Читать книгу Ismael; an oriental tale. With other poems - Edward Bulwer Lytton Baron Lytton - Страница 13

What light is streaming through the darken’d gloom?

That radiance comes from Selyma’s lone room!

She, pensive, leaning on her iv’ry arm,

Hangs o’er her lattice, to imbibe the balm

That eve imparts, while Fancy’s pow’r pourtrays

The ling’ring charm, that hangs on other days.130

From her bright eyes, where Love had fix’d his throne,

The tears of mem’ry cours’d each other down,

And her white bosom heav’d so deep a sigh—

’Twas like a long, long strain of dying melody!

“And where art thou, companion of my youth?

“Where are thy vows of never-ceasing truth?

“’Tis in idea alone, alas! I trace

“The well-known features of that beaming face;

“Curs’d be the fatal, the dire-omen’d day,

“That glory tore thee, from mine arms, away!140

“Curs’d be that glory, which will lead thee on,

“Where ruthless Azrail’s thickest dangers throng;

“Yes, thou wilt die; or, living, die to me!”

‘No, Selyma, I’m here, and live for thee.’

Scarce had the virgin turn’d her wond’ring eyes,

Scarce giv’n the sound of fearful, glad surprise,

Then at her feet, reality has brought

The worshipp’d object of her ev’ry thought:

Swift o’er the senses of her ravish’d soul,

A temporary, kind oblivion stole;150

But soon reviv’d, her eager eyes survey

Him, whom she thought was ever snatch’d away.

“And dost thou live, and does mine eye once more,

“View, what it deem’d was ever, ever o’er?”

‘Yes, Selyma, my first, my only love,

‘I still am faithful as thy kindred dove.

‘The Chieftain Ismael, heir to Persia’s throne, ‘Comes, humble Ismael’s vows of love to own; ‘To lead thee forth, the fairest of the fair, ‘My love, my glory, and my realms to share.160 ‘To morrow’s sun shall see my banners wave ‘O’er Persia’s city, and Alvante’s grave. ‘And thronging crowds shall hail my lovely bride, ‘Rich Iran’s princess, and high Ismael’s pride!’

“Ah, Ismael, happier far my lot would be,

“To range our earlier scenes of love with thee!

“How would thine humble Selyma repine,

“That loathed state should keep her soul from thine.

“But why should selfish love attempt to mar

“The bright refulgence of thine happier star!170

“Whatever pleases Ismael, must be,

“O soul of Selyma, most dear to thee!”

Thus, in sweet converse, the fast-flying hours

Were, like some bridegroom’s path, o’erstrew’d with flow’rs.

At length remember’d Ismael, lest the morn

Should show his absence, he must now return.

And Selyma, awak’ning from her trance,

Sent all her soul to his in one fond glance.

“Ah, dost thou leave me, still, alas! unkind,

“Must Ismael go, and I remain behind?180

“Perhaps some arm, amid the bloody strife,

“May rear the blade against thy valued life;—

“Oh, let me go with thee!—thine arm, my shield,

“Oh, let me share the perils of the field!

“What though I fall, what death can be so dear,

“To cast my dying eyes around, and see thee near.”

High Ismael clasp’d the mourner to his breast,

And dried the falling torrents in his vest;

E’en though inur’d to war, to toil, to pain,

Though wont to gaze, unmoved, at heaps of slain,190

Yet, as he view’d the anguish of the maid,

Adown his cheek the pitying tear-drop stray’d.

‘Farewell, another sun perchance may see,

‘Thine Ismael return to love, and thee.

‘How could that form of beauty learn to bear

‘The din of camps, the toils of blood and war!

‘Unman me not with this thy pleading wo—

‘Think, O my love, that Honour bids me go;

‘And the same law that summons me away,

‘Commands thee here, my Selyma, to stay;—200

‘Farewell.’—

O! who that ne’er experienc’d it can tell

What meaning hangs on that sole word—farewell—

The piercing, thrilling glance, the tender air,

That utter more than words can tell,—are there;

And the big tear that dims the sparkling eye;

And the mute language of th’ imploring sigh;

And that soft, ling’ring tone, that seems the sound

Of love himself, upon that word is found.

O ne’er, O ne’er can he, whose inmost soul

Has never felt it, tell its sweet control!210

Selyma views him seize the snowy rein,

O’er his dark courser’s widely-streaming mane

(Like streaks of light in sable clouds) that hung,

Then on the back of mighty pride he sprung;—

One parting look he casts!—with eagle speed,

Away, away, swift scours that gen’rous steed.