by Thomas Moore
Last glorious drop his heart had shed
Before its free-born spirit fled!
“Be this,” she cried, as she winged her flight,
“My welcome gift at the Gates of Light.
“Tho’ 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!”
“Sweet,” said the Angel, as she gave
The gift into his radiant hand,
“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 Mountains156
Far to the South the PERI lighted
And sleeked 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.157
Thence over EGYPT’S palmy groves
Her grots, and sepulchres of Kings,158
The exiled Spirit sighing roves
And now hangs listening to the doves
In warm ROSETTA’S vale;159 now loves
To watch the moonlight on the wings
Of the white pelicans that break
The azure calm of MOERIS’ Lake.160
’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,
Those groups of lovely date-trees bending
Languidly their leaf-crowned heads,
Like youthful maids, when sleep descending
Warns them to their silken beds,161
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 ruined shrines and towers that seem
The relics of a splendid dream,
Amid whose fairy loneliness
Naught but the lapwing’s cry is heard, —
Naught seen but (when the shadows flitting,
Fast from the moon unsheath its gleam,)
Some purple-winged Sultana sitting162
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 touched by his wing,
Like plants, where the Simoom hath past
At once falls black and withering!
The sun went down on many a brow
Which, full of bloom and freshness then,
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 stalks163
Throughout the city’s desolate walks164
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!”
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.
One who in life where’er he moved,
Drew after him the hearts of many;
Yet now, as tho’ 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 thro’ 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 called 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 fanned.
But see — who yonder comes by stealth,
This melancholy bower to seek,
Like a young envoy sent by Health
With rosy gifts upon her cheek?
’Tis she — far off, thro’ moonlight 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 loosened 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 venom lay
All in those proffered lips alone —
Those lips that then so fearless grown
Never until that instant came
Near his unasked or without shame.
“Oh! let me only breathe the air.
“The blessed air, that’s breathed by thee,
“And whether on its wings it bear
“Healing or death ’tis sweet to me!
“There — drink my tears while yet they fall —
“Would that my bosom’s blood were balm,
“And, well thou knowst, I’d shed it all
“To give thy brow one minute�
��s calm.
“Nay, turn not from me that dear face —
“Am I not thine — thy own loved bride —
“The one, the chosen one, whose place
“In life or death is by thy side?
“Thinkst 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, my 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 warmed a woman’s breast —
“Sleep on, in visions of odor rest
“In balmier airs than ever yet stirred
“The enchanted pile of that lonely bird
“Who sings at the last his own death-lay165
“And in music and perfume dies away!”
Thus saying, from her lips she spread
Unearthly breathings thro’ the place
And shook her sparkling wreath and shed
Such lustre o’er each paly face
That like two lovely saints they seemed,
Upon the eve of doomsday taken
From their dim graves in ordor sleeping;
While that benevolent PERI beamed
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 throbbed 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 ALLA swells;
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!166
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.”
Now upon SYRIA’S land of roses167
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 looked from upper air
O’er all the enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melons on their banks,
More golden where the sunlight falls; —
Gay lizards, glittering on the walls168
Of ruined 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,169 with hum
Of the wild bees of PALESTINE,170
Banqueting thro’ the flowery vales;
And, JORDAN, those sweet banks of thine
And woods so full of nightingales.171
But naught 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,172
Whose lonely columns stand sublime,
Flinging their shadows from on high
Like dials which the Wizard Time
Had raised to count his ages by!
Yet haply there may lie concealed
Beneath those Chambers of the Sun
Some amulet of gems, annealed
In upper fires, some tablet sealed
With the great name of SOLOMON,
Which spelled 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.
Cheered 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,173
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.
Then swift his haggard brow he turned
To the fair child who fearless sat,
Tho’ never yet hath day-beam burned
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 ruined maid — the shrine profaned —
Oaths broken — and the threshold stained
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
Softened his spirit) looked and lay,
Watching the rosy infant’s play: —
Tho’ still whene’er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy’s, its lucid glance
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches
that have burnt all night
Tho’ 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!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers where he had laid his head.
And down upon the fragrant sod
Kneels174 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 looked and prayed 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!
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 thro’ the withering airs of June
“Upon EGYPT’S land,175 of so healing a power,
“So balmy a virtue, that even in the hour
“That drop descends contagion dies
“And health reanimates earth and skies! —
“Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin,
“The precious tears of repentance fall?
“Tho’ foul thy fiery plagues within
“One heavenly drop hath dispelled 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 thro’ Heaven
The triumph of a Soul Forgiven!
’Twas when the golden orb had set,
While on their knees they lingered yet,
There fell a light more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star,
Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
