University of Virginia Library

V.

The blush of the eve fadeth dim o'er the water;
The night-wind is rising, and billows dash high,
As in her lone tower, Stamboul's loveliest daughter
Looks abroad from her lattice o'er ocean and sky.
There's a frown in the heaven, and a gloom on the ocean,
And a low, hollow dirge in the lapse of the wind,
That well suit the sad melancholious emotion,
The feeling and fire of a musical mind,—
Of one whose live chords with swift impulse will borrow
A token and tone from the hue of the hour,
Inspiration in joy, and sereneness in sorrow,
Subdued into patience, but latent with power.
She turned to the page of the past;—'twas a dream;—
To the future;—'twas life without one joyous ray;
For quenched in despair was the tremulous beam,
Her beacon by night, and her vision by day.
O, O! for a wing the dark storm to outfly
Like the birds of the storm that so soaringly shriek
Round her turret, to kindle a cresset on high,
On each Asian precipice, castle, and peak;
Though dim, it might lure him to anchor in sands
Where the wave lies serenest in haven and bay.
Now, haply, his bark the wild element strands,
Assassins surround, or the ruthless betray!
With that image came terror, and lowering suspense,
And doubt, giant lord of the rack and the wheel,
Whose ordeal, wrought up into torture intense,
Not the loftiest can scorn, nor the haughtiest conceal!—
She felt it—Eudora, steal over her frame,
And the veil of her fantasy strip from her eye,
As the earthquake of night, that, long slumbering in flame,
Rends the mantle of Nature in passing her by.
“I could brook,” she exclaimed, “the foul finger of scorn,
“The scowl of contempt, and the menace of hate,
“These, these, I could bear, and unmurmuring have borne
“With a bosom undaunted, and spirit elate;
“But to linger for ever in towers, to commune
“With nought but the sun-loving swallow, and cloud,
“Soaring free,—soaring free!—in calm regions of noon,
“Of their limitless pleasure and liberty proud,
“And alone on the frailty of fortune relying,
“To gaze on, to envy their transit, and feel
“There is wormwood in life, and a solace in dying,
“Yet to linger, weep, tremble, and agonize still;—
“And at night, when her poppies should silence the toil
“Of the mind, and hush all its wild fancies asleep,
“To dream of the loved and the absent, awhile,
“In slumber to smile, and awaking to weep;—
“I know not—this dark brain, now tearless and dry,
“May reel with its sufferance, and thus it were well;
“But gently, O maid of the lunatic eye,
“Lay thy shaft on my heart, and it will not rebel;
“For thee, savage Chief, unrepentant in ire,—
“Hark! hark! 'tis the voice of the injured that calls!
“May thy hearth be usurped by the ivy and briar,
“And the fox and owl hoot in thy tenantless walls!
“Dim, dim through the compassing clouds of decay,
“The stars that o'er-ruled thy nativity shine,
“Thy sceptre soon shivered, thy crown passed away,
“To circle a forehead more royal than thine:
“I err not; there sits on a shadowy throne,
“Whose steps are on kingdoms, the form of the brave,
“With finger that beckons, ah me! 'tis his own!
“Now, haughty Insulter! down, down to the grave!”