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SELIM AND NOURMAHAL.
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366

SELIM AND NOURMAHAL.

Selim, the haughty Jehangir, the Conqueror of the Earth,
With royal pomps and pageantries and rites of festal mirth
Was set to celebrate the day—the white day—of his birth.
His red pavilions, stretching wide, crowned all with globes of gold,
And tipped with pinnacles of fire and streamers manifold,
Flamed with such splendor that the sun at noon looked pale and cold!
And right and left, along the plain, far as the eye could gaze,
His nobles and retainers who were tented in the blaze,
Kept revel high in honor of that day of all the days.
The earth was spread, the walls were hung, with silken fabrics fine,
And arabesque and lotus-flower bore each the broidered sign
Of jewels plucked from land and sea, and red gold from the mine.
Upon his throne he sat alone, half buried in the gems
That strewed his tapestries like stars, and tipped their tawny hems,
And glittered with the glory of a hundred diadems.

367

He saw from his pavilion door the nodding heron-plumes
His nobles wore upon their brows, while, from the rosy glooms
Which hid his harem, came low songs, on wings of rare perfumes!
The elephants, a thousand strong, had passed his dreaming eye,
Caparisoned with golden plates on head and breast and thigh,
And a hundred flashing troops of horse unmarked had thundered by.
He sat upon old Akbar's throne, the heir of power and fame;
But all his glory was as dust, and dust his wondrous name—
Swept into air, and scattered far, by one consuming flame!
For on that day of all the days, and in that festal hour,
He sickened with his glory and grew weary of his power,
And pined to bind upon his breast his harem's choicest flower.
“Oh Nourmahal! oh Nourmahal! why sit I here,” he cried,—
“The victim of these gaudy shows, and of my haughty pride,
When thou art dearer to my soul than all the world beside!
“Thy eyes are brighter than the gems piled round my gilded seat;
Thy cheeks are softer than the silks that shimmer at my feet,
And purer heart than thine in woman's breast hath never beat!

368

“My first love—and my only love—Oh babe of Candahar!
Torn from my boyish arms at first, and, like a silver star
Shining within another heaven, and worshipped from afar,
“Thou art my own at last, my own! I pine to see thy face;
Come to me, Nourmahal! Oh come, and hallow with thy grace
The glories that without thy love are meaningless and base!”
He spoke a word, and, quick as light, before him, lying prone
A dark-eyed page, with gilded vest and crimson-belted zone,
Looked up with waiting ear to mark the message from the throne.
“Go summon Nourmahal, my queen; and when her radiance comes,
Bear my command of silence to the vinas and the drums,
And for your guerdon take your choice of all these gilded crumbs.”
He tossed a handful of the gems down where his minion lay,
Who snatched a jewel from the drift, and swiftly sped away
With his command to Nourmahal, who waited to obey.
But needlessly the mandate fell of silence on the crowd,
For when the Empress swept the path, ten thousand heads were bowed,
And drum and vina ceased their din, and no one spoke aloud.

369

As comes the moon from out the sea with her attendant breeze,
As sweeps the morning up the hills and blossoms in the trees,
So Nourmahal to Selim came: then fell upon her knees!
The envious jewels looked at her with chill, barbaric stare,
The cloth-of-gold she knelt upon grew lusterless and bare,
And all the place was cooler in the darkness of her hair.
And while she knelt in queenly pride and beauty strange and wild,
And held her breast with both her palms and looked on him and smiled,
She seemed no more of common earth, but Casyapa's child.
He bent to her as thus she smiled; he kissed her lifted cheek;
“Oh Nourmahal,” he murmured low, “more dear than I can speak,
I'm weary of my lonely life: give me the rest I seek.”
She rose and paced the silken floor, as if in mad caprice,
Then paused, and from the Empress changed to improvisatrice,
And wove this song—a golden chain—that led him into peace:
“Lovely children of the light,
Draped in radiant locks and pinions,—
Red and purple, blue and white—
In their beautiful dominions,

370

On the earth and in the spheres,
Dwell the little glendoveers.
“And the red can know no change,
And the blue are blue forever,
And the yellow wings may range
Toward the white or purple never.
But they mingle free from strife,
For their color is their life.
“When their color dies, they die,—
Blent with earth or ether slowly—
Leaving where their spirits lie,
Not a stain, so pure and holy
Is the essence and the thought
Which their fading brings to naught!
“Each contented with the hue
Which indues his wings of beauty,
Red or yellow, white or blue,
Sings the measure of his duty
Through the summer clouds in peace,
And delights that never cease.
“Not with envy love they more
Locks and pinions purple-tinted,
Nor with jealousy adore
Those whose pleasures are unstinted,
And whose purple hair and wings
Give them place with queens and kings.
“When a purple glendoveer
Flits along the mute expanses,
They surround him, far and near,
With their glancing wings and dances,

371

And do honor to the hue
Loved by all and worn by few.
“In the days long gone, alas!
Two upon a cloud, low-seated,
Saw their pinions in the glass
Of a silver lake repeated.
One was blue and one was red,
And the lovely pair were wed.
“‘Purple wings are very fine,’
Spoke the voice of Ruby, gently:
‘Ay,’ said Sapphire, ‘they're divine!’—
Looking at his blue intently.
‘But to wish for change is vain,’
Ruby said: ‘We'll not complain.’
“Sapphire stretched his loving arms,
And she nestled on his bosom,
While his heart inhaled her charms
As the sense inhales a blossom;—
Drank her wholly, tint and tone,
Blent her being with his own.
“Rapture passed, they raised their eyes,
But were startled into clamor
Of a marvellous surprise!
Was it color! was it glamour!
Purple-tinted, sweet and warm,
Was each wing and folded form!
“Who had wrought it—how it came—
These were what the twain disputed.
How were mingled smoke and flame
Into royal hue transmuted?

372

Each was right, and each was wrong;
But their quarrel was not long,
“For the moment that their speech
Differed o'er their little story,
Swiftly faded off from each
Every trace of purple glory;
Blue was bluer than before,
And the red was red once more.
“Then they knew that both were wrong,
And in sympathy of sorrow
Learned that each was only strong
In the power to lend and borrow,—
That the purple never grew
But by grace of red to blue.
“So, embracing in content,
Hearts and wings again united,
Red and blue in purple blent,
And their holy troth replighted,
Both, as happy as the day,
Kissed, and rose, and flew away!
“And for twice a thousand years,
Floating through the radiant ether,
Lived the happy glendoveers,
Of the other, jealous neither,—
Sapphire naught without the red,
Ruby still by blue bested.
“Then when weary of their life,
They came down to earth at even—
Purple husband, purple wife—
From the upper deeps of heaven,

373

And reclined upon the grass,
That their little lives might pass.
“Wing to wing and arms enwreathed,
Sinking from their life's long dreaming
Into earth their souls they breathed;
But when morning's light was streaming,
All their joys and sweet regrets
Bloomed in banks of violets!”
As from its dimpled fountain, at its own capricious will,
Each step a note of music, and each fall and flash a thrill,
The rill goes singing to the meadow levels and is still,
So fell from Nourmahal her song upon the captive sense;
It dashed in spray against the throne, it tinkled through the tents,
And died at last among the flowery banks of recompense;
For when great Selim marked her fire, and read her riddle well,
And watched her from the flushing to the fading of the spell,
He sprang forgetful from his seat, and caught her as she fell.
He raised her in his tender arms; he bore her to his throne:
“No more, oh! Nourmahal, my wife, no more I sit alone;
And the future for the dreary past shall royally atone!”
He called to him the princes and the nobles of the land,

374

Then took the signet-ring from his, and placed it on her hand,
And bade them honor as his own, fair Nourmahal's command.
And on the minted silver that his largess scattered wide,
And on the gold of commerce, till the mighty Selim died,
Her name and his in shining boss stood equal, side by side.