 | Persian love elegies |  |
38
The NYMPH of TAURIS.
Whose happy suns, without a cloud descend!
Who treads the wild of life, nor meets a thorn?
To grief is god-like Virtue doom'd to bend;
The turtle eye of Innocence to mourn.
Who treads the wild of life, nor meets a thorn?
To grief is god-like Virtue doom'd to bend;
The turtle eye of Innocence to mourn.
A gentle nymph of Media's green domain,
Where Tauris lifts with pride her hundred tow'rs,
Far from the precincts of her native plain,
Breathes her last sigh in Spahan's hapless bow'rs.
Where Tauris lifts with pride her hundred tow'rs,
Far from the precincts of her native plain,
Breathes her last sigh in Spahan's hapless bow'rs.
What shepherds melt at Nora's sacred tomb?
At Nora's tomb, each nymph of Spahan sighs;
While sadly sweet along the list'ning gloom,
On Sorrow's lyre the dirge complaining dies.
At Nora's tomb, each nymph of Spahan sighs;
While sadly sweet along the list'ning gloom,
On Sorrow's lyre the dirge complaining dies.
The band of white-rob'd virgins let me join,
And scatter incense on the hallow'd ground;
Where waving mournful o'er the lonely shrine,
The grove in silent horror glooms around.
And scatter incense on the hallow'd ground;
Where waving mournful o'er the lonely shrine,
The grove in silent horror glooms around.
Tho' far from Tauris thy fair reliques lie,
Thy gentle ghost her grateful daughters mourn;
Her sons in sorrow heave the fruitless sigh,
And melt in visions o'er thy distant urn.
Thy gentle ghost her grateful daughters mourn;
Her sons in sorrow heave the fruitless sigh,
And melt in visions o'er thy distant urn.
39
Tho' far from Media's once delightful plain,
In Spahan's valley sleeps the beauteous maid;
No prowling Arab shall thy tomb profane,
Breathe on thy shrine and wound thy shrinking shade.
In Spahan's valley sleeps the beauteous maid;
No prowling Arab shall thy tomb profane,
Breathe on thy shrine and wound thy shrinking shade.
Far hence the demons of the troubled air,
Shall bid their thunders roll, the tempest rave:
No livid light'nings through the grove shall glare,
To blast th'eternal bloom that decks thy grave.
Shall bid their thunders roll, the tempest rave:
No livid light'nings through the grove shall glare,
To blast th'eternal bloom that decks thy grave.
Here shall the rose with softest fragrance spring,
Heav'ns mildest dews thy humble bed adorn:
Hence shall the songster mount on early wing,
And warble round thee e'er he meets the morn.
Heav'ns mildest dews thy humble bed adorn:
Hence shall the songster mount on early wing,
And warble round thee e'er he meets the morn.
Ah! here with woe a Sister's heart shall heave,
A Heart by all the Virtues lov'd in vain!
Pale, on her tears, shall rise the Star of eve,
And Midnight hear her pitied voice complain.
A Heart by all the Virtues lov'd in vain!
Pale, on her tears, shall rise the Star of eve,
And Midnight hear her pitied voice complain.
Here shall the lustre of ascending morn,
That wakes to gladness all the world below,
In sorrow find her o'er thy silent urn,
A melancholy monument of woe.
That wakes to gladness all the world below,
In sorrow find her o'er thy silent urn,
A melancholy monument of woe.
40
No beam of Mirth shall deck her clouded eye:
No Smile, her paly cheek, but of Despair,
To life's last sand her soul for thee shall sigh,
For thee her closing lids shall shed the tear.
No Smile, her paly cheek, but of Despair,
To life's last sand her soul for thee shall sigh,
For thee her closing lids shall shed the tear.
What heedless wanderer through the gloomy vale,
Neglects to spread the flowret o'er thy tomb,
From such may Fortune snatch her fav'ring gale,
And demons blast their hopes of brightest bloom.
Neglects to spread the flowret o'er thy tomb,
From such may Fortune snatch her fav'ring gale,
And demons blast their hopes of brightest bloom.
Ah! cease to murmur to the midnight air,
Nor bid a drooping brother haste away,
Think on our loss in thee, thou hapless Fair,
And think how short is life, one little day!
Nor bid a drooping brother haste away,
Think on our loss in thee, thou hapless Fair,
And think how short is life, one little day!
Too soon shall Ali join thy beck'ning ghost,
Too soon his fate shall make an empire bleed,
What virtues, ah! to Persias' land are lost,
When such lie number'd with the silent dead!
Too soon his fate shall make an empire bleed,
What virtues, ah! to Persias' land are lost,
When such lie number'd with the silent dead!
Too soon shall Fame th'illumin'd page display,
And sighing blend his sacred name with thine,
Where beam the worthy with distinguished day,
Where crown'd with Glory glows thy ancient line.
And sighing blend his sacred name with thine,
Where beam the worthy with distinguished day,
Where crown'd with Glory glows thy ancient line.
| Persian love elegies | |