The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich

O Hassem, greeting! Peace be thine!
With thee and thine be all things well!
Give refuge to these words of mine.
The strange mischance which late befell
Thy servant must have reached thine ear;
Rumor has flung it far and wide,
With dark additions, as I hear.

When They-Say speaks, what ills betide!
So lend no credence, O my Friend,
To scandals, fattening as they fly.
Love signs and seals the roll I send:
Read thou the truth with lenient eye.

In Yússuf's garden at Tangier
This happened. In his cool kiosk
We sat partaking of his cheer—
Thou know'st that garden by the Mosque
Of Irma; stately palms are there,
And silver fish in marble tanks,
And scents of jasmine in the air—
We sat and feasted, with due thanks
To Allah, till the pipes were brought;
And no one spoke, for Pleasure laid
Her finger on the lips of Thought.
Then, on a sudden, came a maid,
With tambourine, to dance for us—
Allah il' Allah! it was she,
The slave-girl from the Bosphorus
That Yússuf purchased recently.

Long narrow eyes, as black as black!
And melting, like the stars in June;
Tresses of night drawn smoothly back
From eyebrows like the crescent moon.
She paused an instant with bowed head,

Then, at a motion of her wrist,
A veil of gossamer outspread
And wrapped her in a silver mist.
Her tunic was of Tiflis green
Shot through with many a starry speck;
The zone that clasped it might have been
A collar for a cygnet's neck.
None of the thirty charms she lacked
Demanded for perfection's grace;
Charm upon charm in her was packed
Like rose leaves in a costly vase.
Full in the lanterns' colored light
She seemed a thing of Paradise.
I knew not if I saw aright,
Or if my vision told me lies.
Those lanterns spread a cheating glare;
Such stains they threw from bough and vine
As if the slave-boys, here and there,
Had spilled a jar of brilliant wine.
And then the fountain's drowsy fall,
The burning aloes' heavy scent,
The night, the place, the hour—they all
Were full of subtle blandishment.

Much had I heard of Nourmadee—
The name of this fair slenderness—
Whom Yússuf kept with lock and key
Because her beauty wrought distress
In all men's hearts that gazed on it;

And much I marvelled why, this night,
Yússuf should have the little wit
To lift her veil for our delight.
For though the other guests were old—
Grave, worthy merchants, three from Fez
(These mostly dealt in dyes and gold),
Cloth merchants two, from Mekïnez—
Though they were old and gray and dry,
Forgetful of their youth's desires,
My case was different, for I
Still knew the touch of springtime fires.
And straightway as I looked on her
I bit my lip, grew ill at ease,
And in my veins was that strange stir
Which clothes with bloom the almond-trees.

O shape of blended fire and snow!
Each clime to her some spell had lent—
The North her cold, the South her glow,
Her languors all the Orient.
Her scarf was as the cloudy fleece
The moon draws round its loveliness,
That so its beauty may increase
The more in being seen the less.
And as she moved, and seemed to float—
So floats a swan!—in sweet unrest,
A string of sequins at her throat
Went clink and clink against her breast.
And what did some birth-fairy do

But set a mole, a golden dot,
Close to her lip—to pierce men through!
How could I look and love her not?

Yet heavy was my heart as stone,
For well I knew that love was vain;
To love the thing one may not own!—
I saw how all my peace was slain.
Coffers of ingots Yússuf had,
Houses on land, and ships at sea,
And I—alas! was I gone mad,
To cast my eyes on Nourmadee!
I strove to thrust her from my mind,
I bent my brows, and turned away,
And wished that Fate had struck me blind
Ere I had come to know that day.
I fixed my thoughts on this and that;
Assessed the worth of Yússuf's ring;
Counted the colors in the mat—
And then a bird began to sing,
A bulbul hidden in a bough.
From time to time it loosed a strain
Of moonlit magic that, somehow,
Brought solace to my troubled brain.

But when the girl once, creeping close,
Half stooped, and looked me in the face,
My reason fled, and I arose
And cried to Yússuf, from my place:

“O Yússuf, give to me this girl!
You are so rich and I so poor!
You would not miss one little pearl
Like that from out your countless store!”
“‘This girl’? What girl? No girl is here!”
Cried Yússuf with his eyes agleam;
“Now, by the Prophet, it is clear
Our friend has had a pleasant dream!”
(And then it seems that I awoke,
And stared around, no little dazed
At finding naught of what I spoke:
Each guest sat silent and amazed.)

Then Yússuf—of all mortal men
This Yússuf has a mocking tongue!—
Stood at my side, and spoke again:
“O Mirtzy, I too once was young.
With mandolin or dulcimer
I've waited many a midnight through,
Content to catch one glimpse of Her,
And have my turban drenched with dew.
By Her I mean some slim Malay,
Some Andalusian with her fan
(For I have travelled in my day),
Or some swart beauty of Soudán.
No Barmecide was I to fare
On fancy's shadowy wine and meat;
No phantom moulded out of air
Had spells to lure me to her feet.

O Mirtzy, be it understood
I blame you not. Your sin is slight!—
You fled the world of flesh and blood,
And loved a vision of the night!
Sweeter than musk such visions be
As come to poets when they sleep!
You dreamed you saw fair Nourmadee?
Go to! it is a pearl I keep!”

By Allah, but his touch was true!
And I was humbled to the dust
That I in those grave merchants' view
Should seem a thing no man might trust.
For he of creeping things is least
Who, while he breaks of friendship's bread,
Betrays the giver of the feast.
“Good friends, I'm not that man!” I said.
“O Yússuf, shut not Pardon's gate!
The words I spake I no wise meant.
Who holds the threads of Time and Fate
Sends dreams. I dreamt the dream he sent.
I am as one that from a trance
Awakes confused, and reasons ill;
The world of men invites his glance,
The world of shadows claims him still.
I see those lights among the leaves,
Yourselves I see, sedate and wise,
And yet some finer sense perceives
A presence that eludes the eyes.

Of what is gone there seems to stay
Some subtlety, to mock my pains:
So, when a rose is borne away,
The fragrance of the rose remains!”
Then Yússuf laughed, Abdallah leered,
And Melik coughed behind his hand,
And lean Ben-Auda stroked his beard
As who should say, “We understand!”
And though the fault was none of mine,
As I explained and made appear,
Since then I've not been asked to dine
In Yússuf's garden at Tangier.

Farewell, O Hassem! Peace be thine!
With thee and thine be always Peace!
To virtue let thy steps incline,
And may thy shadow not decrease!
Get wealth—wealth makes the dullard's jest
Seem witty where true wit falls flat;
Do good, for goodness still is best—
But then the Koran tells thee that.
Know Patience here, and later Bliss;
Grow wise, trust woman, doubt not man;
And when thou dinest out—mark this—
Beware of wines from Ispahan!

University of Virginia Library

NOURMADEE

THE POET MIRTZY MOHAMMED-ALI TO HIS FRIEND ABOU-HASSEM IN ALGEZIRAS