The Mistress of the Manse | Page 7

why sit I here," he cried,-- "The victim of these gaudy shows, and of my haughty pride, When thou art dearer to my soul than all the world beside!
"Thy eyes are brighter than the gems piled round gilded seat; Thy cheeks are softer than the silks that shimmer at my feet, And purer heart than thine in woman's breast hath never beat!
"My first love--and my only love--Oh babe of Candahar!?Torn from my boyish arms at first, and, like a silver star Shining within another heaven, and worshipped from afar,
"Thou art my own at last, my own! I pine to see thy face; Come to me, Nourmahal! Oh come, and hallow with thy grace The glories that without thy love are meaningless and base!"
He spoke a word, and, quick as light, before him lying prone A dark-eyed page, with gilded vest and crimson-belted zone, Looked up with waiting ear to mark the message from the throne.
"Go summon Nourmahal, my queen; and when her radiance comes, Bear my command of silence to the vinas and the drums,?And for your guerdon take your choice of all these gilded crumbs."
He tossed a handful of the gems down where his minion lay, Who snatched a jewel from the drift, and swiftly sped away With his command to Nourmahal, who waited to obey.
But needlessly the mandate fell of silence on the crowd,?For when the Empress swept the path, ten thousand heads were bowed, And drum and vina ceased their din, and no one spoke aloud.
As comes the moon from out the sea with her attendant breeze, As sweeps the morning up the hills and blossoms in the trees, So Nourmahal to Selim came: then fell upon her knees!
The envious jewels looked at her with chill, barbaric stare, The cloth-of-gold she knelt upon grew lusterless and bare, And all the place was cooler in the darkness of her hair.
And while she knelt in queenly pride and beauty strange and wild, And held her breast with both her palms and looked on him and smiled, She seemed no more of common earth, but Casyapa's child.
He bent to her as thus she smiled; he kissed her lifted cheek; "Oh Nourmahal," he murmured low, "more dear than I can speak, I'm weary of my lonely life: give me the rest I seek."
She rose and paced the silken floor, as if in mad caprice, Then paused, and from the Empress changed to improvisatrice, And wove this song--a golden chain--that led him into peace:
Lovely children of the light,?Draped in radiant locks and pinions,--?Red and purple, blue and white--?In their beautiful dominions,?On the earth and in the spheres,?Dwell the little glendoveers.
And the red can know no change,?And the blue are blue forever,?And the yellow wings may range?Toward the white or purple never.?But they mingle free from strife,?For their color is their life.
When their color dies, they die,--?Blent with earth or ether slowly--?Leaving where their spirits lie,?Not a stain, so pure and holy?Is the essence and the thought?Which their fading brings to naught!
Each contented with the hue?Which indues his wings of beauty,?Red or yellow, white or blue,?Sings the measure of his duty?Through the summer clouds in peace,?And delights that never cease.
Not with envy love they more?Locks and pinions purple-tinted,?Nor with jealousy adore?Those whose pleasures are unstinted,?And whose purple hair and wings?Give them place with queens and kings.
When a purple glendoveer?Flits along the mute expanses,?They surround him, far and near,?With their glancing wings and dances,?And do honor to the hue?Loved by all and worn by few.
In the days long gone, alas!?Two upon a cloud, low-seated,?Saw their pinions in the glass?Of a silver lake repeated.?One was blue and one was red,?And the lovely pair were wed.
"Purple wings are very fine,"?Spoke the voice of Ruby, gently:?"Ay" said Sapphire, "they're divine!"--?Looking at his blue intently.?"But we're blest," said Ruby, then,?"And we'll not complain like men."
Sapphire stretched his loving arms,?And she nestled on his bosom,?While his heart inhaled her charms?As the sense inhales a blossom;--?Drank her wholly, tint and tone,?Blent her being with his own.
Rapture passed, they raised their eyes,?But were startled into clamor?Of a marvellous surprise!?Was it color! was it glamour!?Purple-tinted, sweet and warm,?Was each wing and folded form!
Who had wrought it--how it came--?These were what the twain disputed.?How were mingled smoke and flame?Into royal hue transmuted??Each was right, the other wrong:?But their quarrel was not long,
For the moment that their speech?Differed o'er their little story,?Swiftly faded off from each?Every trace of purple glory,?Blue was bluer than before,?And the red was red once more.
Then they knew that both were wrong,?And in sympathy of sorrow?Learned that each was only strong?In the power to lend and borrow,--?That the purple never grew?But by grace of red to blue.
So, embracing in content,?Hearts and wings again united,?Red and blue in purple blent,?And their holy troth replighted,?Both, as happy as the day,?Kissed, and rose,