 | Safie |  |
He pass'd beneath a Haram bower,
At evening's cool and peaceful hour,
When, gently breathed, the freshening breeze
Came perfumed through the orange trees,—
And to its breath such sweets were given,
It wafted like the sighs of heaven;—
The leaves combined to mar its way,
And gently craved its dallying stay,—
Heedless it just the blossoms shed,
Kiss'd the green foliage, and fled.
The lamps in many a Mosque were set,
And guests in the Kiosk
were met,
To flaunt it by the taper's ray,
And revel at departed day.—
He paused awhile beneath the wall,
To hear the music of the hall,
Where ladies sang, and look'd, and sigh'd,
In prime of youth,—in beauty's pride.—
Well guarded by the dark Schaban ,
That living relic of a man,—
Whose only task it is to move
A joyless slave to tyrant love.
He paused awhile:—each tongue was mute;
For lightly wander'd o'er the lute,
Some hand that loved to kiss, and fly
The instrument of melody:—
He knew the touch;—he knew the note
That seem'd upon the gale to float,
So softly that the passing wind
Caught not an echo left behind:—
It burst on Assad's throbbing heart,
Too strong to waver or depart!—
'Twas fancy, perhaps:—and yet the sound
A tone within his bosom found,
That something of resemblance bore
To music he had heard of yore:—
A Turkish haram!—Could it be!—
The scene of noise, and vice, and glee.
The lamps of eve,—the brilliant dress,—
The touch that spoke forgetfulness!—
Ah!—No, 'twas fancy led him on
To think of days and pleasures gone.—
“Let me away;—for go I must;—
“The tones of mirth I dare not trust!
“Those tones which speak of others joy
“Thrill through my bosom to destroy:
“I find, unbless'd with short relief,
“Despair in mirth, and peace in grief.”
At evening's cool and peaceful hour,
When, gently breathed, the freshening breeze
Came perfumed through the orange trees,—
And to its breath such sweets were given,
It wafted like the sighs of heaven;—
The leaves combined to mar its way,
And gently craved its dallying stay,—
Heedless it just the blossoms shed,
Kiss'd the green foliage, and fled.
The lamps in many a Mosque were set,
And guests in the Kiosk
“In the midst of the garden is the Kiosk; that is, a large room, commonly beautified with a fine fountain in the midst of it. It is raised nine or ten steps, and inclosed with gilded lattices; round which vines, jessamines, and honey-suckles, make a sort of green wall. Large trees are planted round this place, which is the scene of their greatest pleasures, and where the ladies spend most of their hours employed by their music or embroidery.” Lady M. W. Montague.
To flaunt it by the taper's ray,
And revel at departed day.—
He paused awhile beneath the wall,
To hear the music of the hall,
43
In prime of youth,—in beauty's pride.—
Well guarded by the dark Schaban ,
That living relic of a man,—
Whose only task it is to move
A joyless slave to tyrant love.
He paused awhile:—each tongue was mute;
For lightly wander'd o'er the lute,
Some hand that loved to kiss, and fly
The instrument of melody:—
He knew the touch;—he knew the note
That seem'd upon the gale to float,
So softly that the passing wind
Caught not an echo left behind:—
It burst on Assad's throbbing heart,
Too strong to waver or depart!—
'Twas fancy, perhaps:—and yet the sound
A tone within his bosom found,
44
To music he had heard of yore:—
A Turkish haram!—Could it be!—
The scene of noise, and vice, and glee.
The lamps of eve,—the brilliant dress,—
The touch that spoke forgetfulness!—
Ah!—No, 'twas fancy led him on
To think of days and pleasures gone.—
“Let me away;—for go I must;—
“The tones of mirth I dare not trust!
“Those tones which speak of others joy
“Thrill through my bosom to destroy:
“I find, unbless'd with short relief,
“Despair in mirth, and peace in grief.”
| Safie | |