The Mistress of the Manse | Page 7

were hung, with silken fabrics fine,
And arabesque and lotus-flower bore each the broidered sign Of jewels
plucked from land and sea, and red gold from the mine.

Upon his throne he sat alone, half buried in the gems
That strewed his
tapestries like stars, and tipped their tawny hems, And glittered with the
glory of a hundred diadems.
He saw from his pavilion door the nodding heron plumes
His nobles
wore upon their brows, while, from the rosy glooms Which hid his
harem, came low songs, on wings of rare perfumes!
The elephants, a thousand strong, had passed his dreaming eye,
Caparisoned with golden plates on head and breast and thigh, And a
hundred flashing troops of horse unmarked had thundered by.
He sat upon old Akbar's throne, the heir of power and fame, But all his
glory was as dust, and dust his wondrous name-- Swept into air, and
scattered far, by one consuming flame!
For on that day of all the days, and in that festal hour, He sickened with
his glory and grew weary of his power,
And pined to bind upon his
breast his harem's choicest flower,
"Oh Nourmahal! oh Nourmahal! 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