Young Arthur :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fancy dipp'd her pen in dew,
Distill'd from leaves of gayest flowers;
Her paper from soft fibres grew,
Purloin'd from buds in rosy bowers;
Then she wrote a lay, to prove
Hearts might safely toy with love:
Archly smiling, Love was there,
And cried “of Fancy, maids, beware!”

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Roguish Love took May dew then,
And from his wing a feather taking
He dipp'd it in, and chang'd her pen:
And all her lay seem'd Love's own making:
She wrote of love with such sweet art,
She read, and sigh'd, and lost her heart:
Archly jeering, Love was there,
And cried “of Fancy, maids, beware.”

This has been sung by Miss Stephens, composed by Mr. Whitaker.

'Twas sporting with fancy lost Edith repose,
And Love, archly jeering, derided her woes.
But where is young Allan, and will he return
To the victim of Fancy, the maid who must mourn?
Young Allan he stood 'neath the sultry sky
Of the barren, yet beautiful, Araby:
Where ever a parching sun is known,
And the withering grasp of a burning zone;
Where the spices and gums the charm'd senses assail,
And with incense impregnate the soft breathing gale:
There wild, like its rider, the far carol'd steed
Is unmatched for sagacity, beauty and speed;
There the mild camel paces the plain, or the steep,
His days without drinking, his nights without sleep;

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A membrane organical solely possessing,
A cistern where water when drank remains pure,
Whence a muscular motion, if thirst is distressing,
A medium to moisten his food can procure.
When crossing the desart the caravan, spent
With parching fatigue, mark his exquisite scent;
If within half a league well or stream may be found
He looks kind assurance, and, rais'd from despair,
To his guidance submitting, with bosoms that bound,
The caravan follow and find water there.
Nor fancy the camel, doom'd labour to know,
Confin'd in his paces to stately and slow;
Whose feet soft and spongy, yet rough, never crack
As o'er burning sands he pursues his drear track:
There oppress'd by rude burthens he'll calmly proceed;
Yet he vies with the courser in trials of speed;
The distance extended the fleet courser fails,
And by vigour o'er speed the rude camel prevails.
Unwieldy his form, and, tho' sombre his hide,
In the garb nature dress'd him bright beauty takes pride;
For the shawl which encircles the graceful and fair
Was first worn by the camel; whose pliable hair
The painter supplies with his medium of art,
The pencil, which tinted can magic impart;

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Which gives to the canvass, when Genius designs,
All the features of soul Taste's creation combines;
Who, grasping sublime, spurns mechanical care,
And we view only nature, no canvass is there.
The camel, a lesson to pomp, pride, and spleen,
Who dare to God's forming give epithets mean;
All nature created from moss to the man,
Inform'd or inanimate, serve heaven's plan;
All requisite; all can some blessing bestow,
And, save man, all obedient discharge what they owe.
Young Allan he stood 'neath the sultry sky
Of the barren, yet beautiful, Araby;
Where roves the rude native by law unrestrain'd,
By freedom made bold, and by plunder maintain'd;
His dwelling a tent, rudely pitch'd where he roves,
But to point out its scite hospitality loves:
A lesson to you, O, ye graceful and gay,
In courts or in circles who flutter your day:
A lesson to you, who philosophy trace;
Go, learn one true rule from wild Araby's race;
A lesson to you in the cross who believe,
From the Arab one trait of your duty receive:
In his tent no deceit, all is sacred and sure;
At his door no rude porter to banish the poor

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The Arab a pledge deems from heaven who halt
In his tent, and partake of his bread and his salt;
And one Christian precept his sympathies yield,
If his enemy claims it his roof is a shield.
Can ye boast as much, ye blind leaders of blind,
Who religion in trammels and phantasies bind?
Sanctimonious professors, how oft at your door
May one see the dust shook from the feet of the poor;
A witness against you in that proving day
When the heart shall be bar'd; and God's sentence display,
In religion there's more than to preach and to pray?
See your friend, e'en your friend, at your board, when he's full
“Of the things of this world,” and he's welcome's as wool,
Soft, warm, and inviting; but blows the wind cold?
Does he want? no warm welcomes his sorrows enfold,
But the wool thread-bare grows as a tale often told.

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How oft do your actions the riddle impart
Of the tongue tipp'd with honey, yet gall in the heart?
The friend whom your homage shall banquet to day
To-morrow your profit shall spurn and betray:
Yet religion's profession's the badge of your tribes;
So the wing'd chemist's balsam the spider imbibes,
If it falls in his way; which, distill'd in his frame,
Becomes venom, and death is its issue and aim.
“Go learn what that means”—He who only can save
Express'd, “I will mercy, not sacrifice have,”
Go learn, and when taught the pure precept pursue,
Or the Arab, professor's, a Christian to you.

Bread and salt bear so sacred a character with an Arabian, that should his mortal enemy enter his house and taste of either he ensures to himself the most religious exercise of the rites of hospitality; the host conceiving himself bound to risk even his life for his guest's safety.

I wish distinctly to be understood, I refer only to the sanctimonious and not to the sect. The Deity permits difference in opinion to exist for his own wise purposes; and as Hervey observes pertinently on the subject, a bed of pinks presents varieties, but still they are all pinks—we certainly quarrel more about opinion than religion.

And Allan he stood 'neath the withering sky
Of the barren, and barbarous, Araby—
O, children of nature, who boast a descent
From the sire of the Faithful; when sad Hagar went
From the anger of Sarah, and with her but one,
The offspring of Abram, Ishmael her son;

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Ishmael, the Adam of Araby's race;
Ishmael, from whom a stain'd lineage ye trace;
Like Ishmael, still wand'ring by choice or by curse,
To the true son of promise for ever averse;
The sire whom you boast, faithful Abram, ador'd,
The Almighty, Jehovah, the Life, and the Lord.
Are you his descendants? then blush while you bow
To Mecca's impostor, the mark on his brow.
But the day may arrive when the Fountain of Light
Shall uncloud your conceptions, and strengthen your sight;
Then the sons of the base born Ishmael shall soar;
And the true Son of Promise accept and adore.
And Allan he stood 'neath the sultry sky
Of the barren, yet beautiful, Araby.
Three divisions, two barren, one fertile, it owns—
Arabia Petræa, a region of stones;
Where the rock and the mountain for ever look drear,
And their heads awful Horeb and Sinai rear;
Reflection, go weep, by due horror oppress'd,
That the land by God's visible presence once bless'd,

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His honour confounding, disclaiming his name,
In ignorance steel'd, boasts and triumphs in shame!
Arabia Deserta, where parching winds blow,
The sun burns above, and the sands scorch below.
Where the feet seem to tread, while the lungs heave for breath,
On the burning bridge Mussulmen cross after death.
But a region remains, and the Muse loves the scene,—
Arabia the happy smiles, fertile, and green;
There rolls the Euphrates, which proudly can boast
It water'd the Paradise Adam soon lost;
Near Erzerum, in Turkish Armenia, its head,
Where the caravans rest on a nitrous bed;
Erzerum for drugs, furs, and cottons, far fam'd,
And the web of the silk-worm, for luxury fram'd;
Euphrates, whose waters from mountain tops flow
Which glitter for ever, encrusted with snow;
Armenia (the Turcoman's region) it parts
From Natolia, devoid of or culture or arts;

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Parts Diarbec (where Tigris impetuously flies)
From Syria, where sanctified Palestine lies;
Thro' Irac-Arabia fertility leaves,
And the waters of Tigris, as tribute, receives
By the Persian Kursistan; then laves, not the least,
Bassorah, renown'd in the Tales of the East;
Then enters the gulph of the Shah's domain,
Where ignorance, lust, and base luxury reign:
It bounds, the parch'd desart, but, distantly plac'd,
Nor refreshes the wand'rer, nor waters the waste.
Here the waves of the ocean of India spread:
Here heaves that fam'd sea ever restless and red;
Thro' which Israel pass'd, by the heavenly word,
While the waves, rais'd like ramparts, a passage afford,
And Pharoah he follow'd, in heaven's despite;
The waters roar'd scorn at his impotent might,
And, ingulphing, involv'd him for ever in night!
In whose bed, as old legends and chronicles tell,
The spirits departed are destined to dwell;
The magical charm of the mystical prayer,
And the Cross and the Cowl, ever binding them there.

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And rough are its waves and the waters red,
For red is the sand of its shores and bed;
And restless its waves, like the spirits it binds,
And the sand a swift current still upward finds;
There toss'd, and for ever, it tints the flood
And ever it seems to flow with blood.
So barren the region that form's its shore,
A spring is a mine beyond golden ore;
And a spring once found is an heavenly friend,
And the parching tribes for the prize contend;
Precious the treasure, and dire the strife,
And each drinks at the price of contested life.

The Mahometans believe they must cross a red hot iron bridge to Paradise: and that, to preserve their feet from the fire, every piece of paper they have preserved while on earth, with the name of Alla written on it, will come and place itself under their feet: for this reason, they are extremely careful in securing all chance throws in their way.

Called Holy-land from having been the scene of man's redemption.

And Allan he stood 'neath the cloudless sky
Of the barren, and parching, Araby;
For Allan had compassed sea and land,
Careless of where he found a strand.
Bereft of his parents, his right, and his friend,
Scorn'd by Edith, impatient of scorn,
Where chance might lead, or his wand'rings end,
Little he reck'd if from Edith borne.
And the bark which his hopeless fortunes bore
For Smyrna weigh'd from his native shore;

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And “adieu,” he cried, as he left the strand,
“For ever, adieu! to my father's land;”
But, ere he came to the destin'd bay,
Wreck'd on a friendless shore he lay;
There by a wretch was senseless found,
Who robb'd, then, rais'd him from the ground,
Restor'd life's spark, and convey'd him home,
But counted on guerdon and gold to come.
For he was a man of a ruthless mood,
And his was the traffic of human blood;
The rights of nature he trampled o'er,
And the ties of the heart asunder tore;
Gold was his god, and craft his grace,
And he liv'd by the wreck of the human race.
He foster'd Allan with fraudful care;
To Aleppo he sail'd, having 'lur'd Allan there;
Then the mask threw off; and to swell his hoard,
The gold is weigh'd at the merchant's board,
And Allan's the slave of a Turkish lord.
And his was labour from dawn to fall,
And he sigh'd for the land of his father's hall.

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ALLAN'S LAMENT.

There was a day, how passing bright!
When lightly I rov'd in my father's land;
There is a memory gives delight,
But mine to me is a burning brand:
Lightly my father's land I rov'd,
Proudly I stood in my father's hall,
But all beloving, and all belov'd,
Have pass'd away like the autumn fall!
And my grave shall be dug, with unholy hand,
By the foe to the faith of my father's land!

There was a hope wore an angel's smile,
When lightly I rov'd in my father's land;
With rank and riches it would beguile,
And high in honor I look'd to stand;
Airy the visions of hope have been,
Revelry reign'd in my father's hall;
But he lies where the marble urn is seen,
And left not to pay the priest or pall:
And my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
For ever remov'd from my father's land!

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There was a friend, and he form'd my youth,
When lightly I rov'd in my father's land;
In wealth for ever he told me truth,
In want he alone held a fostering hand.
His humble roof was my shelt'ring room
When driven away from my father's hall;
But silent he lies in a peaceful tomb,
And he fell as on man sweet slumbers fall:
But my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
Far, far from my friend, and my father's land!

There was a maid, and she won my heart,
When grieving I stray'd through my father's land;
But heavenly beauty can stoop to art,
And torture the bosom it has trepann'd.
But she compeer'd with the great and gay
When driven was I from my father's hall;
And her scorn drove me, sorrowing, far away
In the land of the stranger to fade and fall!
And my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
Far, far from her scorn, and my father's land!

There was a pang, and my soul it rent,
When drooping I sail'd from my father's land;

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And my youth must wither and age be spent
In slavery's chain, at the Turk's command;
But Heaven it heard my orphan sigh
When driven away from my father's hall;
And there is a hope can a charm supply,
As we look for the fruit when the blossoms fall:
Yet my grave shall be dug by unholy hand,
Far from all that I lov'd, and my father's land!

The turban'd Hassan had a prize,
Born beneath more kindly skies
Than where the prophet, balanc'd even ,
Suspended is 'tween earth and Heav'n,
As Imaums say, ('t had sav'd some strife
Had it but happen'd in his life.)
This lovely prize rich Hassan, who
Had purchas'd Allan, purchas'd too;
Queen of his haram meant to be,
For her's was beauty's witchery:
A Christian maid, who death preferr'd
To Hassan's love, whose lordly word

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Was the capricious tenure by
Which she held hope of liberty,
Allow'd her through his passion's power,
Which clear'd his brow so won't to low'r;
By flattering art he hop'd to gain
The love coercion urg'd in vain.
Hence, deeply veil'd, attended by
A youthful slave; from prying eye
Conceal'd by walls high towering, he
Left her to rove his gardens free;
And there with pensive mind she stray'd,
At morning beam and evening shade;
For ever sighing, hopeless she
Of the land she lov'd, and liberty.

Mahomet's coffin is supposed to be suspended between Heaven and Earth, by magnetic power.

THE VIRGIN.

The virgin dresses her all in white,
By Purity bleach'd in the morning light,
In the morning light when the day's too young
For Folly to wake, with her wanton tongue.
And Meekness robes her with artless grace;
Simplicity's hands her adornings place;
And Modesty blooms her cheek with dew
From the loveliest rose; that drop the hue,

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The bashful hue of the morning sky
Reflected, imbib'd, will that dew drop dye.
And Piety prompts her morning prayer,
And Truth holds the glass to adjust her air;
And her heavenly kiss to those lips imparts
Whose melody fascinates human hearts.
And Benevolence plants in her bosom a rose,
In the garden of Eden alone which blows;
And, O, a charm'd fragrance it breathes around,
And wherever it is there smiles are found.
Then forth she comes, like a heavenly day,
Surpassing the bride of an Eastern lay;
Of an Eastern lay; where luxuriant bowers,
And spicy gales, woo the wanton hours:
And fancy-dress'd graces wild love invite
To the rosy bed of uncheck'd delight;
Where flowers that seem with a soul to live,
Such perfume to languishing zephyrs give
That the senses faint from their fragrant breath,
And die with a sweet, but unholy, death.

Ah! these are the scenes the maid should shun,
By genius and fancy too sweetly sung;

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For there beams a charming, not cheering, sun,
And delirium wanders those bowers among.

O, fancy, when chasten'd, thy elegant play
Is the genius of grace, and the graceful of gay;
But, O, unrestrain'd, 'tis the wanton dance
Of the hirelings of luxury's 'wilder'd trance;
When the mind, enslav'd by the mazy wile,
Barters grace for the kisses of guile.
Fancy, a fickle and fervid power,
Building for ever a fairy bower;
Where richer far, and more redolent, grows
Than nature imagin'd the poet's rose:
And the dew-drops that from its charm'd leaves depend,
Like witch-drops that from the moon descend,
By the hand of the wild wizard-wit are caught,
And into bewildering spells are wrought.
Fancy, who pierces the inmost cell
Where gnomes are pictur'd to lurk and lie;
Revels where sylphs and genii dwell,
And wreathes her in wanton witchery.

As the virgin comes so the lovely maid
In the garden where Allan was toiling stray'd:

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And once in a bower she sat, and she sung
A pensive air in a Christian tongue;
And Allan, who veil'd by a rose-tree stood,
Oppress'd by fancies a lurid brood,
The melody heard—'twas like the sound
Of hope's sweet steps on enchanted ground;
For at hope's approach dark fancies flee,
And her steps are attended by harmony.
He started, he listen'd and scarce believ'd;
'Twas fancy distracted, his mind deceiv'd—
Ah! no, for he peep'd through the flow'ry screen,
And a lovely vision the youth has seen:
For the maiden the veil from her face had flung,
And he sigh'd, while he listen'd, as thus she sung.

LAMENT.

Where is the balm can heal my heart,
Where is the hope can a gleam impart
To cheer me?
My tears and sighs, to heaven address'd,
Like pray'rs unanswer'd bring not rest;
Ah! will he hear me?

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But there's an hour to man unknown
When Heaven shall smile on the hearts that moan.

Sorrow who bears with a patient mind
In that blest hour shall a solace find:
Hope, cheer me!
Ne'er was the sigh of confiding pain
Heav'd to heaven and heav'd in vain;
Heaven will hear me!
Yes, there's an hour to man unknown
When Heaven shall smile on the hearts that moan.

Rapt, he listen'd, and check'd his breath,
As enamour'd he gaz'd on the maid so fair,
For there to be heard or seen was death,
And her slave, young Fatima, waited there.
And softly he stole from the vision bright,
Yet many a lingering look he cast
Thro' the foliage which shielded his form from sight,
And each look seem'd as wishing an age to last.
Ah! who could the lovely Christian be,
He thought and he sigh'd—while mem'ry flew
To where, in his fancy, was fairer than she,
“But for ever, for ever, she's lost to me,”

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Burst from his lips, and himself he threw
On the turf that twinkled with morning dew;
And he thought of the days with the smiling hours,
When youth's fond vision form'd fairy bow'rs,
And he thought of the knell, and the priest, and pall,
The death that had darken'd his father's hall!
And he thought of good Simon, his only friend,
And his looks to heaven's blue vault ascend;
And his thoughts fly there to the friend of all,
While his asking eyes for mercy call:
And he spurns despair; and his labour plies,
Till broad is the sun in the western skies,
And then as he sat on a sculptur'd stone,
He saw that maiden straying alone;
She saw not him, on the flow'rs she gaz'd,
But no thought in her absent mind they rais'd;
She saw them not, to her grief a prey,
For she thought of the land that was far away.
And Allan, obscur'd by a citron grove,
Which bounded this scene of voluptuous love,
While fear's nerveless thrillings his frame ran o'er,
He sung in the language she sung before.

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ALLAN'S SONG.

O, thou who wander'st here to weep,
Whose tears are as drops of pearly dew
Which from the fairest lilies creep,
Falling on rose of heavenly hue:
Whose sighs are like the zephyr's breath
Which sweetly wakes in beauty's grove
The Æolian lyre, with rosy wreath
Suspended there by artless love:
Thy tear and sigh are echoed here,
From humbler grief, by sigh and tear.

Ah, dry those tears, suppress those sighs,
The eye of hope sees far away;
And there's an aspect in her skies
That tells a more celestial day:
O, there's a day-spring in the east,
And soon the night of grief shall fade;
And morning come, like a pardoning priest,
In the robe of mercy and peace array'd.
Thy tear and sigh are echoed here,
From humbler grief, by sigh and tear.

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Thus Allan sung, and the trembling maid
Darted her eyes through the citron shade;
And she saw the youth, and her gaze he saw,
And sympathy broke the tyrant law
Of fear; and within the grove they met,
The time was precious, the moment set
When she to the haram must return;
Time had no license for hope to learn
The tale of sorrow each long'd to know,
But that moment of meeting was balm to woe.
Here Fatima's voice—and 'twas music—was heard,
But to them 'twas the scream of th' ill-omen'd bird;
Their eyes told their sorrow, and instant she flew,
But whisper'd, departing, “To-morrow—adieu!”
While Allan as swiftly retir'd to the grove;—
So two timid fawns that have stray'd from the drove,
If a bush chance to rustle, or breeze roughly play,
Start, fly, and are gone through the first friendly way.
But oft by stealth, their tortures to unfold,
Trembling they met, and sigh'd at sorrows told;
Till each to other felt a softer tie
Than friendship own'd; a fonder fear, lest e'er

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Their secret haunts should wake suspicion's eye,
The others safety most to each a care.
Once near Aleppo's gates young Allan stray'd,
An Arab fainting on the road was laid:
Allan stopp'd short; the Arab's head uprais'd,
With death's pale cheek and haggar'd eye he gaz'd;
Yet look'd request, and Allan instant flew
Within the city; there a sage he knew
Skill'd in the blest resuscitating art,
And instant aid he begg'd him to impart;
The sage attends him, eager as implor'd,
And soon the dying Arab is restor'd;
The sage's dwelling his till health resum'd
Its wonted vigour, and his eye illum'd:
Here for three days young Allan visit paid;
The third at parting, thus the Arab said:
“Sav'd by thy zeal, let this my thanks convey;
This ring; to-morrow bears me on my way;
An Arab, here on secret charge I roam,
To-morrow bears me to my desart home.
Be it thy lot the desart e'er to trace,
Safety is thine from Irad-Mulech's race;
Name Irad-Mulech, passport shall it be,
Guide and protection o'er the sands for thee.”

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The ring he proffer'd, many a gem it own'd,
The youth rejected; and the Arab frown'd;
The youth's reply secur'd the chief's regard,
“The act of duty covets not reward.”
And quickly left him, for the hour was near
To meet the partner of his hope and fear.
Two moons had wan'd, and the third appear'd,
Since Allan that virgin's voice had heard;
For Hassan, by passion impatient sway'd,
Had strictly guarded the grieving maid;
Resolv'd, since foil'd in his artful course,
To use the power of fraudful force.
But, sudden the Turk was call'd away,
And Bassorah must reach by a stated day;
A merchant had fail'd in his debt, too deep
For Hassan upon design to sleep;
And all for the caravan was prepar'd,
And Allan augmented his master's guard;
Nor must that maiden be left behind,—
For ever mistrustful a tyrant's mind.
And the caravan city and suburb clear'd,
And the desart, the Arab's reign, appear'd;

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And Allan he stood 'neath the sultry sky
Of the barren and beautiful Araby.
That maid a Mohaffah conceal'd from view;
And Allan for ever he march'd by its side,
And the camel that bore her his neck up-drew,
As if he the virgin's value knew,
And he seem'd to step with a statelier pride.
And Allan he march'd by the side of the maid,
His mind intent on romantic aim,
And oft the desart his eye survey'd,
And oft he mutter'd that Arab's name.
Four weary days, with hope and fear,
They travers'd the desart, so parch'd and drear,
And Allan was fated to inhale
The sultry Simoom's poisonous gale;
And its blistering power his face display'd,
But the guarded Mohaffah preserv'd the maid.
Four days they went, when an Arab band
Rush'd o'er the desart; the Schaik's command

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Prepar'd the battle, and ev'ry ear,
Save Allan's, attends to the voice of fear;
For Allan, whose thoughts took a brighter scope,
From his eye emitted the beam of hope.
They come! they come! and the fight's begun,
And many a deed of death is done;—
Young Allan he stood by that maid confin'd,
But Hassan had fled, for his dastard mind
Impell'd him, while others contested the field,
To the caravan's centre, for shelter and shield.
And now a fierce Arab had Allan approach'd,
His scymitar rear'd, and his blood he had broach'd.
“Irad-Mulech,” cried Allan; that name was a charm
Which soften'd the Arab, arresting his arm;
Said Allan, “Take me and this camel, I guard
To the tent of your chief and your zeal he'll reward.”
The Arab he motion'd, a party obey'd,
He to them gave the charge of the youth and the maid;
And over the desart light hearted they've gone;
To follow be ours; let the battle go on;
To our theme be both Hassan and caravan lost,
To follow the pair who the desart have cross'd.
As sacred as Mecca's green standard his name,
To the tent of the Arab in safety they came;

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And Irad the right hand of friendship bestow'd,
Acknowledg'd the proud obligation he ow'd;
And the feast it was spread, and the scene it was gay,
'Twas the feast of rude friendship, and joy's holiday.

A Mahoffah is a closed case or sedan, secured on one side the camel; counterbalanced by a corresponding weight on the other; in these females are preserved from the heat of the sun while crossing the desart.

The Simoom is a baneful wind that blows perpetually over the desarts of Arabia; to which Europeans generally fall a sacrifice.