CANTO I.

I.

’Tis eve, and bright through Caymyr’s fragrant trees Spread Ismael’s banners to the wanton breeze; O’er martial camps, and trophied armour blue, The rising moon-beams cast a silvery hue; Lull’d is each ruder wind, so hush’d, and calm, That not a leaf is mov’d on yonder palm, Save by the soft, sweet breeze that now floats by, Like the faint meltings of a lover’s sigh; And the lone bulbul[4], on that beauteous tree, Pours out her strains of purest melody; 10 And many a flow’r, that shuns day’s fervid glow, Puts forth its modest, fragrant beauties now; And the high heav’ns smile so sublimely fair, The eye might think to waft the spirit there; While yonder clouds, that o’er the mountain roll’d, Have caught the sun’s last parting glance of gold, And seem to glory in their splendid hue, Give to the heav’ns around a brighter blue. But the rich beauties of that sacred still, With war’s rude mingled sounds are suited ill 20 With clang of arms, loud shouting, and rough swell Of rousing trumpet, and of clashing zel[5]; It breaks the balm divine, that breathes around, That else might pour its healing in the wound Of rack’d Despair, and Murder’s self awhile, Of its soul-withering agony beguile.

Yes! ’tis an eve, whose pensive, sweet control, Thrills in soft transport through the care-worn soul, And man would cry, “Is this a place, an hour “For war’s dread tyrant to exert his power? 30 “Perchance this scene, that now, so softly mild, “Of love and sweetness seems the heav’nly child, “May soon, alas! where now these flowrets glow, “Red carnage pour, and echo sounds of wo! “This far-extended camp, this glorious train “That spread their numbers o’er green Caymyr’s plain, “Vast as the sand, that loads the Persian shore, “A day shall come,--and they shall be no more.”

II.

Sees’t thou yon crescent gleaming from afar, Like half-hid influence of some meteor star? 40 It glows on Ismael’s tent; the sentry there, With cautious step, keeps more than common care. But say, why (lord of all this num’rous band, The sword of conquest flaming in his hand) He, he alone, of all his armies yield, Is absent now from Caymyr’s tented field; When mark’d by royal jealousy’s keen eye, The Sage of Ardevil[6] was doom’d to die; He, whose high soul e’er soar’d on sacred wings, Above the toils of kingdoms and of kings. 50 Three sons he left; and two their danger knew, Of age to see them, and to fly them too. The third, young Ismael, then of infant age, His father’s friends convey’d from Rustam’s rage. And flying hence, to Pyrchilim the Brave, His sire’s illustrious friend, the child they gave: And there he grew, and every virtuous grace Enrich’d the noblest of Shich-Eidar’s race; Talent and honour all his soul possest, In form of scarcely human beauty drest. 60

In earliest youth, ere yet the toils of man, Ambitious fire, and war’s alarms, began, He lov’d a maid, the flow’r of Ava’s race; No rose, no lily match’d that maiden’s face. He sigh’d his love, and Selyma return’d The chasten’d flame with which his bosom burn’d. Oh! mid the beauties of those heav’nly shores, Where all her charms, luxuriant Nature pours; Not such cold charms, as, in the frozen North, Few, and half ripe, her niggard hand puts forth; 70 But such, as on Love’s warmest, brightest shrine She strews around, all glowing, all divine. Oh, it were sweet to mark those lovers’ bliss-- Bliss far too great for such a world as this. And they would sit beneath some spreading palm, When mellowing eve put forth her fragrant balm, And watch the setting sun’s last dazzling sheen, Sink slow, as loth to quit so soft, so fair a scene. And _he_ would cull fresh flowrets’ varied glow, To form a wreath to deck her lovely brow, 80 And twine his fingers in her locks of night, As down her breast they stray’d, as envious of its white;-- And, as they lay, their breathing lips would meet, And hearts, that love first taught th’ ecstatic beat. And oh, to part at night, the ling’ring pain, And oh, the happiness to meet again. Yes, love like their’s so rapturous, yet so pure, Alas! could never, never long endure!

III.

When Ismael learn’d, from whom he drew his breath, Shich-Eidar’s virtues, and Shich-Eidar’s death, 90 The rightful heir to Persia’s realms; his soul With glory heav’d, disdaining Love’s control. He left the maid, for Honour’s trumpet blew, And straight to arms, and to revenge he flew. Wrong’d by oppression, or impell’d by fame, Around his standard, thousands daily came: His sire’s old followers, joying to behold, From their dead sage, arise a son so bold; And many a chief, who lov’d in him to trace A branch of Iran’s ancient royal race, 100 And that an alien from his blood should fill The throne of Usum Cassan, brook’d it ill. Many, who view’d his talents and admir’d; And more, by love of battle-spoils inspir’d; Widen’d each day the miscellaneous band, That swore to fight at Ismael’s command.-- He fought, and conquer’d! to applauding fame Victorious war had giv’n his youthful name. Alvante reign’d upon the Persian throne, In Tauris sway’d, what Ismael deem’d his own; 110 Thither he march’d, resolv’d, at one great blow, His hopes, his fortunes, and his life to throw.

Tir’d with their rapid march, eve found his train Encamp’d near Tauris, on soft Caymyr’s plain.

In yon tall tow’r, just peeping from the grove, Knew Ismael there, now dwelt his ancient love: For Ava fell in battle, and the fair Gave to her mother Amagilda’s care. And she, for safety from the civil war, Fled from her native halls and vallies far; 120 And with this only child, the widow’d dame, To that tall tow’r near stately Tauris, came. Unknown to all, high Ismael mounts his horse, And tow’rds his Selyma directs his course.

IV.

What light is streaming through the darken’d gloom? That radiance comes from Selyma’s lone room! She, pensive, leaning on her iv’ry arm, Hangs o’er her lattice, to imbibe the balm That eve imparts, while Fancy’s pow’r pourtrays The ling’ring charm, that hangs on other days. 130 From her bright eyes, where Love had fix’d his throne, The tears of mem’ry cours’d each other down, And her white bosom heav’d so deep a sigh-- ’Twas like a long, long strain of dying melody! “And where art thou, companion of my youth? “Where are thy vows of never-ceasing truth? “’Tis in idea alone, alas! I trace “The well-known features of that beaming face; “Curs’d be the fatal, the dire-omen’d day, “That glory tore thee, from mine arms, away! 140 “Curs’d be that glory, which will lead thee on, “Where ruthless Azrail’s thickest dangers throng; “Yes, thou wilt die; or, living, die to me!” ‘No, Selyma, I’m here, and live for thee.’ Scarce had the virgin turn’d her wond’ring eyes, Scarce giv’n the sound of fearful, glad surprise, Then at her feet, reality has brought The worshipp’d object of her ev’ry thought: Swift o’er the senses of her ravish’d soul, A temporary, kind oblivion stole; 150 But soon reviv’d, her eager eyes survey Him, whom she thought was ever snatch’d away. “And dost thou live, and does mine eye once more, “View, what it deem’d was ever, ever o’er?” ‘Yes, Selyma, my first, my only love, ‘I still am faithful as thy kindred dove. ‘The _Chieftain Ismael_, heir to Persia’s throne, ‘Comes, _humble Ismael’s_ vows of love to own; ‘To lead thee forth, the fairest of the fair, ‘My love, my glory, and my realms to share. 160 ‘To morrow’s sun shall see my banners wave ‘O’er Persia’s city, and Alvante’s grave. ‘And thronging crowds shall hail my lovely bride, ‘Rich Iran’s princess, and high Ismael’s pride!’

“Ah, Ismael, happier far my lot would be, “To range our earlier scenes of love with thee! “How would thine humble Selyma repine, “That loathed state should keep her soul from thine. “But why should selfish love attempt to mar “The bright refulgence of thine happier star! 170 “Whatever pleases Ismael, must be, “O soul of Selyma, most dear to thee!” Thus, in sweet converse, the fast-flying hours Were, like some bridegroom’s path, o’erstrew’d with flow’rs. At length remember’d Ismael, lest the morn Should show his absence, he must now return. And Selyma, awak’ning from her trance, Sent all her soul to his in one fond glance. “Ah, dost thou leave me, still, alas! unkind, “Must Ismael go, and I remain behind? 180 “Perhaps some arm, amid the bloody strife, “May rear the blade against thy valued life;-- “Oh, let me go with thee!--thine arm, my shield, “Oh, let me share the perils of the field! “What though I fall, what death can be so dear, “To cast my dying eyes around, and see thee near.”

High Ismael clasp’d the mourner to his breast, And dried the falling torrents in his vest; E’en though inur’d to war, to toil, to pain, Though wont to gaze, unmoved, at heaps of slain, 190 Yet, as he view’d the anguish of the maid, Adown his cheek the pitying tear-drop stray’d. ‘Farewell, another sun perchance may see, ‘Thine Ismael return to love, and thee. ‘How could that form of beauty learn to bear ‘The din of camps, the toils of blood and war! ‘Unman me not with this thy pleading wo-- ‘Think, O my love, that Honour bids me go; ‘And the same law that summons me away, ‘Commands thee here, my Selyma, to stay;-- 200 ‘Farewell.’-- O! who that ne’er experienc’d it can tell What meaning hangs on that sole word--farewell-- The piercing, thrilling glance, the tender air, That utter more than words can tell,--are there; And the big tear that dims the sparkling eye; And the mute language of th’ imploring sigh; And that soft, ling’ring tone, that seems the sound Of love himself, upon that word is found. O ne’er, O ne’er can he, whose inmost soul Has never felt it, tell its sweet control! 210

Selyma views him seize the snowy rein, O’er his dark courser’s widely-streaming mane (Like streaks of light in sable clouds) that hung, Then on the back of mighty pride he sprung;-- One parting look he casts!--with eagle speed, Away, away, swift scours that gen’rous steed.

V.

Now pensive midnight’s sable mantle falls O’er stately Tauris’ proud imbattled walls; And there dark Desolation’s fix’d his throne; No sound is there, save sigh or plaintive groan:-- 220 There drops the widow’s tear--there heaves the sigh Of mourning sire--there sounds the orphan’s cry-- And there dark Azrail[7] sits, and grimly waves His sable pinions o’er a thousand graves; Yet e’en his rugged soul is tir’d--his hand Would fain let drop his all-destructive brand-- Would gladly spread his deadly plumes, to fly From such a scene of desolate misery.

For when Alvante’s brother claim’d a throne, Which none but Ismael had the right to own; 230 The tyrant, wak’ning from inglorious ease, Rush’d to the battle, like the northern breeze:-- They fought! and young Moratcham’s lesser band Fled in dismay before his brother’s hand. But wo to Tauris’ chiefs!--for, there return’d, With vengeful rage the haughty victor burn’d: For they had help’d to place the daring brand, Of red Rebellion, in Moratcham’s hand. And, like some roaring whirlwind’s sweeping path, That tears whole forests with its rabid wrath; 240 Or, like some demon’s all-destroying form, That wings the blast, and rides the gath’ring storm: So fierce Alvante saw each coming day, The luckless chiefs of Tauris sweep away.

Whence is that piercing scream?--Oh, turn thine eye To view that scene of more than misery! Yon maiden lov’d yon lifeless youth; he fell Beneath Alvante’s rage,--the rest too well That scream has told;--wide floats her streaming hair, As if to ask compassion of the air, 250 And her dark eye-balls’ wilder’d, frenzied roll, Tell all the pangs that rend her madd’ning soul. She press’d her lips to his, in vain to breathe Life into lips, where all is death beneath;-- She feels his heart, for ever cold its glow, And its high bound of rapture, silenc’d now! And up she springs, and laughs--she laughs--but there Burst forth the horrid laughter of Despair. Vain, vain is reason, life against the stroke, Dead on her love she falls--her faithful heart is broke. 260

VI.

See the pale tyrant in his lofty tow’rs, In reckless revelry employ his hours; No blood, though torrents round his dwelling roll, Dims the forbidden[8] sparkle of the bowl. His form gigantic, and commanding mien, The eye of memory ne’er could quit, once seen. Yet there, no foulness stain’d, no beauty shone, If each stern feature were remark’d alone;-- But all united, the tremendous whole 269 Went, in an instant, through the awe-struck soul-- All, all appear’d t’ announce--this, this must be Almost a demon, or a deity.

But lo! a messenger, whose reeking steed Bears tacit witness to its rider’s speed, Stops at the palace gate:--“Haste, haste, I bear “Important tidings to the Sultan’s ear.” Admittance granted, from his breast he drew A scroll, and gave it to Alvante’s view:-- The Sultan open’d it--his steady cheek Was little wont his inward thoughts to speak; 280 But, as he read, his varying hue exprest That Fury’s tortures rack’d his raging breast;-- Knit were his sable brows--his flashing eye Shone like some orbit in a clouded sky;-- Fierce tow’rd his giant form, his hand of war Stretch’d down to grasp his pond’rous scymitar;-- His sounding voice was like the thunder’s roll, And all the hero swell’d his mighty soul:-- “’Tis well; the rebel boy shall rue the hour “When first he dar’d to tempt Alvante’s pow’r:-- “Brav’d by a stripling! where is then this arm, “At which whole squadrons fled with dire alarm? “Am _I_ not king? and shall this Ismael dare “To seize a crown which I alone should wear?-- “No, never no! but hence--command Reylain “To draw our troops before high Tauris’ plain.” He ceas’d--but still his mutt’ring tongue, the fire Which flash’d his eye, declar’d his inward ire. While deepest passions o’er his senses came, The monarch’s musing, and the hero’s flame, 300 Mingled with many a pang that conscience brought, To dampen courage, and t’ embitter thought.

VII.

His fav’rite slave approach’d, the salem made, And some low words in whisp’ring accent said-- “’Tis right, them instant to our presence bring,” With hasty tone replied the haughty king. The doors of polish’d cedar open flew, And gave a warrior legion to the view; While, in the midst, fast bound in iron bands, A warlike youth, with scorn indignant, stands: 310 The simply-splendid garments that he wore, Some blast of battle-storm had lately tore, And the rich gold blush’d deep in harden’d gore; Yet his bright face and form divine, where love And war’s fierce monarch for the mastery strove, Seem’d ’mid soil’d garb and fett’ring chains t’ exclaim, “Behold a son of Conquest and of Fame.”

He that had seen his eye of azure fair, (Tint in those darkly-glowing climes so rare,) And the soft cygnet down, that now began 320 His cheek to blossom, and to promise man, And a sweet something o’er it spread--might trace A woman’s softness in that god-like face. But, had he seen the almost burning flame That o’er his eye, when rous’d by wrath or fame, Flash’d (like the lightning hurl’d from heav’nly arm, When hush’d each wind, on ocean’s azure calm), And, with a blaze that pierc’d the bosom’s core, Made it still fiercer from the peace before: And, had he mark’d the form, the tow’ring crest, 330 The gait, that spurn’d the vile earth which it prest, Oh! he would cry,--“Sure Glory’s charms alone “Can call this youth of mightiness her own.” As glares some lion on his num’rous foe; So here and there bright flash’d his eye-ball’s glow: Upon the guards who held him, first it beam’d; Then to the Sultan’s lofty form it gleam’d: Alvante met the fire with steady eye, Which darted back the flame of majesty, 339 Then, turning to the guards,--“Ye’ve speeded well, “Where met ye this young warrior?--Sadi, tell.”-- With lowly salem, the time-serving man, Pimp to his master’s vices, thus began:--

VIII.

“Sultan of Persia, whose wide-spreading sway, “With trembling awe an universe obey, “List to thine humble slave!--As with this band “I view’d afar green Caymyr’s fragrant land, “And saw with horror, on its flow’ry plain, “The rebel Ismael’s far-extending train, “We met this youth; and on his breast the star, 350 “Which marks the chiefs of Ismael’s impious war: “We rush upon him!--in thy name command “To yield his person to his Sultan’s band. “No answer made he!--spurr’d his Arab horse, “Bar’d his keen blade!--on us his driving course “He dash’d impetuous;--we around him close, “And pour on every side an iron show’r of blows. “But he, his flashing sabre sweeping round, “Roll’d four brave Moslems on the verdant ground: “Then broke his weapon; or, perchance, his might “Had brought him safely through th’ unequal fight.

“Then, as on some fair tree descends the storm, “So rush’d our valiant soldiers on his form. “But, when life hung upon that slender thread, “I rear’d my sabre o’er his fenceless head: “For I admir’d his courage, and I thought, “If thus for Ismael he so bravely fought, “His martial prowess, and his weighty hand, “Might prove some succour to our Sultan’s band.”

He ceas’d:--Alvante, from his brows of pride, 370 With wond’ring glance the youthful hero ey’d; “What say’st thou, slave,” began the low’ring king; ‘Slave, in thy teeth the dastard word I fling,’ Exclaim’d the youth; ‘no crouching craven I; ‘Brave as thou art, of name perhaps as high! ‘Wert thou and I, upon some desert place, ‘Where, save our own, was never human trace, ‘This arm perchance might teach thee, to thy wo, ‘That it could deal no slave’s ignoble blow.’

In patient silence stern Alvante heard 380 The youthful stranger’s fierce defying word; Again with darkling eye he scann’d him o’er, And certain grew the doubts he had before; Then beam’d his joy in that dark-glowing hue, That instant o’er his haughty features grew; His hand half-drew the sabre from his side; “Now, by my faith, ’tis Ismael’s self,” he cried: “Prophet, I thank thee, that this glorious hour, “My only dread is plac’d within my pow’r. 389 “Guards, instant bring the bow-string--he shall die; “His dying agonies shall glut mine eye: “No, hold--the traitor shall not yield his breath “By pang so short, and by so mild a death: “Convey him to the darkest dungeon!--there “Leave him, to nurse the horrors of despair, “Whilst we devise some torture dire and new, “Dreadful as man e’er felt, or demon knew; “That, ere the chariot of the sun shall roll, “Shall rack his form, and madden all his soul.”

With glance disdainful, and majestic pride, 400 The tyrant’s frowns high Ismael scornful ey’d. Then calmly turn’d away, and greater far Than when in all the pomps of prosp’rous war, Leaving, with footsteps firm, the regal room, The guards he follow’d to his dungeon’s gloom.

END OF CANTO I.

ISMAEL.