Nerve, power, and strength, from nourishment pro
But this is not the nourishment I need."
"Yet mortals change, whate'er their aim;
Nothing on earth remains the same:
know thou canst not be unmoved;
For ever thus thou canst not be;
Perpetual change the heavens have proved;
And night and morn, successively,
Attest its truth. That thou hast loved
I know; but thou mayst yet be free;
The heavens are clothed in deepest gloom;
Black is the threatening day of doom;
The clouds fly off, the storm is past,
No longer howls the scattering blast;
The heavens resume their wonted sheen,
And brighter glows the varied scene:
So grief devours the heart awhile;
So frowns are follow'd by a smile:
Like thee, was I enchanted, bound,
Girt by love's galling fetters round;
But to the winds my grief I flung,
And to my fate no longer clung.
This fire of love, which burns so bright,
What is it but a treacherous light?
The type of youth;-when that is o'er,
The burning mountain flames no more!"
But Majnún spurn'd the traitor-thought, and said –
'Speak'st thou to me as one to feeling dead?
I am myself the king of love; and now
Glory in my dominion: and wouldst thou
Persuade me to abandon all that Heaven
Has, 'mid my sufferings, for my solace given,
To quit that cherish'd hope, than life more dear,
Which rivets me to earth, and keeps me here?
That pure ethereal love, that mystic flower,
Nurtured in Heaven, fit for an angel's dower?
What! from my heart expel the dream of love?
First from the ocean's bed the sands remove!
Useless the effort,-useless is thy aim,-
Thou canst not quench a never-dying flame.
Then cease persuasion. Why to me appear
A master, teaching, like some holy seer?
He who aspires to open locks, they say,
To be successful, first must know the way."
The youth perceived his error, yet remain'd
In friendly converse a few fleeting days;
And, by the oracle of love enchain'd,
Listen'd, enraptured, to his varied lays; Companionship delectable! then rose
To bid adieu, since there he might not stay, 2490 And, sorrowing, left the man of many woes,
Surrounded by his vassal-beasts of prey.
How many days, how many years,
Her sorrows she has borne !
A lingering age of sighs and tears;
A night that has no morn;
Yet in that guarded tower she lays her head,
Shut like a gem within its stony bed.
And who the warder of that place of sighs?
Her husband!-he the dragon-watch supplies.
What words are those which meet her anxious ear?
Unusual sounds, unusual sights appear;
Lamps flickering round, and wailings sad and low,
Seem to proclaim some sudden burst of woe.
Beneath her casement rings a wild lament,
Death-notes disturb the night; the air is rent
With clamorous voices; every hope is fled;
He breathes no longer-Ibn Salím is dead!
The fever's rage had nipp'd him in his bloom;
He sank unloved, unpitied, to the tomb.
And Lailí marks the moon; a cloud
Had stain'd its lucid face;
The mournful token of a shroud,
End of the humble and the proud,
The grave their resting-place.
And now to her the tale is told,
Her husband's hand and heart are cold:
And must she mourn the death of one
Whom she had loathed to look upon?
In customary garb array'd,
The pomp of grief must be display'd-
Dishevell❜d tresses, streaming eyes,
The heart remaining in disguise-
She seem'd, distraction in her mien,'
To feel her loss, if loss had been;
But all the burning tears she shed
Were for her own Majnún, and not the dead!
The rose that hail'd the purple morn,
All glistening with the balmy dew,
Look'd still more lonely when the thorn
Had been removed from where it grew.
But Arab laws had still their claim
Upon a virtuous widow's fame.
And what destroy'd all chance of blame?
Two years to droop behind the screen;
Two years unseeing, and unseen !
No, not a glance in all that time,
Blooming in life's luxurious prime,
Was e'er allow'd to womankind;
Since, but to household faces blind,
She must at home her vigils keep,
Her business still to groan and weep.
And Lailí weeps; but who can tell
What secrets may her bosom swell?
The beauteous eyes in tears may swim,
The heart may throb, but not for him
Who in the grave unconscious sleeps-
Alone for Majnún Lailí weeps!
Accustom'd hourly to rehearse
Her distant lover's glowing verse,
Framed like a spell to charm and bless,
And soothe her heart's extreme distress.
"O what a night! a long and dreary night! It is not night, but darkness without end; Awful extinction of ethereal light,
Companionless I sit, without one friend.
Is the immortal source of light congeal'd?
Or has the dreadful day of judgment come?
Nature's fair form beneath a pall conceal'd;
Oh! what a night of soul-destroying gloom!
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