The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore

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Time fleeted--years on years had past 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,
For the last time knelt down--and tho' the shade
Of death hung darkening over him there played
A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek,
That brightened 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.
His soul had seen a Vision while he slept;
She for whose spirit he had prayed 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 FADLADEEN'S criticisms upon it. A series of disappointments
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.[136] In the next place, the elephant laden with his
fine antique porcelain,[137] 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 identical 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 cinnamon of Serendib, we may easily suppose that he came to the task
of criticism with at least a sufficient 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!" exclaimed 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 edifying
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 required 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 Bokharian 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 thousands of lines as indigestible as the filberts of Berdaa,
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 Holy Prophet (to whom be all honor and glory!) 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 the thoughts by the peculiarity of the manner nor that stately poetical
phraseology by which sentiments mean in themselves, like the blacksmith's
[138] 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, execrable: 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 heaviness 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 discovered that most of his
audience were asleep; while the glimmering lamps seemed inclined to follow
their example. It became necessary therefore, however painful to himself,
to put an end to his valuable animadversions for the present and he
accordingly concluded with an air of dignified candor, 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 venture to ask for another story. The youth was still a
welcome guest in the pavilion--to _one_ heart perhaps too dangerously
welcome;--but all mention of poetry was as if by common consent avoided.
Though none of the party had much respect for FADLADEEN, yet his censures
thus magisterially 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 set them all 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 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 unlucky. 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
for ever!"--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:[139]--it is only once in many ages a
Genius appears whose words, like those on the Written Mountain last for
ever:[140]--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 for ever, like the old Man
of the Sea, upon his back!"[141]--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. A sudden silence ensued; and the
Princess, glancing 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 during 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 be _Camalata_ by whose rosy blossoms the heaven of
Indra is scented.[142] 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,
[143] 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 describing said hesitatingly that he remembered a Story of a Peri,
which if the Princess had no objection 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 kitar, he thus began:--

PARADISE AND THE PERI.

One morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood disconsolate;
And as she listened to the Springs
Of Life within like music flowing
And caught the light upon her wings
Thro' the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!

"How happy," exclaimed this child of air,
"Are the holy Spirits who wander there
"Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall;
"Tho' mine are the gardens of earth and sea
"And the stars themselves have flowers for me,
"One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all!

"Tho' sunny the Lake of cool CASHMERE
"With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,[144]
"And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall;
"Tho' bright are the waters of SING-SU-HAY
And the golden floods that thitherward stray,[145]
Yet--oh, 'tis only the Blest can say
How the waters of Heaven outshine them all!

"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 thro' endless years
One minute of Heaven is worth them all!"

The glorious Angel who was keeping
The gates of Light beheld her weeping,
And as he nearer drew and listened
To her sad song, a tear-drop glistened
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.[146]

"Nymph of a fair but erring line!"
Gently he said--"One hope is thine.
'Tis written in the Book of Fate,
_The Peri yet may be forgiven
Who brings to this Eternal gate
The Gift that is most dear to Heaven_!
Go seek it and redeem thy sin--
'Tis sweet to let the Pardoned in."

Rapidly as comets run
To the embraces of the Sun;--
Fleeter than the starry brands
Flung at night from angel hands[147]
At those dark and daring sprites
Who would climb the empyreal heights,
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 unnumbered rubies burn
Beneath the pillars of CHILMINAR:[148]
I know where the Isles of Perfume are[149]
Many a fathom down in the sea,
To the south of sun-bright ARABY;[150]
I know too where the Genii hid
The jewelled cup of their King JAMSHID,[151]
"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 fanned
The air of that sweet Indian land
Whose air is balm, whose ocean spreads
O'er coral rocks and amber beds,[152]
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,
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 pillared shades--
Thy cavern shrines and Idol stones,
Thy Monarch and their thousand Thrones?[153]

'Tis He of GAZNA[154], fierce in wrath
He comes and INDIA'S diadems
Lie scattered in his ruinous path.-
His bloodhounds he adorns with gems,
Torn from the violated necks
Of many a young and loved Sultana;[155]
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 thro' 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!"
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 tho' 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 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 Mountains[156]
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 sitting[162]
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 stalks[163]
Throughout the city's desolate walks[164]
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-lay[165]
"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 roses[167]
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 walls[168]
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.