it. A series of disappoint- 
 ments and accidents had occurred to this learned 
 Chamberlain during the journey. In the first place, 
 those couriers stationed, as in the reign of Shah 
 Jehan, between Delhi and the Western coast of 
 India, to secure a constant supply of mangoes for 
 the Royal Table, had, by some cruel irregularity, 
 failed in their duty ; and to eat any mangoes but 
 those of Mazagong was, of course, impossible. la
 
 Il6 LALLA ROOKff. 
 
 the next place, the elephant, laden with his fine an- 
 tique porcelain, had, in an unusual fit of liveliness, 
 shattered the whole set to pieces : an irreparable 
 loss, as many of the vessels were so exquisitely old, 
 as to have been used under the Emperors Yan and 
 Chun, who reigned many ages before the dynasty of 
 Tang. His Koran, too, supposed to be the identi- 
 cal copy between the leaves of which Mahomet's 
 favorite pigeon used to nestle, had been mislaid by 
 his Koran-bearer three whole days ; not without 
 much spiritual alarm to Fadladeen, who, though 
 professing to hold, with other loyal and orthodox 
 Mussulmans, that salvation could only be found in 
 the Koran, was strongly suspected of believing, in 
 his heart, that it could only be found in his own 
 particular copy of it. When to all these grievances 
 is added the obstinacy of the cooks, in putting the 
 pepper of Canara into his dishes instead of the cin- 
 namon of Serendib, we may easily suppose that he 
 came to the task of criticism with, at least, a suffi- 
 cient degree of irritability for the purpose. 
 
 " In order," said he, importantly swinging about 
 his chaplet of pearls, "to convey with clearness my 
 opinion of the story this young man has related, 
 it is necessary to take a review of all the stories 
 that have ever" "My good Fadladeen!" ex- 
 claimed the Princess, interrupting him, "we really 
 do not deserve that you should give yourself so 
 much trouble. Your opinion of the poem we have 
 just heard will, I have no doubt, be abundantly edi-
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 1 1/ 
 
 fying, without any further waste of your valuable 
 erudition." "If that be all," replied the critic, 
 evidently mortified at not being allowed to show 
 how much he knew about everything but the subject 
 immediately before him, " if that be all that is re- 
 quired, the matter is easily despatched." He then 
 proceeded to analyze the poem, in that strain (so 
 well known to the unfortunate bards of Delhi) 
 whose censures were an infliction from which few 
 recovered, and whose very praises were like the 
 honey extracted from the bitter flowers of the aloe. 
 The chief personages of the story were, if he rightly 
 understood them, an ill-favored gentleman, with a 
 veil over his face ; a young lady, whose reason 
 went and came, according as it suited the poet's 
 convenience to be sensible or otherwise ; and a 
 youth in one of those hideous Bucharian bonnets, 
 who took the aforesaid gentleman in a veil for a 
 Divinity. " From such materials," said he, " what 
 can be expected? After rivalling each other in 
 long speeches and absurdities, through some thou- 
 sands of lines as indigestible as the filberts of Ber- 
 daa, our friend in the veil jumps into a tub of 
 aquafortis; the young lady dies in a set speech, 
 whose only recommendation is that it is her last ; 
 and the lover lives on to a good old age for the 
 laudable purpose of seeing her ghost, which he at 
 last happily accomplishes, and expires. This, you 
 will allow, is a fair summary of the story ; and if 
 Nasser, the Arabian merchant, told no better, our
 
 Il8 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Holy Prophet (to whom be all honor and glory f) 
 had no need to be jealous of his abilities for story- 
 telling." 
 
 With respect to the style, it was worthy of the 
 matter ; it had not even those politic contrivances 
 of structure which make up for the commonness of 
 Ihe thoughts by the peculiarity of the manner, nor 
 that stately poetical phraseology by which senti- 
 ments mean in themselves, like the blacksmith's 
 apron converted into a banner, are so easily gilt 
 and embroidered into consequence. Then, as to 
 the versification, it was, to say no worse of it, exe- 
 crable : it had neither the copious flow of Ferdosi, 
 the sweetness of Hafez, nor the sententious march 
 of Sadi, but appeared to him, in the uneasy heavi- 
 ness of its movements, to have been modelled upon 
 the gait of a very tired dromedary. The licenses, 
 too, in which it indulged were unpardonable, for 
 instance, this line, and the poem abounded with 
 such : 
 
 " Like the faint exquisite music of a dream." 
 
 "What critic that can count," said Fadladeen, 
 " and has his full complement of fingers to count 
 withal, would tolerate for an instant such syllabic 
 superfluities?" He here looked round, and dis- 
 covered that most of his audience were asleep, 
 while the glimmering lamps seemed inclined to fol- 
 low their example. It became necessary, therefore,
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 1 19 
 
 however painful to himself, to put an end to his 
 valuable animadversions for the present, and he 
 accordingly concluded, with an air of dignified can- 
 dor, thus : " Notwithstanding the observations 
 which I have thought it my duty to make, it is by 
 no means my wish to discourage the young man : 
 so far from it, indeed, that if he will but totally 
 alter his style of writing and thinking, I have very 
 little doubt that I shall be vastly pleased with him." 
 Some days elapsed, after this harangue of the 
 Great Chamberlain, before Lalla Rookh could ven- 
 ture to ask for another story. The youth was still 
 a welcome guest in the pavilion to one heart, 
 perhaps, too dangerously welcome : but all men- 
 tion of poetry was, as if by common consent, 
 avoided. Though none of the party had much res- 
 pect for Fadladeen, yet his censures, thus magis- 
 terially delivered, evidently made an impression on 
 them all. The Poet himself, to whom criticism 
 was quite a new operation (being wholly unknown 
 in that Paradise of the Indies, Cashmere), felt the 
 shock as it is generally felt at first, till use has made 
 it more tolerable to the patient ; the Ladies began 
 to suspect that they ought not to be pleased, and 
 seemed to conclude that there must have been 
 much good sense in what Fadladeen said, from its 
 having sent them ah so soundly to sleep ; while the 
 self-complacent Chamberlain was left to triumph 
 in the idea of having, for the hundred and fiftieth 
 time in his life, extinguished a Poet. Lalla Rookh
 
 120 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 alone and Love knew why persisted in being 
 delighted with all she had heard, and in resolving 
 to hear more as speedily as possible. Her manner, 
 however, of first returning to the subject was un- 
 lucky. It was while they rested during the heat of 
 noon near a fountain, on which some hand had 
 rudely traced those well-known words from the 
 Garden of Sadi, " Many, like me, have viewed 
 this fountain, but they are gone, and their eyes are 
 closed forever ! '' that she took occasion, from the 
 melancholy beauty of this passage, to dwell upon 
 the charms of poetry in general. " It is true," she 
 said, "few poets can imitate that sublime bird, 
 which flies always in the air, and never touches the 
 earth : it is only once in many ages a Genius ap- 
 pears, whose words, like those on the Written 
 Mountain, last forever ; but still there are some, as 
 delightful, perhaps, though not so wonderful, who, 
 if not stars over our head, are at least flowers along 
 our path, and whose sweetness of the moment we 
 ought gratefully to inhale, without calling upon 
 them for a brightness and a durability beyond their 
 nature. In short," continued she, blushing as if 
 conscious of being caught in an oration, " it is 
 quite cruel that a poet cannot wander through his 
 regions of enchantment, without having a critic 
 forever, like the Old Man of the Sea, upon his 
 back!" Fadladeen, it was plain, took this last 
 luckless allusion to himself, and would treasure it 
 up in his mind as a whetstone for his next criticism.
 
 VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 121 
 
 A sudden silence ensued ; and the Princess, glan- 
 cing a look at Feramorz, saw plainly she must wait 
 for a more courageous moment. 
 
 But the glories of Nature and her wild fragrant 
 airs, playing freshly over the current of youthful 
 spirits, will soon heal even deeper wounds than the 
 dull Fadladeens of this world can inflict. In an 
 evening or two after, they came to the small Valley 
 of Gardens, which had been planted, by order of the 
 Emperor, for his favorite sister, Rochinara, dur- 
 ing their progress to Cashmere some years before ; 
 and never was there a more sparkling assemblage 
 of sweets, since the Gulzar-e-Irem, or Rose-bower 
 of Irem. Every precious flower was there to be 
 found that poetry, or love, or religion, has ever 
 consecrated, from the dark hyacinth, to which 
 Hafez compares his mistress's hair, to the Cdma- 
 latd, by whose rosy blossoms the heaven of Indra 
 is scented. As they sat in the cool fragrance of 
 this delicious spot, and Lalla Rookh remarked 
 that she could fancy it the abode of that Flower- 
 loving Nymph whom they worship in the temples of 
 Kathay, or of one of those Peris, those beautiful 
 creatures of the air, who live upon perfumes, and 
 to whom a place like this might make some amends 
 for the Paradise they have lost, the young Poet, 
 in whose eyes she appeared, while she spoke, to be 
 one of the bright spiritual creatures she was de- 
 scribing, said hesitatingly that he remembered a 
 Story of a Peri, which, if the Princess had no ob-
 
 122 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 jection, he would venture to relate. " It is," said 
 he, with an appealing look to Fadladeen, " in a 
 lighter and humbler strain than the other ; " then, 
 striking a few careless but melancholy chords on 
 his guitar, he thus began :
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERI. 
 
 ONE morn a Peri at the gate 
 Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; 
 And as she listen'd to the Springs 
 
 Of Life within, like music flowing, 
 And caught the light upon her wings 
 
 Through the half-open portal glowing, 
 She wept to think her recreant race 
 Should e'er have lost that glorious place ! 
 
 " How happy," exclaim'd this child of air, 
 "Are the holy Spirits who wander there, 
 
 'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall ; 
 Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea. 
 And the stars themselves have flowers for me, 
 
 One blossom of Heaven outblooms them all I 
 
 " Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashmere, 
 With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear, , 
 
 And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall ; 
 Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hay, 
 And the golden floods that thitherward stray, 
 Yet oh, 'tis only the Blest can say 
 
 How the waters of Heaven outshine them all t 
 123
 
 124 LALLA ROOfCH. 
 
 11 Go, wing thy flight from star to star, 
 From world to luminous world, as far 
 
 As the universe spreads its flaming wall : 
 Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, 
 And multiply each through endless years, 
 
 One minute of Heaven is worth them all ! n 
 
 The glorious Angel who was keeping 
 The Gates of Light beheld her weeping ; 
 And as he nearer drew and listen'd 
 To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten'd 
 Within his eyelids, like the spray 
 
 From Eden's fountain, when it lies 
 On the blue flower, which, Bramins say, 
 
 Blooms nowhere but in Paradise. 
 
 " Nymph of a fair but erring line," 
 Gently he said, " one hope is thine: 
 1 Tis written in the Book of Fate, 
 
 STfjf $eri get mag be furgtben 
 Hfia brings to HUB Eternal (Sate 
 
 ZTIjc (Sift ifinl is most tear to ffea&en ! 
 Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin 
 'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in." 
 
 Rapidly as comets run 
 
 To the embraces of the Sun, 
 
 Fleeter than the starry brands 
 
 Flung at night from angel hands, 
 
 At those dark and daring sprites 
 
 Who would climb the empyreal heights.
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERL 12$ 
 
 Down the blue vault the Peri flies, 
 And, lighted earthward by a glance 
 
 That just then broke from morning's eyes, 
 Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse. 
 
 But whither shall the Spirit go 
 
 To find this gift for Heaven? "I know 
 
 The wealth," she cries, " of every urn, 
 
 In which unnumber'd rubies burn, 
 
 Beneath the pillars of Chilminar; 
 
 I know where the Isles of Perfume are, 
 
 Many a fathom down in the sea, 
 
 To the south of sun-bright Araby ; 
 
 I know, too, where the Genii hid 
 
 The jewelPd cup of their King Jamshid, 
 
 With Life's elixir sparkling high, 
 
 But gifts like these are not for the sky. 
 
 Where was there ever a gem that shone 
 
 Like the steps of Alla's wonderful Throne? 
 
 And the Drops of Life oh, what would they be 
 
 In the boundless Deep of Eternity ? " 
 
 While thus she mused, her pinions fann'd 
 The air of that sweet Indian land 
 Whose air is balm, whose ocean spreads 
 O'er coral rocks and amber beds ; 
 Whose mountains, pregnant by the beam 
 Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem ; 
 Whose rivulets are like rich brides, 
 Lovely, with gold beneath their tides ;
 
 126 LALLA ROOKff. 
 
 Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice 
 Might be a Peri's Paradise ! 
 But crimson now her rivers ran 
 
 With human blood : the smell of death 
 Came reeking from those spicy bowers, 
 And man, the sacrifice of man, 
 
 Mingled his taint with every breath 
 Upwafted from the innocent flowers. 
 Land of the Sun, what foot invades 
 Thy Pagods and thy pillar'd shades, 
 Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones, 
 Thy Monarchs and their thousand Thrones? 
 'Tis he of Gazna, fierce in wrath 
 
 He comes, and India's diadems 
 Lie scatterd in his ruinous path. 
 
 His bloodhounds he adorns with gems, 
 Torn from the violated necks 
 Of many a young and loved Sultana ; 
 Maidens, within their pure Zenana, 
 
 Priests in the very fane, he slaughters, 
 And chokes up with the glittering wrecks 
 ' Of golden shrines the sacred waters ! 
 Downward the Peri turns her gaze, 
 And through the war-field's bloody haze 
 Beholds a youthful warrior stand, 
 
 Alone, beside his native river, 
 The red blade broken in his hand, 
 
 And the last arrow in his quiver. 
 " Live," said the. Conqueror, " live to share 
 The trophies and the crowns I bear ! "
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERT. 12J 
 
 Silent that youthful warrior stood, 
 
 Silent he pointed to the flood 
 
 All crimson with his country's blood, \ 
 
 Then sent his last remaining dart, 
 
 For answer, to the Invader's heart. 
 
 False flew the shaft, though pointed well : 
 The Tyrant lived, the Hero fell ! 
 Yet marked the Peri where he lay, 
 
 And when the rush of war was past, 
 Swiftly descending on a ray 
 
 Of morning light, she caught the last, 
 Last glorious drop his heart had shed, 
 Before its free-born spirit fled ! 
 
 " Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, 
 " My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 
 Though foul are the drops that oft distil 
 
 On the field of warfare, blood like this, 
 
 For Liberty shed, so holy is, 
 It would not stain the purest rill 
 
 That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss ! 
 Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, 
 A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 
 Tis the last libation Liberty draws 
 From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her 
 
 cause : 
 
 t 11 
 
 " Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave 
 The gift into his radiant hand,
 
 28 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 " Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 
 
 Who die thus for their native Land. 
 But see, alas ! the crystal bar 
 Of Eden moves not, holier far 
 Than even this drop the boon must be, 
 That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee." 
 
 Her first fond hope of Eden blighted, 
 
 Now among Afric's lunar Mountains, 
 Far to the South the Peri lighted ; 
 
 And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains 
 Of that Egyptian tide, whose birth 
 Is hidden from the sons of earth 
 Deep in those solitary woods, 
 Where oft the Genii of the Floods 
 Dance round the cradle of their Nile, 
 And hail the new-born Giant's smile. 
 Thence over Egypt's palmy groves, 
 
 Her grots, and sepulchres of Kings. 
 The exiled Spirit sighing roves ; 
 And now hangs listening to the doves 
 In warm Rosetta's vale now loves 
 
 To watch the moonlight on the wings 
 Of the white pelicans that break 
 The azure calm of Mreris 1 Lake. 
 Twas a fair scene a land more bright 
 
 Never did mortal eye behold ! 
 Who could have thought, that saw, this night, 
 
 Those valleys and their fruits of gold 
 Basking in Heaven's serenest light ;
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERL I2<) 
 
 Those groups of lovely date-trees bending 
 
 Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads, 
 Like youthful maids, when sleep descending 
 
 Warns them to their silken bed ; 
 Those virgin lilies, all the night 
 
 Bathing their beauties in the lake, 
 That they may rise more fresh and bright, 
 
 When their beloved Sun's awake ; 
 Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem 
 The relics of a splendid dream, 
 
 Amid whose fairy loneliness 
 Nought but the lapwing's cry is heard, 
 Nought seen but when the shadows, flitting 
 Fast from the moon, unsheathe its gleam 
 Some purple-wingM Sultana sitting 
 
 Upon a column, motionless 
 And glittering like an Idol bird ! 
 Who could have thought, that there, even there, 
 Amid those scenes so still and fair, 
 The Demon of the Plague hath cast 
 From his hot wing a deadlier blast, 
 More mortal far than ever came 
 From the red Desert's sands of flame ! 
 So quick, that every living thing 
 Of human shape, touch'd by his wing, 
 Like plants where the Simoon hath past, 
 At once falls black and withering ! 
 
 The sun went down on many a brow 
 Which, full of bloom and freshness then,
 
 I3O LALLA ROOKJff. 
 
 Is rankling in the pest-house now, 
 
 And ne'er will feel that sun again. 
 And, oh ! to see the unburied heaps 
 On which the lonely moonlight sleeps 
 The very vultures turn away, 
 And sicken at so foul a prey ! 
 Only the fierce hyaena stalks 
 Throughout the city's desolate walks 
 At midnight, and his carnage plies : 
 
 Woe to the half-dead wretch who meets 
 The glaring of those large blue eyes 
 Amid the darkness of the streets ! 
 
 " Poor race of men ! " said the pitying Spirit, 
 
 " Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall 
 Some flowerets of Eden ye still inherit, 
 
 But the trail of the Serpent is over them all J " 
 She wept the air grew pure and clear 
 
 Around her, as the bright drops ran : 
 For there's a magic in each tear 
 
 Such kindly Spirits weep for man ! 
 Just then beneath some orange-trees, 
 Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze 
 Were wantoning together, free, 
 Like age at play with infancy, 
 Beneath that fresh and springing bower, 
 
 Close by the Lake, she heard the moan 
 Of one who, at this silent hour, 
 
 Had thither stolen to die alone :
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERL 
 
 One who in life, where'er he moved, 
 
 Drew after him the hearts of many, 
 Yet now, as though he ne'er were loved, 
 
 Dies here unseen, unwept by any ! 
 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 call'd 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 fann'd. 
 
 But see ! who yonder comes by stealth, 
 This melancholy bower to seek,
 
 132 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Like a young envoy, sent by Healtr 
 
 With rosy gifts upon her cheek? 
 'Tis she ! far off, through moom.ght 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 loosen'd 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 now turns away, 
 Shuddering as if the venam lay 
 All in those proffer'd lips alone, 
 Those lips that, then so fearless grown, 
 Never until that instant came 
 Near his unask'd or without shame. 
 " Oh, let me only breathe the air, 
 
 That blessed air, that's breathed by the* 
 And whether on its wings it bear 
 t Healing or death, His sweet to me ! 
 There drink my tears, while yet they fal 
 
 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.
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERI. 133 
 
 Nay, turn not from me that dear face 
 
 Am I not thine? thine 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, mine 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 warm' d a woman's breast ; 
 " Sleep on, in visions of odor rest, 
 E
 
 134 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 In balmier airs than ever yet stirr 1 d 
 The enchanted pile of that lonely bird, 
 Who sings at thj 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 seem'd, 
 
 Upon the eve of doomsday taken 
 From their dim graves, in odor sleeping, 
 While that benevolent Peri beanVd 
 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 throbb'd 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 Alia swells ;
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERt 135 
 
 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 : "Not yet.'* 
 
 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. w 
 
 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 look'd from upper air 
 O'er all the enchanted regions there, 
 How beauteous must have been the glow. 
 The life, the sparkling, from below !
 
 136 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks 
 Of golden melons on their banks, 
 More golden where the sunlight falls ; 
 Gay lizards, glittering on the walls 
 
 Of ruin'd 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 
 The unclouded skies of Peristan. 
 And then the mingling sounds that come 
 Of shepherd's ancient reed, with hum 
 Of the wild bees of Palestine, 
 
 Banquetting through the flowery vales ; 
 And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, 
 
 And woods, so full of nightingales. 
 
 But nought can charm the luckless Peri : 
 Her soul is sad, her wings are weary : 
 Joyless she sees the Sun look down 
 On that great Temple, once his own, 
 Whose lonely columns stand sublime, 
 
 Flinging their shadows from on high, 
 Like dials which the wizard Time 
 
 Had raised to count his ages by !
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERL 
 
 Yet haply there may lie conceal'd 
 
 Beneath those Chambers of the Sun, 
 Some amulet of gems anneal'd 
 In upper fires, some tablet seal'd 
 With the great name of Solomon, 
 Which, spell'd by her illumined eyes, 
 May teach her where, beneath the moon, 
 In earth or ocean, lies the boon, 
 The charm that can restore so soon 
 An erring Spirit to the skies. 
 
 Cheer'd by this hope, she bends her thither: 
 Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, 
 Nor have the golden bowers of Even 
 
 In the rich West begun to wither ; 
 
 When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging 
 Slowly, she sees a child at play, 
 
 Among the rosy wild-flowers singing, 
 As rosy and as wild as they ; 
 
 Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, 
 
 The beautiful blue damsel-flies 
 
 That fluttered round the jasmine stems, 
 
 Like winged flowers or flying gems : 
 
 And, near the boy, who, tired with play, 
 
 Now nestling 'mid the roses lay, 
 
 She saw a wearied man dismount 
 From his hot steed, and on the brink 
 
 Of a small imaret's rustic fount 
 Impatient fling him down to drink.
 
 138 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Then swift his haggard brow he turned 
 
 To the fair child, who fearless sat, 
 Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd 
 Upon a brow more fierce than that, 
 Sullenly fierce, a mixture dire, 
 Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire, 
 In which the Peri's eye could read 
 Dark tales of many a ruthless deed : 
 The ruin'd maid the shrine profaned 
 Oaths broken and the threshold stain'd 
 With blood of guests ! there written, all, 
 Black as the damning drops that fall 
 From the denouncing Angel's pen, 
 Ere Mercy weeps them out again. 
 
 Yet tranquil now that man of crime 
 (As if the balmy evening time 
 Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay, 
 Watching the rosy infant's play : 
 Though still, whene'er his eye by chanc* 
 Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance 
 
 Met that unclouded joyous gaze, 
 As torches that have burnt all night 
 Through some impure and godless rite, 
 
 Encounter morning's glorious rays. 
 
 But hark ! the vesper call to prayer, 
 As slow the orb of daylight sets, 
 
 Is rising sweetly on the air, 
 
 From Syria's thousand minarets I
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERI. 139 
 
 The boy has started from the bed 
 Of flowers where he had laid his head, 
 And down upon the fragrant sod 
 
 Kneels, with his forehead to the south 
 Lisping the eternal name of God 
 
 From Purity's own cherub mouth, 
 And looking, while his hands and eyes 
 Are lifted to the glowing skies, 
 Like a stray babe of Paradise, 
 Just lighted on that flowery plain, 
 And seeking for its home again. 
 Oh, 'twas a sight that Heaven that child 
 A scene which might have well beguiled 
 Even haughty Eblis of a sigh 
 For glories lost and peace gone by ! 
 
 And how felt he, the wretched man 
 
 Reclining there while memory ran 
 
 O'er many a year of guilt and strife, 
 
 Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, 
 
 Nor found one sunny resting-place, 
 
 Nor brought him back one branch of grace! 
 
 " There was a time," he said, in mild 
 
 Heart-humbled tones, " thou blessed child! 
 
 When, young and haply pure as thou, 
 
 I look'd and pray'd like thee ; but now" 
 
 He hung his head : each nobler aim, 
 
 And hope, and feeling, which had slept 
 From boyhood's hour, that instant came 
 
 Fresh o'er him, and he wept he wept !
 
 I4O LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 
 
 In whose benign redeeming flow 
 Is felt the first, the only sense 
 
 Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 
 " There's a drop," said the Peri, " that down from 
 
 the moon 
 
 Falls through the withering airs of June 
 Upon Egypt's land, of so healing a power, 
 So balmy a virtue, that e'en in the hour 
 The drop descends, contagion dies, 
 And health re-animates earth and skies ! 
 Oh, it is not thus, thou man of sin, 
 
 The precious tears of repentance fall? 
 Though foul thy fiery plagues within, 
 
 One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all ! " 
 
 And now, behold him kneeling there 
 
 By the child's side, in humble prayer, 
 
 While the same sunbeam shines upon 
 
 The guilty and the guiltless one, 
 
 And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven 
 
 The triumph of a Soul Forgiven ! 
 
 ' Twas when the golden orb had set, 
 
 While on their knees they linger'd yet, 
 
 There fell a light more lovely far 
 
 Than ever came from sun or star, 
 
 Upon the tear that, warm and meek, 
 
 Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek. 
 
 To mortal eye this light might seem 
 
 A northern flash or meteor beam,
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERL 141 
 
 But well the enraptured Peri knew 
 1 Twas a bright smile the Angel threw 
 From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear 
 Her harbinger of glory near ! 
 
 "Joy, joy forever! my task is done 
 
 The Gates are pass'd, and Heaven is won ! 
 Oh, am I not happy ? I am, I am 
 
 To thee, sweet Eden ! how dark and sad 
 Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam, 
 
 And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad ! 
 Farewell, ye odors of Earth, that die 
 Passing away like a lover's sigh ! 
 My feast is now of the Tooba Tree, 
 Whose scent is the breath of Eternity ! 
 Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that shone 
 
 In my fairy wreath, so bright and brief! 
 Oh, what are the brightest that e'er have blown,. 
 To the lote-tree, springing by Alla's throne, 
 
 Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf! 
 Joy, joy forever ! my task is done ! 
 The Gates are pass'd, and Heaven is won ! " 
 
 "AND this," said the Great Chamberlain, "is 
 poetry ! this flimsy manufacture of the brain, 
 which, in comparison wHh the lofty and durable 
 monuments of genius, is as the gold filigree-work 
 of Zamara beside the eternal architecture of
 
 142 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Egypt ! " After this gorgeous sentence, which, 
 with a few more of the same kind, Fadladeen kept 
 by him for rare and important occasions, he pro- 
 ceeded to the anatomy of the short poem just 
 recited. The lax and easy kind of metre in which 
 it was written ought to be denounced, he said, as 
 one of the leading causes of the alarming growth of 
 poetry in our times. If some check were not 
 given to this lawless facility, we should soon be 
 overrun by a race of bards as numerous and as 
 shallow as the hundred-and-twenty thousand 
 streams of Basra. They who succeeded in this 
 style deserved chastisement for their very success, 
 as warriors have been punished, even after gain- 
 ing a victory, because they had taken the liberty of 
 gaining it in an irregular or unestablished manner. 
 What, then, was to be said to those who failed? to 
 those who presumed, as in the present lamentable 
 instance, to imitate the license and ease of the 
 bolder sons of song, without any of that grace or 
 vigor which gave a dignity even to negligence, 
 who, like them, flung the jereed carelessly, but not, 
 like them, to the mark; "and who." said he, 
 raising his voice to excite a proper degree of 
 wakefulness in his hearers, " contrive to appear 
 heavy and constrained in the midst of all the lati- 
 tude they allow themselves, like one of those 
 young pagans that dance before the Princess, who 
 is ingenious enough to move as if her limbs were 
 fettered, in a pair of the lightest a.ud loosest 
 drawers of Masulipatam ! "
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERL 143 
 
 It was but little suitable, he continued, to the 
 grave march of criticism, to follow this fantastical 
 Peri, of whom they had just heard, through all 
 her flights and adventures between earth and 
 Heaven ; but he could not help adverting to the 
 puerile conceitedness of the Three Gifts which she 
 is supposed to carry to the skies, a drop of 
 blood, forsooth, a sigh, and a tear ! How the first 
 of these articles was delivered into the Angel's 
 " radiant hand " he professed himself at a loss to 
 discover ; and as to the safe carriage of the sigh 
 and the tear, such Peris and such poets were 
 beings by far too incomprehensible for him even to 
 guess how they managed such matters. " But, in 
 short," said he, " it is a waste of time and patience 
 to dwell longer upon a thing so incurably frivolous, 
 puny even among its own puny race, and such as 
 only the Banyan Hospital for Sick Insects should 
 undertake." 
 
 In vain did Lalla Rookh try to soften this inex. 
 orable critic ; in vain did she resort to her most 
 eloquent common-places, reminding him that 
 poets were a timid and sensitive race, whose sweet- 
 ness was not to be drawn forth, like that of the 
 fragrant grass near the Ganges, by crushing and 
 trampling upon them ; that severity often extin- 
 guished every chance of the perfection which it 
 demanded; and that, after all, perfection was like 
 the Mountain of the Talisman, no one had ever 
 yet reached its summit. Neither these gentle
 
 144 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 axioms, nor the still gentler looks with which they 
 were inculcated, could lower for one instant the 
 elevation of Fadladeen's eyebrows, or charm him 
 into anything like encouragement, or even tolera- 
 tion of her poet. Toleration, indeed, was not 
 among the weaknesses of Fadladeen : he carried 
 the same spirit into matters of poetry and of reli- 
 gion, and though little versed in the beauties or 
 sublimities of either, was a perfect master of the 
 art of persecution in both. His zeal was the same, 
 too, in either pursuit, whether the game before 
 him was pagans or poetasters, worshippers of cows 
 or writers of epics. 
 
 They had now arrived at the splendid city of 
 Lahore, whose mausoleums and shrines, magnifi- 
 cent and numberless, where Death appeared to 
 share equal honors with Heaven, would have 
 powerfully affected the heart and imagination of 
 Laila Rookh, if feelings more of this earth had not 
 taken entire possession of her already. She was 
 here met by messengers, despatched from Cash- 
 mere, who informed her that the King had arrived 
 in the Valley, and was himself superintending the 
 sumptuous preparations that were then making in 
 the Saloons of the Shalimar for her reception. 
 The chill she felt on receiving this intelligence, 
 which to a bride whose heart was free and light 
 would have brought only images of affection and 
 pleasure, convinced her that her peace was 
 gene forever, and that she was in love, irretriev-
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERL 145 
 
 ably in love, with young Feramorz. The veil had 
 fallen off in which this passion at first disguises 
 itself, and to know that she loved was now as pain- 
 ful as to love without knowing it had been 
 delicious. Feramorz, too, what misery would be 
 his, if the sweet hours of intercourse so imprudently 
 allowed them should have stolen into his heart the 
 same fatal fascination as into hers ; if, notwith- 
 standing her rank, and the modest homage he 
 always paid to it, even he should have yielded to 
 the influence of those long and happy interviews 
 where music, poetry, the delightful scenes of 
 nature, all had tended to bring their hearts close 
 together, and to waken by every means that too 
 ready passion, which often, like the young of the 
 desert-bird, is warmed into life by the eyes alone ! 
 She saw but one way to preserve herself from be- 
 ing culpable as well as unhappy, and this, however 
 painful, she was resolved to adopt. Feramorz 
 must no more be admitted to her presence. To 
 have strayed so far into the dangerous labyrinth 
 was wrong, but to linges in it, while the clew was 
 yet in her hand, would be criminal. Though the 
 heart she had to offer to the King of Bucharia 
 might be cold and broken, it should at least be 
 pure ; and she must only endeavor to forget, the 
 short dream of happiness she had enjoyed, like 
 that Arabian shepherd, who, in wandering into the 
 wilderness, caught a glimpse of the Gardens of Irim, 
 and then lost them again forever !
 
 146 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 The arrival of the young Bride at Lahore was 
 celebrated in the most enthusiastic manner. The 
 Rajas and Omras in her train, who had kept at a 
 certain distance during the journey, and never en- 
 camped nearer to the Princess than was strictly 
 necessary for her safeguard, here rode in splendid 
 cavalcade through the city, and distributed the most 
 costly presents to the crowd. Engines were erected 
 in all the squares, which cast forth showers of con- 
 fectionery among the people ; while the artisans, in 
 chariots adorned with tinsel and flying streamers, 
 exhibited the badges of their respective trades 
 through the streets. Such brilliant displays of life 
 and pageantry among the palaces, and domes, and 
 gilded minarets of Lahore, made the city altogether 
 like a place of enchantment, particularly on the day 
 when Lalla Rookh set out again upon her journey, 
 when she was accompanied to the gate by all the fair- 
 est and richest of the nobility, and rode along between 
 ranks of beautiful boys and girls, who kept waving 
 over their heads plates of gold and silver flowers, 
 and then threw them arotmd to be gathered by the 
 populace. 
 
 For many days after their departure from Lahore, 
 a considerable degree of gloom hung over the whole 
 party. Lalla Rookh, who had intended to make illness 
 her excuse for not admitting the young minstrel, as 
 usual, to the pavilion, soon found that to feign in- 
 disposition was unnecessary ; Fadladeen felt the 
 loss of the good road they had hitherto travelled,
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERI. 
 
 and was very near cursing Jehan-Guire (of blessed 
 memory !) for not having continued his delectable 
 alley of trees, at least as far as the mountains of 
 Cashmere; while the Ladies, who had nothing now 
 to do all day but to be fanned by peacocks' feathers 
 and listen to Fadladeen, seemed heartily weary of 
 the life they led, and, in spite of all the Great Cham- 
 berlain's criticisms, were so tasteless as to wish for 
 the poet again. One evening, as they were proceed- 
 ing to their place of rest, for the night, the Princess, 
 who, for the freer enjoyment of the air, had mounted 
 her favorite Arabian palfrey, in passing by a small 
 grove heard the notes of a lute from within its 
 leaves, and a voice, which she but too well knew, 
 singing the following words : 
 
 TELL me not of joys above, 
 If that world can give no bliss, 
 
 Truer, happier than the Love 
 Which enslaves our souls in this. 
 
 Tell me not of Houris" eyes; 
 Far from me their dangerous glow, 
 
 If those looks that light the skies 
 Wound like some that burn below. 
 
 Who, that feels that Love is here, 
 All its falsehood, all its pain,' 
 
 Would, for even Elysium's sphere, 
 Risk the fatal dream again?
 
 148 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Who, that midst a desert's heat 
 
 Sees the waters fade away, 
 Would not rather die than meet 
 
 Streams again as false as they? 
 
 The tone of melancholy defiance in which these 
 words were uttered, went to Lalla Rookh's heart ; 
 and as she reluctantly rode on, she could not help 
 feeling it to be a sad but still sweet certainty, that 
 Feramorz was to the full as enamoured and misera- 
 ble as herself. 
 
 The place where they encamped that evening was 
 the first delightful spot they had come to since they 
 left Lahore. On one side of them was a grove full 
 of small Hindoo temples, and planted with the most 
 graceful trees of the East ; where the tamarind, the 
 cassia, and the silken plantains of Ceylon, were min- 
 gled in rich contrast with the high fan-like foliage 
 of the Palmyra, that favorite tree of the luxurious 
 bird that lights up the chambers of its nest with 
 fire-flies. In the middle of the lawn where the 
 pavilion stood there was a tank surrounded by small 
 mango-trees, on the clear cold waters of which floated 
 multitudes of the beautiful red lotus ; while at a dis- 
 tance stood the ruins of a strange and awful -look- 
 ing tower, which seemed old enough to have been 
 the temple of some religion no longer known, and 
 which spoke the voice of desolation in the midst of 
 all that bloom and loveliness. This, singular ruin 
 excited the wonder and conjectures of alj. Lalla
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERI. 149 
 
 Rookh guessed in vain, and the all-pretending Fad- 
 ladeen, who had never till this journey been beyond 
 the precincts of Delhi, was proceeding most learn- 
 edly to show that he knew nothing whatever about 
 the matter, when one of the Ladies suggested that 
 perhaps Feramorz could satisfy their curiosity. They 
 were now approaching his native mountains, and 
 this tower might perhaps be a relic of some of 
 those dark superstitions which had prevailed in 
 that country before the light of Islam dawned upon 
 it. The Chamberlain, who usually preferred his 
 own ignorance to the best knowledge that any one 
 else could give him, was by no means pleased with 
 this officious reference, and the Princess, too, was 
 about to interpose a faint word of objection ; but, 
 before either of them could speak, a slave was de- 
 spatched for Feramorz, who, in a very few minutes, 
 made his appearance before them, looking so pale 
 and unhappy in Lalla Rookh's eyes, that she re- 
 pented already of her cruelty in having so long 
 excluded him. 
 
 That venerable tower, he told them, was the re- 
 mains of an ancient Fire-temple, built by those 
 Ghebers or Persians of the old religion, who, many 
 hundred years since, had fled hither from their Arab 
 conquerors, preferring liberty and their altars in a 
 foreign land to the alternative of apostasy or per- 
 secution in their own. It was impossible, he added, 
 not to feel interested in the many glorious but un- 
 successful struggles which had been made by these
 
 150 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 original natives of Persia to cast off the yoke of 
 their bigoted conquerors. Like their own Fire in 
 the Burning Field at Bakou, when suppressed in 
 one place they had but broken out with fresh flame 
 in another; and, as a native of Cashmere, of that 
 fair and Holy Valley which had in the same man- 
 ner become the prey of strangers, and seen her 
 ancient shrines and native princes swept away before 
 the march of her intolerant invaders, he felt a sym- 
 pathy, he owned, with the sufferings of the perse- 
 cuted Ghebers, wl:ich every monument like this 
 before them but tended more powerfully to awaken. 
 It was the first time that Feramorz had ever 
 ventured upon so much prose before Fadladeen, 
 and it may easily be conceived what effect such 
 prose as this must have produced upon that most 
 orthodox and most pagan-hating personage. He 
 sat for some minutes aghast, ejaculating only at 
 intervals, " Bigoted conquerors ! sympathy with 
 Fire-worshippers!" while Feramorz, happy to 
 take advantage of -this almost speechless horror of 
 the Chamberlain, proceeded to say that he knew a 
 melancholy story, connected with the events of one 
 of those struggles of the brave Fire-worshippers 
 against their Arab masters, which, if the evening 
 was not too far advanced, he should have much 
 pleasure in being allowed to relate to the Princess. 
 It was impossible for Lalla Rookh to refuse : he 
 had never before looked half so animated, and 
 when he spoke of the Holy Valley, his eyes had
 
 PARADISE AND THE PERI. I$I 
 
 sparkled, she thought, like the talismanic characters 
 on the scimitar of Solomon. Her consent was 
 therefore most readily granted ; and while Fadla- 
 deen sat in unspeakable dismay, expecting treason 
 and abomination in every line, the poet thus began 
 his story of the Fire-worshippers.
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 Trs moonlight over Oman's Sea ; 
 
 Her banks of pearl and balmy isles 
 Bask in the night-beam beauteously, 
 
 And her blue waters sleep in smiles. 
 'Tis moonlight in Harmozia's walls, 
 And through her Emir's porphyry halls, 
 Where, some hours since, was heard the swell 
 Of trumpet and the clash of zel, 
 Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell, 
 The peaceful sun, whom better suits 
 
 The music of the bulbul's nest, 
 Or the light touch of lovers 1 lutes, 
 
 To sing him to his golden rest. 
 All hush'd there's not a breeze in motion : 
 The shore is silent as the ocean : 
 If zephyrs come, so light they come 
 
 Nor leaf is stirr'd nor wave is driven : 
 The wind-tower on the Emir's dome 
 
 Can hardly win a breath from heaven. 
 
 Even he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps 
 Calm, while a nation round him weeps ; 
 152
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. I $3 
 
 While curses load the air he breathes, 
 And falchions from unnumber'd sheaths 
 Are starting to avenge the shame 
 His race hath brought on Iran's name. 
 Hard, heartless Chief, unmoved alike 
 'Mid eyes that weep, and swords that strike ; 
 One of that saintly, murderous brood, 
 
 To carnage and the Koran given, 
 Who think through unbelievers 1 blood 
 
 Lies their directest path to heaven ; 
 One who will pause and kneel unshod 
 
 In the warm blood his hand hath pour'd. 
 To mutter o'er some text of God 
 
 Engraven on his reeking sword ; 
 Nay, who can coolly note the line, 
 The letter of those words divine, 
 To which his blade, with searching art, 
 Had sunk into its victim's heart ! 
 
 Just Alia ! what must be thy look, 
 
 When such a wretch before thee stands 
 Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book, 
 
 Turning the leaves with blood-stain'd hands, 
 And wresting from its page sublime 
 His creed of lust, and hate, and crime : 
 Even as those bees of Trebizond, 
 
 Which, from the sunniest flowers that glad 
 With their pure smiles the gardens round, 
 
 Draw venom forth that drives men mad.
 
 154 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Never did fierce Arabia send 
 
 A satrap forth more direly great ; 
 Never was Iran doom'd to bend 
 
 Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. 
 Her throne had fallen her pride was crush'd 
 Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd, 
 In their own land no more their own 
 To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. 
 Her towers, where Mithra once had burn'd, 
 To Moslem shrine O shame ! were turn'd, 
 Where slaves, converted by the sword, 
 Their mean apostate worship pour'd, 
 And cursed the faith their sires adored. 
 Yet has she hearts, 'mid all this ill, 
 O'er all this wreck, high, buoyant still 
 With hope and vengeance ; hearts that y* 
 
 Like gems, in darkness, issuing rays 
 They've treasured from the sun that's set, - 
 
 Beam all the light of long-lost days ! 
 And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow 
 
 To second all such hearts can dare ; 
 As he shall know, well, dearly know, 
 
 Who sleeps in moonlight luxury there, 
 Tranquil as if his spirit lay 
 Becalm'd in Heaven's approving ray. 
 Sleep on, for purer eyes than thine 
 Those waves are hush'd, those planets shine; 
 Sleep on, and be thy rest unmoved 
 
 By the white moonbeam's dazzling power : 
 None but the loving and the loved 
 
 Should be awake at this sweet hour.
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 1 55 
 
 And see where, high above those rocks 
 That o'er the deep their shadows fling, 
 
 Yon turret stands ; where ebon locks, 
 As glossy as a heron's wing 
 Upon the turban of a king, 
 
 Hang from the lattice, long and wild 
 
 'Tis she, that Emir's blooming child, 
 
 All truth and tenderness and grace, 
 
 Though born of such ungentle race : 
 
 An image of Youth's radiant Fountain 
 
 Springing in a desolate mountain ! 
 
 Oh, what a pure and sacred thing 
 
 Is beauty, curtained from the sight 
 Of the gross world, illumining 
 
 One only mansion with her light ! 
 Unseen by man's disturbing eye, 
 
 The flower that blooms beneath the sea, 
 Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie 
 
 Hid in more chaste obscurity. 
 So, Hinda, have thy face and mind, 
 Like holy mysteries, lain enshrined. 
 And oh, what transport for a lover 
 
 To lift the veil that shades them o'er! 
 Like those who, all at once, discover 
 
 In the lone deep some fairy shore, 
 
 Where mortal never trod before, 
 And sleep and wake in scented airs 
 No lip had ever breathed but theirs.
 
 156 LALLA RGOKff. 
 
 Beautiful are the maids that glide, 
 
 On summer-eves, through Yemen's dales, 
 And bright the glancing looks they hide 
 
 Behind their litters' roseate veils; 
 And brides, as delicate and fair 
 As the white jasmine flowers they wear, 
 Hath Yemen in her blissful clime, 
 
 Who, lull'd in cool kiosk or bower, 
 Before their mirrors count the time, 
 
 And grow still lovelier every hour. 
 But never yet hath bride or maid 
 
 In Araby's gay Haram smiled, 
 Whose boasted brightness would not fade 
 
 Before Al Hassan's blooming child. 
 
 Light as the angel shapes that bless 
 An infant's dream, yet not the less 
 Rich in all woman's loveliness ; 
 With eyes so pure, that from their ray 
 Dark Vice would turn abash'd away, 
 Blinded like serpents when they gaze 
 Upon the emerald's virgin blaze ; 
 Yet fill'd with all youth's sweet desires, 
 Mingling the meek and vestal fires 
 Of other worlds with all the bliss, 
 The fond weak tenderness of this : 
 A soul, too, more than half divine, 
 
 Where, through some shades of earthly feeling, 
 Religion's soften'd glories shine, 
 
 Like light through summer foliage stealing,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 Shedding a glow of such mild hue, 
 So warm, and yet so shadowy too, 
 As makes the very darkness there 
 More beautiful than light elsewhere. ' 
 
 Such is the maid who, at this hour, 
 
 Hath risen from her restless sleep, 
 And sits alone in that high bower, 
 
 Watching the still and shining deep. 
 Ah ! 'twas not thus with tearful eyes 
 
 And beating heart she used to gaze 
 On the magnificent earth and skies, 
 
 In her own land, in happier days. 
 Why looks she now so anxious down 
 Among those rocks, whosj rugged frown 
 
 Blackens the mirror of the deep? 
 Whom waits she all this lonely night ? 
 
 Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep, 
 For man to scale that turret's height ! 
 
 So deem d at least her thoughtful sire, 
 
 When high, to catch the cool night-air, 
 After the day-beam's withering fire, 
 
 He built her bower of freshness there, 
 And had it deck'd with costliest skill, 
 
 And fondly thought it safe as fair 
 Think, reverend dreamer! think so still, 
 
 Nor wake to learn what love can dare 
 Love, all-defying Love, who sees 
 No charm in trophies won with ease ;
 
 1 58 LALLA ROOKff. 
 
 Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss 
 Are pluck'd on Danger's precipice ! 
 Bolder than they who dare not dive 
 
 For pearls, but when the sea's at rest, 
 Love, in the tempest most alive, 
 Hath ever held that pearl the best 
 He finds beneath the stormiest water. 
 Yes Araby's unrivall'd daughter, 
 Though high that tower, that rock- way rude, 
 There's one who, but to kiss thy cheek, 
 Would climb the untrodden solitude 
 
 Of Ararat's tremendous peak, 
 And think its steeps, though dark and dread, 
 Heaven's pathways, if to thee they led ! 
 Even now thou seest the flashing spray, 
 That lights his oar's impatient way ; 
 Even now thou hear'st the sudden shock 
 Of his swift bark against the rock, 
 And stretchest down thine arms of snow, 
 As if to lift him from below ! 
 Like her to whom at dead of night, 
 The bridegroom, with his locks of light, 
 Came, in the flush of love and pride, 
 And scaled the terrace of his bride ; 
 When, as she saw him rashly spring, 
 And midway up in danger cling, 
 She flung him down her long black hair, 
 Exclaiming, breathless, " There, love, there'." 
 And scarce did manlier nerve uphold 
 
 The hero Zal in that fond hour,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. I $9 
 
 Than wings the youth who, fleet and bold, 
 Now climbs the rocks to Hinda's bower 
 
 See ! light as up their granite steeps 
 The rock-goats of Arabia clamber, 
 
 Fearless from crag to crag he leaps, 
 And now is in the maiden's chamber. 
 
 She loves but knows not whom she loves, 
 
 Nor what his race, nor whence he came, 
 Like one who meets, in Indian groves, 
 
 Some beauteous bird without a name, 
 Brought by the last ambrosial breeze 
 From isles in the undiscover'd seas, 
 To show his plumage for a day 
 To wondering eyes, and wing away ! 
 Will he thus fly her nameless lover? 
 
 Alia forbid ! 'twas by a moon 
 As fair as this, while singing over 
 
 Some ditty to her soft Kanoon, 
 Alone, at this same witching hour, 
 
 She first beheld his radiant eyes 
 Gleam through the lattice of the bower, 
 
 Where nightly now they mix their sighs ; 
 And thought some spirit of the air 
 (For what could waft a mortal there?) 
 Was pausing on his moonlit way 
 To listen to her lonely lay ! 
 This fancy ne'er hath left her mind ; 
 
 And though, when terror's swoon had past,
 
 I6O LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 She saw a youth, of mortal kind, 
 
 Before her in obeisance cast, 
 Yet often since, when he hath spoken 
 Strange awful words, and gleams have broker 
 From his dark eyes, too bright to bear, 
 
 Oh, she hath feard her soul was given 
 To some unhallow'd child of air, 
 
 Some erring Spirit cast from Heaven, 
 Like those angelic youths of old, 
 Who burn'd for maids of mortal mould, 
 Bewilder'd, left the glorious skies, 
 And lost their heaven for woman's eyes. 
 
 Fond girl ! nor fiend nor angel he 
 Who woos thy young simplicity ; 
 But one of earth's impassioned sons, 
 
 As warm in love, as fierce in ire, 
 /Vs the best heart whose current runs 
 
 Full of the Day-God's living fire. 
 
 But quench 'd to-night that ardor seems, 
 
 And pale his cheek, and sunk his brow; 
 Never before, but in her dreams, 
 
 Had she beheld him pale as now : 
 And those were dreams of troubled sleep, 
 From which 'twas joy to wake and weep, 
 Visions, that will not be forgot, 
 
 But sadden every waking scene. 
 Like warning ghosts, that leave the spot 
 
 All wither'd where they once have been.
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. l6l 
 
 " How sweetly," said the trembling maid, 
 
 Of her own gentle voice afraid, 
 
 So long had they in silence stood, 
 
 Looking upon that tranquil flood, 
 
 " How sweetly does the moonbeam smile 
 
 To-night upon yon leafy isle ! 
 
 Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, 
 
 I've wish'd that little isle had wings, 
 
 And we, within its fairy bowers, 
 
 Were wafted off to seas unknown, 
 Where not a pulse should beat but ours, 
 
 And we might live, love, die, alone ! 
 Far from the cruel and the cold, 
 
 Where the bright eyes of angels only 
 Should come around us, to behold 
 
 A paradise so pure and lonely ! 
 Would this be world enough for thee ? " 
 Playful she turn'd, that he might see 
 
 The passing smile her cheek put on ; 
 But when she mark'd how mournfully 
 
 His eyes met hers, that smile was gone, 
 And, bursting into heartfelt tears, 
 " Yes, yes," she cried, " my hourly fears, 
 My dreams have boded all too right 
 We part forever part to-night ! 
 I knew, I knew it could not last 
 
 'Twas bright, 'twas heavenly, but 'tis past ! 
 Oh, ever thus, from childhood's hour 
 
 I've seen my fondest hopes decay j 
 I never loved a tree or flower,
 
 162 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 But "'twas the first to fade away ; 
 I never nursed a dear gazelle, 
 
 To glad me with its soft black eye, 
 But when it came to know me well, 
 
 And love me, it was sure to die ! 
 Now, too, the joy most like divine 
 
 Of all I ever dreamt or knew, 
 To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, 
 
 Oh, misery ! must I lose that too? 
 Yet go on peril's brink we meet : 
 
 Those frightful rocks ! that treacherous sea ! 
 No, never come again ! though sweet, 
 
 Though heaven, it may be death to thee 
 Farewell ! and blessings on thy way, 
 
 Where'er thou goest, beloved stranger ! 
 Better to sit and watch that ray, 
 And think thee safe, though far away, 
 
 Than have thee near me, and in danger !" 
 
 " Danger ! oh, tempt me not to boast ! " 
 The youth exclaim'd " Thou little know'st 
 What he can brave, who, born and nurst 
 In Danger's paths, has dared her worst ; 
 Upon whose ear the signal word 
 
 Of strife and death is hourly breaking; 
 Who sleeps with head upon the sword 
 
 His fever'd hand must grasp in waking. 
 Danger ! " 
 
 " Say on thou fear'st not then? 
 And we may meet oft meet again ? "
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 163 
 
 11 Oh, look not so ! beneath the skies 
 I now fear nothing but those eyes. 
 If aught on earth could charm or force 
 My spirit from its destined course, 
 If aught could make this soul forget 
 The bond to which its seal is set, 
 Twould be those eyes : they, only they, 
 Could melt that sacred seal away ! 
 But no, 'tis fixed, mine awful doom 
 If fix'd on this side of the tomb 
 We meet no more. Why, why did Heaven 
 Mingle two souls that earth has riven, 
 Has rent asunder wide as ours ? 
 
 Arab maid, as soon the Powers 
 
 Of Light and Darkness may combine, 
 As I be link'd with thee or thine ! 
 Thy Father " 
 
 "Holy Alia save 
 
 His gray head from that lightning glance! 
 Thou know'st him not he loves the brave; 
 
 Nor lives there under heaven's expanse 
 One who would prize, would worship thee 
 And thy bold spirit, more than he. 
 Oft when, in childhood, I have played 
 
 With the bright falchion by his side, 
 I've heard him swear his lisping maid 
 
 In time should be a warrior's bride. 
 And still, whene'er at Haram hours 
 
 1 take him cool sherbets and flowers,
 
 164 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 He tells me, when in playful mood, 
 
 A hero shall my bridegroom be, 
 Since maids are best in battle woo'd, 
 
 And won with shouts of victory ! 
 Nay, turn not from me thou alone 
 Art form'd to make both hearts thine own. 
 Go join his sacred ranks : thou know'st 
 
 The unholy strife these Persians wage, 
 Good Heaven, that frown ! even now thou 
 glow'st 
 
 With more than mortal warriors rage. 
 Haste to the camp by morning's light, 
 And when that sword is raised in fight, 
 Oh, still remember, Love and I 
 Beneath its shadow trembling lie ! 
 One victory o'er those Slaves of Fire, 
 Those impious Ghebers, whom my sire 
 Abhors" 
 
 " Hold, hold ! thy words are death I w 
 
 The stranger cried, as wild he flung 
 His mantle back, and show'd beneath 
 The Gheber belt that round him clung ; 
 " Here, maiden, look weep blush to see 
 All that thy sire abhors in me ! 
 Yes / am of that impious race, 
 
 Those Slaves of Fire, who, morn and even. 
 Hail their Creator's dwelling-place 
 
 Among the living lights of heaven : 
 Yes / am of that outcast few, 
 To Iran and to vengeance true,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 1 6$ 
 
 Who curse the hour your Arabs came 
 To desolate our shrines of flame, 
 And swear, before God's burning eye, 
 To break our country's chains, or die ! 
 Thy bigot sire, nay, tremble not, 
 
 He who gave birth to those dear eyes, 
 With me is sacred as the spot 
 From which our fires of worship rise ! 
 But know 'twas he I sought that night, 
 
 When, from my watch-boat on the sea, 
 I caught this turret's glimmering light, 
 
 And up the rude rocks desperately 
 Rush'd to my prey : thou know'st the rest : 
 I climb'd the gory vulture's nest, 
 And found a trembling dove within ; 
 Thine, thine the victory thine the sin 
 If Love hath made one thought his own, 
 That Vengeance claims first last alone ! 
 Oh, had we never, never met, 
 Or could this heart e'en now forget 
 How link'd, how bless'd we might have been, 
 Had fate not frown'd so dark between ! 
 Hadst thou been born a Persian maid, 
 In neighboring valleys had we dwelt, 
 Through the same fields in childhood play'd, 
 
 At the same kindling altar knelt, 
 Then, then, while all those nameless ties, 
 In which the charm of Country lies, 
 Had round our hearts been hourly spun, 
 Till Iran's cause and thine were one ; 
 F
 
 1 66 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 While in thy lute's awakening sigh 
 I heard the voice of days gone by, 
 And saw, in every smile of thine, 
 Returning hours of glory shine ; 
 ) Vhile the wrong'd Spirit of our Land 
 
 Lived, look'd, and spoke her wrongs thro' 
 
 thee, 
 God ! who could then this sword withstand ? 
 
 Its very flash were victory ! 
 But now estranged, divorced forever, 
 Far as the gasp of Fate can sever : 
 Our only ties what love has wove, 
 
 In faith,' friends, country, sunder'd wide, 
 And then, then only, true to love, 
 
 When false to all that's dear beside ! 
 Thy father, Iran's deadliest foe 
 Thyself perhaps, even now but no 
 Hate never look'd so lovely yet ! 
 
 No sacred to thy soul will be 
 The land of him who could forget 
 
 All but that bleeding land for thee. 
 When other eyes shall see, unmoved, 
 
 Her widows mourn, her warriors fall, 
 Thou'lt think how well one Gheber loved, 
 
 And for his sake thou'lt weep for all ! 
 But look " 
 
 With sudden start he turn'd 
 
 And pointed to the distant wave, 
 Where lights, like charnel meteors, burn'd 
 
 Bluely, as o'er some seaman's grave ;
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. l6/ 
 
 And fiery darts, at intervals, 
 
 Flew up all sparkling from the main, 
 
 As if each star that nightly falls 
 Were shooting back to heaven again. 
 
 " My signal lights ! I must away 
 
 Both, both are ruin'd, if I stay. 
 
 Farewell, sweet life ! thou cling'st in vain, 
 
 Now, Vengeance, I am thine again ! " 
 
 Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp'd, 
 Nor look'd, but from the lattice dropp'd 
 Down 'mid the pointed crags beneath, 
 As if he fled from love to death. 
 While pale and mute young Hinda stoodi 
 Nor moved, till in the silent flood 
 A momentary plunge below 
 Startled her from her trance of woe ; 
 Shrieking, she to the lattice flew, 
 
 " I come I come if in that tide 
 Thou sleep'st to-night, I'll sleep there too, 
 
 In death's cold wedlock, by thy side. 
 Oh, I would ask no happier bed 
 
 Than the chill wave my love lies under ; 
 Sweeter to rest together dead, 
 
 Far sweeter, than to live asunder ! " 
 But no, their hour has not yet come ; 
 
 Again she sees his pinnace fly, 
 Wafting him fleetly to his home, 
 
 Where'er that ill-starr'd home may lie ;
 
 1 68 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 And calm and smooth it seem'd to win 
 Its moonlight way before the wind, 
 
 As if it bore all peace within, 
 
 Nor left one breaking heart behind ! 
 
 THE Princess, whose heart was sad enough al- 
 ready, could have wished that Feramorz had chosen 
 a less melancholy story ; as it is only to the happy 
 that tears are a luxury. Her ladies, however, were 
 by no means sorry that love was once more the 
 Poet's theme ; for whenever he spoke of love, they 
 said, his voice was as sweet as if he had chewed the 
 leaves of that enchanted tree which grows over the 
 tomb of the musician Tan-Sein. 
 
 Their road all the morning had lain through a 
 very dreary country, through valleys covered with 
 a low bushy jungle, where, in more than one place, 
 the awful signal of the bamboo staff, with the white 
 flag at its top, reminded the traveller that, in that 
 very spot, the tiger had made some human creature 
 his victim. It was, therefore, with much pleasure 
 that they arrived at sunset in a safe and lovely glen, 
 and encamped under one of those holy trees whose 
 smooth columns and spreading roofs seem to des- 
 tine them for natural temples of religion. Beneath 
 this spacious shade, some pious hands had erected 
 a row of pillars ornamented with the most beautiful 
 porcelain, which now supplied the use of mirrors to
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 169 
 
 the young maidens, as they adjusted their hair in 
 descending from the palankeens. Here, while, as 
 usual, the Princess sat listening anxiously, with 
 Fadladeen, in one of his loftiest moods of criticism, 
 by her side, the young Poet, leaning against a branch 
 ef the tree, thus continued his story : 
 
 THE morn hath risen clear and calm, 
 
 And o'er the Green Sea palely shines, 
 Revealing Bahrein's groves of palm, 
 
 And lighting Kishma's amber vines. 
 Fresh smell the shores of Araby, 
 While breezes from the Indian sea 
 Blow round Selama's sainted cape, 
 
 And curl the shining flood beneath, 
 Whose waves are rich with many a grape, 
 
 And cocoa-nut and flowery wreath, 
 Which pious seamen, as they pass'd, 
 Had toward that holy headland cast 
 Oblations to the Genii there, 
 For gentle skies and breezes fair ! 
 The nightingale now bends her flight 
 From the high trees, where all the night 
 
 She sung so sweet, with none to listen ; 
 And hides her from the morning star 
 
 Where thickets of pomegranate glisten 
 In the clear dawn, bespangled o'er
 
 I/O LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 With dew, whose night-drops would not stain 
 The best and brightest scimitar 
 That ever youthful Sultan wore 
 
 On the first morning of his reign. 
 
 And see ! the Sun himself ! On wings 
 Of glory up the East he springs. 
 Angel of Light ! who, from the time 
 Those heavens began their march sublime, 
 Hath first of all the starry choir 
 Trod in his Maker's steps of fire ! 
 
 Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere, 
 When Iran, like a sun-flower, turn'd 
 To meet that eye where'er it burn'd? 
 
 When, from the banks of Bendemeer 
 To the nut-groves of Samarcand, 
 Thy temples flamed o'er all the land ? 
 Where are they? ask the shades of them 
 
 Who, on Cadessia's bloody plains, 
 Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem 
 From Iran's broken diadem, 
 
 And bind her ancient faith in chains : . 
 Ask the poor exile, cast alone 
 On foreign shores, unloved, unknown, 
 Beyond the Caspian's Iron Gates, 
 
 Or on the snowy Mossian mountains, 
 Far from his beauteous land of dates, 
 
 Her jasmine bowers and sunny fountains,-* 
 Yet happier so than if he trod
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. I 
 
 His own beloved but blighted sod, 
 Beneath a despot stranger's nod ! 
 Oh, he would rather houseless roam 
 
 Where Freedom and his God may lead, 
 Than be the sleekest slave at home 
 
 That crouches to the conqueror's creed T 
 
 Is Iran's pride then gone forever, 
 
 Quench'd with the flame in Mithra's caves? 
 No - she has sons, that never, never, 
 Will stoop to be the Moslem's slaves, 
 While heaven has light or earth has graves, 
 Spirits of fire, that brood not long, 
 But flash resentment back for wrong ; 
 And hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds 
 Of vengeance ripen into deeds, 
 Till, in some treacherous hour of calm, 
 They burst, like Zeilan's giant palm, 
 Whose buds fly open with a sound 
 That shakes the pigmy forests round J 
 
 Yes, Emir ! he who scaled that tower, 
 
 And, had he reach'd thy slumbering breast. 
 Had taught thee in a Gheber's power 
 
 How safe e'en tyrant heads may rest, 
 Is one of many, brave as he, 
 Who loathe thy haughty race and thee ; 
 Who, though they know the strife is vain, 
 Who, though they know the riven chaia
 
 LALLA RCOKH. 
 
 Snaps but to enter in the heart 
 
 Of him who rends its links apart, 
 
 Yet dare the issue, blest to be 
 
 E'en for one bleeding moment free, 
 
 And die in pangs of liberty ! 
 
 Thou know'st them well 'tis some moons sinc^ 
 
 Thy turban'd troops and blood-red flags, 
 Thou satrap of a bigot Prince ! 
 
 Have swarm 'd among these Green Sea crags ; 
 Yet here, e'en here, a sacred band, 
 Ay, in the portal of that land 
 Thou, Arab, dar'st to call thine own, 
 Their spears across thy path have thrown ; 
 Here, ere the winds half wing'd thee o'er, 
 Rebellion braved thee from the shore. 
 
 Rebellion ! foul dishonoring word, 
 
 Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain'd 
 The holiest cause that tongue or sword 
 
 Of mortal ever lost orgain'd!. 
 How many a spirit, bora to bless, 
 
 Hath sunk beneath that withering name, 
 Whom but a day's, an hour's success 
 
 Had wafted to eternal fame ! 
 As exhalations, when they burst 
 From the warm earth, if chill'd at first, 
 If check'd in soaring from the plain, 
 Darken to fogs and sink again ; 
 But, if they once triumphant spread 
 Their wings above the mountain-head,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 Become enthroned in upper air, 
 And turn to sun-bright glories there ! 
 
 And who is he, that wields the might 
 
 Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink, 
 Before whose sabre's dazzling light 
 
 The eyes of Yemen's warriors wink? 
 Who comes, embower'd in the spears 
 Of Kerman's hardy mountaineers? 
 Those mountaineers that truest, last, 
 
 Cling to their country's ancient rites, 
 As if that God, whose eyelids cast 
 
 Their closing gleam on Iran's heights, 
 Among her snowy mountains threw 
 The last light of his worship too ! 
 
 'Tis Hafed name of fear, whose sound 
 Chills like the muttering of a charm ! 
 Shout but that awful name around, 
 
 And palsy shakes the manliest arm ! 
 Tis Hafed, most accursed and dire 
 
 (So rank'd by Moslem hate and ire) 
 Of all the rebel Sons of Fire ; 
 Of whose malign, tremendous power, 
 The Arabs, at their mid-watch hour, 
 Such tales of fearful wonder tell, 
 That each affrighted sentinel 
 Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes, 
 Lest Hafed in the midst should rise!
 
 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 A man, they say, of monstrous birth, 
 A mingled race of flame and earth, 
 Sprung from those old enchanted kings, 
 
 Who, in their fairy helms, of yore, 
 A feather from the mystic wings 
 
 Of the Simoorgh resistless wore ; 
 And gifted by the Fiends of Fire, 
 Who groaned to see their shrines expire, 
 With charms that, all in vain withstood, 
 Would drown the Koran's light in blood ! 
 
 Such were the tales that won belief, 
 
 And such the coloring Fancy gave 
 To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief, 
 
 One who, no more than mortal brave, 
 Fought for the land his soul adored, 
 
 For happy homes and altars free, 
 His only talisman, the sword, 
 
 His only spell-word, Liberty ! 
 One of that ancient hero line, 
 Along whose glorious current shine 
 Names that have sanctified their blood, 
 As Lebanon's small mountain-flood 
 Is rendered holy by the ranks 
 Of sainted cedars on its banks. 
 'Twas not for him to crouch the knee 
 Tamely to Moslem tyranny ; 
 'Twas not for him, whose soul was cast 
 In the bright mould of ages past.
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 Whose melancholy spirit, fed 
 With all the glories of the dead. 
 Though framed for Iran's happiest years, 
 Was born among her chains and tears ! 
 Twas not for him to swell the crowd 
 Of slavish heads, that shrinking bow'd 
 Before the Moslem as he pass'd, 
 Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast ! 
 No, far he fled indignant fied 
 
 The pageant of his country's shame, 
 While every tear her children shed 
 
 Fell on his soul like drops of flame ; 
 And, as a lover hails the dawn 
 
 Of a first smile, so welcomed he 
 The sparkle of the first sword drawn 
 For Vengeance and for Liberty ! 
 
 But vain was valor vain the flower 
 Of Kerman, in that deathful hour, 
 Against Al Hassan's whelming power. 
 In vain they met him, helm to helm, 
 Upon the threshold of that realm 
 He came in bigot pomp to sway, 
 And with their corpses block'd his way, 
 In vain for every lance they raised, 
 Thousands around the Conqueror blazed ; 
 For every arm that lined their shore, 
 Myriads of slaves were wafted o'er, 
 A bloody, bold, and countless crowd,
 
 1/6 LALLA ROOKff. 
 
 Before whose swarm as fast they bow'd 
 As dates beneath the locust cloud. 
 
 There stood but one short league away 
 From old Harmozia's sultry bay 
 A rocky mountain, o'er the Sea 
 Of Oman beetling awfully : 
 A last and solitary link 
 
 Of those stupendous chains that reach 
 From the broad Caspian's reedy brink 
 
 Down winding to the Green Sea beach. 
 Around its base the bare rocks stood, 
 Like naked giants in the flood, 
 
 As if to guard the Gulf across ; 
 While, on its peak, that brave the sky, 
 A ruin'd Temple tower'd, so high 
 
 That oft the sleeping albatross 
 Struck the wild ruins with her wing, 
 And from her cloud-rock'd slumbering 
 Started to find man's dwelling there 
 In her own silent fields of air ! 
 Beneath, terrific caverns gave 
 Dark welcome to each stormy wave 
 That dash'd, like midnight revellers, in; 
 And such the strange mysterious din 
 At times throughout those caverns roll'd, 
 And such the fearful wonders told 
 Of restless sprites imprison'd there, 
 That bold were Moslem who would dare,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 At twilight hour, to steer his skiff 
 Beneath the Gheber's lonely cliff. 
 
 On the land side, those towers sublime, 
 That seem'd above the grasp of Time, 
 Were seyer'd from the haunts of men 
 By a wide, deep, and wizard glen, 
 So fathomless, so full of gloom, 
 
 No eye could pierce the void between: 
 It seem'd a place where Gholes might come 
 With their foul banquets from the tomb, 
 
 And in its caverns feed unseen. 
 Like distant thunder, from below, 
 
 The sound of many torrents came, 
 Too deep for eye or ear to know 
 If 'twere the sea's imprison'd flow, 
 
 Or floods of ever-restless flame. 
 For, each ravine, each rocky spire 
 Of that vast mountain stood on fire ; 
 And, though forever past the days 
 When God was worshipp'd in the blaze 
 That from its lofty altar shone, 
 Though fled the priests, the votaries gone, 
 Still did the mighty flame burn on, 
 Through chance and change, through good and ill, 
 Like its own God's eternal will, 
 Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable ! 
 
 Thither the vanquish'd Hafed led 
 His little army's last remains ;
 
 ^8 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 " Welcome, terrific glen ! " he said, 
 
 " Thy gloom, that Eblis' self might dread, 
 
 Is Heaven to him who flies from chains ! n 
 O'er a dark narrow bridge-way, known 
 To him and to his Chiefs alone, 
 They cross'd the chasm and gain'd the towers 
 " This home," he cried, " at least, is ours; 
 Here we may bleed, unmock'd by hymns 
 
 Of Moslem triumph o'er our head ; 
 Here we may fall, nor leave our limbs 
 
 To quiver to the Moslem's tread. 
 Stretch'd on this rock while vultures' beaks 
 Are whetted on our yet warm cheeks, 
 Here happy that no tyrant's eye 
 Gloats on our torments we may die ! " 
 
 'Twas night when to those towers they came, 
 
 And gloomily the fitful flame, 
 
 That from the ruin'd altar broke, 
 
 Glared on his features, as he spoke : 
 
 " 'Tis o'er what men could do, we've done : 
 
 If Iran will look tamely on, 
 
 And see her priests, her warriors driven 
 
 Before a sensual bigot's nod, 
 A wretch who shrines his lusts in heaven, 
 
 And makes a pander of his God ; 
 If her proud sons, her high-born souls, 
 
 Men in whose veins oh, last disgrace ! 
 The blood of Zal and Rustam rolls, 
 
 If they will court this upstart race,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 1 79 
 
 
 
 And turn from Mithra's ancient ray, 
 To kneel at shrines of yesterday ; 
 If they will crouch to Iran's foes, 
 
 Why, let them till the land's despair 
 Cries out to Heaven, and bondage grows 
 
 Too vile for e'en the vile to bear ! 
 Till shame at last, long hidden, burns 
 Their inmost core, and conscience turns 
 Each coward tear the slave lets fall 
 Back on his heart in drops of gall. 
 But here, at least, our arms unchain'd, 
 And souls that thraldom never stain'd ; 
 
 This spot, at least, no foot of slave 
 Or satrap ever yet profaned ; 
 
 And though but few, though fast the wave 
 Of life is ebbing from our veins, 
 Enough for vengeance still remains ! 
 As panthers, after set of sun, 
 Rush from the roots of Lebanon 
 Across the dark sea-robber's way, 
 We'll bound upon our startled prey; 
 And when some hearts that proudest swell 
 Have felt our falchion's last farewell, 
 When Hope's expiring throb is o'er, 
 And e'en despair can prompt no more, 
 This spot shall be the sacred grave 
 Of the last few who, vainly brave, 
 Die for the land they cannot save ! " 
 
 His Chiefs stood round each shining blade 
 Upon the broken altar laid ;
 
 180 LALLA ROOKPI. 
 
 And though so wild and desolate 
 Those courts, where once the Mighty sate, 
 Nor longer on those mouldering towers 
 Was seen the feast of fruits and flowers, 
 With which of old the Magi fed 
 The wandering Spirits of their Dead ; 
 Though neither priest nor rites were there, 
 
 Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate ; 
 Nor hymn, nor censer's fragrant air, 
 
 Nor symbol of their worshipp'd planet ; 
 Yet the same God that heard their sires 
 Heard them, while on that altar's fires 
 They swore the latest, holiest deed 
 Of the few hearts still left to bleed 
 Should be, in Iran's injured name, 
 To die upon that Mount of Flame 
 The last of all her patriot line, 
 Before her last untrampled Shrine ! 
 
 Brave suffering souls ! they little knew 
 How many a tear their injuries drew 
 From one weak maid, one gentle foe, 
 Whom love first touch'd with others 1 woe, 
 Whose life, as free from thought as sin, 
 Slept like a lake, till Love threw in 
 His talisman, and woke the tide, 
 And spread its trembling circles wide. 
 Once, Emir ! thine unheeding child, 
 'Mid all this havoc, bloom'd and smiled,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. l8l 
 
 Tranquil as on some battle plain 
 
 The Persian lily shines and towers, 
 Before the combat's reddening stain 
 
 Hath fallen upon her golden flowers. 
 Light-hearted maid, unawed, unmoved, 
 While Heaven but spared the sire she loved, 
 Once at thine evening tales of blood 
 Unlistening and aloof she stood, 
 And oft, when thou hast paced along 
 
 Thy Haram halls with furious heat, 
 Hast thou not cursed her cheerful song, 
 
 That came across thee, calm and sweet? 
 Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near 
 HelPs confines, that the damn'd can hear! 
 
 Far other feelings Love hath brought, 
 
 Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness, 
 She now has but the one dear thought, 
 
 And thinks that o'er, almost to madness ! 
 Oft does her sinking heart recall 
 His words " For my sake weep for all ; " 
 And bitterly, as day on day 
 
 Of rebel carnage fast succeeds, 
 She weeps a lover snatch'd away 
 
 In every Gheber wretch that bleeds : 
 There's not a sabre meets her eye, 
 
 But with his life-blood seems to swim ; 
 There's not an arrow wings the sky, 
 
 But fancy turns its point to him.
 
 1 82 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 No more she brings with footstep light 
 
 Al Hassan's falchion for the fight ; 
 
 And had he look'd with clearer sight, 
 
 Had not the mists that ever rise 
 
 From a foul spirit dimm'd his eyes, 
 
 He would have mark'd her shuddering frame, 
 
 When from the field of blood he came, 
 
 The faltering speech the look estranged 
 
 Voice, step, and life, and beauty changed, 
 
 He would have mark'd all this, and known 
 
 Such change is wrought by Love alone ! 
 
 Ah, not the Love, that should have bless'd 
 So young, so innocent a breast ; 
 Not the pure, open, prosperous Love, 
 That, pledged on earth and sealed above, 
 Grows in the world's approving eyes, 
 
 In friendship's smile and home's caress, 
 Collecting all the heart's sweet ties 
 
 Into one knot of happiness ! 
 No, Hinda, no, thy fatal flame 
 Is nursed in silence, sorrow, shame ; 
 
 A passion, without hope or pleasure, 
 In thy soul's darkness buried deep, 
 
 It lies, like some ill-gotten treasure, 
 Some idol, without shrine or name, 
 O'er which its pale-eyed votaries keep 
 Unholy watch, while others sleep. 
 
 Seven nights have darken'd Oman's sea, 
 Since last, beneath the moonlight ray,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 183 
 
 She saw his light oar rapidly 
 
 Hurry her Gheber's bark away ; 
 And still she goes, at midnight hour, 
 To weep alone in that high bower, 
 And watch and look along the deep 
 For him whose smiles first made her weep : 
 But watching, weeping, all was vain, 
 She never saw his bark again. 
 The owlet's solitary cry, 
 The night-hawk flitting darkly by, 
 
 And oft the hateful carrion bird, 
 Heavily flapping his clogg'd wing, 
 Which reek'd with that day's banquetting 
 
 Was all she saw, was all she heard. 
 
 'Tis the eighth morn. Al Hassan's brow 
 
 Is brightened with unusual joy ; 
 What mighty mischief glads him now, 
 
 Who never smiles but to destroy? 
 The sparkle upon Herkend's Sea, 
 When toss'd at midnight furiously, 
 Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh, 
 More surely than that smiling eye ! 
 "Up, daughter, up! the Kerna's breath 
 Has blown a blast would waken death, 
 And yet thou sleep'st ; up, child, and see 
 This blessed day for Heaven and me, 
 A day more rich in Pagan blood 
 Than ever flashed o'er Oman's flood !
 
 1 84 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Before another dawn shall shine, 
 
 His head heart limbs will all be mine; 
 
 This very night his blood shall steep 
 
 These hands all over e'er I sleep ! " 
 
 " His blood ! " she faintly scream'd, her mind 
 
 Still singling one from all mankind. 
 
 " Yes spite of his ravines and towers, 
 
 Hafed, my child, this night is ours : 
 
 Thanks to all-conquering treachery, 
 
 Without whose aid the links accurst, 
 
 That bind these impious slaves, would be 
 
 Too strong for Alla's self to burst ! 
 
 That rebel fiend, whose blade has spread 
 
 My path with piles of Moslem dead, 
 
 Whose baffling spells had almost driven 
 
 Back from their course the Swords of Heaven 
 
 This night, with all his band, shall know 
 
 How deep an Arab's steel can go, 
 
 When God and Vengeance speed the blow. 
 
 And Prophet ! by that holy wreath 
 
 Thou worest on Ohod's field of death, 
 
 I swear, for every sob that parts 
 
 In anguish from these heathen hearts, 
 A gem from Persia's plunder'd mines 
 Shall glitter on thy Shrine of Shrines ! 
 But, ha ! she sinks that look so wild 
 Those livid lips, my child, my child, 
 This life of blood befits not thee, 
 And thou must back to Araby.
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 185 
 
 Ne'er had I risk'd thy timid sex 
 In scenes that man himself might dread, 
 Had I not hoped our every tread 
 
 Would be on prostrate Persian necks 
 Curst race, they offer swords instead ! 
 But, cheer thee, maid, the wind that now 
 Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow, 
 To-day shall waft thee from the shore ; 
 And, ere a drop of this night's gore 
 Have time to chill in yonder towers, 
 Thou'lt see thine own swee f Arab bowers ! n 
 
 His bloody boast was all too true : 
 There lurk'd one wretch among the few 
 Whom Hafed's eagle eye could count 
 Around him on that fiery mount, 
 One miscreant who for gold betray'd 
 The pathway through the valley's shade 
 To those high towers where Freedom stood 
 In her last hold of flame and blood. 
 Left on the field that dreadful night, 
 When, sallying from their sacred height, 
 The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight, 
 He lay but died not with the brave : 
 That sun, which should have gilt his grave, 
 Saw him a traitor and a slave : / 
 
 And, while the few, who thence return'd .' 
 To their high rocky fortress, mourn'd 
 For him among the matchless dead 
 They left behind on glory's bed,
 
 1 86 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 He lived, and, in the face of morn, 
 
 Laugh'd them and Faith and Heaven to scorn. 
 
 Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave, 
 
 Whose treason, like a deadly blight, 
 Comes o'er the councils of the brave, 
 
 And blasts them in their hour of might ! 
 May Life's unbiassed cup for him 
 Be drugged with treacheries to the brim, 
 With hopes, that but allure to fly, 
 
 With joys, that vanish while he sips, 
 Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye, 
 
 But turn to ashes on the lips ! 
 His country's curse, his children's shame, 
 Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame, 
 May he, at last, with lips of flame 
 On the parch'd desert thirsting die, 
 While lakes that shone in mockery nigh 
 Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted, 
 Like the once glorious hopes he blasted ! 
 And when from earth his spirit flies, 
 
 Just Prophet, let the damn'd one dwell 
 Full in the sight of Paradise, 
 
 Beholding Heaven, and feeling Hell ! 
 
 LALLA ROOKH had, the night before, been visited 
 by a dream, which, in spite of the impending fate 
 ofpoorHafed, made her heart more than usually 
 cheerful during the morning, and gave her cheeks
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 187 
 
 all the freshened animation of a flower that the 
 Bid-musk had just passed over. She fancied that 
 she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the 
 sea-gypsies, who live forever on the water, enjoy a 
 perpetual summer in wandering from isle to isle, 
 when she saw a small gilded bark approaching her. 
 It was like one of those boats which the Maldivian 
 islanders send adrift at the mercy of winds and 
 waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odorif- 
 erous wood, as. an offering to the Spirit whom they 
 call King of the Sea. At first, this little bark ap- 
 peared to be empty, but, on coming nearer 
 
 She had proceeded thus far in relating the cJreanv 
 to her Ladies, when Feramorz appeared at the door 
 of the pavilion. In his presence, of course, every- 
 thing else was forgotten, and the continuance of the 
 story was instantly requested by all. Fres'ii wood 
 of aloes was set to burn in the cassolets ; the violet 
 sherbets were hastily handed round ; and after a 
 short prelude on his lute, in the pathetic measure of 
 Nava, which is always used to express the lamenta- 
 tions of absent lovers, the Poet thus continued. 
 
 THE day is lowering, stilly black 
 Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack, 
 Dispersed and wild, 'twixt earth and sky 
 Hangs like a shatterd canopy.
 
 1 88 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 There's not a cloud in that blue plain 
 
 But tells of storm to come or past : 
 Here, flying loosely as the mane 
 
 Of a young war-horse in the blast : v 
 There, roll'd in masses dark and swelling, 
 As proud to be the thunder's dwelling ! 
 While some already burst and riven, 
 Seem melting down the verge of heaven, 
 As though the infant storm had rent 
 
 The mighty womb that gave him birth, 
 And having swept the firmament, 
 
 Was now in fierce career for earth. 
 On earth 'twas yet all calm around, 
 A pulseless silence, dread, profound, 
 More awful than the tempest's sound. 
 The diver steer'd for Ormus' bowers, 
 And moor'd his skiff till calmer hours ; 
 The sea-birds, with portentous screech, 
 Flew fast to land ; upon the beach, 
 The pilot oft had paused, with glance 
 Turn'd upward to that wild expanse ; 
 And all was boding, drear, and dark 
 As her own soul, when Hinda's bark 
 Went slowly from the Persian shore. 
 
 No music timed her parting oar, 
 Nor friends upon the lessening strand 
 Linger'd, to wave the unseen hand, 
 Or speak the farewell, heard no more ;
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 189 
 
 But lone, unheeded, from the bay 
 
 The vessel takes its mournful way, 
 
 Like some ill-destined bark that steers 
 
 In silence through the Gate of Tears. 
 
 And where was stern Al Hassan then? 
 
 Could not that saintly scourge of men 
 
 From bloodshed and devotion spare i 
 
 One minute for a farewell there ? 
 
 No, close within, in changeful fits 
 
 Of cursing and of prayer, he sits 
 
 In savage loneliness to brood 
 
 Upon the coming night of blood, 
 
 With that keen second-scent of death, 
 By which the vulture snuffs his food 
 
 In the still warm and living breath ! 
 While o'er the wave his weeping daughter 
 Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter, 
 As a young bird of Babylon, 
 Let loose to tell of victory won, 
 Flies home, with wing, ah ! not unstain'd 
 By the red hands that held her chain'd. 
 
 And does the long-left home she seeks 
 Light up no gladness on her cheeks? 
 The flowers she nursed, the well-known groves, 
 Where oft in dreams her spirit roves ; 
 Once more to see her dear gazelles 
 Come bounding with their silver bells ; 
 Her birds' new plumage to behold, 
 And the gay gleaming fishes count,
 
 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 She left, all filleted with gold, 
 
 Shooting around their jasper fount ; 
 Her little garden mosque to see, 
 
 And once again, at evening hour, 
 To tell her ruby rosary 
 
 In her own sweet acacia bower : 
 Can these delights, that wait her now, 
 Call up no sunshine on her brow ? 
 No ; silent, from her train apart 
 As if e'en now she felt at heart 
 The chill of her approaching doom, 
 She sits, all lovely in her gloom 
 As a pale Angel of the Grave ; 
 And o'er the wide tempestuous wave 
 Looks, with a shudder, to those towers 
 Where, in a few short awful hours, 
 Blood, blood, in streaming tides shall run, 
 Foul incense for to-morrow's sun ! 
 " Where art thou, glorious stranger ! thou, 
 So loved, so lost, where art thou now? 
 Foe Gheber infidel whate'er 
 The unhallow'd name thou'rt doom'd to bear, 
 Still glorious, still to this fond heart 
 Dear as its blood, whate'er thou art ! 
 Yes, Alia, dreadful Alia! yes, 
 If there be wrong, be crime in this, 
 Let the black waves that round us roll 
 Whelm me this instant, ere my soul, 
 Forgetting faith home father all, 
 Before its earthly idol fall,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. IQI 
 
 Nor worship e'en Thyself above him 
 For, oh, so wildly do I love him, 
 Thy Paradise itself were dim 
 And joyless, if not shared with him ! " 
 
 Her hands were clasp'd, her eyes upturn'd, 
 
 Dropping their tears like moonlight rain ; 
 And though her lip, fond raver ! burn'd 
 
 With words of passion, bold, profane, 
 Yet was there light around her brow, 
 
 A holiness in those dark eyes, 
 Which show'd, though wandering earthward now, 
 
 Her spirit's home was in the skies. 
 Yes ; for a spirit pure as hers 
 Is always pure, e'en while it errs, 
 As sunshine, broken in the rill, 
 Though turn'd astray, is sunshine still ! 
 
 So wholly had her mind forgot 
 
 All thoughts but one, she heeded not 
 
 The rising storm the wave that cast 
 
 A moment's midnight, as it pass'd; 
 
 Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread 
 
 Of gathering tumult o'er her head 
 
 Clash'd swords, and tongues that seem'd to vie 
 
 With the rude riot of the sky. 
 
 But, hark ! that war-whoop on the deck ! 
 
 That crash ! as if each engine there, 
 Masts, sails, and all, were gone to wreck, 
 
 'Mid yells and stampings of despair I
 
 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Merciful Heaven ! what can it be ? 
 
 'Tis not the storm, though fearfully 
 
 The ship has shudder'd as she rode 
 
 O'er mountain-waves. " Forgive me, God ! 
 
 Forgive me ! " shriek'd the maid, and knelt, 
 
 Trembling all over, for she felt 
 
 As if her judgment hour was near ; 
 
 While crouching round, half-dead with fear, 
 
 Her handmaids clung, nor breathed, nor stirr'd- 
 
 When, hark ! a second crash a third 
 
 And now, as if a bolt of thunder 
 
 Had riven the laboring planks asunder, 
 
 The deck falls in what horrors then ! 
 
 Blood, waves, and tackle, swords, and men, 
 
 Come mix'd together through the chasm, 
 
 Some wretches in their dying spasm 
 
 Still fighting on, and some that call 
 
 " For God and Iran ! " as they fall ! 
 
 Whose was the hand that turn'd away 
 
 The perils of the infuriate fray, 
 
 And snatch'd her breathless from 'beneath 
 
 This wilderment of wreck and death ? 
 
 She knew not, for a faintness came 
 
 Chill o'er her, and her sinking frame 
 
 Amid the ruins of that hour 
 
 Lay, like a pale and scorched flower, 
 
 Beneath the red volcano's shower. 
 
 But, oh ! the sights and sounds of dread 
 
 That shock'd her ere her senses fled !
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 193 
 
 The yawning deck, the crowd that strove 
 Upon the tottering planks above, 
 The sail whose fragments, shivering o'er 
 The strugglers' heads all dash'd with gore, 
 Flutter'd like bloody flags, the clash 
 Of sabres, and the lightning's flash 
 Upon their blades, high toss'd about 
 Like meteor brands, as if throughout 
 
 The elements one fury ran, 
 One general rage, that left a doubt 
 
 Which was the fiercer, Heaven or Man ! 
 
 Once too but no, it could not be : 
 
 'Twas fancy all, yet once she thought 
 While yet her fading eyes could see, 
 
 High on the ruin'd deck she caught 
 A glimpse of that unearthly form, 
 
 That glory of her soul, e'en then, 
 Amid the whirl of wreck and storm, 
 
 Shining above his fellow-men ; 
 As, on some black and troublous night, 
 The Star of Egypt, whose proud light 
 Never hath beam'd on those who rest 
 In the White Islands of the West, 
 Burns through the storm with looks of flame 
 That put Heaven's cloudier eyes to shame. 
 But no, 'twas but the minute's dream 
 A fantasy, and ere the scream 
 Had half-way pass'd her pallid lips, 
 A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse
 
 194 LALLA ROOKIf. 
 
 Of soul and sense its darkness spread 
 Around her, and she sunk as dead. 
 
 How calm, how beautiful, comes on 
 The stilly hour, when storms are gone ! 
 When warring winds have died away, 
 And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, 
 Melt off, and leave the land and sea 
 Sleeping in bright tranquillity, 
 Fresh as if Day again were born, 
 Again upon the lap of Morn ; 
 When the light blossoms, rudely torn 
 And scattered at the whirlwind's will, 
 Hang floating in the pure air still, 
 Filling it all with precious balm, 
 In gratitude for this sweet calm ; 
 And every drop the thunder-showers 
 Have left upon the grass and flowers 
 Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem 
 Whose liquid flame is born of them ! 
 When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze, 
 There blow a thousand gentle airs, 
 And each a different perfume bears, 
 As if the loveliest plants and trees 
 Had vassal breezes of their own 
 To watch and wait on them alone, 
 
 And waft no other breath than theirs ; 
 When the blue waters rise and fall, 
 In sleepy sunshine mantling all ;
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 1 95 
 
 And e'en that swell the tempest leaves 
 Is like the full and silent heaves 
 Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest, 
 Too newly to be quite at rest. 
 
 Such was the golden hour that broke 
 Upon the world, when Hinda woke 
 From her long trance, and heard around 
 No motion but the water's sound 
 Rippling against the vessel's side, 
 As slow it mounted o'er the tide. 
 But where is she ? her eyes are dark, 
 Are wilder'd still is this the bark, 
 The same, that from Harmozia's bay 
 Bore her at morn, whose bloody way 
 The sea-dog track'd? no, strange and new 
 Is all that meets her wondering view. 
 Upon a galliot's deck she lies, 
 
 Beneath no rich pavilion's shade, 
 No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes, 
 
 Nor jasmine on her pillow laid ; 
 But the rude litter, roughly spread 
 With war-cloaks, is her homely bed, 
 And shawl and sash, on javelins hung, 
 For awning o'er her head are flung. 
 Shuddering, she look'd around : there lay 
 
 A group of warriors in the sun, 
 Resting their limbs, as for that day 
 
 Their ministry of death were done ;
 
 196 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Some gazing on the drowsy sea, 
 Lost in unconscious reverie ; 
 And some who seem'd but ill to brook 
 That sluggish calm, with many a look 
 To the slack sail impatient cast, 
 As loose it flagg'd around the mast. 
 
 Blest Alia ! who shall save her now ? 
 
 There's not in all that warrior band 
 One Arab sword, one turban'd brow, 
 
 From her own Faithful Moslem land. 
 Their garb : the leathern belt that wraps 
 
 Each yellow vest, that rebel hue, 
 The Tartar fleece upon their caps, 
 
 Yes, yes ! her fears are all too true, 
 And Heaven hath, in this dreadful hour, 
 Abandoned her to Hafed's power, 
 Hafed, the Gheber ! at the thought 
 
 Her very heart's blood chills within, 
 He, whom her soul was hourly taught 
 
 To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin, 
 Some minister whom Hell had sent 
 To spread its blast, where'er he went, 
 And fling, as o'er our earth he trod, 
 His shadow betwixt man and God ! 
 And she is now his captive, thrown 
 In his fierce hands, alive, alone ; 
 His the infuriate band she sees, 
 All infidels all enemies !
 
 Copyrighted by S. E. Cassino. 
 
 Lalla Rookh 3
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 1 97 
 
 What was the daring hope that then 
 Cross'd her like lightning, as again, 
 With boldness that despair had lent, 
 
 She darted through that armed crowd 
 A look so searching, so intent, 
 
 That e'en the sternest warrior bow'd 
 Abash'd, when he her glances caught, 
 As if he guess'd whose form they sought? 
 But no, she sees him not : 'tis gone, 
 The vision that before her shone, 
 Through all the maze of blood and storm, 
 Is fled 'twas but a phantom form, 
 One of those passing rainbow dreams, 
 Half light, half shade, which Fancy's beams 
 Paint on the fleeting mists that roll 
 In trance or slumber round the soul. 
 
 But now the bark, with livelier bound, 
 
 Scales the blue wave : the crew's in motion : 
 
 The oars are out, and with light sound 
 Break the bright mirror of the ocean, 
 
 Scattering its brilliant fragments round. 
 
 And now she sees with horror sees 
 Their course is toward that mountain-hold, 
 
 Those towers, that make her life-blood freeze, 
 
 Where Mecca's godless enemies 
 
 Lie, like beleaguer'd scorpions, roll'd 
 In their last deadly venomous fold ! 
 
 Amid the illumined land and flood 
 
 Sunless that mighty mountain stood ; 
 G
 
 198 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Save where, above its awful head, 
 There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red, 
 As 'twere the flag of destiny 
 Hung out to mark where death would be I 
 
 Had her bewilder'd mind the power 
 Of thought in this terrific hour, 
 She well might marvel where or how 
 Man's foot could scale that mountain's brow, 
 Since ne'er had Arab heard or known 
 Of path but through the glen alone. 
 But every thought was lost in fear, 
 When, as their bounding bark drew near 
 The craggy base, she felt the waves 
 Hurry them toward those dismal caves, 
 That from the Deep in windings pass 
 Beneath that Mount's volcanic mass ; 
 And loud a voice on deck commands 
 To lower the masts and light the brands ! 
 Instantly o'er the dashing tide 
 Within a cavern's mouth they glide, 
 Gloomy as that eternal Porch 
 
 Through which departed spirits go : 
 Not e'en the flare of brand and torch 
 Its flickering light could further throw 
 Than the thick flood that boil'd below. 
 Silent they floated, as if each 
 Sat breathless and too awed for speech 
 In that dark chasm, where even sound 
 Seem'd dark, so sullenly around
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 199 
 
 The goblin echoes of the cave 
 Mutter'd it o'er the long black wave, 
 As 'twere some secret of the grave ! 
 
 But soft, they pause, the current turns 
 Beneath them from its onward track ; 
 
 Some mighty unseen barrier spurns 
 The vexed tide, all foaming, back, 
 
 And scarce the oars' redoubled force 
 
 Can stem the eddy's whirling course ; 
 
 When, hark ! some desperate foot has sprung 
 
 Among the rocks, the chain is flung, 
 
 The oars are up, the grapple clings, 
 
 And the toss'd bark in moorings swings. 
 
 Just then, a day-beam through the shade 
 
 Broke tremulous ; but ere the maid 
 
 Can see from whence the brightness steals, 
 
 Upon her brow she shuddering feels 
 
 A viewless hand, that promptly ties 
 
 A bandage re nd her burning eyes ; 
 
 While the rude litter where she lies, 
 
 Uplifted by the warrior throng, 
 
 O'er the steep rocks is borne along. 
 
 Blest power of sunshine ! genial Day, 
 What balm, what life is in thy ray ! 
 To feel thee is such real bliss, 
 That had the world no joy but this, 
 T*o sit in sunshine calm and sweet, 
 It were a world too exquisite
 
 2OO LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 For man to leave it for the gloom, 
 The deep, cold shadow of the tomb. 
 E'en Hinda, though she saw not where 
 
 Or whither wound the perilous road, 
 Yet knew by that awakening air 
 
 Which suddenly around her glow'd 
 That they had risen from darkness then, 
 And breathed the sunny world again ! 
 
 But soon this balmy freshness fled ; 
 
 For now the sleepy labyrinth led 
 
 Through damp and gloom, 'mid crash of boughs, 
 
 And fall of loosen'd crags that rouse 
 
 The leopard from his hungry sleep, 
 
 Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey, 
 And long is heard, from steep to steep, 
 
 Chasing them down their thundering way ! 
 The jackal's cry, the distant moan 
 Of the hyaena, fierce and lone, 
 And that eternal saddening sounj 
 
 Of torrents in the glen beneath, 
 As 'twere the ever-dark Profound 
 
 That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death ! 
 All, all is fearful, e'en to see, 
 
 To gaze on those terrific things 
 She now but blindly hears, would be 
 
 Relief to her imaginings ; 
 Since never yet was shape so dread, 
 
 But Fancy, thus in darkness thrown, 
 And by such sounds of horror fed, 
 
 Could frame more dreadful of her own.
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 2OI 
 
 But does she dream ? has Fear again 
 Perplexed the workings of her brain, 
 Or did a voice, all music, then 
 Come from the gloom? low whispering near 
 "Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here!" 
 She does not dream all sense, all ear, 
 She drinks the words, " Thy Gheber's here." 
 'Twas his own voice, she could not err, 
 
 Throughout the breathing world's extent 
 There was but one such voice for her, 
 
 So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! 
 Oh, sooner shall the rose of May 
 Mistake her own sweet nightingale, 
 And to some meaner minstrel's lay 
 
 Open her bosom's glowing veil, 
 Than Love shall ever doubt a tone, 
 A breath of the beloved one ! 
 
 Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think 
 
 She has that one beloved near, 
 Whose smile, though met on ruin's brink, 
 
 Hath power to make e'en ruin dear, 
 Yet soon this glearn of rapture, crost 
 By fears for him, is chill'd and lost. 
 How shall the ruthless Hafed brook 
 That one of Gheber blood should look, 
 With aught but curses in his eye, 
 On her, a maid of Araby, 
 A Moslem maid, the child of him 
 
 Whose bloody banner's dire success
 
 202 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Hath left their altars cold and dim, 
 And their fair land a wilderness ! 
 
 And, worse than all, that night of blood 
 Which comes so fast oh, who shall stay 
 
 The sword, that once hath tasted food 
 Of Persian hearts, or turn its way? 
 
 What arm shall then the victim cover, 
 
 Or from her father shield her lover ? 
 
 " Save him, my God ! " she inly cries, 
 " Save him this night ! and if thine eyes 
 
 Have ever welcomed with delight 
 The sinners tears, the sacrifice 
 Of sinners' hearts, guard him this night! 
 And here, before Thy throne, I swear 
 From my heart's inmost core to tear 
 
 Love, hope, remembrance, though they b 
 Link'd with each quivering life- string there, 
 
 And give it bleeding all to Thee ! 
 Let him but live, the burning tear, 
 The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear, 
 Which have been all too much his own, 
 Shall from this hour be Heaven's alone : 
 Youth pass'd in penitence, and age 
 In long and painful pilgrimage, 
 Shall leave no traces of the flame 
 That wastes me now, nor shall his nama 
 E'er bless my lips, but when I pray 
 For his dear spirit, that away 
 Casting from its angelic ray
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 20$ 
 
 The eclipse of earth, he, too, may shine 
 Redeem'd, all glorious and all Thine ! 
 Think think what victory to win 
 One radiant soul like his from sin, 
 One wandering star of virtue back 
 To its own native, heavenward track ! 
 Let him but live, and both are Thine, 
 
 Together Thine for, blest or crost, 
 Living or dead, his doom is mine, 
 
 And, if he perish, both are lost !" 
 
 THE next evening, Lalla Rookh was entreated by 
 her Ladies to continue the relation of her wonderful 
 dream ; but the fearful interest that hung round the 
 fate of Hinda and her lover had completely removed 
 every trace of it from her mind, much to the dis- 
 appointment of a fair seer or two in her train, who 
 prided themselves on their skill in interpreting 
 visions, and who had already remarked, as an un- 
 lucky omen, that the Princess, on the very morn- 
 ing after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with the 
 blossoms of the sorrowful tree, Nilica. 
 
 Fadladeen, whose indignation had more than 
 once broken out during the recital of some parts of 
 this heterodox poem, seemed at length to have 
 made up his mind to the infliction ; and took his 
 seat this jevening with all the patience of a martyr, 
 while the Poet resumed his profane and seditious 
 story as follows :
 
 2O4 LALLA ROOKff. 
 
 To tearless eyes and hearts at ease, 
 The leafy shores and sun-bright seas, 
 That lay beneath that mountain's height, 
 Had been a fair enchanting sight. 
 'Twas one of those ambrosial eves 
 A day of storm so often leaves 
 At its calm setting, when the West 
 Opens her golden bowers of rest, 
 And a moist radiance from the skies 
 Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes 
 Of some meek penitent, whose last 
 Bright hours atone for dark ones past, 
 And whose sweet tears, or wrong forgiven, 
 Shine, as they fall, with light from Heaven ! 
 
 'Twas stillness all : the winds that late 
 
 Had rush'd through Kerman's almond groves, 
 And shaken from her bowers of date 
 
 That cooling feast the traveller loves, 
 Now, lull'd to languor, scarcely curl 
 
 The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam 
 Limpid, as if her mines of pearl 
 
 Were melted all to form the stream ; 
 And her fair islets, small and bright, 
 
 With their green shores reflected there, 
 Look like those Peri isles of light 
 
 That hang by spell-work in the air. 
 
 But vainly did those glories burst 
 On Hinda's dazzled eyes when first
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 20$ 
 
 The bandage from her brow was taken, 
 And, pale and awed as those who waken 
 In their dark tombs, when, scowling near, 
 The Searchers of the Grave appear, 
 She shuddering turn'd to read her fate 
 
 In the fierce eyes that flash'd around ; 
 And saw those towers all desolate, 
 
 That o'er her head terrific frown'd, 
 As if defying e'en the smile 
 Of that soft heaven to gild their pile. 
 In vain, with mingled hope and fear, 
 She looks for him, whose voice so dear 
 Had come, like music, to her ear : 
 Strange, mocking dream ! again 'tis fled 
 And oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread 
 That through her inmost bosom run, 
 
 When voices from without proclaim 
 " Hafed, the Chief!" and one by one 
 
 The warriors shout that fearful name ! 
 He comes ! the rock resounds his tread! 
 How shall she dare to lift her head, 
 Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare 
 Not Yemen's boldest sons can bear? 
 In whose red beam, the Moslem tells, 
 Such rank and deadly lustre dwells, 
 As in those hellish fires that light 
 The mandrake's charnel leaves at night. 
 How shall she bear that voice's tone? 
 At whose loud battle-cry alone 
 Whole squadrons oft in panic ran, 
 Scatter'd like some vast caravan,
 
 2O6 LALLA ROORH. 
 
 When, stretch'd at evening round the well, 
 They hear the thirsting tiger's yell ! 
 Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down. 
 Shrinking beneath the fiery frown 
 Which, fancy tells her, from that brow 
 Is flashing o'er her fiercely now ; 
 And shuddering as she hears the tread 
 
 Of his retiring warrior band : 
 Never was pause so full of dread, 
 
 Till Hafed with a trembling hand 
 Took hers, and, leaning o'er her, said 
 " Hinda " : that word was all he spoke, 
 And 'twas enough the shriek that broke 
 
 From her full bosom told the rest. 
 Panting with terror, joy, surprise, 
 The maid but lifts her wondering eyes, 
 
 To hide them on her Gheber's breast ! 
 'Tis he, 'tis he ! the man of blood, 
 The fellest of the Fire-fiend's brood, 
 Hafed, the demon of the fight, 
 Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight, 
 Is her own loved Gheber, mild 
 And glorious ns when first he smiled 
 In her lone tower, and left such beams 
 Of his pure eye to light her dreams, 
 That she believed her bower had given 
 Rest to some wanderer from Heaven. 
 
 Moments there are, and this was one, 
 Snatcii'd like a minute's gleam of sun
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS, 2O/ 
 
 Amid the black Simoom's eclipse, 
 Or like those verdant spots that bloom 
 
 Around the crater's burning lips, 
 Sweetening the very edge of doom ! 
 
 The past, the future, all that Fate 
 
 Can bring of dark or desperate 
 
 Around such hours, but makes them cast 
 
 Intenser radiance while they last ! 
 
 Even he, this youth though dimm'd and gone 
 
 Each star of Hope that cheer'd him on : 
 
 His glories lost, his cause betray'd ; 
 
 Iran, his dear-loved country, made 
 
 A land of carcasses and slaves, 
 
 One dreary waste of chains and graves ! 
 
 Himself but lingering, dead at heart, 
 
 To see the last long struggling breath 
 Of Liberty's great soul depart, 
 
 Then lay him down and share her death : 
 Even he, so sunk in wretchedness, 
 
 With doom still darker gathering o'er him, 
 Yet, in this moment's pure caress, 
 
 In the mild eyes that shown before him, 
 Beaming that blest assurance, worth 
 All other transports known on earth, 
 That he was loved well, warmly loved, 
 Oh ! in this precious hour he proved 
 How deep, how thorough-felt, the glow 
 
 Of rapture, kindling out of woe ;
 
 208 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 How exquisite one single drop 
 
 Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top 
 
 Of misery's cup, how keenly quaff'd, 
 
 Though death must follow on the draught! 
 
 She, too, while gazing on those eyes 
 
 That sink into her soul so deep, 
 Forgets all fears, all miseries, 
 
 Or feels them like the wretch in sleep, 
 Whom Fancy cheats into a smile, 
 Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while ! 
 The mighty Ruins where they stood, 
 
 Upon the mount's high rocky verge, 
 Lay open towards the ocean flood, 
 
 Where lightly o'er the illumined surge 
 Many a fair bark that all the day 
 Had lurk'd in sheltering creek or bay, 
 Now bounded on, and gave their sails, 
 Yet dripping, to the evening gales, 
 Like eagles, when the storm is done. 
 Spreading their wet wings in the sun. 
 The beauteous clouds, though daylight's Star 
 Had sunk behind the hills of Lar, 
 
 Were still with lingering glories bright, 
 As if, to grace the gorgeous West, 
 
 The Spirit of departing Light 
 That eve had left his sunny vest 
 
 Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight. 
 Never was scene so form'd for love,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 Beneath them waves of crystal move 
 In silent swell, Heaven glows above, 
 And their pure hearts, to transport given, 
 Swell like the wave, and glow like Heaven. 
 
 But, ah ! too soon that dream is past ! 
 
 Again, again her fear returns : 
 Night, dreadful night, is gathering fast, 
 
 More faintly the horizon burns, 
 
 And every rosy tint that lay 
 On the smooth sea hath died away. 
 Hastily to the darkening skies 
 A glance she casts, then wildly cries : 
 " At night, he said, and look, 'tis near ! 
 
 Fly, fly ! if yet thou lov'st me, fly ! 
 Soon will his murderous band be Iiere, 
 
 And I shall see thee bleed and die. 
 Hush ! heard'st thou not the tramp of men 
 Sounding from yonder fearful glen? 
 Perhaps e'en now they climb the wood 
 
 Fly, fly ! though still the West is bright, 
 He'll come oh, yes ! he wants thy blood ! -~ 
 
 I know him he'll not wait for night ! " 
 
 In terrors e'en to agony 
 
 She clings around the wondering Chief: 
 " Alas, poor wilder'd maid ! to me 
 
 Thou owest this raving trance of grief:
 
 210 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Lost as I am, nought ever grew 
 Beneath my shade but perish'd too, 
 My doom is like the Dead Sea air, 
 And nothing lives that enters there ! 
 Why were our barks together driven 
 Beneath this morning's furious heaven? 
 Why, when I saw the prize that chance 
 
 Had thrown into my desperate arms, 
 When, casting but a single glance 
 
 Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, 
 I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er 
 
 Thy safety through that hour's alarms) 
 To meet the unmanning sight no more, 
 Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow? 
 Why weakly, madly, met thee now? 
 Start not, that noise is but the shock 
 
 Of torrents through yon valley hurl'd ; 
 Dread nothing here, upon this rock 
 
 We stand above the jarring world, 
 Alike beyond its hope its dread 
 In gloomy safety, like the Dead ! 
 Or, could e'en Earth and Hell unite 
 In league to storm this Sacred Height, 
 Fear nothing thou : myself, to-night, 
 And each overlooking star that dwells 
 Near God, will be thy sentinels ; 
 And ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow, 
 Back to thy sire " 
 
 " To-morrow ! no ! " 
 The maiden scream'd "thou'lt never see 
 To-morrow's sun! death, death will be
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 211 
 
 The night cry through each reeking tower, 
 Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour ! 
 Thou art betray'd : some wretch who knew 
 That dreadful glen's mysterious clew 
 Nay, doubt not, by yon stars, 'tis true ! 
 Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire ; 
 This morning, with that smile so dire 
 He wears in joy, he told me all, 
 And stamped in triumph through our hall, 
 As though thy heart already beat 
 Its last life-throb beneath his feet ! 
 Good Heaven ! how little dream'd I then 
 
 His victim was mine own loved youth ! 
 Fly send let some one watch the glen, - 
 
 By all my hopes of Heaven, ' t is truth ! " 
 
 Oh, colder than the wind that freezes 
 
 Founts that but now in sunshine play'd, 
 Is that congealing pang which seizes 
 
 The trusting bosom, when betray'd. 
 He felt it deeply felt and stood, 
 As if the tale had frozen his blood, 
 
 So mazed and motionless was he, 
 Like one whom sudden spells enchant, 
 Or some mute marble habitant 
 
 Of the still Halls of Ishmonie! 
 
 But soon the painful chill was o'er, 
 And his great soul, herself once more,
 
 212 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 LooVd from his brow in all the rays 
 Of her best, happiest, grandest days. 
 Never in moment most elate 
 
 Did that high spirit ioftier rise ; 
 While bright, serene, determinate, 
 
 His looks are lifted to the skies, 
 As if the signal lights of Fate 
 
 Were shining in those awful eyes ! 
 ' Tis come, his hour of martyrdom 
 In Iran's sacred cause is come ; 
 And, though his life hath pass'd away 
 Like lightning on a stormy day, 
 Yet shall his death-hour leave a track 
 
 Of glory, permanent and bright, 
 To which the brave of after-times, 
 The suffering brave, shall long look back 
 
 With proud regret, and by its light 
 
 Watch through the hours of Slavery's night 
 For vengeance on the Oppressor's crimes. 
 This rock, his monument aloft, 
 
 Shall speak the tale to many an age ; 
 And hither bards and heroes oft 
 
 Shall come in secret pilgrimage, 
 And bring their warrior sons, and tell 
 The wondering boys where Hafed fell, 
 And swear them on those lone remains 
 Of their lost country's ancient fanes, 
 Never, while breath of life shall live 
 Within them, never to forgive 
 The accursed race, whose ruthless chain
 
 Uaua Kookh 4
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 21$ 
 
 Hath left on Iran's neck a stain 
 Blood, blood alone can cleanse again! 
 
 Such are the swelling thoughts that now 
 Enthrone themselves on Hafed's brow ; 
 And ne'er did saint of Issa gaze 
 
 On the red wreath, for martyrs twined, 
 More proudly than the youth surveys 
 
 That pile, which through the gloom behind, 
 Half lighted by the altar's fire, 
 Glimmers his destined funeral pyre! 
 Heaped by his own, his comrades' hands, 
 
 Of every wood of odorous breath, 
 There, by the Fire-God's shrine it stands. 
 
 Ready to fold in radiant death 
 The few still left of those who swore 
 To perish there, when hope was o'er, 
 The few, to whom that couch of flame, 
 Which rescues them from bonds and shame, 
 Is sweet and welcome as the bed 
 For their own infant Prophet spread, 
 When pitying Heaven to roses turn'd 
 The death-flames that beneath him burn'd! 
 
 With watchfulness the maid attends 
 His rapid glance, where'er it bends, 
 Why shoot his eyes such awful beams? 
 What plans he now? what thinks or dreams? 
 Alas ! why stands he musing here, 
 When every moment teems with fear?
 
 214 LALLA ROOKfT. 
 
 " Hafed, mine own beloved Lord," 
 She kneeling cries, "first, last, adored! 
 If in that soul thou'st ever felt 
 
 Half what thy lips impassion'd swore, 
 Here on my knees, that never knelt 
 
 To any but their God before, 
 I pray thee, as thou lov'st me, fly ! 
 Now, now ! ere yet their blades are nigh. 
 Oh, haste ! the bark that bore me hither 
 
 Can waft us o'er yon darkening sea, 
 East, west, alas, I care not whither, 
 
 So thou art safe, and I with thee ! 
 Go where we will, this hand in thine, 
 
 Those eyes before me smiling thus, 
 Through good and ill, through storm and shine, 
 
 The world's a world of love for us ! 
 On some calm blessed shore we'll dwell, 
 Where ' tis no crime to love too well ; 
 Where thus to worship tenderly 
 An erring child of light like thee 
 Will not be sin, or, if it be, 
 Where we may weep our faults away, 
 Together kneeling, night and day, 
 Thou, for my sake, at Alla's shrine, 
 And I at any God's for thine !" 
 
 Wildly these passionate words she spoke, 
 Then hung her head, and wept for shame ; 
 
 Sobbing as if her heart-string broke 
 With every deep-heaved sob that came.
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 215 
 
 While he, young, warm, oh, wonder not 
 
 If, for a moment, pride and fame, 
 
 His oath, his cause, that shrine of flame, 
 And Iran's self, are all forgot 
 For her whom at his feet he sees 
 Kneeling in speechless agonies. 
 No, blame him not, if Hope awhile 
 Dawn'd in his soul, and threw her smile 
 O'er hours to come, o'er days and nights, 
 Wing'd with those precious pure delights 
 Which she, who bends all beauteous there, 
 Was born to kindle and to share. 
 A tear or two, which, as he bow'd 
 
 To raise the suppliant, trembling stole, 
 First warn'd him of this dangerous cloud 
 
 Of softness passing o'er his soul. 
 Starting, he brush'd the drops away, 
 Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray, 
 Like one who, on the morn of fight, 
 Shakes from his sword the dews of night, 
 That had but dimm'd, not stain'd, its light. 
 Yet, though subdued the unnerving thrill, 
 Its warmth, its weakness linger'd still, 
 
 So touching in each look and tone 
 That the fond, fearing, hoping maid 
 Half counted on the flight she pray'd, 
 
 Half thought the hero's soul was grown 
 
 As soft, as yielding as her own, 
 And smiled and bless'd him, while he said-- 
 " Yes, if there be some happier sphere, 
 Where fadeless truth like ours is dear,
 
 2l6 LALLA ROOKII. 
 
 If there be any land of rest 
 
 For those who love and ne'er forget, 
 Oh, comfort thee ; for, safe and blest, 
 
 We'll meet in that calm region yet! w 
 
 Scarce had she time to ask her heart 
 If good or ill these words impart, 
 When the roused youth impatient flew 
 To the tower-wall where, high in view, 
 A ponderous sea-horn hung, and blew 
 A signal, deep and dread as those 
 The storm-fiend at his rising blows. 
 Full well his Chieftains, sworn and true 
 Through life and death, that signal knew; 
 For 'twas the appointed warning-blast, 
 The alarm to tell when hope was past, 
 And the tremendous death-die cast ! 
 And there, upon the mouldering tower, 
 Hath hung this sea-horn many an hour. 
 Ready to sound o'er land and sea 
 That dirge-note of the brave and free. 
 They came his Chieftains at the call 
 Came slowly round, and with them all- 
 Alas, how few ! the worn remains 
 Of those who late o'er Kerman's plains 
 Went gaily prancing to the clash 
 
 Of Moorish zel and tymbalon, 
 Catching new hope from every flash 
 
 Of their long lances in the sun,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 21? 
 
 And, as their coursers charged the wind, 
 And the white ox-tails streamed behind, 
 Looking as if the steeds they rode 
 Were wing'd, and every Chief a God ! 
 How fallen, how alter'd now ! how wan 
 Each scarr'd and faded visage shone, 
 As round the burning shrine they came! 
 
 How deadly was the glare it cast, 
 As mute they paused before the flame 
 
 To light their torches as they pass'd ! 
 'Twas silence all the youth had plann'd 
 The duties of his soldier-band ; 
 And each determined brow declares 
 His faithful Chieftains well know theirs. 
 
 But minutes speed night gems the skies 
 And oh, how soon, ye blessed eyes 
 That look from heaven, ye may behold 
 Sights that will turn your star-fires cold ! 
 Breathless with awe, impatience, hope, 
 The maiden sees the veteran group 
 Her litter silently prepare, 
 
 And lay it at her trembling feet ; 
 And now the youth, with gentle care, 
 
 Hath placed her in the shelter'd seat, 
 And press'd her hand that lingering press 
 
 Of hands, that for the last time sever; 
 Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness, 
 
 When that hold breaks, is dead forever.
 
 218 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 And yet to her this sad caress 
 
 Gives hope so fondly hope can err ! 
 
 'Twas joy, she thought, joy's mute excess 
 Their happy flight's dear harbinger ; 
 
 'Twas warmth assurance tenderness, 
 Twas anything but leaving her. 
 
 "Haste, haste!" she cried, "the clouds 
 
 dark, 
 
 But still, ere night, we'll reach the bark; 
 And by to-morrow's dawn oh, bliss ! 
 
 With thee upon the sun-bright deep, 
 Far off, I'll but remember this, 
 
 As some dark vanish'd dream of sleep ; 
 And thou " But ah ! he answers not : 
 
 Good Heaven ! and does she go alone? 
 She now has reach'd that dismal spot, 
 
 Where, some hours since, his voice's tone 
 Had come to soothe her fears and ills, 
 Sweet as the angel IsrafiTs, 
 When every leaf on Eden's tree 
 Is trembling to his minstrelsy, 
 Yet now oh, now, he is not nigh. 
 
 " Hafed ! my Hafed ! if it be 
 Thy will, thy doom this night to die, 
 
 Let me but stay to die with thee, 
 And I will bless thy loved name, 
 Till the last life-breath leave this frame. 
 Oh, let our lips, our cheeks, be laid 
 But near each other while they fade ;
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 2l<) 
 
 Let us but mix our parting breaths, 
 And I can die ten thousand deaths ! 
 You too, who hurry me away 
 So cruelly, one moment stay 
 
 Oh, stay one moment is not much 
 He yet may come for htm I pray 
 Hafed ! dear Hafed ! " All the way 
 
 In wild lamentings, that would touch 
 A heart of stone, she shriek'd his name 
 To the dark woods no Hafed came : 
 No, hapless pair, you've look'd your last ; 
 
 Your hearts should both have broken then; 
 The dream is o'er your doom is cast 
 
 You'll never meet on earth again ! 
 
 Alas for him, who hears her cries ! 
 
 Still half-way down the steep he stands, 
 Watching with fix'd and feverish eyes 
 
 The glimmer of those burning brands, 
 That down the rocks, with mournful ray, 
 Light all he loves on earth away ! 
 Hopeless as they who, far at sea, 
 
 By the cold moon have just consign'd 
 The corse of one, loved tenderly, 
 
 To the bleak flood they leave behind ; 
 And on the deck still lingering stay, 
 And long look back, with sad delay, 
 To watch the moonlight on the wave 
 That ripples o'er that cheerless grave.
 
 220 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 But see be starts ! what heard he then? 
 
 That dreadful shout ! across the glen 
 
 From the land-side it comes, and loud 
 
 Rings through the chasm ; as if the crowd 
 
 Of fearful things, that haunt that dell, 
 
 Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of Hell, 
 
 Had all in one dread howl broke out, 
 
 So loud, so terrible that shout ! 
 
 " They come the Moslems come ! " he 
 
 cries, 
 
 His proud soul mounting to his eyes ; 
 " Now, Spirits of the Brave, who roam 
 Enfranchised through yon starry dome, 
 Rejoice for souls of kindred fire 
 Are on the wing to join your choir ! " 
 He said and, light as bridegrooms bound 
 
 To their young loves, reclimb'd the steep 
 And gain'd the Shrine ; his Chiefs stood round 
 
 Their swords, as with instinctive leap, 
 Together, at that cry accurst, 
 Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst. 
 And hark ! again again it rings ; 
 Near and more near its echoings 
 Peal through the chasm oh, who that then 
 Had seen those listening warrior-men, 
 With their swords grasp'd, their eyes of flame 
 Turned on their Chief could doubt the 
 
 shame, 
 
 The indignant shame with which they thrill 
 To hear those shouts and yet stand still?
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 221 
 
 He read their thoughts they were his own : 
 
 " What ! while our arms can wield these blades, 
 Shall we die tamely? die alone, 
 
 Without one victim to our shades, 
 One Moslem heart, where, buried deep, 
 The sabre from its toil may sleep? 
 No God of Iran's burning skies, 
 Thou scorn'st the inglorious sacrifice ! 
 No though of all earth's hope bereft, 
 Life, swords, and vengeance still are left! 
 We'll make yon valley's reeking caves 
 
 Live in the awe-struck minds of men, 
 Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves 
 
 Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen. 
 Follow, brave hearts ! this pile remains 
 Our refuge still from life and chains ; 
 But his the best, the holiest bed, 
 Who sinks entomb'd in Moslem dead ! " 
 
 Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, 
 While vigor, more than human, strung 
 Each arm and heart. The exulting foe 
 Still through the dark defiles below, 
 Track'd by his torches' lurid fire, 
 
 Wound slow, as through Golconda's vale 
 The mighty serpent, in his ire, 
 
 Glides on with glittering, deadly trail. 
 No torch the Ghebers need so well 
 They know each mystery of the dell, 
 So oft have, in their wanderings,
 
 222 LALLA ROOKIf. 
 
 Crossed the wild race that round them dwell, 
 The very tigers from their delves 
 
 Look out, and let them pass, as things 
 Untamed and fearless like themselves ! 
 
 There was a deep ravine, that lay 
 
 Yet darkling in the Moslem's way ; 
 
 Fit spot to make invaders rue 
 
 The many fallen before the few. 
 
 The torrents from that morning's sky 
 
 Had fill'd the narrow chasm breast high, 
 
 And, on each side, aloft and wild, 
 
 Huge cliffs and toppling crags were piled, 
 
 The guards with which young Freedom lines 
 
 The pathways to her mountain-shrines. 
 
 Here, at this pass, the scanty band 
 
 Of Iran's last avengers stand ; 
 
 Here wait, in silence like the dead, 
 
 And listen for the Moslem's tread 
 
 So anxiously, the carrion-bird 
 
 Above them flaps his wing unheard ! 
 
 They come that plunge into the water 
 Gives signal for the work of slaughter ! 
 Now, Ghebers, now if e'er your blades 
 
 Had point or prowess, prove them now ! 
 Woe to the file that foremost wades ! 
 
 They come a falchion greets each brow, 
 And, as they tumble, trunk on trunk, 
 Beneath the gory waters sunk,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 22$ 
 
 Still o'er their drowning bodies press 
 New victims quick and numberless ; 
 Till scarce an arm in Hafed's band, 
 
 So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, 
 But listless from each crimson hand 
 
 The sword hangs, clogg'd with massacre. 
 Never was horde of tyrants met 
 With bloodier welcome never yet 
 To patriot vengeance hath the sword 
 More terrible libations pour'd. 
 
 All up the dreary long ravine, 
 By the red murky glimmer seen 
 Of half-quencbrd brands that o'er the flood 
 Lie scatter'd round and burn in blood, 
 What ruin glares ! what carnage swims ! 
 Heads, blazing turbans, quivering limbs, 
 Lost swords that, dropped from many a hand, 
 In that thick pool of slaughter stand, 
 Wretches who wading, half on fire 
 
 From the toss'd brands that round them fly, 
 'Twixt flood and flame, in shrieks expire; 
 
 And some who, grasp'd by those that die, 
 Sink woundless with them, smother'd o'er 
 In their dead brethren's gushing gore ! 
 
 But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, 
 Still hundreds, thousands more succeed;
 
 24 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Countless as toward some flame at night 
 
 The North's dark insects wing their flight, 
 
 And quench or perish in its light, 
 
 To this terrific spot they pour 
 
 Till, bridged with Moslem bodies o'er, 
 
 It bears aloft their slippery tread, 
 
 And o'er the dying and the dead, 
 
 Tremendous causeway ! on they pass. 
 
 Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas ! 
 
 What hope was left for you ? for you, 
 
 Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice 
 
 Is smoking in their vengeful eyes ! 
 
 Whose swords how keen, how fierce they knew f 
 
 And burn with shame to find how few ! 
 
 Crush'd down by that vast multitude, 
 
 Some found their graves where first they stood; 
 
 While some with hardier struggle died, 
 
 And still fought on by Hafed's side, 
 
 Who, fronting to the foe, trod back 
 
 Toward the high towers his gory track ; 
 
 And, as a lion swept away 
 
 By sudden swell of Jordan's pride 
 From the wild covert where he lay, 
 
 Long battles with the overwhelming tide, 
 So fought he back with fierce delay, 
 And kept both foes and fate at bay. 
 
 But whither now? their track is lost, 
 Their prey escaped guide, torches gone ;
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 22$ 
 
 By torrent-beds and labyrinths crost, 
 
 The scatter'd crowd rushed blindly on : 
 " Curse on those tardy lights that wind," 
 They panting cry, " so far behind t 
 Oh, for a bloodhound's precious scent, 
 To track the way the Gheber went ! " 
 Vain wish confusedly along 
 They rush, more desp2rate as more wrong: 
 Till, wilder'd by the far-off lights 
 Yet glittering up those gloomy heights, 
 Their footing, mazed and lost, they miss, 
 And down the darkling precipice 
 Are dash'd into the deep abyss ; 
 Or midway hang, impaled on rocks, 
 A banquet, yet alive, for flocks 
 Of ravening vultures, while the dell 
 Re-echoes with each horrible yell. 
 
 Those sounds the last, to vengeance dear, 
 That e'er shall ring in Hafed's ear, 
 Now reach'd him, as aloft, alone, 
 Upon the steep way breathless thrown, 
 He lay beside his re2king blade, 
 
 Resign'd, as if life's task were o'er, 
 Its last blood-offering amply paid, 
 
 And Iran's self could claim no more. 
 One only thought, one lingering beam, 
 Now broke across his dizzy dream 
 Of pain and weariness : 'twas she, 
 
 His heart's pure planet, shining yet
 
 226 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Above the waste of memory, 
 
 When all life's other lights were set. 
 And never to his mind before 
 Her image such enchantment wore. 
 It seem'd as if each thought that stain'd, 
 
 Each fear that chill'd their loves, was past; 
 And not one cloud of earth remain'd 
 
 Between him and her radiance cast ; 
 As if to charms, before so bright, 
 
 New grace from other worlds was given, 
 And his soul saw her by the light 
 
 Now breaking o'er itself from heaven ! 
 
 A voice spoke near him 'twas the tone 
 
 Of a loved friend, the only one, 
 
 Of all his warriors, left with life 
 
 From that short night's tremendous strife. 
 
 " And must we then, my Chief, die here? 
 
 Foes around us, and the Shrine so near ! " 
 
 These words have roused the last remains 
 
 Of life within him. " What ! not yet 
 Beyond the reach of Moslem chains ! " 
 
 The thought could make e'en Death forget 
 His icy bondage ; with a bound 
 
 He springs, all bleeding, from the ground, 
 And grasps his comrade's arm, now grown 
 E'en feebler, heavier than his own, 
 And up the painful pathway leads, 
 Death gaining on each step he treads.
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 22 J 
 
 Speed them, them God who heard'st their vow ! 
 They mount they bleed ; oh, save them now ! 
 The crags are red they've clamber'd o'er, 
 The rock-weed's dripping with their gore ; 
 Thy blade too, Hafed, false at length, 
 Now breaks beneath thy tottering strength ! 
 Haste, haste ! the voices of the Foe 
 Come near and nearer from below ; 
 One effort more thank Heaven ! 'tis past ; 
 They've gain'd the topmost steep at last. 
 And now they touch the temple's walls, 
 
 Now Hafed sees the Fire divine, 
 When, lo! his weak, worn comrade falls 
 
 Dead on the threshold of the Shrine. 
 " Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled ! 
 
 And must I leave thee withering here, 
 The sport of every ruffian's tread, 
 
 The mark for every coward's spear? 
 No, by yon altar's sacred beams ! " 
 He cries, and, with a strength that seems 
 Not of this world, uplifts the frame 
 Of the fallen Chief, and toward the flame 
 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
 
 228 LALLA ROOKH, 
 
 In that last effort, ere the fires 
 
 Have harm'd one glorious limb, expires ! 
 
 What shriek was that on Oman's tide? 
 
 It came from yonder drifting bark, 
 That just hath caught upon her side 
 
 The death-light and again is dark. 
 It is the boat ah, why delayed ? 
 That bears the wretched Moslem maid ; 
 Confided to the watchful care 
 
 Of a small veteran band, with whom 
 Their generous Chieftain would not share 
 
 The secret of his final doom, 
 But hoped when Hinda, safe and free, 
 
 Was rendered to her father's eyes, 
 Their pardon, full and prompt, would be 
 
 The ransom of so dear a prize. 
 Unconscious, thus, of Hafed's fate, 
 And proud to guard their beauteous freight, 
 Scarce had they clear'd the surfy waves 
 That foam around those frightful caves, 
 When the curst war-whoops, known so well s 
 Came echoing from the distant dell ; 
 Sudden each oar, upheld and still, 
 
 Hung dripping o'er the vessel's side, 
 And, driving at the current's will, 
 
 They rock'd along the whispering tide ; 
 While every eye, in mute dismay, 
 
 Was toward that fatal mountain turn'd,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 22$ 
 
 Where the dim altar's quivering ray 
 As yet all lone and tranquil burn'd. 
 
 Oh, 'tis not, Hinda, in the power 
 
 Of Fancy's most terrific touch 
 To paint thy pangs in that dread hour 
 
 Thy silent agony ! 'twas such 
 As those who feel could paint too well, 
 But none e'er felt and lived to tell ! 
 Twas not alone the dreary state 
 Of a lorn spirit crush'd by fate, 
 When, though no more remains to dread. 
 
 The panic chill will not depart ; 
 When, though the inmate Hope be dead, 
 
 Her ghost still haunts the mouldering heart. 
 No pleasures, hopes, affections, gone, 
 The wretch may bear, and yet live on, 
 Like things within the cold rock found 
 Alive, when all's congeal'd around. 
 But there's a blank repose in this, 
 A calm stagnation, that were bliss 
 To the keen, burning, harrowing pain, 
 Now felt through all thy breast and brain ; 
 That spasm of terror, mute, intense, 
 That breathless, agonized suspense, 
 From whose hot throb, whose deadly aching, 
 The heart hath no relief but breaking ! 
 
 Calm is the wave heaven's brilliant lights 
 Reflected dance beneath the prow ; 
 H
 
 230 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 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 starlight o'er the waters thrown 
 No joy but that, to make her blest, 
 
 And the fresh, buoyant sense of being, 
 Which 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 Her 
 He, at whose word they've scatter'd death, 
 
 E'en now, this night, himself must die ! 
 Well may ye look to yon dim tower, 
 
 And ask, and wandering guess, what mean* 
 The battle-cry at this dead hour ! 
 
 Ah, she could tell you she who leans 
 Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast, 
 With brow against the dew-cold mast ; 
 
 Too 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? 
 Some signal ! 'tis a torch's light :
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 What bodes its solitary glare ? 
 In grasping silence toward the Shrine 
 All eyes are turn'd thine, Hinda, thine 
 
 Fix their last fading life-beams there. 
 1 Twas but a moment : fierce and high 
 The death-pile blazed into the sky, 
 And far away, o'er rock and flood, 
 
 Its melancholy radiance sent ; 
 While Hafed, like a vision, stood 
 Reveal'd before the burning pyre, 
 Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire 
 
 Shrined in its own grand e-lement ! 
 " 'Tis 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 gave, 
 
 Then sprung, as if to reach that 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! 
 
 (Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea), 
 No pearl ever lay, under Oman's green water, 
 
 More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee.
 
 232 LALLA 
 
 Oh, fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, 
 How light was thy heart till Love's witchery came, 
 
 Uke the wind of the south o'er a summer lute 
 
 blowing, 
 And hush'd all its music, and wither'd its frame ! 
 
 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-star to light up her tomb. 
 
 And still, when the merry date-season is burning, 
 And calls to the palm-groves the young and the 
 old, 
 
 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 
 
 Her dark flowing hair for some festival day, 
 Will think of thy fate, till, neglecting her tresses, 
 
 She mournfully turns from the mirror away. 
 
 Nor shall Iran, beloved of her Hero, forget thee, 
 Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start ; 
 
 Close, close by the side of that Hero she'll set thee, 
 Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart.* 
 
 Farewell be it ours to embellish thy pillow 
 With everything beauteous that grows in the deep ,
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 233 
 
 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 ; 
 
 With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed 
 
 chamber, 
 We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have slept. 
 
 We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, 
 And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 
 
 We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are 
 
 sparkling, 
 And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. 
 
 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 exceed- 
 ingly ; and even inclined towards him the hearts of
 
 234 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 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 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 
 6e advisable. It was his intention, therefore, imme- 
 diately on their arrival at Cashmere, to give informa- 
 tion to the King of Bucharia of the very dangerous 
 sentiments of his minstrel ; and if, unfortunately, 
 that monarch did not act with suitable vigor on the 
 occasion (that is, if he did not give the Chabuk to 
 Feramorz, and a place to Fadladeen), there would 
 be 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 des- 
 ert, 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 the following evening in the 
 pavilion, and Lalla Rookh was expecting to see all
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 235 
 
 , beauties -of her bard melt away, one by one, in 
 the acidity of criticism, like pearls in the cup cf 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 passed off 
 into a panegyric upon all Mussulman sovereigns, 
 more particularly his august and Imperial master, 
 Aurungzebe, the wisest and best of the descend* 
 ants of Timur, who, among other great things h? 
 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, 
 beyond which no pure Hindoo can pass ; and were 
 reposing for a time in the rich valley of Hussun 
 Abdual, which had always been a favorite resting- 
 place of the Emperors in their annual migrations to 
 Cashmere. Here often had the Light of the Faith, 
 Jehan-Guire, been known to wander with his be- 
 loved and beautiful Nourmahal ; and here would 
 Lalla Rookh have been happy to remain forever, 
 giving up the throne of Bucharia and the world for 
 Feramorz and love in this sweet, lonely valley. But 
 the time was now fast approaching when she must 
 see him no longer, or, what was still worse, behold 
 him with eyes whose every look belonged to another; 
 and there was a melancholy preciousness in these
 
 236 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 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 youn^ 
 minstrel could awake her. Like those lamps ir, 
 tombs, which only light up when the air is admitted, 
 it was only at his approach that her eyes became 
 smiling and animated. But here, in this dear val- 
 ley, every moment appeared an age of pleasure : 
 she saw him all day, and was, therefore, all day 
 happy, resembling, she often thought, that people 
 of Zinge, who attribute the unfading cheerfulness 
 they enjoy to one genial star that rises nightly over 
 their heads. 
 
 The whole party, indeed, seemed in their liveliest 
 mood during the few days they passed in this de- 
 lightful solitude. The young attendants of the 
 Princess, who were here allowed a much 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 Fad- 
 ladeen, in addition to the spiritual comfort derived 
 by him from a pilgrimage to the tomb of the Saint 
 from whom the valley is named, had also opportu- 
 nities of indulging, in a small way, his taste for 
 victims, by putting to death some hundreds of those 
 unfortunate little lizards which all pious Mussulmans 
 make it a point to kill ; taking for granted, that 
 the manner in which the creature hangs its head is
 
 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 237 
 
 meant as a mimicry of the attitude in which the 
 Faithful say their prayers. 
 
 About two miles from Hussun Abdaul were those 
 Royal Gardens 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, in- 
 terrupted 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 heav- 
 enly tranquillity. As the Prophet said of Damascus, 
 " It was too delicious ; " 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 ex- 
 quisite 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, the youth, 
 in order to delay the moment of separation, pro- 
 posed 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 
 between Haroun-al-Raschid and his fair mistress 
 Marida which was so happily made up by the soft
 
 238 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 strains of the musician Moussali. As the story was 
 chiefly to be told in song, and Feramorz had un- 
 luckily forgotten his own lute in the valley, he bor- 
 rowed the vina of Lalla Rookh's little Persian slave, 
 and thus began :
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE 
 
 WHO has not heard of the vale of Cashmere, 
 With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave, 
 
 Its temples, and grottos, and fountains as clear 
 As the love-lighted eyes that hung over their wave? 
 
 Oh, to see it at sunset, when warm o'er the Lake 
 
 Its splendor at parting a summer eve throws, 
 Like a bride, full of blushes, when lingering to take 
 
 A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes ! 
 When the shrines through the foliage are gleaming 
 
 half shown, 
 
 And each hallows the hour by some rites of its own. 
 Here the music of prayer from a minaret swells, 
 
 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 
 
 239
 
 240 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 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 
 A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks, 
 Hills, cupolas, fountains, call'd forth every one 
 Out of darkness, as if but just born of the Sun ; 
 When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with the day, 
 From his Haram of night-flowers stealing away ; 
 And the wind, full of wantonness, woos like a lover 
 The young aspen-trees, till they tremble all over; 
 When the East is as warm as the light of first hopes, 
 
 And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurl'd, 
 Shines in through the mountainous portal that opes, 
 
 Sublime, from that Valley of Bliss to the world! 
 
 But never yet, by night or day, 
 In dew of spring or summer's ray, 
 Did the sweet Valley shine so gay 
 As now it shines all love and light, 
 Visions by day and feasts by night ! 
 A happier smile illumes each brow, 
 
 With quicker spread each heart uncloses, 
 And all is ecstasy for now 
 
 The Valley holds its Feast of Roses ; 
 The joyous time, when pleasures pour 
 Profusely round, and in their shower 
 Hearts open, like the Season's Rose, 
 
 The Floweret of a hundred leaves,
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 
 
 Expanding while the dew-fall flows, 
 And every leaf its balm receives. 
 
 Twas when the hour of evening came 
 
 Upon the Lake, serene and cool, 
 When Day had hid his sultry flame 
 Behind the palms of Baramoule, 
 When maids began to lift their heads, 
 Refreshed from their embroider'd beds 
 Where they had slept the sun away, 
 And waked to moonlight and to play, j 
 All were abroad the busiest hive 
 On Bela's hills is less alive, 
 When saffron-beds are full in flower, 
 Than look'd the Valley in that hour. 
 A thousand restless torches play'd 
 Through every grove and island shade ; 
 A thousand sparkling lamps were set 
 On every dome and minaret ; 
 And fields and pathways, far and near, 
 Were lighted by a blaze so clear 
 That you could see, in wandering round, 
 The smallest rose-leaf on the ground. 
 Yet did the maids and matrons leave 
 Their veils at home, that brilliant eve ; 
 And there were glancing eyes about, 
 And cheeks, that would not dare shine out 
 In open day, but thought they might 
 Look lovely then, because 'twas night.
 
 242 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 And all were free, and wandering, 
 
 And all exclaim'd to all they met, 
 That never did the summer bring 
 
 So gay a Feast of Roses yet ; 
 The moon had never shed a light 
 
 So clear as that which bless'd them there ; 
 The roses ne'er shone half so bright, 
 
 Nor they themselves look'd half so fair 
 
 And what a wilderness of flowers ! 
 If seem'd as though from all the bowers 
 And fairest fields of all the year, 
 The mingled spoil were scatter'd here. 
 The Lake, too, like a garden breathes, 
 
 With the rich buds that o'er it lie, 
 As if a shower of fairy wreaths 
 
 Had fallen upon it from the sky ! 
 And then the sounds of joy, the beat 
 Of tabers and and of dancing feet ; 
 The minaret-crier's chant of glee 
 Sung from his lighted gallery, 
 And answer'd by a ziraleet 
 From neighboring Haram, wild and sweet; 
 The merry laughter, echoing 
 From gardens, where the silken swing 
 Wafts some delighted girl above 
 The top leaves of the orange grove ; 
 Or, from those infant groups at play 
 Among the tents that line the way, 
 Flinging, unawed by slave or mother, 
 Handfuls of roses at each other.
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 243 
 
 Then, the sounds from the Lake, the low whisper- 
 ing in boats, 
 
 As they shoot through the moonlight ; the dip- 
 ping of oars, 
 
 And the wild airy warbling that everywhere floats, 
 Through the groves, round the islands, as if 
 
 all the shores, 
 
 Like those of Kathay, utter'd music, and gave 
 An answer in song to the kiss of each wave. 
 But the gentlest of all are those sounds, full of 
 
 feeling, 
 
 That soft from the lute of some lover are stealing, 
 Some lover who knows al-1 the heart-touching power 
 Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour. 
 Oh, best of delights as it everywhere is 
 To be near the loved One, what a rapture is his 
 Who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may glide 
 O'er the Lake of Cashmere, with that One by his side ! 
 If women can make the worst wilderness dear, 
 Think, think what a Heaven she must make of 
 Cashmere ! 
 
 So felt the magnificent Son of Acbar, 
 When from power and pomp and the trophies of war 
 He flew to that Valley, forgetting them all 
 With the Light of the Haram, his young Nourmahal. 
 When free and uncrown'd as the Conqueror roved 
 By the banks of that Lake, with his only beloved, 
 He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully snatch 
 From the hedges, a glory his crown could not match,
 
 244 LALLA ROOKIf. 
 
 And preferrM in his heart the least ringlet that curl'd 
 Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the world. 
 There's a beauty, forever unchangingly bright, 
 Like the long sunny lapse of a summer-day's light, 
 Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, 
 Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendor. 
 This was not the beauty oh, nothing like this, 
 That to young Nourmahal gave such magic of bliss ! 
 But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
 Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days, 
 Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies 
 From the lip to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes ; 
 Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams, 
 Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heaven in his 
 
 dreams. 
 
 When pensive, it seem'd as if that very grace, 
 That charm of all others, was born with her face ! 
 And when angry, for e'en in the tranquillest climes 
 Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometimesn, 
 The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken 
 New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when 
 
 shaken. 
 
 If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye 
 At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye, 
 From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings 
 From innermost shrines, came the light of her feel- 
 ings. 
 Then her mirth oh, Hwas sportive as ever took 
 
 wing 
 
 From the heart with a burst, like the wild-bird in 
 spring ;
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 245 
 
 Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages, 
 Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages. 
 
 While her laugh, full of life, without any control 
 But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her 
 
 soul ; 
 
 And where it most sparkled no glance could discover, 
 In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brighten'd all over, 
 Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, 
 When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun. 
 Such, such were the peerless enchantments that gave 
 Nourmahal the proud Lord of the East for her 
 
 slave : 
 
 And tho' 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 
 
 That the navy from Ophir e'er wing'd to his shore, 
 Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all, 
 And the Light of his Haram was young Nourmahal ! 
 
 But where is she now, this night of joy, 
 When bliss is every heart's employ? 
 
 When all around her is so bright, 
 So like the visions of a trance, 
 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 
 Are made of gems and light and flowers !
 
 246 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Where is the loved Sultana? where, 
 When mirth brings out the young and fair, 
 Does she, the fairest, hide her brow, 
 In melancholy stillness now? 
 
 Alas ! how light a cause may move 
 
 Dissension between hearts that love ! 
 
 Hearts that the world in vain had tried, 
 
 And sorrow but more closely tied ; 
 
 That stood the storm when waves were rough, 
 
 Yet in a sunny hour fall off, 
 
 Like ships that have gone down at sea, 
 
 When heaven was all tranquillity ! 
 
 A something, light as air a look, 
 
 A word unkind or wrongly taken, 
 Oh, love, that tempests never shook, 
 
 A breath, a touch like this hath shaken. 
 And ruder words will soon rush in 
 To spread the breach that words begin ; 
 And eyes forget the gentle ray 
 They wore in courtship's smiling day ; 
 And voices lose the tone that shed 
 A tenderness round all they said ; 
 Till fast declining, one by one, 
 The sweetnesses of love are gone, 
 And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 
 Like broken clouds, or like the stream, 
 That smiling left the mountain's brow 
 
 As though its waters ne'er could sever,
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 247 
 
 Yet, ere it reach the plain below, 
 Breaks into floods, that part forever. 
 
 Oh, you that have the charge of Love, 
 
 Keep him in rosy bondage bound, 
 As in the Fields of Bliss above 
 
 He sits, with flowerets fetter'd round; 
 Loose not a tie that round him clings, 
 Nor ever let him use his wings ; 
 For e'en an hour, a minute's flight 
 Will rob the plumes of half their light : 
 Like that celestial bird, whose nest 
 
 Is found beneath far Eastern skies, 
 Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, 
 
 Lose all their glory when he flies ! 
 
 Some difference, of this dangerous kind, 
 By which, though light, the links that bi^d 
 The fondest hearts may soon be riven, 
 Some shadow in Love's summer heaven, 
 Which, though a fleecy speck at first, 
 May yet in awful thunder burst, 
 Such cloud it is that now hangs over 
 The heart of the Imperial Lover, 
 And far hath banish'd from his sight 
 His Nourmahal, his Haram's Light ! 
 Hence is it, on this happy night, 
 When Pleasure through the fields and groves 
 Has let loose all her world of loves,
 
 248 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 And every heart has found its own, 
 He wanders, joyless and alone, 
 And weary as that bird of Thrace 
 Whose pinion knows no resting-place. 
 In vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes 
 This Eden of the Earth supplies 
 
 Come crowding round : the cheeks are pale, 
 The eyes are dim : though rich the spot 
 With every flower this earth has got, 
 
 What is it to the nightingale, 
 If there his darling rose is not ? 
 In vain the Valley's smiling throng 
 Worship him, as he moves along; 
 He heeds them not one smile of hers 
 Is worth a world of worshippers. 
 They but the Star's adorers are, 
 She is the Heaven that lights the Star ! 
 
 Hence is it, too, that Nourmahal, 
 Amid the luxuries of this hour, 
 Far from the joyous festival, 
 
 Sits in her own sequesterd 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 'tis now.
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 249 
 
 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 ! 
 All spells and talismans she knew, 
 
 From the great Mantra, which around 
 The Air's sublimer Spirits drew, 
 
 To the gold gems of Afric, bound 
 Upon the wandering Arab's arm, 
 To keep him from the Siltim's harm. 
 And she had pledged her powerful art, 
 Pledged it with all the zeal and heart 
 Of one who knew, though high her sphere, 
 What 'twas to lose a love so dear, 
 To find some spell that should recall 
 Her Salim's smile to Nourmahal ! 
 
 'Twas midnight ; through the lattice, wreathed 
 With woodbine, many a perfume breathed 
 From plants that wake when others sleep, 
 From timid jasmine buds, that keep 
 Their odor to themselves all day, 
 But when the sunlight dies away
 
 $O LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Let the delicious secret out 
 To every breeze that roams about, 
 When thus Namouna: " 'Tis the hour 
 That scatters spells on herb and flower, 
 And garlands might be gathered now, 
 That, twined around the sleeper's brow, 
 Would make him dream of such delights, 
 Such miracles and dazzling sights, 
 As Genii of the Sun behold, 
 At evening, from their tents of gold, 
 Upon the horizon where they play 
 Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray, 
 Their sunny mansions melt away. 
 Now, too, a chaplet might be wreathed 
 Of buds o'er which the moon has breathed, 
 Which, worn by her whose love has stray'd 
 
 Might bring some Peri from the skies, 
 Some sprite, whose very soul is made 
 
 Of flowerets 1 breaths and lovers' sighs, 
 And who might tell " 
 
 ' For me, for me," 
 Cried Nourmahal impatiently, 
 " Oh, twine that wreath for me to-night!" 
 Then, rapidly, with foot as light 
 As the young musk-roe's, out she flew, 
 To cull each shining leaf that grew 
 Beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams, 
 For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams. 
 Anemones and Seas of Gold, 
 
 And new-blown lilies of the river,
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HA RAM. 
 
 And those sweet flowerets that unfold 
 
 Their buds on Camadeva's quiver ; 
 The tuberose, with her silvery light, 
 
 That in the Gardens of Malay 
 Is call'd the Mistress of the Night, 
 So like a bride, scented and bright, 
 
 She oomes out when the sun's away ; 
 Amaranths, such as crown the maids 
 That wander through Zamara's shades ; 
 And the white moon-flower, as it shows, 
 On Serendib's high crags, to those 
 Who near the isle at evening sail, 
 Scenting her clove-trees in the gale ; 
 In short, all flowerets and all plants, 
 
 From the divine Amrita tree, 
 That blesses heaven's inhabitants 
 
 With fruits of immortality, 
 Down to the basil tuft, that waves 
 Its fragrant blossom over graves, 
 
 And to the humble rosemary, 
 Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed 
 To scent the desert and the dead ; 
 All in that garden bloom, and all 
 Are gather'd by young Nourmahal, 
 Who heaps her baskets with the flowers 
 
 And leaves, till they can hold no more ; 
 Then to Namouna flies, and showers 
 
 Upon her lap the shining store. 
 
 With what delight the Enchantress views 
 So many buds, bathed with the dews
 
 252 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 And beams of that bless'd hour ! her glance 
 Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures, 
 As, in a kind of holy trance, 
 
 She hung above those fragrant treasures, 
 Bending to drink their balmy airs, 
 As if she mix'd her soul with theirs. 
 And 'twas, indeed, the perfume shed 
 From flowers and scented flame, that fed 
 Her charmed life for none had e'er 
 Beheld her taste of mortal fare, 
 Nor ever in aught earthly dip, 
 But the morn's dew, her roseate lip. 
 Fill'd with the cool inspiring smell, 
 The Enchantress now begins her spell, 
 Thus singing as she winds and weaves 
 In mystic form the glittering leaves : 
 
 " I know where the wing'd visions dwell 
 
 That round the night-bed play ; 
 I know each herd and floweret's bell, 
 Where they hide their wings by day. 
 Then hasten we, maid, 
 To twine our braid ; 
 To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 
 
 " The image of love, that nightly flies 
 
 To visit the bashful maid, 
 Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs 
 
 Its soul, like her, in the shade.
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 
 
 The dream of a future happier hour, 
 
 That alights on misery's brow, 
 Springs out of the silvery almond-flower, 
 That blooms on a leafless bough. 
 Then hasten we, maid, 
 To twine our braid ; 
 To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 
 
 *' The visions, that oft to worldly eyes 
 
 The glitter of mines unfold, 
 Inhabit the mountain-herb that dyes 
 
 The tooth of the fawn like gold. 
 The phantom shapes oh, touch not them I > 
 
 That appal the murderers sight, 
 Lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem, 
 
 That shrieks, when pluckM at night! 
 Then hasten we, maid, 
 To twine our braid ; 
 To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade." 
 
 " The dream of the injured, patient mind, 
 
 That smiles at the wrongs of men, 
 Is found in the bruised and wounded rind 
 Of the cinnamon, sweetest then. 
 Then hasten we, maid, 
 To twine our braid ; 
 To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade." 
 
 No sooner was the flowery crown 
 
 Placed on her head, than sleep came down,
 
 254 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Gently as nights of summer fall, 
 Upon the lids of Nourmahal ; 
 And, suddenly, a tuneful breeze, 
 As full of small, rich harmonies 
 As ever wind that o'er the tents 
 Of Azab blew was full of scents, 
 Steals on her ear, and floats and swells, 
 
 Like the first air of morning creeping 
 Into those wreathy, Red-Sea shells, 
 
 Where Love himself, of old, lay sleeping ; 
 And now a Spirit, form'd, 'twould seem, 
 
 Of music and of light, so fair, 
 So brilliantly his features beam, 
 
 And such a sound is in the air 
 Of sweetness when he waves his wings, 
 Hovers around her and thus sings : 
 
 " From Chindara's warbling fount I come, 
 Caird by that moonlight garland spell ; 
 From Chindara's fount, my fairy home, 
 
 Where in music, morn and night, I dwell : 
 Where lutes in the air are heard about, 
 
 And voices are singing, the whole day long, 
 And every sigh the heart breathes out 
 Is turn'd, as it leaves the lips, to song ! 
 Hither I come 
 From my fairy home ; 
 And if there's a magic in Music's strain, 
 I swear by the breath 
 Of that moonlight wreath, 
 Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again.
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 2$$ 
 
 "For mine is the lay that lightly floats, 
 
 And mine are the murmuring, dying notes, 
 
 That fall as soft as snow on the sea, 
 
 And melt in the heart as instantly ; 
 
 And the passionate strain that, deeply going, 
 
 Refines the bosom it trembles through, 
 As the musk-wind, over the water blowing, 
 
 Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too. 
 
 " Mine is the charm whose mystic sway 
 The Spirits of past Delight obey ; 
 Let but the tuneful talisman sound, 
 And they come, like Genii, hovering round. 
 And mine is the gentle song that bears 
 
 From soul to soul, the wishes of love, 
 As a bird that wafts through genial airs 
 
 The cinnamon-seed from grove to grove. 
 
 " 'Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure 
 The past, the present, and future of pleasure ; 
 When Memory links the tone that is gone 
 
 With the blissful tone thafs still in the ear ; 
 And Hope from a heavenly note flies on 
 
 To a note more heavenly still that is near. 
 
 " The warrior's heart, when touched by me, 
 Can as downy soft and as yielding be 
 As his own white plume, that high amid death 
 Thro' the field hast shone yet moves with a 
 breath !
 
 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 And oh, how the eyes of Beauty glisten, 
 
 When Music has reach'd her inward soul, 
 Like the silent stars, that wink and listen 
 While Heaven's eternal melodies roll. 
 
 So, hither I come 
 
 From my fairy home ; 
 And if there's a magic in Music's strain, 
 
 I swear by the breath 
 
 Of that moonlight wreath, 
 Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again." 
 
 Tis dawn at least that earlier dawn, 
 Whose glimpses are again withdrawn, 
 As if the morn had waked, and then 
 Shut close her lids of light again. 
 And Nourmahal is up and trying 
 
 The wonders of her lute, whose strings 
 Oh, bliss ! now murmur like the sighing 
 
 From that ambrosial Spirit's wings. 
 And then, her voice 'tis more than human; 
 
 Never, till now, had it been given 
 To lips of any mortal woman 
 
 To utter notes so fresh from heaven ; 
 Sweet as the breath of angel sighs, 
 
 When angel sighs are most divine. 
 " Oh, let it last till night," she cries, 
 
 " And he is more than ever mine ! " 
 And hourly she renews the lay, 
 
 So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 
 
 Should, ere the evening, fade away, 
 
 For things so heavenly have such fleetness ! 
 
 But, far from fading, it but grows 
 
 Richer, diviner, as it flows ; 
 
 Till rapt she dwells on every string, 
 And pours again each sound along, 
 
 Like echo, lost and languishing, 
 
 In love with her own wondrous song. 
 
 That evening (trusting that his soul 
 
 Might be from haunting love released 
 By mirth, by music, and the bowl), 
 
 The Imperial Selim held a feast 
 In his magnificent Shalimar : 
 In whose Saloons, when the first star 
 Of evening o'er the waters trembled, 
 The valley's loveliest all assembled ; 
 All the bright creatures that, like dreams, 
 Glide through its foliage, and drink beams 
 Of beauty from its founts and streams ; 
 And all those wandering minstrel-maids, 
 Who leave how can they leave? the shades 
 Of that dear Valley, and are found 
 
 Singing in Gardens of the South 
 Those songs, that ne'er so sweetly sound 
 
 As from a young Cashmerian's mouth. 
 There, too, the Haram's inmates smile : 
 
 Maids from the West, with sun-bright hair, 
 And from the Garden of the Nile, 
 
 Delicate as the roses there ;
 
 258 JLALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Daughters of Love from Cyprus 1 rocks, 
 With Paphian diamonds in their locks ; 
 Light Peri forms, such as there are 
 On the gold meads of Candahar ; 
 And they, before whose sleepy eyes 
 
 In their own bright Kathaian bowers, 
 Sparkle such rainbow butterflies, 
 
 That they might fancy the rich flowers 
 That round them in the sun lay sighing 
 Had been by magic all set flying. 
 
 Everything young, everything fair, 
 
 From East and West is blushing there, 
 
 Except except O Nourmahal ! 
 
 Thou loveliest, dearest of them all, 
 
 The one whose smile shone out alone, 
 
 Amidst a world the only one ; 
 
 Whose light, among so many lights, 
 
 Was like that star on starry nights 
 
 The seaman singles from the sky 
 
 To steer his bark forever by ! 
 
 Thou wert not there so Selim thought, 
 
 And everything seem'd drear without thee ; 
 But ah ! thou wert, thou wert, and brought 
 
 Thy charm of song all fresh about thee. 
 Mingling unnoticed with a band 
 Of lutanists from many a land, 
 And veil'd by such a mask as shades ' 
 
 The features of young Arab maids
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HA RAM. 
 
 A mask that leaves but one eye free, 
 
 To do its best in witchery, 
 
 She roved, with beating heart, around, 
 
 And waited, trembling, for the minute 
 When she might try if still the sound 
 
 Of her loved lute had made in it. 
 
 The board was spread with fruits and wine : 
 With grapes of gold, like those that shine 
 On Casbin's hills ; pomegranates full 
 
 Of melting sweetness, and the pears 
 And sunniest apples that Caubul 
 
 In all its thousand gardens bears ; 
 Plantains, the golden and the green, 
 Malaya's nectar'd mangusteen ; 
 Prunes of Bokara, and sweet nuts 
 
 From the far groves of Samarcand, 
 And Basra dates, and apricots, 
 
 Seed of the Sun, from Iran's land; 
 With rich conserve of Visna cherries, 
 Of orange flowers, and of those berries 
 That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles 
 Feed on in Erac> rocky dells ; 
 All these in richest vases smile, 
 
 In baskets of pure santal-wood, 
 And urns of porcelain from that isle * 
 
 Sunk underneath the Indian flood, 
 Whence oft the lucky diver brings 
 Vases to srace the halls of kings.
 
 260 LALLA RGOKH. 
 
 Wines, too, of every clime and hue, 
 Around their liquid lustre threw : 
 Amber Rosolli, the bright dew 
 From vineyards of the Green-Sea gushing; 
 And Shiraz wine, that richly ran 
 
 As if that jewel, large and rare, 
 The ruby for which Kublai-Khan 
 Offered a city's wealth, were blushing 
 
 Melted within the goblets there ! 
 
 And amply Selim quaffs of each, 
 
 And seems resolved the flood shall reach 
 
 His inward heart, shedding around 
 
 A genial deluge, as they run, 
 That soon shall leave no spot undrown'd, 
 
 For Love to rest his wings upon. 
 He little knew how well the boy 
 
 Can float upon a goblet's streams, 
 Lighting them with his smile of joy ; 
 
 As bards have seen them in their dreams, 
 Down the blue Ganges laughing glide 
 
 Upon a rosy lotus wreath, 
 Catching new lustre from the tide 
 
 That with his image shone beneath. 
 
 But what are cups, without the aid 
 Of song to speed them as they flow? 
 
 And see a lovely Georgian maid, 
 With all the bloom, the freshened glow
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 26 1 
 
 Of her own country maidens' looks, 
 When warm they rise from Teflis 1 brooks ; 
 And with an eye whose restless ray, 
 
 Full, floating, dark oh, he who knows 
 His heart is weak, of Heaven should pray 
 
 To guard him from such eyes as those ! 
 With a voluptuous wildness flings 
 Her snowy hand across the strings 
 Of a syrinda, and thus sings : 
 
 "Come hither, come hither! by night and by daj> 
 We linger in pleasures that never are gone ; 
 
 Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away, 
 Another as sweet and as shining comes on. 
 
 And the love that is o'er, in expiring, gives birth 
 To a new one as warm, as unequaird in bliss ; 
 And oh, if there be an Elysium on earth, 
 It is this, it is this ! 
 
 " Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh 
 
 As the flower of the Amra just oped by a bee ; 
 And precious their tears as that rain from the sky, 
 
 Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea. 
 Oh, think what the kiss and the smile must be 
 
 worth 
 When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in 
 
 bliss ; 
 
 And own, if there be an Elysium on earth, 
 It is this, it is this ! 
 
 I
 
 262 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 " Here sparkles the nectar, that, hallow'd by love, 
 Could draw down those angels of old from their 
 
 sphere, 
 
 Who for wine of this earth left the fountains above, 
 And forgot heaven's stars for the eyes we have 
 
 here. 
 
 And, bless'd with the odor our goblet gives forth, 
 What Spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss? 
 For oh, if there be an Elysium on earth, 
 It is this, it is this!" 
 
 The Georgian's song was scarcely mute, 
 
 When the same measure, sound for sound, 
 Was caught up by another lute, 
 
 And so divinely breathed around, 
 That all stood hush'd and wondering, 
 
 And turn'd and look'd into the air, 
 As if they thought to see the wing 
 
 Of Israfil the Angel there ; 
 
 So powerfully on every soul 
 That new, enchanted measure stole. 
 While now a voice, sweet as the note 
 Of the charm'd lute, was heard to float 
 Along its chords, and so entwine 
 
 Its sounds with theirs, but none knew whet&er 
 The voice or lute was most divine, 
 
 So wondrously they went together :
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 26$ 
 
 " There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has 
 
 told, 
 
 When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie, 
 With heart never changing, and brow never cold, 
 
 Love on through all ills, and love on till they die! 
 One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 
 
 Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss ; 
 And oh, if there be an Elysium on earth, 
 It is this, it is this ! " 
 
 'Twas not the air, 'twas not the words, 
 But that deep magic in the chords 
 And in the lips, that gave such power 
 As Music knew not till that hour. 
 At once a hundred voices said, 
 " It is the mask'd Arabian maid!" 
 While Selim, who had felt the strain 
 Deepest of any, and had lain 
 Some minutes rapt as in a trance, 
 
 After the fairy sounds were o'er, 
 Too inly touch'd for utterance, 
 
 Now motion'd with his hand for morei 
 
 " Fly to the desert, fly with me ! 
 Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 
 But oh, the choice what heart can doubt, 
 Of tents with love, or thrones without? 
 
 " Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
 The acacia waves her yellow hair,
 
 264 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 
 For flowering in a wilderness. 
 
 " Our sands are bare, but down their slope 
 The silvery-footed antelope, 
 As gracefully and gaily springs 
 As o'er the marble courts of kings. 
 
 " Then come thine Arab maid will be 
 The loved and lone acacia-tree, 
 The antelope, whose feet shall bless 
 With their light sound thy loneliness. 
 
 " Oh, there are looks and tones that dart 
 An instant sunshine through the heart, 
 As if the soul that minute caught 
 Some treasure it through life had sought ; 
 
 " As if the very lips and eyes, 
 Predestined to have all our sighs, 
 And never be forgot again, 
 Sparkled and spoke before us then! 
 
 " So came thine every glance and tone, 
 When first on me they breathed and shone ; 
 New, as if brought from other spheres, 
 Yet welcome as if loved for years. 
 
 " Then fly with me, if thou hast known 
 No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
 A gem away, that thou hadst sworn 
 Should ever in thy heart be worn.
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 26$ 
 
 " Come, if the love thou hast for me 
 Is pure and fresh as mine for thee, 
 Fresh as the fountain underground, 
 When first 'tis by the lapwing found. 
 
 " But if for me thou dost forsake 
 Some other maid, and rudely break 
 Her worshipp'd image from its base, 
 To give to me the ruin'd place, 
 
 " Then, fare thee well I'd rather make 
 My bower upon some icy lake 
 When thawing suns begin to shine, 
 Than trust to love so false as thine ! M 
 
 There was a pathos in this lay 
 
 That, e'en without enchantment's art, 
 Would instantly have found its way 
 
 Deep into Selim's burning heart ; 
 But breathing, as it did, a tone 
 To earthly lutes and lips unknown, 
 With every chord fresh from the touch 
 Of Music's Spirit, 'twas too much ! 
 Starting, he dash'd away the cup, 
 
 Which all the time of this sweet air 
 His hand had held, untasted, up, 
 
 As if 'twere fix'd by magic there, 
 And naming her, so long unnamed, 
 So long unseen, wildly exclaim'd, 
 " O Nourmahal ! O Nourmahal ! 
 
 Hadst thou but sung this witching strain.
 
 266 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 I could forget forgive thee all, 
 And never leave those eyes again." 
 
 The mask is off the charm is wrought 
 And Selim to his heart has caught, 
 In blushes, more than ever bright, 
 His Nourmahal, his Haram's Light! 
 And well do vanish'd frowns enhance 
 The charm of every brighten'd glance ; 
 And dearer seems each dawning smile 
 For having lost its light awhile ; 
 And, happier now for all her sighs, 
 
 As on his arm her head reposes, 
 She whispers him with laughing eyes, 
 
 " Remember, love, the Feast of Roses 
 
 FADLADEEN, at the conclusion of this light rhap- 
 sody, took occasion to sum up his opinion of the 
 young Cashmerian's poetry, of which, he trusted, 
 they had that evening heard the last. Having 
 recapitulated the epithets "frivolous" "inhar- 
 monious" "nonsensical," he proceeded to say 
 that, viewing it in the most favorable light, it 
 resembled one of those Maldivian boats to which 
 the Princess had alluded in the relation of her 
 dream, a slight, gilded thing, sent adrift without 
 rudder or ballast, and with nothing but vapid sweets
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 267 
 
 and faded flowers on board. The profusion, indeed, 
 of flowers and birds which this poet had ready on 
 all occasions, not to mention dews, gems, etc., 
 was a most oppressive kind of opulence to his 
 hearers ; and had the unlucky effect of giving to his 
 style all the glitter of the flower-garden without its 
 method, and all the flutter of the aviary without 
 its song. In addition to this, he chose his subjects 
 badly, and was always most inspired by the worst 
 parts of them. The charms of paganism, the merits 
 of rebellion, these were the themes honored with 
 his particular enthusiasm ; and, in the poem just 
 recited, one of his most palatable passages was in 
 praise of that beverage of the Unfaithful, wine; 
 " being, perhaps," said he, relaxing into a smile, as 
 conscious of his own character in the Haram on 
 this point, "one of those bards whose fancy owes 
 all its illumination to the grape, like that painted 
 porcelain, so curious and so rare, whose images are 
 only visible when liquor is poured into it." Upon 
 the whole, it was his opinion, from the specimens 
 which they had heard, and which, he begged to say, 
 were the most tiresome part of the journey, that 
 whatever other merits this well-dressed young gen- 
 tleman might possess poetry was by no means his 
 proper avocation: "and indeed," concluded the 
 critic, "from his fondness for flowers and for 
 birds, I would venture to suggest that a florist or 
 a bird-catcher is a much more suitable calling for 
 him than a poet."
 
 268 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 They had now begun to ascend those barren 
 mountains which separate Cashmere from the rest 
 of India; and as the heats were intolerable, and 
 the time of their encampments limited to the few 
 hours necessary for refreshment and repose, there 
 was an end to all their delightful evenings, and 
 Lalla Rookh saw no more of Feramorz. She now 
 felt that her short dream of happiness was over, 
 and that she had nothing but the recollection of its 
 few blissful hours, like the one draught of sweet 
 water that serves the camel across the wilderness, 
 to be her heart's refreshment during the dreary 
 waste of life that was before her. The blight that 
 had fallen upon her spirits soon found its way to 
 her cheek, and her ladies saw with regret though 
 not without some suspicion of the cause that the 
 beauty of their mistress, of which they were almost 
 as proud as of their own, was fast vanishing away 
 at the very moment of all when she had most need 
 of it. What must the King of Bucharia feel, when, 
 instead of the lively and beautiful Lalla Rookh, 
 whom the poets of Delhi had described as more per- 
 fect than the divinest images in the house of Azor, 
 he should receive a pale and inanimate victim, upon 
 whose cheek neither health nor pleasure bloomed, 
 and from whose eyes Love had fled, to hide him- 
 self in her heart ? 
 
 If anything could have charmed away the melan- 
 choly of her spirits, it would have been the fresh 
 airs and enchanting scenery of that Valley which
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 269 
 
 the Persians so justly called the Unequalled. But 
 neither the coolness of its atmosphere, so luxurious 
 after toiling up those bare and burning mountains, 
 neither the splendor of the minarets and pagodas 
 that shone out from the depth of its woods, nor the 
 grottos, hermitages, and miraculous fountains which 
 make every spot of that region holy ground, 
 neither the countless water-falls that rush into the 
 Valley from all those high and romantic mountains 
 that encircle it, nor the fair city on the Lake, whose 
 houses, roofed with flowers, appeared at a distance 
 like one vast and variegated parterre ; not all 
 these wonders and glories of the most lovely country 
 under the sun could steal her heart for a minute 
 from those sad thoughts, which but darkened and 
 grew bitterer every step she advanced. 
 
 The gay pomps and processions that met her 
 upon her entrance into the Valley, and the mag- 
 nificence with which the roads all along were deco- 
 rated, did honor to the taste and gallantry of the 
 young King. It was night when they approached 
 the city, and, for the last two miles, they had passed 
 under arches, thrown from hedge to hedge, festooned 
 with only those rarest roses from which the Attar 
 Gul, more precious than gold, is distilled, and illu- 
 minated in rich and fanciful forms with lanterns of 
 the triple-colored tortoise-shell of Pegu. Sometimes, 
 from a dark wood by the side of the road, a display 
 of fireworks would break out, so sudden and so 
 brilliant, that a Brahmin might fancy he beheld
 
 2?O LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 that grove in whose purple shade the God of Battles 
 was born, bursting into a flame at the moment of 
 his birth ; while, at other times, a quick and play- 
 ful irradiation continued to brighten all the fields 
 and gardens by which they passed, forming a line 
 of dancing lights along the horizon ; like the 
 meteors of the north, as they are seen by those 
 hunters who pursue the white and blue foxes on the 
 confines of the Icy Sea. 
 
 These arches and fireworks delighted the Ladies 
 of the Princess exceedingly; and with their usual 
 good logic, they deduced from his taste for illumi- 
 nations, that the King of Bucharia would make the 
 most exemplary husband imaginable. Nor, indeed, 
 could Lalla Rookh herself help feeling the kindness 
 and splendor with which the young bridegroom 
 welcomed her ; but she also felt how painful is the 
 gratitude which kindness from those we cannot love 
 excites ; and that their best blandishments come over 
 the heart with all that chilling and deadly sweetness 
 which we can fancy in the cold, odoriferous wind 
 that is to blow over this earth in the last days. 
 
 The marriage was fixed for the morning after 
 her arrival, when she was, for the first time, to be 
 presented to the monarch in that Imperial Palace 
 beyond the lake called the Shalimar. Though never 
 before had a night of more wakeful and anxious 
 thought been passed in the Happy Valley, yet, when 
 she rose in the morning, and her Ladies came 
 around her, to assist in the adjustment of the bridal
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 2/1 
 
 ornaments, they thought they had never seen her 
 look half so beautiful. What she had lost of the 
 bloom and radiancy of her charms was more than 
 made up by that intellectual expression, that soul 
 beaming forth from the eyes, which is worth all the 
 rest of loveliness. When they had tinged her fingers 
 with the Henna leaf, and placed upon her brow a 
 small coronet of jewels, of the shape worn by the 
 ancient Queens of Bucharia, they flung over her 
 head the rose-colored bridal veil, and she proceeded 
 to the barge that was to convey her across the Lake ; 
 first kissing, with a mournful look, the little 
 amulet of cornelian which her father at parting had 
 hung about her neck. 
 
 The morning was as fresh and fair as the maid 
 on whose nuptials it rose, and the shining Lake, all 
 covered with boats, the minstrels playing upon the 
 shores of the islands, and the crowded summer- 
 houses on the green hills around, with shawls and 
 banners waving from their roofs, presented such a 
 pictuie of animated rejoicing, as only she, who was 
 the object of it all, did not feel with transport. To 
 Lalla Rookh alone it was a melancholy pageant , 
 nor could she have even borne to look upon the 
 scene, were it not for a hope that, among the crowds 
 around, she might once more perhaps catch a glimpse 
 of Feramorz. So much was her imagination haunted 
 by this thought, that there was scarcely an islet or 
 boat she passed on the way, at which her heart did 
 not flutter with the momentary fancy that he was
 
 2/2 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 there. Happy, in her eyes, the humblest slave upon 
 whom the light of his dear looks fell ! in the barge 
 immediately after the Princess sat Fadladeen, with 
 his silken curtains thrown widely apart, that all 
 might have the benefit of his august presence, and 
 with his head full of the speech he was to deliver 
 to the King, " concerning Feramorz, and literature, 
 and the Chabuk, as connected therewith." 
 
 They now had entered the canal which leads 
 from the Lake to the splendid domes and saloons 
 of the Shalimar, and went gliding on through the 
 gardens that ascended from each bank, full of flow- 
 ering shrubs that made the air all perfume ; while 
 from the middle of the canal rose jets of water, 
 smooth and unbroken, to such a dazzling height, 
 that they stood like tall pillars of diamond in the 
 sunshine. After sailing under the arches of various 
 saloons, they at length arrived at the last and most 
 magnificent, where the monarch awaited the com- 
 ing of his bride ; and such was the agitation of her 
 heart and frame that it was with difficulty she could 
 walk up the marble steps, which were covered with 
 cloth of gold for her ascent from the barge. At 
 the end of the hall stood two thrones, as precious 
 as the Cerulean Throne of Coolburga, on one of 
 which sat Aliris, the youthful King of Bucharia, 
 and on the other was, in a few minutes, to be placed 
 the most beautiful Princess in the world. Imme- 
 diately upon the entrance of Lalla Rookh into the 
 saloon, the monarch descended from his throne to
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 2/3 
 
 meet her ; but scarcely had he time to take her hand 
 in his, when she screamed with surprise, and fainted 
 at his feet. It was Feramorz himself that stood 
 before her ! Feramorz was, himself, the Sovereign 
 of Bucharia, who in this disguise had accompanied 
 his young bride from Delhi, and, having won her 
 love as an humble minstrel, now amply deserved to 
 enjoy it as a King. 
 
 The consternation of Fadladeen at this discovery 
 was, for the moment, almost pitiable. But change 
 of opinion is a resource too convenient in courts for 
 this experienced courtier not to have learned to 
 avail himself of it. His criticisms were all, of 
 course, recanted instantly : he was seized with an 
 admiration of the King's verses, as unbounded as, 
 he begged him to believe, it was disinterested ; and 
 the following week saw him in possession of an 
 additional place, swearing by all the Saints of Islam 
 that never had there existed so great a poet as the 
 Monarch Aliris, and, moreover, ready to prescribe 
 his favorite regimen of the Chabuk for every man, 
 woman, and child that dared to think otherwise. 
 
 Of the happiness of the King and Queen of 
 Bucharia, after such a beginning, there can be but 
 little doubt ; and, among the lesser symptoms, it is 
 recorded of Lalla Rookh, that, to the day of her 
 death, in memory of their delightful journey, she 
 never called the King by any other name than 
 Feramorz.
 
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 ...176 Romance of a Poor Young Man. FeuiUet. 
 
 ...177 Rubalyat of Omar Khayyam. 
 
 ...178 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare. 
 
 ...179 Robert Hardy's Seven Days. Sheldon. 
 
 ...182 Samantha at Saratoga. Uollcy. 
 
 ...183 Sartor Resartus. Carlyle. 
 
 ...184 Scarlet Letter, The. Hawthorne. 
 
 ...185 School for Scandal. Sheridan. 
 
 ...186 Sentimental Journey, A. Sterne. 
 
 ...187 Sesame and Lilies. Ruskin. 
 
 ...i8S Shakespeare's Heroines. Jameson. 
 
 ...189 She Stoops to Conquer. Goldsmith.
 
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 ...190 Silas Marner. Eliot. 
 ...191 Sketch Book, The. Irving. 
 ...192 Snow Image, The, Hawthorne. 
 ...193 The Shadowless Man. Chamisso. 
 ...199 Tales from Shakespeare. Lamb. 
 ...200 Tangle wood Tales. Hawthorne. 
 ...201 Tartarin of Tarascon. Daudet. 
 ...202 Tartarin on the Alps. Daudet. 
 ...203 Ten Nights in a Bar-Room. Arthur. 
 ...204 Things Will Take a Turn. Harraden. 
 ...205 Thoughts. Marcus Aurdius. 
 ...206 Through The Looking Glass. Carroll. 
 ...207 Tom Brown's School Days. Hughes. 
 ...2c8 Treasure Island. Stevenson. 
 ...209 Twice Told Tales. Hawthorne. 
 ..210 Two Years Before the Mast. Dana. 
 ...2ii The Merchant of Venice. Shakespeare. 
 ...212 The Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ...217 Uncle Tom's Cabin. Siozve. 
 ...218 Undine. Fouque. 
 ...222 Vic, the autobiography of a fox-terrier. 
 
 Marsh. 
 
 ..223 Vicar of Wakefieid. Goldsmith. 
 ...224 Visits of Elizabeth, The. Clyn. 
 ...226 Walden. Thoreau. 
 ...22j Water-Babies. Kingsley. 
 ...228 Weird Tales. Poe. 
 ...229 What is Art. Tolstoi. 
 ...230 Whittier's Poems, Vol. I. 
 ...231 Whittier's Poems, Vol. II. 
 ...232 Window in Thrums. Barrie. 
 ...233 Women's Work in the Home. Farrar. 
 ...234 Wonder Book, A. Hawthorne. 
 ..241 Yellowplash Papers, The. Thackeray. 
 ...244 Zoe. By author cf Laddie, etc.
 
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 Alfred the Great, of England. With 40 
 
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 King Charles the First, of England. With 
 
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