Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Moore

  From a foul spirit dimmed his eyes —

  He would have markt 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 markt all this, and known

  Such change is wrought by Love alone!

  Ah! not the Love that should have blest

  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 nurst 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 darkened OMAN’S sea,

  Since last beneath the moonlight ray

  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 clogged wing,

  Which reeked with that day’s banqueting —

  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 tost at midnight furiously,235

  Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh,

  More surely than that smiling eye!

  “Up, daughter, up — the KERNA’S236 breath

  “Has blown a blast would waken death,

  “And yet thou sleepest — up, child, and see

  “This blessed day for heaven and me,

  “A day more rich in Pagan blood

  “Than ever flasht o’er OMAN’S flood.

  “Before another dawn shall shine,

  “His head — heart — limbs — will all be mine;

  “This very night his blood shall steep

  “These hands all over ere I sleep!” —

  “His blood!” she faintly screamed — 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,237

  “I swear, for every sob that parts

  “In anguish from these heathen hearts,

  “A gem from PERSIA’S plundered 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.

  “Ne’er had I riskt 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 thy own sweet Arab bowers!”

  His bloody boast was all too true;

  There lurkt one wretch among the few

  Whom HAFED’S eagle eye could count

  Around him on that Fiery Mount, —

  One miscreant who for gold betrayed

  The pathway thro’ the valley’s shade

  To those high towers where Freedom stood

  In her last hold of flame and blood.

  Left on the field last 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 returned

  To their high rocky fortress mourned

  For him among the matchless dead

  They left behind on glory’s bed,

  He lived, and in the face of morn

  Laught 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 unblessed 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!238

  His country’s curse, his children’s shame,

  Outcast of virtue, peace and fame,

  May he at last with lips of flame

  On the parched desert thirsting die, —

  While lakes that shone in mockery nigh,239

  Are fading off, untouched, untasted,

  Like the once glorious hopes he blasted!

  And when from earth his spirit flies,

  Just Prophet, let the damned-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 of poor HAFED made her heart more than usually cheerful during the morning and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a flower that the Bidmusk had just passed over.240 She fancied that she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean where the sea-gypsies who live for ever on the water241 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 odoriferous wood, as an offering to the Spirit whom they call King of the Sea. At first, this little bark appeared to be empty but on coming nearer —

  She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream to her Ladies, when FERAMORZ appeared at the door of the pavilion. In his presence of course everything else was forgotten and the continuance of the story was instantly requested by all. Fresh wood of aloes was set to burn in the cassolets; — the violet sherbets242 were hastily handed round, and after a short prelude o
n his lute in the pathetic measure of Nava,243 which is always used to express the lamentations of absent lovers, the Poet thus continued: —

  The day is lowering — stilly black

  Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven’s rack,

  Disperst and wild, ‘twixt earth and sky

  Hangs like a shattered canopy.

  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; —

  There rolled in masses dark and swelling,

  As proud to be the thunder’s dwelling!

  While some already burst and riven

  Seen melting down the verge of heaven;

  As tho’ 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 steered for ORMUS’ bowers,

  And moored 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

  Turned 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,244

  Nor friends upon the lessening strand

  Lingering to wave the unseen hand

  Or speak the farewell, heard no more; —

  But lone, unheeded, from the bay

  The vessel takes its mournful way,

  Like some ill-destined bark that steers

  In silence thro’ the Gate of Tears.245

  And where was stern AL HASSAN then?

  Could not that saintly scourge of men

  From bloodshed and devotion spare

  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!246

  While o’er the wave his weeping daughter

  Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter, —

  As a young bird of BABYLON,247

  Let loose to tell of victory won,

  Flies home, with wing, ah! not unstained

  By the red hands that held her chained.

  And does the long-left home she seeks

  Light up no gladness on her cheeks?

  The flowers she nurst — 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,

  She left all filleted with gold

  Shooting around their jasper fount;248

  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 even 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 unhallowed name thou’rt doomed to bear,

  “Still glorious — still to this fond heart

  “Dear as its blood, whate’er thou art!

  “Yes — ALLA, dreadful ALLA! 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,

  “Nor worship even 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 claspt — her eyes upturned,

  Dropping their tears like moonlight rain;

  And, tho’ her lip, fond raver! burned

  With words of passion, bold, profane.

  Yet was there light around her brow,

  A holiness in those dark eyes,

  Which showed, — tho’ wandering earthward now, —

  Her spirit’s home was in the skies.

  Yes — for a spirit pure as hers

  Is always pure, even while it errs;

  As sunshine broken in the rill

  Tho’ turned 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 past —

  Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread

  Of gathering tumult o’er her head —

  Clasht swords and tongues that seemed to vie

  With the rude riot of the sky. —

  But, hark! — that war-whoop on the deck —

  That crash as if each engine there,

  Mast, sails and all, were gone to wreck,

  Mid yells and stampings of despair!

  Merciful Heaven! what can it be?

  ’Tis not the storm, tho’ fearfully

  The ship has shuddered as she rode

  O’er mountain-waves— “Forgive me, God!

  “Forgive me” — shrieked 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 stirred —

  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 mixt together thro’ 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 turned away

  The perils of the infuriate fray,

  And snatcht 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 shockt her ere her senses fled!

  The yawning deck — the crowd that strove

  Upon the tottering planks above —

  The sail whose fragments, shivering o’er

  The stragglers’ heads all dasht with gore

  Fluttered like bloody flags — the clash

  Of sabres and the lightning’s flash

  Upon their blades, hig
h tost about

  Like meteor brands249 — 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 ruined deck she caught

  A glimpse of that unearthly form,

  That glory of her soul, — even then,

  Amid the whirl of wreck and storm,

  Shining above his fellow-men,

  As on some black and troublous night

  The Star of EGYPT,250 whose proud light

  Never hath beamed on those who rest

  In the White Islands of the West,

  Burns thro’ 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 past her pallid lips,

  A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse

  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 thundershowers

  Have left upon the grass and flowers

  Sparkles, as ‘twere that lightning-gem251

  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;

  And even 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,