University of Virginia Library

Dark are the vaults of Istakhar;
Of onyx black and porphyry,
Their lofty caverns rise so far
No eye the rock-ribbed roof may see.
Deep in the mountain's heart they be;
So deep that never sun nor star,
Illumes their awful mystery.
Wall over wall, and cell on cell,
The Afreets, slaved by mighty spell,
Toiled ages long to hollow them;
And ages more to hew the walls
Like facets of some precious gem.
But in those wide and lofty halls
No quivering splendors of the air,
No fiery spark, or moon-lit ray
Lit up the arches vast and bare;
Till Zohank, Giamschid's dreadful son,
Made league and covenant with hell
That Eblis should uphold his throne,
Yield him the caves of Istakhar,
And grant him power of sign and spell,
To work perpetual miracle,
Deep hid where men nor angels are.
But from the blackness of his soul,
The price and penance of his sin,
Twin monsters of a dragon brood,
Fed day by day with human blood,
Sprang up those secret vaults within,
And mocked at Zohank's vain control,
Year after year, through all the land,
Were sire, and son, and wife, and maid,
And crying children hand in hand,
And infants smiling undismayed,
Borne to the Mount of Misery's breast
To still those serpents' fierce unrest.

Merab, the wondrous Persian sage,
Rose up at dawn from his divan.
His mighty beard was white with age,
But down its silvery fleeces ran
Tears that had shamed a younger man;
For hurrying slaves, with shrieks and cries,
Told how his daughters, sore bestead,
The light and glory of his eyes,
Were Zohank's prey. Oh! worse than dead,
Rapt to the vaults of Istakhar!
Seven sweet fair maids as e'er the moon
Kissed with her tranquil virgin ray
At night's serene and silent noon;
And pure as heaven at dawning day.

Too true the tale; that sister crowd,
With clinging arms, and faces bowed,
Shivering and cringing in despair
With tangled clouds of yellow hair
About their ivory shoulders falling;
And voices low as ring-doves calling,
Or as a child in sleep that speaks:
And dark eyes, soft as violets are:
Stood in the vaults of Istakhar,
Each like to each as star to star:
And down on every white cymar,
Sole garment of their loveliness,
The tears dripped fast o'er pallid cheeks,
That once were like the almond's bloom:
And sobbing breaths with faint perfume
Filled all the lofty darkened room:
Dark, yet alight with wavering glow.
Dark to such light were happiness,
That light from such dread source did flow.

For one vast sheet of adamant,
Thin as a rose-leaf's petal fine,
Clear as the clearness of the air,
Yet harder than the primal rock
Whose peaks a thousand tempests mock,
Kept guard before the serpents' haunt
And held them in their secret lair.
Secret no more, for every crest
Glowed with a tongue of lurid fire,
And coil on coil, both back and breast,
Gleamed with the gleam of torch-lit wine;
And, stirred with hunger or with ire
On every scale a diamond burned,
Till light in waves, like storm-tossed ocean,
Followed where'er they writhed and turned;
Fires that with every sinuous motion
Faded, and flashed, and died again,
And flamed anew, and still displayed
Their horrid jaws, and tongues that quiver
To lap the hot and scarlet river
Throbbing in every maiden vein.

Wild with the sight, of death afraid,
Yet calling Azrael to their aid,
So might they such a death evade,
And swoon in terror's ecstasy
Unto the nether world of shade
E'er each the other's fate should see;—
Twined in themselves, like clustered flowers
A sudden tempest beats together,
Or doves that some sharp stress of weather
Drives to the dove-cot in a crowd,
They dare not lift those faces, cowed
Before the terrors of their cell,
But waited silently and sad
As for some subtly working spell;
For grief and agony were spent.
And now despair its stupor lent.
Not always breaks the thunder-cloud
On him who heavenly wrath awaiteth;
There are no voices, low or loud,
But Allah hears. His head is bowed,
The prayer of faith His stroke abateth;
Whereat all Paradise is glad.

Soft rustling through that darkened prison
A stir of wings, a sudden bloom,
Dawned on the terrors of their doom.
Ah! were they Azrael's footsteps fleet?
That stealing light the daybreak sweet
Of heaven beyond the tomb?
“Leila, arise!” a voice,—a sigh,—
A subtle breath of destiny
Smote on her ear; her face uplifting
The maid arose, and overhead
Like motes across a sun-ray drifting
Saw, in the far dim air, a head,
Dark gleaming wings, a shape of splendor,
Eyes bent on hers, serene and tender,
As planets on the night arisen.
The spirit spake.—“Sweet mortal maid,
Be not of spirit sight afraid.
Azel am I, a Prince of Fire;
The king and lord of Ginnistan.
I would not own the rule of man,
Poor clay-born toy! Far rather reign
O'er realms beneath his tiny world;
Therefore by Allah was I hurled
Down the deep spaces of the air
To taste the depths of my desire.
Lo! Merab makes his daily prayer
Alike to Allah and to me,
Both rulers of man's destiny;
Wherefore I heard him sore complain,
And Azel heareth not in vain,
Arise from death, fair maiden train,
Here is your aid!”
Behind, beyond,
Like ripples circling in a pond
With serious brows and eyes of light,
And rainbow wings half furled from flight,
And kingly foreheads crowned with flame,
And haughty lips, his brethren came.

Well might those maids the cohort dread!
Well shiver with a terror new:
But dread is death. He sayeth true
Who likens it to Haroun's rod,
That prophet of the mighty God
Whose serpent wand devoured the rest.
New life sprang up in every breast
When that almighty terror fled.
And as toward heaven's arching blue
The tall white daisies turn and smile,
When summer on the land is spread,
Those maidens raised their dewy eyes,
And held their white hands up in prayer,
As offering some dread sacrifice
The wrath of Allah to beguile.
No pleading looks of love were there,
A mortal terror moved them only.
But Azel gathered them aloft
Even as sunshine drinks the dew;
And on those pinions broad and soft
The Prince and peers of Ginnistan
Bore far from home or haunt of man
Their fair young brides, to regions lonely
Lovelier than Eden, safe and far
From the dark vaults of Istakhar.

And as the years of Allah ran
Tireless and true, to Zohank's sway
Brave Feridoun put timely end,
And in the caves of Demavend
Prisoned him howling evermore:
And all the land from shore to shore
Clamored with joy.
Then Kurdistan
Fell to new rule: from Tugrut's towers
Seven mighty youths as hunters came
With swarthy locks, and eyes of flame,
And ruled the land with equal powers,
And old-time Syrian legends say
Their mothers went from Persia's bowers
Through Istakhar to Ginnistan,
Brides to no sons of mortal man,
But wedded to the Kings of Fire
Who baffled Zohank's fell desire.