University of Virginia Library

Hard by that flourishing domain, that strip
Of border ground, my garden, late described,
On a grass plot by the house door there stood
An aged willow, whose long flexile boughs
With their light shadows checkered the green turf;
Beneath the sheltering arms of that old tree
Pastime, to me delightful, oft I found
On balanced seat, upborne by a strong limb
Selected for the trust with cautious care,
Anxious as his, who for an arctic voyage
Of unknown peril, far discovery,
Selects the timbers for some strong-ribbed bark:
Even with like caution did my father choose
The transverse bough to which his hands made fast
With firmness doubly sure the swinging cords;
Committing to their strength a freight to him
More precious, than to Solomon of old
The yearly lading of his treasure-ships
From Tarshish and from Ophir—ay, than those
To the great Hebrew—than the wealth of worlds—
Far, far more precious to my father's heart
That bending bough's light weight—his only child.
Right pleasant pastime! the clear cutting air
To cleave with rapid motion, self-impelled—
For I was dexterous at the sport—to sway
With pendulous slow motion, dying off
To scarce perceptible, until at last
Settling to perfect stillness; which, howe'er,
A breath, a finger's motion would disturb.
So 'twas my luxury to sit and dream,
Building in cloud-land many a castle fair,
Albeit no genii of the ring or lamp
Came at my bidding; in those dreamy moods
I conjured up as gorgeous palaces—
Gardens as dazzling bright with jewelled fruit
As e'er Aladdin's wondering eyes beheld,
And peopled them with living forms, to me,
Deep read in magic lore, familiar all.
Then the Commander of the Faithful strayed,
And dark Mesrour, and that devoted slave
Giafar, the pearl of ministers, whose head
So lightly on his patient shoulders sat,
Ready to leave them headless, at a nod
From his most gracious master. Stately walked
Beside her mighty lord his jealous spouse,
Scornful Zobeide, their attendant slaves
Close following; the fair Noushatoul; and he
The Caliph's favourite, jester of the court,
Facetious Abon Hassan. Hunchback, too,
And that loquacious Barber, and his train
Of luckless brethren, came at my command.
Then, with King Saladin and Queen Gulnare,
A car of pearl and coral bore me off
Through submarine dominions—overarched
With liquid chrysolite the billowy vault;
Or with the exiled brethren far I strayed,
Amgrad and Assad, or that happier prince
Who found the hall of statues, found and won
That ninth, so far surpassing all the rest.
Anon I ventured on a darker realm,
Peopled with awful shapes—magicians dire,
Happak and Ulin, and their hideous crew,
The Sultan Misnar's leagued inveterate foes.
How my heart beat, as in the dead of night
With him and his suspected slave I trod
Those rocky passages, hewn roughly out
In the earth's entrails! How I held my breath,
Expecting the result, when through the ring
The severed rope slid rapidly away!
How my young feelings sympathised with hers,
The duteous Una's, when on Tigris' banks,
A weeping orphan, she was left forlorn;
And when in urgent peril—hapless maid!
In that dark forest from her side she missed
The guardian peppercorns! But oh! the joy
When in the shaggy monarch of the woods,
A brave protector—brave and kind—she found.
I saw her by his side—in his thick mane
I saw her small white fingers fondly twined;
Majestically gentle, at her feet
I saw the royal brute lie fawning dowr;
I saw all this—and murmured half aloud,
“Oh how I wish I had a lion too!”
Fantastic shadows! fearful, gay, grotesque!
Still with a child's delight I reperuse
The pages where ye live; recall ye still—
Ay, all your marvellous annals—with as keen
And undiminished interest as of yore
When I convened ye at my sovereign will
In that green bower beneath the willow-tree,
Where moments flew uncounted as I sat
With eyes half-closed, excluding outward things;
And as the spell within worked languidly,
Or kindled into action, truth, and life,
Slower or faster swung my airy car—
Not quite at rest, for that had broke the charm—
Unconscious I so tranced in waking dreams,
That mine own impulse checked or urged it on.
But I was not sole tenant of the tree,
Not then companionless: above my head
Among the thicker branches, there secure
From the swing's reach, our old grey parrot hung—
Poor Poll! we were in truth well-sorted mates.
Wert thou my prototype? or I in sooth
The shadow of thy graces and thy wit?
As Jacko in the fable proveth plain
That man, the servile copyist! apes his.
Associates though we were in that green bower,
Yet little kindness, Poll! betwixt us grew;
For many an ancient grudge in either heart
Kept us asunder, and the hag Mistrust
Widened the unhealed wounds of former feuds.
Thou wert, in truth, the aggressor in those feuds,
For, Poll! it ill became thy reverend years,
With spiteful vengeance of that hard sharp beak
The unsuspecting freedom to repulse
Of baby fondness, first encouraged, too,
By coaxing treachery—“Scratch poor Polly's head.”
And when thy victim, smarting with the pain
Of that unkind reception, wept aloud,
'Twas most ungenerous, Poll! to flout and jeer,
And mock with imitative whine, and cry,
And peevish whimper, and convulsive sob,
Concluding all with boisterous ha! ha! ha!
Then comments indiscreet of mutual friends—
Such oftenest the result—but served to increase
And whet the growing animosity.
The frowning hearer, when I gabbled o'er
Some tedious lesson, not a word whereof
Informed my far-off senses, bade me note
How Poll as glibly ran her lesson o'er
Of words by her as little understood.
The mincing nursemaid, sedulous to improve
The graces of her charge, reproached me oft
With turned-in toes—“for all the world like Poll.”
And when my heart with rage rebellious swelled—
Alas! 'twas a rebellious little heart—
And angrily I stamped the tiny foot,
And screamed aloud, the bird screamed louder still;
And I was told to mark how even Poll
Despised and laughed to shame the naughty girl.
As babyhood's first lisping years wore on,
Monitions such as these their influence lost,
And to the noisy mimic's flout and jeer
A careless callous listener I became;
But distance due was still between us kept
With strict punctilio—an armed, neutral peace,
Never infringed by familiarity.
So there together in the willow-tree
Our several pastimes Poll and I pursued;
Some much resembling still, for to and fro,
Exalted in her wiry globe, she swung,
As if to mimic there my sport below.
Thou wert the only creature, bird or beast,
Excluded from my lavish fondness, Poll!
Fowls of the air, and beasts, and creeping things,
Ay, reptiles—slimy creatures—all that breathed
The breath of life, found favour in my sight;
And strange disgust I've seen (I thought it strange)
Wrinkle their features who beheld me touch,
Handle, caress the creatures they abhorred;
Enchase my finger with the palmer-worm
Or caterpillar's green, cold, clammy ring,
Or touch the rough back of the spotted toad.
One of that species, for long after years,
Even till of late, became my pensioner—
A monstrous creature!—It was wont to sit
Among the roots of an old scraggy shrub,
A huge Gum-Cystus: All the summer long
“Princess Hemjunah”—titled so by me
In honour of that royal spell-bound fair
So long compelled in reptile state to crawl—
“Princess Hemjunah” there, from morn to eve,
Made her pavilion of the spicy shrub;
And they who looked beneath it scarce discerned
That living clod from the surrounding mould,
But by the lustre of two living gems
That from the reptile's forehead upward beamed
Intelligent, with ever-wakeful gaze.
There daily on some fresh green leaf I spread
A luscious banquet for that uncouth guest—
Milk, cream, and sugar,—to the creature's taste
Right welcome offering, unrejected still.
Spring reappeared, and trees and shrubs put forth
Their budding leaves, and e'en those mangled trunks,
Though later, felt the vegetable life
Mount in their swelling sap, and all around
The recently dismembered parts, peeped out
Pink tender shoots disparting into green,
And bursting forth at last, with rapid growth,
In full redundance, healthful, vigorous, thick;
And June returned with all her breathing sweets,
Her opening roses and soft southern gales;
And music poured from every bending spray;
E'en the old mangled Cystus bloomed once more,
But my poor Princess never came again.