Zophiel | Page 6

bridegroom meet: to day?O'er broad Euphrates' steepest banks a child?Fled from his youthful nurse's arms; in play?Elate, he bent him o'er the brink, and smiled
"To see their fears who followed him--but who?The keen wild anguish of that scene can tell--?He bend o'er the brink, and in their view,?But ah! too far beyond their aid--he fell.
XVI.
"They wailed--the long torn ringlets of their hair [FN#11]?Freighted the pitying gale; deep rolled the stream?And swallowed the fair child; no succour there--?They women--whither look--who to redeem
"What the fierce waves were preying on?--when lo!?Approached a stranger boy. Aside he flung,?As darted thought, his quiver and his bow?And parted by his limbs the sparkling billows sung.
[FN#11] The women, I believe, among all nations of antiquity were accustomed to express violent grief by tearing their hair. This must have been a great and affecting sacrifice to the object bemoaned, as they considered it a part of themselves and absolutely essential to their beauty. Fine hair has been a subject of commendation among all people, and particularly the ancients. Cyrus, when he went to visit his uncle Astyages found him with his eyelashes coloured, and decorated with false locks; the first Caesar obtained permission to wear the laurel-wreath in order to conceal the bareness of his temples. The quantity and beauty of the hair of Absalom is?commemorated in holy writ. The modern oriental ladies also set the greatest value on their hair which they braid and perfume. Thus says the poet Hafiz, whome Sir William Jones styles the Anacreon of Persia,
"Those locks, each curl of which is worth a hundred musk-bags of China, would be sweet indeed, if their scent proceeded from sweetness of temper."
and again,
"When the breeze shall waft the fragrance of thy locks over the tomb of Hafiz, a thousand flowers shall spring from the earth that hides his corse."
Achilles clipped his yellow locks and threw them as a sacrifice upon the funeral pyre of Patroclus.
XVII.
"They clung to an old palm and watched; nor breath?Nor word dared utter; while the refluent flood?Left on each countenance the hue of death,?Ope'd lip and far strained eye spoke worse than death endured.
XVIII.
"But, down the flood, the dauntless boy appeared,--?Now rising--plunging--in the eddy whirled--?Mastering his course--but now a rock he neared--?And closing o'er his head, the deep, dark waters curled.
"Then Hope groaned forth her last; and drear despair?Spoke in a shriek; but ere its echo wild?Had ceased to thrill; restored to light and air--?He climbs, he gains the rock, and holds alive the child.
XIX.
"Now mark what chanced--that infant was the son?E'vn of the king of Nineveh: and placed?Before him was the youth who so had won?From death the royal heir. A captive graced
"All o'er with Nature's gifts he sparkled--brave?And panting for renown--blushing and praised?The stripling stood; and closely prest, would crave?Alone a place mid warlike men; and raised
"To his full wish, the kingly presence left,?Buoyant and bright with hope; dreaming of nought?While revelled his full soul in visions deft,?But blessings from his sire and pleasures of a court.
XX.
"But when his mother heard, she wept; and said?If he our only child be far away?Or slain in war; how shall our years be stayed??Friendless and old, where is the hand to lay
"Our white hairs in the earth?--So when her fears?He saw would not be calmed, he did not part,?But lived in low estate, to dry her tears,?And crushed the full-grown-hopes, exulting at his heart."
XXI.
"The old man ceased; ere I could speak, his face?Grew more than mortail fair: a mellow light?Mantling around him fill'd the shady place?And while I wondering stood; he vanished from my sight.
XXII.
"This I had told,--but shame withheld--and fear?Thou'dst deem some spirit guilded me--disapprove--?Perchance forbid my customed wanderings here;?But whencesoe'er the vision, I have strove
"Still vainly to forget--I've heard the mourn?Kindred afar, and captive--oh! my mother--?Should he--my heaven announced--exist, return--?And meet me drear--lost--wedded to another"--
Then thus Sephora, "In the city where?Our kindred distant dwelt--blood has been shed--?Dreamer, had such heroic boy been there,?Belike he's numbered with the silent dead.
"Or doth he live he knows not--would not know?(Thralled--dead, to thee--in fair Assyrian arms.)?Who pines for him afar in fruitless woe?A phantom's bride--wasting love, life and charms.
XXIII.
"'Tis as a vine of Galilee should say,?Culturer, I reck not thy support, I sigh?For a young palm tree, of Euphrates; nay--?Or let me him entwine or in my blossom die.
"Thy heart is set on joys it may not prove,?And, panting ingrate, scorns the blessings given?--?Hoping from dust formed man, a seraph's love?And days on earth like to the days of heaven.
XXIV.
"But to my theme, maiden, a lord for thee,?And not of thee unworthy--I have chose--?Dispel the dread, that in thy looks I see--?Nor make it task of anguish to disclose,
"What should be--thine heart's dew. Remember'st thou?When to the Altar, by thy father reared,?We suppliant went with sacrifice and vow,?A victim-dove escaped? and there appeared
"And would have