The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other Poems | Page 3

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Now night invests with black apparel?Luxurious Tauride's verdant fields,?Whilst her sweet notes from groves of laurel?The plaintive Philomela yields.?But soon night's glorious queen, advancing?Through cloudless skies to the stars' song,?Scatters the hills and dales along,?The lustre of her rays entrancing.?In Bakchesaria's streets roamed free?The Tartars' wives in garb befitting,?They like unprisoned shades were flitting?From house to house their friends to see,?And while the evening hours away?In harmless sports or converse gay.?The inmates of the harem slept;--?Still was the palace, night impending?O'er all her silent empire kept;?The eunuch guard, no more offending?The fair ones by his presence, now?Slumbered, but fear his soul attending?Troubled his rest and knit his brow;?Suspicion kept his fancy waking,?And on his mind incessant preyed,?The air the slightest murmur breaking?Assailed his ear with sounds of dread.?Now, by some noise deceitful cheated,?Starts from his sleep the timid slave,?Listens to hear the noise repeated,?But all is silent as the grave,?Save where the fountains softly sounding?Break from their marble prisons free,?Or night's sweet birds the scene surrounding?Pour forth their notes of melody:?Long does he hearken to the strain,?Then sinks fatigued in sleep again.
Luxurious East! how soft thy nights,?What magic through the soul they pour!?How fruitful they of fond delights?To those who Mahomet adore!?What splendour in each house is found,?Each garden seems enchanted ground;?Within the harem's precincts quiet?Beneath fair Luna's placid ray,?When angry feelings cease to riot?There love inspires with softer sway!

The women sleep;--but one is there?Who sleeps not; goaded by despair?Her couch she quits with dread intent,?On awful errand is she bent;?Breathless she through the door swift flying?Passes unseen; her timid feet?Scarce touch the floor, she glides so fleet.?In doubtful slumber restless lying?The eunuch thwarts the fair one's path,?Ah! who can speak his bosom's wrath??False is the quiet sleep would throw?Around that gray and care-worn brow;?She like a spirit vanished by?Viewless, unheard as her own sigh!

The door she reaches, trembling opes,?Enters, and looks around with awe,?What sorrows, anguish, terrors, hopes,?Rushed through her heart at what she saw!?The image of the sacred maid,?The Christian's matron, reigning there,?And cross attracted first the fair,?By the dim lamp-light scarce displayed!?Oh! Grusinka, of earlier days?The vision burst upon thy soul,?The tongue long silent uttered praise,?The heart throbs high, but sin's control?Cannot escape, 'tis passion, passion sways!
The Princess in a maid's repose?Slumbered, her cheek, tinged like the rose,?By feverish thought, in beauty blooms,?And the fresh tear that stains her face?A smile of tenderness illumes.?Thus cheers the moon fair Flora's race,?When by the rain opprest they lie?The charm and grief of every eye!?It seemed as though an angel slept?From heaven descended, who, distressed,?Vented the feelings of his breast,?And for the harem's inmates wept!?Alas! poor Zarem, wretched fair,?By anguish urged to mere despair,?On bended knee, in tone subdued?And melting strain, for pity sued.
"Oh! spurn not such a suppliant's prayer!"?Her tones so sad, her sighs so deep,?Startled the Princess in her sleep;?Wond'ring, she views with dread before her?The stranger beauty, frighted hears?For mercy her soft voice implore her,?Raises her up with trembling hand,?And makes of her the quick demand,?"Who speaks? in night's still hour alone,?Wherefore art here?" "A wretched one,?To thee I come," the fair replied,?"A suitor not to be denied;?Hope, hope alone my soul sustains;?Long have I happiness enjoyed,?And lived from sorrow free and care,?But now, alas! a prey to pains?And terrors, Princess hear my prayer,?Oh! listen, or I am destroyed!
Not here beheld I first the light,?Far hence my native land, but yet?Alas! I never can forget?Objects once precious to my sight;?Well I remember towering mountains,?Snow-ridged, replete with boiling fountains,?Woods pervious scarce to wolf or deer,?Nor faith, nor manners such as here;?But, by what cruel fate o'ercome,?How I was snatched, or when, from home?I know not,--well the heaving ocean?Do I remember, and its roar,?But, ah! my heart such wild commotion?As shakes it now ne'er felt before.?I in the harem's quiet bloomed,?Tranquil myself, waiting, alas!?With willing heart what love had doomed;?Its secret wishes came to pass:?Giray his peaceful harem sought,?For feats of war no longer burned,?Nor, pleased, upon its horrors thought,?To these fair scenes again returned.
"Before the Khan with bosoms beating?We stood, timid my eyes I raised,?When suddenly our glances meeting,?I drank in rapture as I gazed;?He called me to him,--from that hour?We lived in bliss beyond the power?Of evil thought or wicked word,?The tongue of calumny unheard,?Suspicion, doubt, or jealous fear,?Of weariness alike unknown,?Princess, thou comest a captive here,?And all my joys are overthrown,?Giray with sinful passion burns,?His soul possessed of thee alone,?My tears and sighs the traitor spurns;?No more his former thoughts, nor feeling?For me now cherishes Giray,?Scarce his disgust, alas! concealing,?He from my presence hastes away.?Princess, I know the fault not thine?That Giray loves thee, oh! then hear?A suppliant wretch, nor spurn her prayer!
Throughout the harem none but thou?Could rival beauties such as mine?Nor make him violate his vow;?Yet, Princess! in thy bosom cold?The heart to mine