Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

ARAB SONG.

[I.]

Moor yon pillars of the sand
To my Life, this burning day,
Seize me in your sultry hand,
Whirl me in your heat away:—
So Alek said, a youth of flame,
Whose pathway ran too smooth and tame.

II.

The Desert stretched for miles along,
Its perilous way so drear and wide,
Where only sang the Stars their song,
Which in the heavens did abide,

A hymn of splendid glow and state,
Though only with the Hermit mate.

III.

Beneath the Palm tree's emerald shade,
That over-roofed a sainted glade,
A spot of coolness in the heat,
Alek one day his Maid did meet.
Within her eye's unmelting ice,
He saw her Soul's deep purity,
And prized it more than softest beams,
That spoke a warm futurity.

IV.

They wandered to the glazèd Well,
Whose colors sank to deeps unknown,
And heard afar the Camel's bell,
Pitched in its sandy sultry tone;
The Nightingale sang sweet and free,
As sweet as any sound could be,
A pretty breeze toyed with the Palm,
Not wind enough to stir the calm,

And roses bled for Alek's eyes,
What melted in his rich replies.
A single glance, the Maiden sent,
One look,—that in his firmament,
Made planetary music far
Beyond the hymn of any star.

V.

'Twas in the Caliph's royal room,
The hall of gilded pomp and state,
That Alek saw the Maid, once more,
And felt the presage of his fate;
For Alek's blood though highly wrought,
No Palace with its greatness bought;
He met her eye amid the crowd,
With but a slow salute she bowed,
For the Maid's rank was gently high,—
And Alek felt the cold reply.

VI.

Now mounted he his sable Steed,
Who snuffed the moonlight all elate,

Now pressed upon the tightening bit,
Then passed the City's western gate,
Where the tall Warrior saw the night,
Sparkling with gems, and told its flight.

VII.

Away, he flies o'er parchèd Sands,
The reins loose hanging from his hands;
His speed outrushing simoon's blast,
His Courser whirling gladly past.
By scattered palm, and fountain small,
By sacred tomb, by city's wall,
By river running merrily,
By Mosque enlighted splendidly;
Like gray clouds driven by the wind,
He left no trace of him behind,
Yet in his race the Maid kept by,
And Alek felt the cold reply.