Sidor som bilder
PDF
ePub

I loved her-love will find its way
Through paths where wolves would fear to prey,
And if it dares enough, 't were hard
If passion met not some reward—
No matter how, or where, or why,
I did not vainly seek, nor sigh:
Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain
I wish she had not loved again.
She died-I dare not tell thee how ;
But look-'t is written on my brow!
There read of Cain the curse and crime
In characters unworn by time:
Still, ere thou dost condemn me, pause;
Not mine the act, though I the cause.
Yet did he but what I had done,
Had she been false to more than one.
Faithless to him, he gave the blow;
But true to me, I laid him low:
Howe'er deserved her doom might be,
Her treachery was truth to me ;
To me she gave her heart, that all
Which tyranny can ne'er enthrall;
And I, alas! too late to save!
Yet all I then could give, I gave—
'T was some relief—our foe a grave.
His death sits lightly; but her fate
Has made me—what thou well mayst hate.
His doom was seal'd-he knew it well,
Warn'd by the voice of stern Taheer,
Deep in whose darkly-boding ear
The death-shot peal'd of murder near,
As filed the troop to where they fell!
He died too in the battle broil,

40

A time that heeds nor pain nor toil;

One cry to Mahomet for aid,

One prayer to Alla all he made:

He knew and cross'd me in the fray—
I gazed upon him where he lay,
And watch'd his spirit ebb away:
Though pierced like pard by hunters' steel,
He felt not half that now I feel.

I search'd, but vainly search'd, to find
The workings of a wounded mind;
Each feature of that sullen corse

Betray'd his

rage, but no remorse.

Oh, what had vengeance given to trace

Despair upon his dying face!

The late repentance of that hour,
When penitence hath lost her power

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]

"The cold in clime are cold in blood,

Their love can scarce deserve the name; But mine was like the lava flood

That boils in Ætna's breast of flame. I cannot prate in puling strain Of ladye-love, and beauty's chain : If changing cheek, and scorching vein, Lips taught to writhe, but not complain, If bursting heart, and madd'ning brain, And daring deed, and vengeful steel, And all that I have felt, and feel, Betoken love-that love was mine, And shown by many a bitter sign. 'T is true, I could not whine nor sigh, I knew but to obtain or die.

I die—but first I have possess'd,

And, come what may, I have been blest.
Shall I the doom I sought upbraid?
No-reft of all, yet undismay'd,
But for the thought of Leila slain,
Give me the pleasure with the pain,
So would I live and love again.
I grieve, but not, my holy guide!
For him who dies, but her who died :
She sleeps beneath the wandering wave—
Ah! had she but an earthly grave,

This breaking heart and throbbing head
Should seek and share her narrow bed.

She was a form of life and light,
That, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose where'er I turn'd mine eye,
The morning-star of memory!

"Yes, love indeed is light from heaven;
A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shared, by Alla given,

To lift from earth our low desire.
Devotion wafts the mind above,
But heaven itself descends in love;
A feeling from the Godhead caught,
To wean from self each sordid thought;

[blocks in formation]

Then deem it evil, what thou wilt;
But say, oh say, hers was not guilt!
She was my life's unerring light;

That quench'd, what beam shall break my night?
Oh! would it shone to lead me still,
Although to death or deadliest ill!
Why marvel ye, if they who lose
This present joy, this future hope,
No more with sorrow meekly cope;
In frenzy then their fate accuse :
In madness to those fearful deeds

That seem to add but guilt to woe?

Alas! the breast that inly bleeds

Hath nought to dread from outward blow:
Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
Cares little into what abyss.

Fierce as the gloomy vulture's now

To thee, old man, my deeds appear:

I read abhorrence on thy brow,

And this too was I born to bear!
'T is true, that, like that bird of prey,

With havock have I mark'd my way:
But this was taught me by the dove,
To die-and know no second love.
This lesson yet hath man to learn,
Taught by the thing he dares to spurn :
The bird that sings within the brake,
The swan that swims upon the lake,
One mate, and one alone, will take.
And let the fool, still prone to range,
And sneer on all who cannot change,
Partake his jest with boasting boys;
I envy not his varied joys,

But deem such feeble, heartless man,
Less than yon solitary swan;
Far, far beneath the shallow maid

He left believing and betray'd.

Such shame at least was never mine-
Leila! each thought was only thine!
My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe,
My hope on high-my all below.
Earth holds no other like to thee,
Or if it doth, in vain for me:
For worlds I dare not view the dame
Resembling thee, yet not the same.
The very crimes that mar my youth,
This bed of death-attest my truth!
'T is all too late-thou wert, thou art
The cherish'd madness of my
heart!

[ocr errors]

“And she was lost—and yet I breathed,
But not the breath of human life :
A serpent round my heart was wreathed,
And stung my every thought to strife.
Alike all time, abhorr'd all place,
Shuddering I shrunk from nature's face,
Where every hue that charm'd before
The blackness of my bosom wore.
The rest thou dost already know,

And all my sins, and half my woe.
But talk no more of penitence;
Thou see'st I soon shall part from hence:
And if thy holy tale were true,

The deed that 's done canst thou undo?
Think me not thankless—but this grief
Looks not to priesthood for relief.41
My soul's estate in secret guess :
But wouldst thou pity more, say less.
When thou canst bid my Leila live,
Then will I sue thee to forgive;
Then plead my cause in that high place
Where purchased masses proffer grace.
Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung
From forest-cave her shrieking young,
And calm the lonely lioness:

But soothe not-mock not my distress!

"In earlier days, and calmer hours,

When heart with heart delights to blend, Where bloom my native valley's bowers, I had-Ah! have I now?-a friend! To him this pledge I charge thee send, Memorial of a youthful vow;

I would remind him of my end:

Though souls absorb'd like mine allow Brief thought to distant friendship's claim, Yet dear to him my blighted name. 'T is strange-he prophesied my doom, And I have smiled-I then could smileWhen prudence would his voice assume, And warn-I reck'd not what-the while : But now remembrance whispers o'er Those accents scarcely mark'd before. Say-that his bodings came to pass,

And he will start to hear their truth, And wish his words had not been sooth: Tell him, unheeding as I was, Through many a busy bitter scene, Of all our golden youth had been,

In pain, my faltering tongue had tried
To bless his memory ere I died;
But Heaven in wrath would turn away,
If guilt should for the guiltless pray.
I do not ask him not to blame,

Too gentle he to wound

;

my name And what have I to do with fame?

I do not ask him not to mourn,

Such cold request might sound like scorn;
And what than friendship's manly tear
May better
grace a brother's bier!
But bear this ring, his own of old,
And tell him-what thou dost behold!
The wither'd frame, the ruin'd mind,
The wreck by passion left behind,
A shrivell'd scroll, a scatter'd leaf,
Sear'd by the autumn blast of grief!

*

*

*

[ocr errors]

"Tell me no more of fancy's gleam;
No, father, no, 't was not a dream:
Alas! the dreamer first must sleep ;
I only watch'd, and wish'd to weep,
But could not, for my burning brow
Throbb'd to the very brain, as now:
I wish'd but for a single tear,
As something welcome, new, and dear:
I wish'd it then, I wish it still-
Despair is stronger than my will.
Waste not thine orison, despair
Is mightier than thy pious prayer:
I would not, if I might, be blest;
I want no paradise, but rest.

'T was then, I tell thee, father! then
I saw her; yes, she lived again;

And shining in her white

symar,

42

As through yon pale grey cloud the star
Which now I gaze on, as on her,
Who look'd and looks far lovelier;
Dimly I view its trembling spark:
To-morrow's night shall be more dark;
And I, before its rays appear,
That lifeless thing the living fear.
I wander, father! for my soul
Is fleeting towards the final goal.
I saw her, friar! and I rose,
Forgetful of our former woes;

« FöregåendeFortsätt »