 | The Lay of the Stork |  |
III. PART III.
The embroidered carpet is unroll'dBeneath a sycamore's broad shade,
The silken cushions, wrought with gold,
And jewell'd pipe, are ready laid.
It is the Scheik's accustom'd hour:
The breeze flows fresh from Syria's sea;
And Khālid, from his castle tow'r,
Will seek, at eve, his fav'rite tree.
The Arabs, as his step draws nigh,
Retire, nor mar his privacy:
They know, his mind with projects fraught,
He wants not rest, but quiet thought.
No braver leader have they known,
And in his fame they hail their own.
But mark his step and mark his eye.
That eye, though dark, has not the glow
That flashes from an Arab lid;
Though scorch'd his cheek, a skin of snow
Beneath his robe is scarcely hid:
And, though his language is their own,
A tongue that well becomes the Scheik,
The accents have not all the tone
That, in their tents, the Arabs speak.
They call him Khālid,
The name of Kāled means Happy, according to the celebrated poem of Antar, as quoted by M. de Lamartine.
“Kaled n'est plus bien nommé depuis que jele cherche.”This is a line in the song of Antar, when, excited by the desire of Abla, to whom he is devoted, he departs, resolved to emulate the marvellous doings of Kāled-Eben-Mohareb, to obtain the hand of his cousin Jida. Kāled on the day of his marriage killed a thousand camels and twenty lions, the latter with his own hand, and served up the flesh of the lions to the three tribes invited to his wedding, who feasted on it during three days.
Antar resolves to conquer this famous chief of the tribe of Beni-Zobaid.
The name of “Happy” suits him well,
Who never in the battle-field
One foot of ground was forced to yield,
And who, since first he led them on,
Has glory gain'd and conquest won.
Allah, amidst the tribe's despair,
—When fell their Scheik, a chief of fame,—
Had heard and, granted to their pray'r,
Khālid, the Happy Stranger, came.
To crush the treach'rous Russian's pride,
Leave island home and flowery plain,
To fight upon the weaker side.
Now he attends the Pasha's word,
Prompt to attack the Tartar horde:—
But listless wears the anxious day
When warriors wait, and chiefs delay.
'Tis said, when in the fountain's wave
The Prophet bent, his head to lave,
The manner in which Mohammed was caught away and carried through the Seven Heavens, is one of the questions which has been much discussed and disputed. Some thinking he went bodily and returned the same night; others contending that his journey was only in a vision. Some say it was begun and ended while a vase full of water, was in the act of being overturned, before all had fallen to the ground.—See Koran.
His soul went on for countless years,
Throughout all space, through all the spheres,
From world to world, from pole to pole,
And learnt the mysteries of the whole.
He saw how rubies have their birth,
And how the acorn grows in earth,
How pearls are formed in Ocean's breast,
How builds the Auk her giant nest:
Saw all the caves where tempests lurk,
And how the hot volcanoes work;
Seem'd but one plunge, and nothing more!
So thought through past and future speeds
Nor space, nor time, nor motion needs.
The Scheik inhaled that drug of price
Haschish.—“By the Indians called Bhang, the Persians Bang, and the natives of Barbary, I believe, Fasukh. The Hottentots use it; and even the Siberians, we are told, intoxicate themselves by the vapour of this seed thrown upon red-hot stones. Egypt surpasses all other nations in the variety of compounds into which this fascinating drug is taken, and will one day probably supply the Western world with ‘Indian hemp,’ when its solid merits are duly appreciated. At present in Europe it is chiefly confined, as cognac and opium used to be, to the apothecary's shelves.”—Notes to the word “Haschish,” in Burton's Pilgrimage to El Medinah and Meccah, vol. i. p. 64.
Of the terrible and bewildering effects of the opiate called haschish, Mr. Radcliffe relates that the sense of hearing “becomes, occasionally, so developed, that a word pronounced low, or a slight movement, sounds like a peal of thunder.” He says further:—
“In the state induced by haschish, the singular and fantastic forms which those under its influence, and the parties surrounding them, have appeared to undergo, are of great interest. ‘The eyelashes, writes one gentleman, ‘lengthened themselves indefinitely, and rolled themselves as threads of gold on little ivory bobbins which turned unassisted, with frightful rapidity. . . . I still saw my comrades at certain moments, but deformed, half men, half plants, with the pensive airs of an ibis standing on one foot, of ostriches flapping their wings, &c.’—‘I imagined that I was the parroquet of the Queen of Sheba, and I imitated as well as I was able the cries of this praiseworthy bird.’”
The same gentleman “thought he could look at will into his stomach, and that he saw there, in the form of an emerald, from which escaped millions of sparks, the drug he had swallowed.”
That changes Earth to Paradise,
But can transform to foul from fair,
If careless hands the charm prepare.
His thoughts fled far for many a day,
Through all his fortune's devious way,
What he had sought and won and lost,
Mistaken hopes, an endless store!
Vain strivings—expectation crost,
And joys and pleasures—prized no more.
And, to his bosom's smother'd sigh,
These words, within his heart, reply.
—“And I—with tender visions still
That peace on earth at length might reign,
Who would not cherish fears of ill,
But idly hoped the end to gain,
By love have taught, by precept nurs'd,
That Truth should like a Phœnix soar
And war and hatred rule no more;
I—leader of a savage band,
Who but obey my strange command
Because, by superstition driv'n,
They deem their chief by Allah giv'n!
I—yielding to the power of chance,
Give up my aspirations high,
And, where they blindly rush, advance,
And, like them, follow destiny!
The hopes my eager childhood caught,
The truths those gentle fathers taught,
Are they then vain when glory calls,
Or linger but in convent walls?
Are love and peace but fables all,
And must men strive like beasts of prey,
Struggling and wrestling day by day,
The end for ever farther thrown,
And the world's good—a cloud alone!
Strange Fate!—my Eastern mother's star
Has kept me from the region far
Of my lost father's lineage high;
A region all to me unknown,
Which he forsook, new realms to try,
And had no spot of earth his own.
Dying, he gave me but his sword:
And she, the Syrian bride he won,
A few brief fleeting years adored,
Slept in his tomb—and left her son.
The Pasha's pity did the rest,
And men called Khālid's fortune blest!
Oh, Northern clime! that in my dreams
Comes to my soul in sunny gleams!
On thy free soil has better state
Than all the gauds, our dearth that mock,
And on our savage pride await.
Oh happy! on some river's side
To hear the ever-murmuring tide,
And see the barks glide gently on
As meet for peaceful freights alone.
And, if some heart at length were found
To yield me room wherein to dwell,
And lead me to enchanted ground
And teach—what nought beside can tell—
Ha!—see, it floats—the Pasha's sign!
Away! no hopes like these are mine!”
THE SONG OF THE ARABS.
Than this beneath the eagle eye
Of Lebanon, whose cedars throw
Their shadows on eternal snow?
As this our river loves yet leaves?—
With roses blushing at our feet,
And many a gentle bird that grieves,
And tunes so wild, so soft a song,
We can but wish his sorrows long.
And hang their grapes the trees between:
The maidens dress their long dark hair
With shining coins of graven gold,
And flow'rs, not half so fresh and fair.
'Tis sand, hot sand, though fair its hue,
Look to the deep sea, bright and blue,
And those light skiffs that dance thereon:
On our white tents beneath the shade,
By cedar, pine and laurel made,
Where orange flowers, of rich perfume,
With starry eyes peep through the gloom.
Whose light forms breeze-like, fawn-like, move,
As if the softest air they meet
Would all too rough a lover prove
For fragile beings such as they:
But, see them furious in the fray,
The light'ning lags behind their pace!
And ask if Allah's blessed face
Turns ever from the Arab race!
To war the sword—to peace the song.”
Proud of their beauty, loved to praise,
Had Saba been, who sits alone,
Pale, motionless, as turn'd to stone—
When first she came, young Youssouf's bride,
He for whose love the maidens sigh'd:
—The boldest fisher and the best.
And both were fair, and gay, and blest.
For, safe from storms, secure from ill,
His prosp'rous bark came laden still:
Till once the skiffs all reached the shore,
But Youssouf's?—came that day no more!
Her heart has left one only joy,
Her son, whose smile delights the Scheik,
Her Youssouf still—her orphan boy.
See where he sports, intent and glad,
His aim is true, his eye is keen:
His pensive mother, veil'd and sad,
Watching his careless step and mien.
The skill they cherish fairly tried,
And each can tell some wond'rous tale
How “Youssouf's hand, that cannot fail,
Commands the plain, commands the sky,
Soon as his touch obeys his eye.
And, would he daunt the wildest steed
That ever serv'd an Arab's need,
Scarce has he met the angry glance,
Scarce towards the mane his hands advance,
Than the proud flash of living flame
That made all pause, he knows to quell,
Steps, gentle as a maid's gazelle.”
Close at his mother's feet it lies:
Could he have gained a fairer prize?
“Ah! hapless child! what hast thou done!
Alas! the sainted bird that came
The Arabs home and care to claim!—
This deed my cup of anguish fills—
Woe! woe to him a stork who kills!”
And echo speeds each fierce reply.
Nor in our tents one moment stay,
Ill chance on all attends where fell
The holy bird Heaven loves so well!”
Buffon says that this beautiful bird, though originally from a warm climate, has become habituated to the cold of ours. It may be seen all the winter beside the frozen streams, often plunging beneath the ice, and re-appearing with its prey: it is called, for this reason, in Germany, eisvogel.
The most superstitious ideas were attached to the Halcyon: that it had the property of preventing thunder, of augmenting hidden treasure, and, though dead, could renew its plumage at the accustomed time. “It communicates,” says one ancient author, “to whoever carries it, grace and beauty: gives peace in a house: calm to the sea: attracts the fish, and renders the season abundant.”
“Ces fables,” adds Buffon, “flattent la credulité mais malheureusement, ce ne sont que des fables.”
The Halcyon is the most beautiful bird of our climate, from the brilliancy of the colours of its enamelled plumage.
It is sometimes called “the Nymph,” from bearing the name of Alcyone, the plaintive daughter of Eolus, so often named by the poets Euripides, Ovid, &c. Ariosto speaks thus:
“S'udir l'alcioni alla marina del' antico infortunio lamentarsi.”
The nightingale is sometimes meant in these poetical allusions, as in those of “sad Electra's poet.”
Dark grew his brow, he glanced around,
The bird lay bleeding on the ground:
And, menaced by the hostile band,
Flush'd but unshrinking in the fray,
Held by his mother's trembling hand,
His fav'rite Youssouf stood at bay.
The crowd fell back—they own'd their lord.
—“Take up the quarry, and on me
Fall all the ill—if ill there be:
But, idle thought! God guards his own,
And made all things for man alone.
This foolish bird, even like his kind,
Was for our food or sport design'd.
Give praise to Allah! all beside
Is but man's error or his pride.
Such prowess on the Russian foe.
The hour is come—on yonder height
Waves free our signal for the fight,
Yonder our path to victory!”
At once the variable throng
Renew the shout, the word obey,
And hail the mandate, hoped so long.
—“Lead Khālid, lead once more to fame!”
And the skies ring with Khālid's name.
His dying agonies she feels:
Her Youssouf's fate in his she fears,
And bathes the victim with her tears.
Would she could staunch the purple tide
That gushes from his snowy side!
Thy messenger returns no more!
Some sacred message it may prove,
For still he thrives in Allah's love:
Oh! bear it to him straight, his power
Is great to read the words aright,—
Averted is the evil hour,
And we shall conquer in the fight!”
Bears to the skies young Youssouf's name:
—'Tis he, by Allah's gracious will,
That gives us good instead of ill!”
The secret of that talisman;
Enough the treasure to receive
That with grave awe and care they bring,
He knows they rev'rence and believe
The written page a sacred thing, —
And, even though bound in error's thrall,
Yet solemn is belief in all.—
As something precious, to obey,
That, when for aid and counsel prest,
This scroll divine may guide his way:
So deem the tribe, and more and more
Their chief, by Allah sent, adore.
Where lances flash and banners float,
And the shrill trumpet's clamorous note
Frights nature's stillness,—and where roar
Loud thunders, that are not of Heaven!—
Where lightnings blast the forests hoar,
And torrents, from the mountains driven,
Sparkle and foam, not as of yore
By long accustomed tempests tost—
But roll full tides of crimson gore
And mangled forms, from either host,
Hurl'd down, and in abysses lost—
Had chief a band more wildly brave,
Or scorn to pity or to save:
Bearing all ills with minds unmoved,
Making e'en famine's self a jest:
Casting by life, as if unloved,
And slaught'ring with untiring zest!
And he must urge, command—nay force
His victims to this desp'rate course,
With Lila's message in his breast,
Where beats a heart as soft and kind
As ever pitied the distrest,
And throbb'd to succour all mankind.
Who talk of power, and boast of will!
With toil o'erworn, with struggles spent,
—A moment's pause the time allowed,
Freed from the tumult of the crowd;
First from the little purse he drew
The scroll the sacred charge that bore,
And read them, trembling, o'er and o'er.
—“To me! such holy words of bliss,
And read in such a scene as this!—
The Dove, that braved the flood alone,
And held a leaf of Paradise,
Brought promise to a world undone—
But, can a star for me arise,
Before whose path dark torrents run?—
And waiting till to-morrow's sun
Shall still on newer horrors shine,
The voice that rouses carnage—mine!
This angel music sounds too late,
It cannot charm the force of Fate!”
| The Lay of the Stork | |