The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other Poems | Page 3

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 preserve.

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