The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir :: :: University of Virginia Library

The waters of the Bosphorus
Have lost their crimson glow as darkles
Day's occidental fire, and thus,
In tearful beauty tremulous,
The radiant Star of Evening sparkles
In the blue south, where Stamboul lies—
Its myriad minarets and spires,
Forsaken by red sunset's fires,
In darkness grouped against the skies:
Around my path the cypress trees
Are stirring in the landward breeze;
The flowers outbreathe beneath my feet,
Rejoicing that the sunny heat
Hath passed, and that the cooling dews
Are on their journey from the height
Of cloudless zenith, to infuse
Freshness, and fragrance, and delight,

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O'er all the parched and panting things
On which they fall like angels' wings.
Far off the Muezzin's voice is heard,
The watcher's call to evening prayer;
And overhead that holy bird,
The Bulbul, charms the silent air
With notes alone to sorrow given,
Though breathed on earth that speak of Heaven,
And of the blessed bowers above,
For still their theme is love—is love!
If aught below can soothe the soul
Of him whose days ungladden'd roll
On, month by month, and year by year,
With naught to wish for, naught to fear,
It is an hour like this, so calm
Along the fragrant fields of balm
Luxurious Zephyr roams, and brings
Delicious freshness on his wings.

II.

But Thou art gone!—at twilight's gloom
I come to rest beside thy tomb,
O Azza! thou of all the daughters
Of womankind, who wert most dear;
Thy voice than Zem-zem's murmurous waters
Was more delicious to mine ear;
Vainly the summer blossom seeks,
Beloved, to emulate thy cheek's
Soft natural peach-bloom; and thy brow
Outshone in whiteness the pure snow

270

(As sings the Scald in Runic rhymes)
On the hill-tops of northern climes;
Thy tresses were like black ripe berries
Down-clustering from the elder-tree;
Thy parting lips like cloven cherries,
That near each other lovingly;
And O, thine eyes! thy melting eyes,
More bright than Houri's glance of Heaven,
A diamond dowry from the skies
To thee alone of mortals given,
In their own depths of light did swim,
Making the wild gazelle's look dim.

III.

Still glooms the night, still shines the day,
Beneath the moon's soft, silver ray,—
Beneath the sun's triumphant light,
That seems to make all nature bright;
And thou art not!—in solitude
The thoughts of other years awake,
No marvel that my heart should ache,
When on thy vanished charms I brood.
Oh, Azza! what is life to him
Whose star is quenched, whose day is dim—
Dim as the visioned hours of night,
When sorrows frown and cares affright!
And Thou art not!—I look around,
But thou art nowhere to be found!
I listen vainly for thy foot—
I listen, but thy voice is mute!

271

I hear the night-winds sighing drear,
And all is misery, gloom, and fear!
This City of the Silent far
Transcends for me the haunts of men;
I'd rather house me in the den
Of hungry wolves than bide their jar:
There all is weariness, or strife
That makes an agony of life;
Serenely here the eye reposes
On sculptured turban-stones and roses.

IV.

Dark is the night of ruin, dark
As chaos ere the glorious sun
Awoke, or Eve her pearly bark
Launched forth, or stars like omens shone
Of blessedness beyond the grave
For all the faithful and the brave.
Whither would roam my visions, where
Find images of man's despair?
A vessel on a sunless sea
Tossing through mists eternally,
Without an anchor 'mid the waste
Of waves, where shore is never traced,
For ever beating round and round,
Through endless years, the dim profound;
Or like that bird, without the power,
'Mid winds that rush, and clouds that lower,
To light on earth—a bird of Thrace,
That knows no human dwelling-place.

272

V.

They say that woman, like a flower,
Expands her beauties to the day,
Blooms through the lapse of Time's brief hour,
Then withers on the stalk away:
They say her span is short and narrow,
Though gemmed with flowers her earthly path,
And that the barb of Azrael's arrow
To her brings everlasting death—
A thing that Beauty's breath invents
Of perishable elements.
But man has higher hopes, they say,
That powers of darkness cannot bind him,
That, bursting from the tomb away,
He leaves the realms of change behind him;
That o'er Alsirat's arch he flies,
Until the shores of Paradise
Are gained, and Houris with a kiss
Give welcome to the bowers of bliss—
Of bliss that ends not—joy whose touch
To rapturous ecstasies elate him:
So joy-fraught is his doom, and such
The sun-bright fortunes that await him.
And can it be that Woman dies,
Like Gul in all her July glory,
Courting our love to mock our eyes
For aye—the moral of a story?
And can it be that she, who stole
My heart away, who was my trust,
My hope, of every wish the goal,

273

Could be a thing without a soul,
Whose elements were merely dust—
Dust, which shall sleep for evermore
Within the silent tomb's domain,
Which He who framed shall ne'er restore
To beauty, love, and life again?
If so, where lies my comfort, where?
I bow in silence to despair!

VI.

I ask not Heaven; there could not be,
Azza beloved! at least for me,
A paradise that holds not thee.
Ah, no! my first, last, only love!
Nor in the amaranthine bowers,
Nor in the crystal shrines above,
The heart-felt bliss that once was ours
Could e'er my spirit hope to find;
Nor in the maids, whose glances dart,
Ever angelically kind,
New thrills of rapture through the heart:
To thee alone my thoughts would turn,
Fraught with undying love, and burn!

VII.

I lean my forehead on thy stone;
And art Thou not? I dwell alone
In sorrow's cloud, since Thou art gone!
Howe'er I turn—where'er I flee—
Earth is a wilderness to me:

274

I pause to hear thy step in vain,
Thy timid step of fairy lightness;
Ah! ne'er shall break on me again,
Like lightning-flash, thy glance of brightness,
Thrilling my heart-strings with the glow
Of love, in all its lava flow.

VIII.

From men, and from the ways of men,
When twilight's dewy shades descend,
Hither my willing footsteps tend
In solitary guise; and then,
While resting by thy tomb, I find
Solace, in pouring forth my mind
Unto the silence; for I ween
Thou still must be, although unseen,
Circling my path, until I flee
To dwell for evermore with thee,
In realms where anguish is forgot,
And hateful Azrael enters not,
But where a future ever bright
Shall smile, and naught have power to sever;
And where my soul, made blest for ever,
Shall sun itself in Azza's light.