 | Safie |  |
56
The Scroll.
“Safie! Safie! Assad now
“With hopeless heart, and fever'd brow,
“And trembling hand, essays to send,
“Ere life, and thought, and grief shall end,
“A mournful tale of sorrow, proved,
“By her who caused, and him who loved.
“I soon shall be a pallid corse,
“Then, Safie, thou wilt feel remorse,
“And own that never heart was tried
“With heavier ills than his who died:—
“Remember that my love was such,
“It could not praise nor prize too much;—
“Remember, too, thy pledge of yore,—
“But this is now esteem'd no more;—
“For faith was often sigh'd and spoken,
“And yet how negligently broken:—
“I never could of thought that force
“Could turn affection in its course,—
“And wean the heart from what had first
“Within its pulse been bred and nurst.
“I mourn'd thy loss when thou wast gone,
“And sigh'd and sought to be alone;—
“But then, amid my grief, I fed
“A hope that still thy heart remain'd
“The same as when thy beauties fled:—
“The faithless hope was close retain'd.
“I cursed my fate, and cursed the hour,
“That bless'd thy dark-brow'd paramour:—
“I cannot curse thee:—Love can ne'er
“Descend for once to execrate
“The form that was so fond, so fair,
“Howe'er the mind is desolate:
“Enough to know and feel that fate
“Can change the temper of a mate,—
“And make her look on newer feres
“With all the love of earlier years:—
“Enough to know that she can give
“Those looks that bid a lover live,—
“And change at once the faithless sigh
“To words that urge him but to die.
“The very bird that haunts the shock
“Of cataract from blacken'd rock,—
“Who builds in crags her lonely nest,
“Loves the dear object of her breast
“With chaster fire, and purer truth,
“Than warm the fickle heart of youth.
“The savage monarch of the waste,
“Whose days on parched sands are past,
“With surly fondness loves to share
“That life which blood alone can sate,
“With one, that's true enough to dare
“Fatigue and peril for its mate.
“With hopeless heart, and fever'd brow,
“And trembling hand, essays to send,
“Ere life, and thought, and grief shall end,
“A mournful tale of sorrow, proved,
“By her who caused, and him who loved.
“I soon shall be a pallid corse,
“Then, Safie, thou wilt feel remorse,
“And own that never heart was tried
“With heavier ills than his who died:—
“Remember that my love was such,
“It could not praise nor prize too much;—
“Remember, too, thy pledge of yore,—
“But this is now esteem'd no more;—
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“And yet how negligently broken:—
“I never could of thought that force
“Could turn affection in its course,—
“And wean the heart from what had first
“Within its pulse been bred and nurst.
“I mourn'd thy loss when thou wast gone,
“And sigh'd and sought to be alone;—
“But then, amid my grief, I fed
“A hope that still thy heart remain'd
“The same as when thy beauties fled:—
“The faithless hope was close retain'd.
“I cursed my fate, and cursed the hour,
“That bless'd thy dark-brow'd paramour:—
“I cannot curse thee:—Love can ne'er
“Descend for once to execrate
“The form that was so fond, so fair,
“Howe'er the mind is desolate:
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“Can change the temper of a mate,—
“And make her look on newer feres
“With all the love of earlier years:—
“Enough to know that she can give
“Those looks that bid a lover live,—
“And change at once the faithless sigh
“To words that urge him but to die.
“The very bird that haunts the shock
“Of cataract from blacken'd rock,—
“Who builds in crags her lonely nest,
“Loves the dear object of her breast
“With chaster fire, and purer truth,
“Than warm the fickle heart of youth.
“The savage monarch of the waste,
“Whose days on parched sands are past,
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“That life which blood alone can sate,
“With one, that's true enough to dare
“Fatigue and peril for its mate.
“'Tis sad to know,—I could not stand
“To see thee take a Turkish hand,
“And promise faith in soothing strain,
“Although to break, perchance, again:—
“And yet to break!—Oh! that would be
“A lasting pang of agony,
“That well might suit my rival's fate,
“And satisfy revenge and hate.
“I could not look on thee again,
“A look would be despair and pain,—
“Would bring once more to memory's gaze
“The shades of past, yet blissful days:—
“A look would hurry me to trace
“Each charm of form,—each mental grace,
“That faithlessness could well deface:—
“I could not bear one single glance
“Of thy remember'd countenance,—
“Which better had I never seen:—
“Oh! better had I never been!
“For thou hast madden'd me beneath,
“And lured me with betraying breath,
“To leave me in the grasp of death.
“I think that I could view, unmoved,
“Thy wasted form, though so beloved,
“More peacefully, than see its charms
“Reposing in my rival's arms:—
“Better to wake within the grave,
“With none to hear, or see, or save;—
“To wake upon a stormy night,
“And view a strange, unearthly light
“Upon the dark, damp cavern dancing,—
“And see the spirits blood-draughts laving:—
“To view the ravenous Gouls advancing,
“With fury for the flesh-feast craving;—
“To feel them tear the throbbing breast,
“With burning fangs that know no rest,
“Regardless of convulsive moan,—
“To feel them feed ere life is gone!
“Better, exposed in light Caique,
“A slow approach of death to seek,—
“And feel the sad attacks on life
“From storms above and ocean's strife;—
“A weary course,—declining power,—
“The same sad scene each passing hour;—
“Across a trackless desart driven,
“By rolling waves and winds of heaven.
“To see thee take a Turkish hand,
“And promise faith in soothing strain,
“Although to break, perchance, again:—
“And yet to break!—Oh! that would be
“A lasting pang of agony,
“That well might suit my rival's fate,
“And satisfy revenge and hate.
“I could not look on thee again,
“A look would be despair and pain,—
“Would bring once more to memory's gaze
“The shades of past, yet blissful days:—
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“Each charm of form,—each mental grace,
“That faithlessness could well deface:—
“I could not bear one single glance
“Of thy remember'd countenance,—
“Which better had I never seen:—
“Oh! better had I never been!
“For thou hast madden'd me beneath,
“And lured me with betraying breath,
“To leave me in the grasp of death.
“I think that I could view, unmoved,
“Thy wasted form, though so beloved,
“More peacefully, than see its charms
“Reposing in my rival's arms:—
“Better to wake within the grave,
“With none to hear, or see, or save;—
“To wake upon a stormy night,
“And view a strange, unearthly light
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“And see the spirits blood-draughts laving:—
“To view the ravenous Gouls advancing,
“With fury for the flesh-feast craving;—
“To feel them tear the throbbing breast,
“With burning fangs that know no rest,
“Regardless of convulsive moan,—
“To feel them feed ere life is gone!
“Better, exposed in light Caique,
“A slow approach of death to seek,—
“And feel the sad attacks on life
“From storms above and ocean's strife;—
“A weary course,—declining power,—
“The same sad scene each passing hour;—
“Across a trackless desart driven,
“By rolling waves and winds of heaven.
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“I'd rather gaze on beauties gone,
“And ponder over them alone,
“Till fancy well might animate
“The face that look'd so pale of late;—
“Revive the ruby in the cheek,—
“The lips with rosy colour streak,—
“And throw upon the faded eye
“A lightness like reality.—
“And fancy then again might paint
“A seeming smile, however faint;—
“And think the heart once more as warm
“As 'twas before the Turkish storm:—
“And many a prayer would scape the breast,
“To see the silent placid rest.—
“But fancy should not fly;—for then
“Thy death would be recall'd again;—
“And grief would view with sighs and tears
“The lonely object of its fears;—
“Would see the loose and glossy hair
“Reposing on the neck so fair;—
“The pale, still hand, where jewels seem'd
“To mock its beauty while they gleam'd.
“I cannot pause—I must not trace
“The lines of death upon thy face:—
“Thy face!—'Twere mad impiety
“For death to claim,—to think of thee!
“And ponder over them alone,
“Till fancy well might animate
“The face that look'd so pale of late;—
“Revive the ruby in the cheek,—
“The lips with rosy colour streak,—
“And throw upon the faded eye
“A lightness like reality.—
“And fancy then again might paint
“A seeming smile, however faint;—
“And think the heart once more as warm
“As 'twas before the Turkish storm:—
“And many a prayer would scape the breast,
“To see the silent placid rest.—
“But fancy should not fly;—for then
“Thy death would be recall'd again;—
“And grief would view with sighs and tears
“The lonely object of its fears;—
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“Reposing on the neck so fair;—
“The pale, still hand, where jewels seem'd
“To mock its beauty while they gleam'd.
“I cannot pause—I must not trace
“The lines of death upon thy face:—
“Thy face!—'Twere mad impiety
“For death to claim,—to think of thee!
“You knew me well:—Ah! wherefore think
“That Assad would at peril shrink,
“In rescuing thee, from one who bore
“Thy fainting beauties from the shore:—
“The perils I have dared are o'er,
“In search of thee, deceitful slave!
“I've travell'd to revenge or save,—
“But rescue, I desire no more.—
“I cannot now receive again
“A heart, defaced with such a stain
“As rests on and disfigures thine;—
“Thou hast been false to me and mine!
“And should I once again regain,
“I should not covet to retain.
“'Twould be but madness to recall
“Thy fondness, that could once sustain
“That heartless and degrading fall,
“That thrills and throbs my brain.
“Alas! 'twould be but to replace,
“In all the faith of first esteem,
“A form of beauty and disgrace,—
“And love those eyes that falsely beam.
“That Assad would at peril shrink,
“In rescuing thee, from one who bore
“Thy fainting beauties from the shore:—
“The perils I have dared are o'er,
“In search of thee, deceitful slave!
“I've travell'd to revenge or save,—
“But rescue, I desire no more.—
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“A heart, defaced with such a stain
“As rests on and disfigures thine;—
“Thou hast been false to me and mine!
“And should I once again regain,
“I should not covet to retain.
“'Twould be but madness to recall
“Thy fondness, that could once sustain
“That heartless and degrading fall,
“That thrills and throbs my brain.
“Alas! 'twould be but to replace,
“In all the faith of first esteem,
“A form of beauty and disgrace,—
“And love those eyes that falsely beam.
“Die! Safie, die!—Thou'rt all too sweet,
“To sigh, yet torture with deceit;—
“Thy soft black eyes are all too bright,
“With that betraying lovely light,
“That raises and sustains desire,—
“Yet but sustains it to deceive;—
“That fans with sighs the treacherous fire,
“And fans it but to leave.
“That dark-brow'd paramour, who now
“Each morn may kiss thy marble brow ,
“Will find a fresher fere in time
“Can lure thee on to newer crime;
“And thou wilt from his praises flee,
“And ruin him—as thou hast me!
“To sigh, yet torture with deceit;—
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“With that betraying lovely light,
“That raises and sustains desire,—
“Yet but sustains it to deceive;—
“That fans with sighs the treacherous fire,
“And fans it but to leave.
“That dark-brow'd paramour, who now
“Each morn may kiss thy marble brow ,
“Will find a fresher fere in time
“Can lure thee on to newer crime;
“And thou wilt from his praises flee,
“And ruin him—as thou hast me!
“I knew the time, when not for all
“The steeds that feed in Turkish stall,
“Would I have seen the messenger
“Relate to thee a tale of fear,
“For darkly to thy list'ning ear
“Would speak such woeful tidings clear;—
“But now thy cheek is never wet,—
“Is never stain'd with pitying tear;
“And thou hast ceased to feel and fret,
“Since I am not beloved so dear:—
“And thou canst, doubtless, bear to hear
“The fate of one, whose death is near.
“The steeds that feed in Turkish stall,
“Would I have seen the messenger
“Relate to thee a tale of fear,
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“Would speak such woeful tidings clear;—
“But now thy cheek is never wet,—
“Is never stain'd with pitying tear;
“And thou hast ceased to feel and fret,
“Since I am not beloved so dear:—
“And thou canst, doubtless, bear to hear
“The fate of one, whose death is near.
“I've boldly dared—but dared in vain;—
“Of fate and falsehood I complain:—
“Twice have I stain'd with blood the ground,
“At first when lost—and last when found:—
“I would that I had never lost
“That form—my blessing, and my boast;—
“And yet, to find thee as I have,
“Gives further cause to fear—to rave:—
“'Twere better to have ranged for ever,
“In weary search, and find thee never,
“Than thus to know that time can sever
“The former feelings of a breast,
“That seem'd the seat of love and rest!
“Strange, that a breast so form'd to move
“In all the elegance of love,
“Should harbour danger and deceit,
“And spurn the form it sought to greet.—
“Strange, that an eye so soft, so bright,
“With all the love of Eastern light,
“Should gaze awhile, then turn away,
“And after fresher objects stray.—
“Strange, that those lips, so sweetly glowing,
“Should set the tide of promise flowing,—
“Should kiss, and yet delight to seek
“The pressure of another's cheek.
“Of fate and falsehood I complain:—
“Twice have I stain'd with blood the ground,
“At first when lost—and last when found:—
“I would that I had never lost
“That form—my blessing, and my boast;—
“And yet, to find thee as I have,
“Gives further cause to fear—to rave:—
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“In weary search, and find thee never,
“Than thus to know that time can sever
“The former feelings of a breast,
“That seem'd the seat of love and rest!
“Strange, that a breast so form'd to move
“In all the elegance of love,
“Should harbour danger and deceit,
“And spurn the form it sought to greet.—
“Strange, that an eye so soft, so bright,
“With all the love of Eastern light,
“Should gaze awhile, then turn away,
“And after fresher objects stray.—
“Strange, that those lips, so sweetly glowing,
“Should set the tide of promise flowing,—
“Should kiss, and yet delight to seek
“The pressure of another's cheek.
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“Oh! woman, thou wast form'd to rove
“In passion's chase, yet not to love:—
“Wast form'd to fire the human breast,
“And rob it of its earthly rest.
“'Tis well to learn, yet sad to know,
“The eye that lures will lead to woe,—
“The lips that woo with thrilling kiss,
“Will breathe to others promised bliss,—
“Will whisper faith, and yet deceive,
“And fawn and flatter—but to leave!
“The breast so fair, yet fickle, feigns
“A crowded host of pleasing pains;—
“But quickly what it sought disdains,
“And promises, but ne'er retains;—
“For every sigh and saying prove
“It will not rest,—and cannot love!
“Oh! crimes I have, and yet I fail
“To breathe to Alla aught of mine;—
“'Tis useless now to wail—to whine:—
“Will prayer or penitence avail
“From one who long hath shunn'd his shrine?
“I long for, but I cannot have
“The blessing which my feelings crave,—
“A father's last and lonely blessing,
“To save and soothe my heated breast,—
“So long deceived,—distress'd,—distressing;—
“To lull it into tranquil rest.
“But though I need the Iman's prayer,
“I dread his close and pious care;
“For should he all my failings prove,
“Then would appear my lasting love,—
“Love, such as holy words could never
“From my unaltered bosom sever!
“Oh! if it be a crime to cherish
“An everlasting, quenchless flame,—
“Which neither pain nor prayer can tame,—
“Which wastes not with the wasting frame,—
“In faithless mirth—in grief the same;—
“Then must my hopes of heaven perish.
“If this be crime—and if for this
“The soul must be denied its bliss;—
“Then must I dread what death will give,—
“Then might I almost long to live!
“Can pity calm my love for thee,—
“Or bring a truce to memory?
“Can holy words awhile assuage
“My scorn—regret—revenge—and rage;
“Or can an Iman cool that part,
“Which burns for ever in my breast?
“Oh! can he soothe me into rest,—
“Or crush the viper at my heart?
“I care not now what arms entwine
“That well-remember'd form of thine,
“Since now no longer solely mine.—
“I care not now what eye beholds
“The charms thy lifted veil unfolds ,
“Which ne'er was cast aside before
“For stranger's eye to wander o'er;
“But hung like silver mist of even,
“That dims the starry front of heaven.
“In passion's chase, yet not to love:—
“Wast form'd to fire the human breast,
“And rob it of its earthly rest.
“'Tis well to learn, yet sad to know,
“The eye that lures will lead to woe,—
“The lips that woo with thrilling kiss,
“Will breathe to others promised bliss,—
“Will whisper faith, and yet deceive,
“And fawn and flatter—but to leave!
“The breast so fair, yet fickle, feigns
“A crowded host of pleasing pains;—
“But quickly what it sought disdains,
“And promises, but ne'er retains;—
“For every sigh and saying prove
“It will not rest,—and cannot love!
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“To breathe to Alla aught of mine;—
“'Tis useless now to wail—to whine:—
“Will prayer or penitence avail
“From one who long hath shunn'd his shrine?
“I long for, but I cannot have
“The blessing which my feelings crave,—
“A father's last and lonely blessing,
“To save and soothe my heated breast,—
“So long deceived,—distress'd,—distressing;—
“To lull it into tranquil rest.
“But though I need the Iman's prayer,
“I dread his close and pious care;
“For should he all my failings prove,
“Then would appear my lasting love,—
“Love, such as holy words could never
“From my unaltered bosom sever!
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“An everlasting, quenchless flame,—
“Which neither pain nor prayer can tame,—
“Which wastes not with the wasting frame,—
“In faithless mirth—in grief the same;—
“Then must my hopes of heaven perish.
“If this be crime—and if for this
“The soul must be denied its bliss;—
“Then must I dread what death will give,—
“Then might I almost long to live!
“Can pity calm my love for thee,—
“Or bring a truce to memory?
“Can holy words awhile assuage
“My scorn—regret—revenge—and rage;
“Or can an Iman cool that part,
“Which burns for ever in my breast?
“Oh! can he soothe me into rest,—
“Or crush the viper at my heart?
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“That well-remember'd form of thine,
“Since now no longer solely mine.—
“I care not now what eye beholds
“The charms thy lifted veil unfolds ,
“Which ne'er was cast aside before
“For stranger's eye to wander o'er;
“But hung like silver mist of even,
“That dims the starry front of heaven.
“Oh, Safie! send to her who pines
“In distant vale at my delay;—
“And she will weary all the shrines,
“If grief will let her pause to pray.
“Tell her—my dear, deserted mother!
“Her whom I basely left of late,—
“Tell her the tidings of my fate,
“Because I could not love another:—
“And she will weep, but wonder not,
“To hear the troubles of my lot:—
“She knows what 'tis to love most truly,—
“She knows love's storm is most unruly,—
“Hurrying the soul to dare such deed
“As fearful reason dreads to view;—
“To brave the waves so dark, so blue,—
“To fly from home—to fight—to bleed!
“She'll weep and wail,—but midst her woe,
“'Twill soothe awhile the heart to know
“Her son's affection none could sever,—
“That when he loved—he loved for ever!
“In distant vale at my delay;—
“And she will weary all the shrines,
“If grief will let her pause to pray.
“Tell her—my dear, deserted mother!
“Her whom I basely left of late,—
“Tell her the tidings of my fate,
“Because I could not love another:—
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“To hear the troubles of my lot:—
“She knows what 'tis to love most truly,—
“She knows love's storm is most unruly,—
“Hurrying the soul to dare such deed
“As fearful reason dreads to view;—
“To brave the waves so dark, so blue,—
“To fly from home—to fight—to bleed!
“She'll weep and wail,—but midst her woe,
“'Twill soothe awhile the heart to know
“Her son's affection none could sever,—
“That when he loved—he loved for ever!
“I had a brother—who would weep,
“If life were his, to know my change;
“But ah! it was his fate to range
“In galley o'er the mountain water:—
“He fell in hour of savage slaughter!
“And pirate hands his body threw
“To ocean billows dark and blue:—
“And now he lies in pearly bed,
“Which Sea-nymphs deck with coral red,—
“With silvery spar, and glossy shell,
“Cull'd from many a hidden cell:—
“Yet rushes o'er his body sweep,
“And weeds around his forehead creep;
“For he hath found a restless grave
“Within the dark and dreary deep;—
“And on his breast the shelving wave
“Is never known to sleep.
“If life were his, to know my change;
“But ah! it was his fate to range
“In galley o'er the mountain water:—
“He fell in hour of savage slaughter!
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“To ocean billows dark and blue:—
“And now he lies in pearly bed,
“Which Sea-nymphs deck with coral red,—
“With silvery spar, and glossy shell,
“Cull'd from many a hidden cell:—
“Yet rushes o'er his body sweep,
“And weeds around his forehead creep;
“For he hath found a restless grave
“Within the dark and dreary deep;—
“And on his breast the shelving wave
“Is never known to sleep.
“And now I leave; but Safie, say,
“When I shall mingle with the clay,
“That thou, amidst thy gaiety,
“Wilt pause at times to think on me,—
“And then, perchance, a thought may rise,
“Of what was once our Paradise;—
“The early home,—the peaceful scene,—
“The joys that were and might have been.
“I'm now like one who long hath traced
“A weary and a lengthening waste,
“With travel and fatigue opprest,
“Who longs for, yet despairs of rest;—
“Whose prospect widens on the sight,
“And only ends with endless night;—
“Whose backward glance, with horror cast,
“Sees nought but woe and distance past,—
“And forward sees those troubles o'er
“Still darken on his way before.
“I cannot look, without a sigh,
“On every moment now gone by;—
“I cannot gaze, devoid of gloom,
“On every minute yet to come.
“But I shall meet a night's repose,
“An endless night to all my woes;—
“And soon the tree of death will wave
“In loneliness upon my grave;
“And, save the night wind, not a sound
“Will whisper o'er my charnel ground.
“When I shall mingle with the clay,
“That thou, amidst thy gaiety,
“Wilt pause at times to think on me,—
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“Of what was once our Paradise;—
“The early home,—the peaceful scene,—
“The joys that were and might have been.
“I'm now like one who long hath traced
“A weary and a lengthening waste,
“With travel and fatigue opprest,
“Who longs for, yet despairs of rest;—
“Whose prospect widens on the sight,
“And only ends with endless night;—
“Whose backward glance, with horror cast,
“Sees nought but woe and distance past,—
“And forward sees those troubles o'er
“Still darken on his way before.
“I cannot look, without a sigh,
“On every moment now gone by;—
“I cannot gaze, devoid of gloom,
“On every minute yet to come.
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“An endless night to all my woes;—
“And soon the tree of death will wave
“In loneliness upon my grave;
“And, save the night wind, not a sound
“Will whisper o'er my charnel ground.
“Safie, farewell!—On earth farewell!—
“The light now glimmers in my cell,—
“The latest ray of earthly light
“That e'er will beam upon my sight:—
“At morn I shall be dead and chill,—
“My veins uncoursed,—my pulses still,—
“And not an eye will weep my fate,
“Nor o'er my sorrows ruminate;—
“A simple stone, perchance, may say
“Where Assad's body rots away:—
“The stone, perhaps, may ne'er be read!
“Nor Assad once remembered!
“No holy streamers now will wave
“With rich inscriptions o'er my grave ;—
“Whilst dying, if my woes be told,
“They'll be forgot—before I'm cold!
“Read, Safie! read:—and then confess
“That I deserved of sorrow less;—
“And should some stranger ask, then tell,
“I felt too keen,—I loved too well!”
“The light now glimmers in my cell,—
“The latest ray of earthly light
“That e'er will beam upon my sight:—
“At morn I shall be dead and chill,—
“My veins uncoursed,—my pulses still,—
“And not an eye will weep my fate,
“Nor o'er my sorrows ruminate;—
“A simple stone, perchance, may say
“Where Assad's body rots away:—
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“Nor Assad once remembered!
“No holy streamers now will wave
“With rich inscriptions o'er my grave ;—
“Whilst dying, if my woes be told,
“They'll be forgot—before I'm cold!
“Read, Safie! read:—and then confess
“That I deserved of sorrow less;—
“And should some stranger ask, then tell,
“I felt too keen,—I loved too well!”
| Safie | |