The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other Poems | Page 2

Giray's bosom tearing??Extinguished is his loved chubouk,[1]?Whilst or to move or breathe scarce daring,?The eunuch watches every look;?Quick as the chief, approaching near him,?Beckons, the door is open thrown,?And Giray wanders through his harem?Where joy to him no more is known.?Near to a fountain's lucid waters?Captivity's unhappy daughters?The Khan await, in fair array,?Around on silken carpets crowded,?Viewing, beneath a heaven unclouded,?With childish joy the fishes play?And o'er the marble cleave their way,?Whose golden scales are brightly glancing,?And on the mimic billows dancing.?Now female slaves in rich attire?Serve sherbet to the beauteous fair,?Whilst plaintive strains from viewless choir?Float sudden on the ambient air.
TARTAR SONG.
I.
Heaven visits man with days of sadness,?Embitters oft his nights with tears;?Blest is the Fakir who with gladness?Views Mecca in declining years.
II.
Blest he who sees pale Death await him?On Danube's ever glorious shore;?The girls of Paradise shall greet him,?And sorrows ne'er afflict him more.
III.
But he more blest, O beauteous Zarem!?Who quits the world and all its woes,?To clasp thy charms within the harem,?Thou lovelier than the unplucked rose!
They sing, but-where, alas! is Zarem,?Love's star, the glory of the harem??Pallid and sad no praise she hears,?Deaf to all sounds of joy her ears,?Downcast with grief, her youthful form?Yields like the palm tree to the storm,?Fair Zarem's dreams of bliss are o'er,?Her loved Giray loves her no more!
He leaves thee! yet whose charms divine?Can equal, fair Grusinian! thine??Shading thy brow, thy raven hair?Its lily fairness makes more fair;?Thine eyes of love appear more bright?Than noonday's beam, more dark than night;?Whose voice like thine can breathe of blisses,?Filling the heart with soft desire??Like thine, ah! whose inflaming kisses?Can kindle passion's wildest fire?
Who that has felt thy twining arms?Could quit them for another's charms??Yet cold, and passionless, and cruel,?Giray can thy vast love despise,?Passing the lonesome night in sighs?Heaved for another; fiercer fuel?Burns in his heart since the fair Pole?Is placed within the chief's control.
The young Maria recent war?Had borne in conquest from afar;?Not long her love-enkindling eyes?Had gazed upon these foreign skies;?Her aged father's boast and pride,?She bloomed in beauty by his side;?Each wish was granted ere expressed.?She to his heart the object dearest,?His sole desire to see her blessed;?As when the skies from clouds are clearest,?Still from her youthful heart to chase?Her childish sorrows his endeavour,?Hoping in after life that never?Her woman's duties might efface?Remembrance of her earlier hours,?But oft that fancy would retrace?Life's blissful spring-time decked in flowers.?Her form a thousand charms unfolded,?Her face by beauty's self was moulded,?Her dark blue eyes were full of fire,--?All nature's stores on her were lavished;?The magic harp with soft desire,?When touched by her, the senses ravished.?Warriors and knights had sought in vain?Maria's virgin heart to move,?And many a youth in secret pain?Pined for her in despairing love.?But love she knew not, in her breast?Tranquil it had not yet intruded,?Her days in mirth, her nights in rest,?In her paternal halls secluded,?Passed heedless, peace her bosom's guest.
That time is past! The Tartar's force?Rushed like a torrent o'er her nation,--?Rages less fierce the conflagration?Devouring harvests in its course,--?Poland it swept with devastation,?Involving all in equal fate,?The villages, once mirthful, vanished,?From their red ruins joy was banished,?The gorgeous palace desolate!?Maria is the victor's prize;--?Within the palace chapel laid,?Slumb'ring among th'illustrious dead,?In recent tomb her father lies;?His ancestors repose around,?Long freed from life and its alarms;?With coronets and princely arms?Bedecked their monuments abound!?A base successor now holds sway,--?Maria's natal halls his hand?Tyrannic rules, and strikes dismay?And wo throughout the ravaged land.
Alas! the Princess sorrow's chalice?Is fated to the dregs to drain,?Immured in Bakchesaria's palace?She sighs for liberty in vain;?The Khan observes the maiden's pain,?His heart is at her grief afflicted,?His bosom strange emotions fill,?And least of all Maria's will?Is by the harem's laws restricted.?The hateful guard, of all the dread,?Learns silent to respect and fear her,?His eye ne'er violates her bed,?Nor day nor night he ventures near her;?To her he dares not speak rebuke,?Nor on her cast suspecting look.?Her bath she sought by none attended,?Except her chosen female slave,?The Khan to her such freedom gave;?But rarely he himself offended?By visits, the desponding fair,?Remotely lodged, none else intruded;?It seemed as though some jewel rare,?Something unearthly were secluded,?And careful kept untroubled there.
Within her chamber thus secure,?By virtue guarded, chaste and pure,?The lamp of faith, incessant burning,?The VIRGIN'S image blest illumed,?The comfort of the spirit mourning?And trust of those to sorrow doomed.?The holy symbol's face reflected?The rays of hope in splendour bright,?And the rapt soul by faith directed?To regions of eternal light.?Maria, near the VIRGIN kneeling,?In silence gave her anguish way,?Unnoticed by the crowd unfeeling,?And whilst the rest, or sad or gay,?Wasted in idleness the day,?The sacred image still concealing,?Before it pouring forth her prayer,?She watched with ever jealous care;?Even as our hearts to error given,?Yet lighted by a spark from heaven,?Howe'er from virtue's paths we swerve,?One holy feeling still