The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 165

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 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.[306]

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[307] that dyes The tooth of the fawn like gold.

The phantom shapes--oh touch not them-- That appal the murderer's sight, Lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem, That shrieks when pluckt 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, 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[308] 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 sh.e.l.ls Where Love himself of old lay sleeping;[309]

And now a Spirit formed, '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[310] warbling fount I come, Called by that moonlight garland's spell; From CHINDARA'S fount, my fairy home, Wherein 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 turned, 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.

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 pa.s.sionate strain that, deeply going, Refines the bosom it trembles thro'

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 thro' genial airs The cinnamon-seed from grove to grove.[311]

'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 that's 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 has shone--yet moves with a breath!

And oh, how the eyes of Beauty glisten.

When Music has reached 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,[312]

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 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 languis.h.i.+ng, 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:[313]-- In whose Saloons, when the first star Of evening o'er the waters trembled, The Valley's loveliest all a.s.sembled; All the bright creatures that like dreams Glide thro' its foliage and drink beams Of beauty from its founts and streams;[314]

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[315]

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;[316]-- Daughters of Love from CYPRUS rocks, With Paphian diamonds in their locks;[317]-- Light PERI forms such as there are On the gold Meads of CANDAHAR;[318]

And they before whose sleepy eyes In their own bright Kathaian bowers Sparkle such rainbow b.u.t.terflies That they might fancy the rich flowers That round them in the sun lay sighing Had been by magic all set flying.[319]

Every thing young, every thing fair From East and West is blus.h.i.+ng there, Except--except--oh, 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 for ever by!

Thou wert not there--so SELIM thought, And every thing seemed 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 veiled by such a mask as shades The features of young Arab maids,[320]-- 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 magic in it.

The board was spread with fruits and wine, With grapes of gold, like those that s.h.i.+ne On CASBIN hills;[321]--pomegranates full Of melting sweetness, and the pears, And sunniest apples[322] that CAUBUL In all its thousand gardens[323] bears;-- Plantains, the golden and the green, MALAYA'S nectared mangusteen;[324]

Prunes of BOCKHARA, and sweet nuts From the far groves of SAMARCAND, And BASRA dates, and apricots, Seed of the Sun,[325] from IRAN'S land;-- With rich conserve of Visna cherries,[326]

Of orange flowers, and of those berries That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles Feed on in ERAC's rocky dells.[327]

All these in richest vases smile, In baskets of pure santal-wood, And urns of porcelain from that isle[328]

Sunk underneath the Indian flood, Whence oft the lucky diver brings Vases to grace the halls of kings.

Wines too of every clime and hue Around their liquid l.u.s.tre threw; Amber Rosolli,[329]--the bright dew From vineyards of the Green-Sea gus.h.i.+ng;[330]

And s.h.i.+RAZ wine that richly ran As if that jewel large and rare, The ruby for which KUBLAI-KHAN Offered a city's wealth,[331] was blus.h.i.+ng 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 undrowned 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 him in their dreams, Down the blue GANGES laughing glide Upon a rosy lotus wreath,[332]

Catching new l.u.s.tre 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 Of her own country maidens' looks, When warm they rise from Teflis' brooks;[333]

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[334] and thus sings:--

Come hither, come hither--by night and by day, We linger in pleasures that never are gone; Like the waves of the summer as one dies away Another as sweet and as s.h.i.+ning comes on.

And the love that is o'er, in expiring gives birth To a new one as warm, as unequalled in bliss; And, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this.[335]

Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh As the flower of the Amra just oped by a bee;[336]

And precious their tears as that rain from the sky,[337]

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.

Here sparkles the nectar that hallowed by love Could draw down those angels of old from their sphere, Who for wine of this earth[338] left the fountains above, And forgot heaven's stars for the eyes we have here.

And, blest 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 husht and wondering, And turned and lookt into the air, As if they thought to see the wing Of ISRAFIL[339] the Angel there;-- So powerfully on every soul That new, enchanted measure stole.

While now a voice sweet as the note Of the charmed lute was heard to float Along its chords and so entwine Its sounds with theirs that none knew whether The voice or lute was most divine, So wondrously they went together:--

There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, When two that are linkt in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing and brow never cold, Love on thro' all ills and love on till they die!

One hour of a pa.s.sion 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 maskt 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 touched for utterance, Now motioned with his hand for more:--

Fly to the desert, fly with me, Our Arab's 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, 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 gayly springs As o'er the marble courts of kings.

Then come--thy 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 suns.h.i.+ne thro' the heart,-- As if the soul that minute caught Some treasure it thro' life had sought;