 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird |  |
Behold Zenone, as she sits by night,
All pale and pensive, robed in virgin white!
Her chief of eunuchs came; absorbed in thought,
Her eyes she raised not, and she saw him not.
But Melki bowed and kissed her silken feet,
Raised back his withered brow her eye to meet,
Then seized her hand. She started: “Slave!” she said,
“I know thee faithful, but I'm past thy aid.
Why com'st thou, then? Away! I love thee not,
And little have I done to cheer thy luckless lot.”
All pale and pensive, robed in virgin white!
Her chief of eunuchs came; absorbed in thought,
Her eyes she raised not, and she saw him not.
But Melki bowed and kissed her silken feet,
Raised back his withered brow her eye to meet,
Then seized her hand. She started: “Slave!” she said,
“I know thee faithful, but I'm past thy aid.
Why com'st thou, then? Away! I love thee not,
And little have I done to cheer thy luckless lot.”
“Italian flower!” upstarting said the slave,
“The land that gave thee birth to me my being gave!
I'd have thee be a Queen magnificent!
Like bow, to serve thee, is my spirit bent!
To our own Italy we'll turn.”
“The land that gave thee birth to me my being gave!
I'd have thee be a Queen magnificent!
Like bow, to serve thee, is my spirit bent!
To our own Italy we'll turn.”
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“No, no!”
Zenone sighed: “How could I thither go?
In that fair land first lightened on my eyes
The suns of summer from the crystal skies.
How fair and glad! But glad to me no more!
The ghosts would meet me on the dreary shore!
I see the flames! I hear my mother's cry!
Is this a monstrous dream? Where, what am I?
Why should I live? Oh let me die away!
Love, Pride, Ambition, Power, so perish they.
Even boasted Genius, Heaven-endowed to raise
The young religion of man's primal days,
When Virtue was an ardour, not a thing
To wait on Habit for a tutored wing,
By Passion maddened, worse than doomed to die,
How oft it turns its glory to a lie!
What then is life, if thus the goodliest fall?
Cease, my vexed soul, 'tis vain delusion all!”
Zenone sighed: “How could I thither go?
In that fair land first lightened on my eyes
The suns of summer from the crystal skies.
How fair and glad! But glad to me no more!
The ghosts would meet me on the dreary shore!
I see the flames! I hear my mother's cry!
Is this a monstrous dream? Where, what am I?
Why should I live? Oh let me die away!
Love, Pride, Ambition, Power, so perish they.
Even boasted Genius, Heaven-endowed to raise
The young religion of man's primal days,
When Virtue was an ardour, not a thing
To wait on Habit for a tutored wing,
By Passion maddened, worse than doomed to die,
How oft it turns its glory to a lie!
What then is life, if thus the goodliest fall?
Cease, my vexed soul, 'tis vain delusion all!”
“So give us active joys, nor let us waste
Our heart in dreams; but plan and do in haste:”
The eunuch said. Zenone answered this:—
“Ha! think'st thou, slave, that aught shall make me miss
The only triumph that can be my bliss?
No: I shall come before a nation's eyes;
Fez, she may curse me, she shall ne'er despise.
I to her painted roll my name refuse,
Of spotted harlots in these silken stews;
Yet shall that name in Fez be ne'er forgot,
But stamp her annals with a burning blot.
Come on, Zemberbo, thou art linked with me;
Careering twins in vengeance shall we be!”
Our heart in dreams; but plan and do in haste:”
The eunuch said. Zenone answered this:—
“Ha! think'st thou, slave, that aught shall make me miss
The only triumph that can be my bliss?
No: I shall come before a nation's eyes;
Fez, she may curse me, she shall ne'er despise.
I to her painted roll my name refuse,
Of spotted harlots in these silken stews;
Yet shall that name in Fez be ne'er forgot,
But stamp her annals with a burning blot.
Come on, Zemberbo, thou art linked with me;
Careering twins in vengeance shall we be!”
“He's come; he's here: our army smitten down,”
The eunuch said, “this night he'll shake our town;
But strong, defended well, Morocco near
In arms to thwart him in preventive fear,
And aid our King, though doomed, yet still it may
For many a moon stave off the evil day.”
The eunuch said, “this night he'll shake our town;
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In arms to thwart him in preventive fear,
And aid our King, though doomed, yet still it may
For many a moon stave off the evil day.”
Up springs Zenone; o'er her countenance pass,
In flamings like a chemist's kindled glass,
The varying passions. Settled, pale, and still,
A deadly whisper thus declared her will:—
“My hour is come! We'll let Zemberbo in,
And do the rest! Come on with me! No din!
Tread softly, Child! Hark! of my mortal cup
The King shall drink, 'twill dry his spirit up;
Then to his roof let him be carried, there
To win the coolness of the freer air;
When round him there his children gathered be,
My fire shall catch them, nor shall let them flee:
My father's house and lineage to the flame
He dared to give, I'll do for him the same,
Far then we'll go. But come, my inner room
Must better fit us for our work of doom.”
In flamings like a chemist's kindled glass,
The varying passions. Settled, pale, and still,
A deadly whisper thus declared her will:—
“My hour is come! We'll let Zemberbo in,
And do the rest! Come on with me! No din!
Tread softly, Child! Hark! of my mortal cup
The King shall drink, 'twill dry his spirit up;
Then to his roof let him be carried, there
To win the coolness of the freer air;
When round him there his children gathered be,
My fire shall catch them, nor shall let them flee:
My father's house and lineage to the flame
He dared to give, I'll do for him the same,
Far then we'll go. But come, my inner room
Must better fit us for our work of doom.”
She said, and going in her stern intent
Locked up and pale, behind her Melki went.
Locked up and pale, behind her Melki went.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird | |