Joyless to me the seasons roll away,
Exhausted nature hurries to decay;
Day's cheerful beams for me in vain return,
For me the stars of heav'n neglected burn;
In vain the flow'rs in wild luxuriance blow;
In vain the fruits with purple radiance glow;
In vain the harvest groans, the vintage bleeds;
Grief urges grief, and toil to toil succeeds:
Since she whose presence bid the world be gay,
HINDA, once fairest of the virgin train
Who haunt the forest, or who graze the plain,
Sleeps where the boughs of yon black cypress wave,
And I am left to languish at her grave!
"To that dear spot, when day's declining beam
Darts from yon shining tow'rs a farewell gleam;
Constant at eve my sorrows I renew,
And mix my tears with the descending dew;
The last sad debt to buried beauty pay,
Kiss the cold shrine, and clasp the mould'ring clay.
"Far other sounds this conscious valley heard,
Far other vows these ardent lips preferr'd,
When, sick with love, and eager to embrace
Beauties unrivall'd but by angel grace;
I madden'd as I gaz'd o'er all her charms,
And hail'd my HINDA to a bridegroom's arms :
I printed on her lips a hasty kiss,
The pledge of ardent love and future bliss.
Her glowing blushes fann'd the secret fire,
Gave life to love and vigour to desire:
Then, with the tear, warm trickling down my cheek,
Spoke the full language passion could not speak :
Our mutual transport seal'd the nuptial rite,
Heav'n witness'd, and approv'd the chaste delight.
"Prepare, I cried, prepare the nuptial feast,
Bring all the treasures of the rifled East:
The choisest gifts of ev'ry clime explore;
Let Aden * yield her tributary store;
Let Saba all her beds of spice unfold,
And Samarcand send gems, and India gold,
To deck a banquet worthy of the bride,
Where mirth shall be the guest, and love preside.
* Aden and Saba, are both cities of Arabia Felix, celebrated for the gardens and spicy woods which surround them.
"Full fifty steeds I boast, of swiftest pace,
Fierce in the fight, and foremost in the race:
Slaves too, I have, a num'rous faithful band,
And heav'n hath giv'n me wealth with lavish hand :
Yet never have I heap'd a useless store,
Nor spurn'd the needy pilgrim from my door.
And skill'd alike to wield the crook or sword,
I scorn the mandate of the proudest lord.
O'er my wide vales a thousand camels bound,
A thousand sheep my fertile hills surround:
For her, amidst the spicy shrubs they feed,
For her, the choicest of the flock shall bleed.
Of polished chrystal shall a goblet shine,
The surface mantling with the richest wine;
And on its sides, with Ommau's * pearls inlaid,
Full many a tale of love, shall be pourtray'd.
Hesper shall rise, and warn us to be gone,
Yet will we revel 'till the breaking dawn;
Nor will we heed the morn's unwelcome light,
Nor our joys finish with returning night.
"Not Georgia's nymphs can with my love compare;
Like jet the ringlets of her musky hair;
Her stature like the palm, her shape the pine;
Her breasts like swelling clusters of the vine;
Fragrant her breath as Hadramut's perfume,
And her cheeks shame the damask rose's bloom.
Black, soft, and full, her eyes serenely roll,
And seem the liquid mansion of her soul.
Who shall describe her lips where rubies glow,
Her teeth like shining drops of purest snow.
Beneath her honey'd tongue persuasion lies,
And her voice breathes the strains of Paradise.
"A bow'r I have, where branching almonds spread,
Where all the seasons all their bounties shed;
The gales of life amidst the branches play,
And music bursts from every vocal spray:
The verdant foot a stream of amber laves,
And o'er it, love, his guardian banner waves.
There shall our days, our nights, in pleasure glide;
Friendship shall live when passion's joys subside,
Increasing years improve our mutual truth,
And age give sanction to the choice of youth.
* The sea of Ommau bounds Arabia on the south, and is celebrated by the eastern poets for the beauty of the pearls it produces.
"Thus fondly I of fancied raptures sung,
And with my song the gladden'd valley rung;
But fate, with jealous eye, beheld our joy,
Smil'd to deceive, and flatter'd to destroy.
Swift as the shades of night the vision fed,
Grief was the guest, and death the banquet spread;
A burning fever on her vitals prey'd,
Defied love's efforts, baffled med'cine's aid,
And from these widow'd arms a treasure tore,
Beyond the price of empires to restore.
"What have I left? What portion but despair,
Long days of woe, and nights of endless care?
While others live to love, I live to weep:
Will sorrow burst the grave's eternal sleep?
Will all my pray'rs the savage tyrant move
To quit his prey and give me back my love?
If far, far hence, I take my hasty flight,
Seek other haunts, and scenes of soft delight,
Amidst the crouded mart her voice I hear,
And shed, unseen, the solitary tear.
Music exalts her animating strain,
And beauty rolls her radiant eve in vain :
All that was music fled with Hinda's breath,
And beauty's brightest eyes are clos'd in deatlr.
I pine in darkness for the solar rays,
Yet loath the sun and sicken at his blaze:
Then curse the light, and curse the lonely gloom,
While unremitting sorrow points the tomb.
"Oh! Hinda, brightest of the black-ey'd maids
That sport in Paradise' embow'ring shades,
From golden boughs where bend ambrosial fruits
And fragrant waters wash th' immortal roots:
Oh! from the bright abodes of purer day
The prostrate Agib at thy tomb survey;
Behold me with unceasing vigils pine
My youthful vigour waste with swift decline.
My hollow eye behold and faded face,
Where health but lately spread her ruddy grace.
I can no more--this sabre sets me free-
This gives me back to rapture, love, and thee.
Firm to the stroke, its shining edge I bare,
The lover's last, sad, solace in despair.
Go, faithful steel, act nature's ling'ring part,
Bury thy blushing point within my heart,
Drink all the life that warms these drooping veins,
And banish, at one stroke, a thousand pains.
Haste thee, dear charmer; catch my gasping breath,
And cheer with smiles the barren glooms of death!
'Tis done the gates of Paradise expand, Attendant Houri seize my trembling hand; I pass the dark, inhospitable shore,
And Hinda, thou art mine-to part no more.
EPITAPH on a beautiful INFANT.
(From the same.)
BRIGHT to the sun expands the vernal rose,
And sweet the lily of the valley blows;
Sudden impetuous whirlwinds sweep the sky
They shed their fragrance, droop the head, and die.
Thus the fair infant, from life's storms retir'd
Put forth fair blossoms, charm'd us, and expir'd.
ODE to the MOON. By an ARABIAN LOVER.
Addressed to STELLA.
(By the same)
CYNTHIA, fair regent of yon azure space,
Seize thy bright reins, and chase the ling'ring gloom; Darkling, I haste to Stella's lov'd embrace
Whose lips are roses, and whose breath perfume.
As through the boundless wilderness I rove,
Beneath this robe no murd'rous falchion gleams,
To stain with blood this unpolluted grove,
And blot the brightness of thy virgin beams!
Ah, no! where dwells thy influence, mighty love,
No savage thoughts, like these, the breast invade;
Thou canst to pity the wild Arab move,
And wrest from his fierce grasp th' uplifted blade.
This bosom beats not with impure alarms,
But burns with fires as bright, as chaste, as thine; I pant to fold her in my bridal arms,
Loose her light vest, and call perfection mine,
To SIR WILLIAM JONES,
On the first Publication of his ASIATIC POEMS.
(By the same.)
WHITHER docs fancy stretch her rapid wing,
Through what new regions of serener spring?
My ravish'd sense, an op'ning Eden grects,
A waste of treasures, and a wild of sweets-
Entranc'd, I seem through fairy bow'rs to stray,
Where scattered rubies pave the spangled way;
Transparent walks, with polished Sapphire's bright,
And fountains sparkling with ambrosial light.
A sweeter lyre no eastern swain hath strung,
More softly warbled, or more boldly sung;
Whether, great Bard, thy vigorous muse rehearse,
Solima's deathless praise, in deathless verse;
Or, tun'd to grief, the trembling numbers move,
Breathing the softest tales of plaintive love:
Tender as Petrarch's flows th' impassion'd line,
Nor Vida boasts a chaster page than thine.
Yet not that Britain's laurels round thy head,
And Arab's palms, with rival lustre spread,
For this I sing but that, with fix'd disdain,
Thy Roman soul refus'd the flatt'rers strain
And dar'd prefer (unvers'd in courtly guile)
Virtue's just praise beyond a monarch's smile. +
As pious Kan amid the fragrant wild,
At first beheld this never equalled child-
Is she a fairy, or a goddess bright,
Or some divine inhabitant of light?
An emanation of the moon?-Or whence,
This form, that fills with rapture every sense?
* Alluding to the beautiful allegorical poem of the seven fountains. See the preface to Nadir Shah, towards the conclusion.
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