 | Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] |  |
36
LINES SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE PAINTED ON AN INDIAN TABLE.
I
Oh! mark ye yon temple of azure and gold,Where the pearly tints linger 'neath fillagree fold;
'Tis the palace of pleasure, ah! list to the song
Which floats on the wings of the west wind along.
II
The bulbul speeds on in his beauty and power,He joys in the twilight—the dew—and the flower.
What to him is the sunshine, its splendour and pride,
When the fair rose is waiting his notes at her side?
III
There are forms on the terrace, and sounds of a lute,And hushed is each whisper—the wind god is mute:
One sweet voice is waking the silence profound,
There is magic in music—we bow to its sound.
THE SLAVE'S SONG.
You bid me smile one joyous smile—
You think I do not weep;
My fatherland—mine own sweet isle—
Where waves do proudly sweep.
You think I do not weep;
My fatherland—mine own sweet isle—
Where waves do proudly sweep.
37
'Tis true you bought me—lavish still
On me your love, your gold.
Alas! my heart—my rebel will,
May not, may not be sold.
On me your love, your gold.
Alas! my heart—my rebel will,
May not, may not be sold.
You bid me wake the lute and sing—
In thought I wildly roam,
And dream of those loved forms who cling
Around mine island home.
In thought I wildly roam,
And dream of those loved forms who cling
Around mine island home.
THE SLAVE'S SONG ANSWERED.
Ah! wherefore weep thy fatherland,
It boasts no home like mine;
No pearls are found upon its strand,
No buds of beauty shine.
It boasts no home like mine;
No pearls are found upon its strand,
No buds of beauty shine.
Here golden treasures heaped around,
On every side appear;
Say, are they not a charm still found,
A balm for Leila's tear.
On every side appear;
Say, are they not a charm still found,
A balm for Leila's tear.
Do I not love thee?—list thy song
When others turn aside?—
Amid the hareem's beauteous throng
I seek thee as my bride.
When others turn aside?—
Amid the hareem's beauteous throng
I seek thee as my bride.
38
Then stay those tears, my rose of love—
My Leila, do not weep.
Without thee what were heav'n above?
A joyless—dreamless sleep.
My Leila, do not weep.
Without thee what were heav'n above?
A joyless—dreamless sleep.
| Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] | |