Layla Majnun Part 2

IV.

As morning broke, the sun, with golden light,

Eclipsed the twinkling stars of silvery white;

And Majnûn, rising, eagerly pursued

The path which wound to Lailîs solitude,

Grieved to the heart; and, as he went along,

His lips breathed softly some impassion'd song;

Some favorite lay, which tenderly express'd

The present feeling of his anxious breast.

In fancy soon her image he beheld;

No shadowy cloud her lucid beauty veil'd;

He saw her fresh as morning's scented air—

Himself exhausted by incessant care:*

He saw her blooming as the blushing rose—

Himself dejected by unnumber'd woes:

He saw her like an angel soft and bland—

Himself consuming like a lighted brand:

Her ringlets flowing loosely to the ground,

His ringlets, fetters by affection bound;

And still, all faint with grief, he pass'd his days,

Pouring his soul out in melodious lays.

His friends, to whom his griefs are known,

His alter'd aspect now bemoan;

Alarm'd to hear the sufferer still

In frantic mood unceasing fill

The night-breeze with his plaintive woes;

For sorrow with indulgence grows.

They try to soothe his wilder'd mind,

Where reason once was seen enshrined;

His father, with a father's love,

Sought his sad sorrows to remove,

And gave him maxims full and clear,

And counsel meet for youth to hear.

But, though good counsel and advice

May often lead to Paradise,

When love has once the heart engross'd

All counsel, all advice is lost;

And weeping Majnûn not a word

Of his poor father's counsel heard.

Ah! when did prudence e'er control

The frenzy of a love-lorn soul?

Disconsolate the father now

Behind the Harem-screen appears,

Inquiring of his females how

He best might dry the maniac's tears;

And what had drawn the sparkling moon

Of intellect from him so soon.

The answer of the old and young

Was ready, quivering on the tongue–

“His fate is fix'd—his eyes have seen

The charms of his affection's queen

In all their winning power display'd;

His heart a captive to that Arab maid.

Then what relief canst thou supply?

What to the bleeding lover, doom'd to die?

What but fulfilling his desires?

And this a father's generous aid requires.

See them united in the bonds of love;

And that alone his frenzy will remove.”

These words (for woman's words convey

A spell, converting night to day,

Diffuse o'er troubled life a balm,

And passion's fiercest fever calm)—

These words relieve the father's heart,

And comfort to his thoughts impart.

Resolved at once, he now with speed

Marshals his followers, man and steed;

And, all assembled, bends his way

To the damsel's home, without delay.

Approaching, quick the enquiry rose—

—“Come ye hither as friends or foes?

Whatever may your errand be,

That errand must be told to me;

For none, unless a sanction'd friend,

Can pass the boundary I defend.”

This challenge touch'd Syd Omri's pride;

And yet he calmly thus replied,—

“I come in friendship, and propose

All future chance of feud to close.”

Then to the maiden's father said,—

“The nuptial feast may now be spread:

My son with thirsty heart has seen

Thy fountain pure with margin green;

And every fountain, clear and bright,

Gives to the thirsty heart delight.

That fountain he demands. With shame,

Possess'd of power, and wealth, and fame,

I to his silly humour bend,

And humbly seek his fate to blend

With one inferior. Need I tell

My own high lineage, known so well?

If sympathy my heart incline,

Or vengeance, still the means are mine.

Treasure and arms can amply bear

Me through the toils of desert-war;

But thou'rt the merchant, pedlar-chief,

And I the buyer; come, sell,—be brief!

If thou art wise, accept advice;

Sell, and receive a princely price!”

The sire of Lailî mark'd his haughty tone,

But smoothly answer'd,—“Not on us alone

Depends the nuptial union—but on Heaven,

By which all power, and right, and truth are given.

However just our reasoning may appear,

We're still beset by endless error here;

And proffer'd friendship may perchance become

The harbinger of strife and of the tomb;

Madness is neither sin nor crime, we know,

But who'd be link'd to madness or a foe?

Thy son is mad—his senses first restore;

In constant prayer the aid of Heaven implore;

But while portentous gloom pervades his brain,

Disturb me not with this vain suit again.

The jewel, sense, no purchaser can buy,

Nor treachery the place of sense supply.

Thou hast my reasons—and this parley o'er,

Keep them in mind, and trouble me no more!”

Abash'd, his very heartstrings torn,

Thus to be met with scoff and scorn,

Syd Omri to his followers turn'd,

His cheek with kindled anger burn'd;

But, scorning more to do or say,

Indignant homeward urged his way.

And now for a disorder'd mind,

What med'cine can affection find?

What magic power, what human skill,

To rectify the erring will?

—The necromancer's art they tried—

Charms, philtres used, to win a bride,

And make a father's heart relent,

As if by Heaven in pity sent.—

Vain efforts all. They now address

Kind words, his mind to soothe and bless,

And urge in his unwilling ear

(Treason and death for him to hear)

“Another love, of nobler race,

Unmatch'd in form, unmatch'd in grace;

All blandishments and fairy wiles;

Her every glance the heart beguiles;

An idol of transcendent worth,

With charms eclipsing royal birth;

Whose balmy lips like rubies glow;

Sugar and milk their sweetness show;

And her words like softest music flow:

Adorn'd in all the pride of spring,

Her robes around rich odours fling;

Sparkling with gold and gems, she seems

The bright perfection of a lover's dreams;

Then why, with such a prize at home,

For charms inferior amid strangers roam?

Bid all unduteous thoughts depart,

And wisely banish Lailî from thy heart.”

When Majnûn saw his hopes decay,

Their fairest blossoms fade away;

And friends and sire, who might have been

Kind intercessors, rush between

Him and the only wish that shed

One ray of comfort round his head,

(His fondly cherish'd Arab maid),

He beat his hands, his garments tore,

He cast his fetters on the floor

In broken fragments, and in wrath

Sought the dark wilderness's path;

And there he wept and sobb'd aloud,

Unwitness'd by the gazing crowd;

His eyes all tears, his soul all flame,

Repeating still his Lailî's name.

And Lailî! Lailî! echoed round,

Still dwelling on that rapturous sound.

—In pilgrim-garb he reckless stray'd,

No covering on his feet or head;

And still, as memory touch'd his brain,

He murmur'd some love-wilder'd strain:

But still her name was ever on his tongue,

And Lailî! Lailî still through grove and forest rung.

Sad inmate of the desert wild,

His form and face with dust defiled;

Exhausted with his grief's excess,

He sat him down in weariness.

“Estranged from friends,” he weeping cried,

“My homeward course is dark to me;

But, Lailî, were I at thy side,

How bless'd would thy poor lover be!

My kindred think of me with shame;

My friends they shudder at my name.

That cup of wine I held, alas!

Dropp'd from my hand, is dash'd in pieces;

And thus it is that, like the glass,

Life's hope in one dark moment ceases.

O ye who never felt distress,

Never gay scenes of joy forsaking,

Whose minds, at peace, no cares oppress,

What know ye of a heart that's breaking!”

* * * * *

Worn out at length, he sank upon the ground,

And there in tears the mournful youth is found

By those who traced his wanderings: gently they

Now to Syd Omri's home the faded form convey:

His sire and kinsmen round him moan,

And, weeping, make his griefs their own;

And, garrulous, recall to memory's eye

The progress of his life from infancy—

The flattering promise of his boyish days—

And find the wreck of hope on which they gaze.

They deem'd that Mecca's sacred fane

His reason would restore again;

That blessed boon to mortals given,

The arc of earth, the arc of heaven;

The holy Kâba* where the Prophet pray'd,

Where Zam-Zam's waters yield their saving aid.

'Tis now the season of the pilgrimage,

And now assemble merchant, chieftain, sage,

With vows and offerings, on that spot divine:

Thousands and thousands throng the splendid shrine.

And now, on that high purpose bent, await

Syd Omri's camels, ready at his gate;

Around their necks the tinkling bells are hung,

Rich tassell'd housings on their backs are flung;

And Majnûn, faint, and reckless what may be,

Is on a litter placed –sad sight to see!—

And tenderly caress'd, whilst borne along

By the rough moving camel, fleet and strong.

The desert soon is pass'd, and Mecca's bright

And glittering minarets rise upon the sight;

Where golden gifts, and sacrifice, and prayer,

Secure the absolution sought for there.

The father, entering that all-powerful shrine,

Thus prays—“Have mercy, Heaven, on me and mine!

O from my son this frenzied mood remove,

And save him, save him from the bane of love!”

Majnûn at this, poor way ward child,

Look'd in his father's face and smiled;

And frankly said his life should prove

The truth and holiness of love.

“My heart is bound by beauty's spell,

My love is indestructible.

Am I to separate from my own,

From her for whom I breathe alone?

What friend could wish me to resign

A love so pure, so true as mine?

What, though I like a taper burn,

And almost to a shadow turn,

I envy not the heart that's free—

Love's soul-encircling chains for me!”

The love that springs from Heaven is bless'd;

Unholy passions stain the rest;

That is not love: wild fancy's birth,

Which lives on change, is constant never:

But Majnûn's love was not of earth,

Glowing with heavenly truth for ever;

An earthly object raised the flame,

But 'twas from Heaven the inspiration came.

In silent sorrow the aged sire

Found all his cares were vain;

And back to his expecting tribe

Address'd his steps again;

For Mecca had no power to cool

The lover's burning brain;

No consolation, no relief

For the old man's heart-consuming grief.

V.

Sweet Lailî's kinsmen now describe

To the haughty chieftain of their tribe,

A youth amidst the desert seen,

In strange attire, of frantic mien;

His arms outstretch'd, his head all bare,

And floating loose his clustering hair:

“In a distracted mood,” they say—

“He wanders hither every day;

And often, with fantastic bound,

Dances, or prostrate hugs the ground;

Or, in a voice the soul to move,

Warbles the melting songs of love;

Songs which, when breathed in tones so true,

A thousand hearts at once subdue.

He speaks—and all who listen hear

Words which they hold in memory dear;

And we and thine endure the shame,

And Lailî blushes at his name.”

And now the chieftain, roused to wrath,

Threatens to cross the maniac's path.

But, haply, to prevent that barbarous deed,

To Omri's palmy groves the tidings flew,

And soon the father sends a chosen few,

To seek the lost one. Promptly they proceed

O'er open plain and thicket deep,

Embowering glen and rocky steep,

Exploring with un wearied eye

Wherever man might pass or lie,

O'ercome by grief or death. In vain

Their sight on every side they strain,

No Majnûn's voice, nor form, to cheer

Their anxious hearts; but far and near

The yell of prowling beasts they hear.

Mournful they deem him lost or dead,

And tears of bitterest anguish shed.

But he, the wanderer from his home,

Found not from beasts a living tomb;

His passion's pure and holy flame

Their native fierceness seem'd to tame

Tiger and ravenous wolf pass'd by him,

The fell hyena came not nigh him;

As if, ferocious spirits to quell,

His form had been invisible,

Or bore a life-protecting spell.

Upon a fountain emerald brink

Majnûn had stoop'd its lucid wave to drink;

And his despairing friends descried

Him laid along that murmuring fountain's side,

Wailing his sorrows still; his feeble voice

Dwelt, ever dwelt, upon his heart's sole choice.

A wild emotion trembled in his eye,

His bosom wrung with many a deep-drawn sigh;

And groans, and tears, and music's softest lay,

Successive mark'd his melancholy day.

—Now he is stretch'd along the burning sand,

A stone his pillow—now, upraised his hand,

He breathes a prayer for Lailî, and again

The desert echoes with some mournful strain.

As wine deprives us of the sense we boast,

So reason in love's maddening draughts is lost.

Restored to home again, he dreads to meet

His father's frowns, and bends to kiss his feet;

Then, gazing wildly, rises up, and speaks,

And in a piteous tone forgiveness seeks:—

“Sad is my fate, o'ercast my youthful morn,

My rose's leaves, my life's sweet buds are torn;

I sit in darkness, ashes o'er my head,

To all the world's alluring pleasures dead;

For me what poor excuse can soothe thy mind?

But thou'rt my father still—O still be kind!”

Syd Omri his unchanged affection proved,

And, folding to his breast the child he loved,

Exclaimed:–“My boy! I grieve to mark

Thy reason erring still, and dark;

A fire consuming every thread

Of which thy thrilling nerves are made.

Sit down, and from thy eyesight tear

The poisonous thorn that rankles there:

'Tis best we should to mirth incline,

But let it not be raised by wine:

'Tis well desire should fill the breast;

Not such desire as breaks our rest.

Remain not under grief's control,

Nor taunt of foe which stings the soul;

Let wisdom every movement guide;

Error but swells affliction's tide;

Though love hath set thee all on fire,

And thy heart burns with still unquench'd desire,

Despair not of a remedy;

From seedlings spring the shady tree;

From hope continued follows gladness;

Which dull despair had lost in sadness;

Associate with the wealthy, they

Will show to glittering wealth the way;

A wanderer never gathers store,

Be thou a wanderer now no more.

Wealth opens every door, and gives

Command, and homage still receives:

Be patient then, and patience will

By slow degrees thy coffers fill.

That river rolling deep and broad,

Once but a narrow streamlet flow'd;

That lofty mountain, now in view,

Its height from small beginnings drew.

He who impatient hurries on,

Hoping for gems, obtains a stone;

Shrewdness and cunning gain the prize,

While wisdom's self unprosperous lies:

The fox of crafty subtle mind

Leaves the wolf's dulness far behind;

Be thou discreet, thy thoughts employ,

The world's inviting pomp enjoy.—

In search of wealth from day to day

Love's useless passion dies away;

The sensual make disease their guest,

And nourish scorpions in their breast.

And is thy heart so worthless grown,

To be the cruel sport of one?

Keep it from woman's scathe, and still

Obedient to thy own free will,

And mindful of a parent's voice,

Make him, and not thy foes, rejoice.”

Majnûn replied:—“My father!–father still!—

My power is gone; I cannot change my will:

The moral counsel thou hast given to me,

(To one who cannot from his bondage flee,)

A vails me nothing. 'Tis no choice of mine,

But Fate's decree, that I should thus repine:

Stand I alone? Look round, on every side

Are broken hearts, by sternest fortune tried:

Shadows are not self-made—the silver moon

Is not self-station'd, but the Almighty's boon.

From the huge elephant's stupendous form,

To that of the poor ant, the smallest worm,

Through every grade of life, all power is given,

All joy or anguish by the Lord of Heaven.

I sought not, I, misfortune–but it came–

I sought not fire, yet is my heart all flame:

They ask me why I never laugh nor smile,

Though laughter be no sign of sense the while.

If I should laugh in merry mood, a-gape,

Amidst my mirth some secret might escape.

—A partridge seized an ant, resolved to kill

The feeble creature with his horny bill;

When, laughing loud, the ant exclaimed—‘Alas!

A partridge thou! and art thou such an ass?

I'm but a gnat, and dost thou think to float

A gnat's slight filmy texture down thy throat?’

The partridge laugh'd at this unusual sound,

And, laughing, dropp'd the ant upon the ground.

Thus he who idly laughs will always find

Some grief succeed—'tis so with all mankind.

The stupid partridge, laughing, droop'd his crest,

And by that folly lost what he possess'd.

—This poor old drudge, which bears its heavy load,

Must all life long endure the same rough road;

No joy for him, in mortal aid no trust,

No rest till death consigns him to the dust.”

Here paused the youth, and wept; and now

The household smooth his fourrow'd brow,

And with unceasing eagerness

Seek to remove his soul's distress.

But grief, corroding grief, allows no space

For quiet thoughts; his wounds breaks out anew;

His kindred every change of feature trace,

And unavailing tears their cheeks bedew;

A deeper, keener anguish marks his face;

His faded form so haggard to the view;

Useless the task his sorrows to remove,

For who can free the heart from love, unchanging love?

Few days had pass'd, when, frantic grown,

He burst from his domestic prison,

And in the desert wild, alone,

Pour'd, like the morning bird, new risen,

His ardent lay of love. Not long

The mountains echoed with his song,

Ere, drawn by sounds so sweet and clear,

A crowd of listeners hover'd near:

They saw him, tall as cypress, stand

A rocky fragment in his hand;

A purple sash his waist around,

His legs with links of iron bound;

Yet, unencumber'd was his gait;

They only show'd his maniac state.

* * * * *

Wandering he reach'd a spot of ground,

With palmy groves and poplars crown'd;

A lively scene it was to view,

Where flowers too bloom'd, of every hue;

Starting, he saw the axe applied

To a cypress-tree—and thus he cried:—

“Gardener! did ever love thy heart control?

Was ever woman mistress of thy soul?

When joy has thrill'd through every glowing nerve,

Hadst thou no wish that feeling to preserve?

Does not a woman's love delight, entrance,

And every blessing fortune yields enhance?

Then stop that lifted hand, the stroke suspend,

Spare, spare the cypress-tree, and be my friend!

And why? Look there, and be forewarn'd by me,

'Tis Lailî's form, all grace and majesty;

Wouldst thou root up resemblance so complete,

And lay its branches withering at thy feet?

What! Lailî's form? no; spare the cypress-tree;

Let it remain, still beautiful and free;

Yes, let my prayers thy kindliest feelings move,

And save the graceful shape of her I love!”

–The gardener dropp'd his axe, o'ercome with shame,

And left the tree to bloom, and speak of Lailî's fame.

VI.

Lailî in beauty, softness, grace,

Surpass'd the loveliest of her race;

She was a fresh and odorous flower,

Pluck'd by a fairy from her bower;

With heart-delighting rosebuds blooming,

The welcome breeze of spring perfuming.

The killing witchery that lies

In her soft, black, delicious eyes,

When gather'd in one amorous glance,

Pierces the heart, like sword or lance;

The prey that falls into her snare,

For life must mourn and struggle there;

Her eyelash speaks a thousand blisses,

Her lips of ruby ask for kisses;

Soft lips where sugar-sweetness dwells,

Sweet as the bee-hive's honey-cells;

Her cheeks, so beautiful and bright,

Had stole the moon's refulgent light;

Her form the cypress-tree expresses,

And full and ripe invites caresses;

With all these charms the heart to win,

There was a careless grief within—

Yet none beheld her grief, or heard;

She droop'd like broken-winged bird*.

Her secret thoughts her love concealing,

But, softly to the terrace stealing,

From morn to eve she gazed around,

In hopes her Majnûn might be found,

Wandering in sight. For she had none

To sympathise with her—not one!

None to compassionate her woes—

In dread of rivals, friends, and foes;

And though she smiled, her mind's distress

Fill'd all her thoughts with bitterness;

The fire of absence on them prey'd,

But light nor smoke that fire betray'd;

Shut up within herself, she sate,

Absorb'd in grief, disconsolate;

Yet true love has resources still,

Its soothing arts, and ever will!

Voices in guarded softness rose

Upon her ever-listening ear;

She heard her constant lover's woes,

In melting strains, repeated near;

The sky, with gloomy clouds o'erspread,

At length soft showers began to shed;

And what, before, destruction seem'd,

With rays of better promise gleam'd.

Voices of young and old she heard

Beneath the harem-walls reciting

Her Majnûn's songs; each thrilling word

Her almost broken heart delighting.

Lailî, with matchless charms of face,

Was bless'd with equal mental grace;

With eloquence and taste refined;

And from the treasures of her mind

She pour'd her fondest love's confession

With faithful love's most warm expression;

Told all her hopes and sorrows o'er,

Though told a thousand times before:

The life-blood circling through her veins

Recorded her affecting strains;

And, as she wrote, with passion flush'd,

The glowing words with crimson blush'd.

And now the terrace she ascends

In secret, o'er the rampart bends,

And flings the record, with a sigh,

To one that moment passing by:

Unmark'd the stranger gains the prize,

And from the spot like lightning flies

To where the lingering lover weeps unseen.

—Starting upon his feet, with cheerful mien,

He gazes, reads, devours the pleasing tale,

And joy again illumes his features pale.

Thus was resumed the soft exchange of thought;

Thus the return of tenderest feeling wrought:

Each the same secret intercourse pursued,

And mutual vows more ardently renew'd;

And many a time between them went and came

The fondest tokens of their deathless flame;

Now in hope's heaven, now in despair's abyss,

And now enrapt in visionary bliss.

VII.

The gloomy veil of night withdrawn,

How sweetly looks the silver dawn;

Rich blossoms laugh on every tree,

Like men of fortunate destiny,

Or the shining face of revelry.

The crimson tulip and golden rose

Their sweets to all the world disclose.

I mark the glittering pearly wave

The fountain's banks of emerald lave;

The birds in every arbor sing,

The very raven hails the spring;

The partridge and the ring-dove raise

Their joyous notes in songs of praise;

But bulbuls, through the mountain-vale,

Like Majnûn, chant a mournful tale.

The season of the rose has led

Lailî to her own favorite bower;

Her cheeks the softest vermil-red,

Her eyes the modest sumbul flower.

She has left her father's painted hall,

She has left the terrace where she kept

Her secret watch till evening fall,

And where she oft till midnight wept.

A golden fillet sparkling round

Her brow, her raven tresses bound;

And as she o'er the greensward tripp'd,

A train of damsels ruby-lipp'd,

Blooming like flowers of Samarkand,

Obedient bow'd to her command.

She glitter'd like a moon among

The beauties of the starry throng,

With lovely forms as Houris bright,

Or Peris glancing in the light;

And now they reach an emerald spot,

Beside a cool sequester'd grot,

And soft recline beneath the shade,

By a delicious rose-bower made:

There, in soft converse, sport, and play,

The hours unnoted glide away;

But Lailî to the Bulbul tells

What secret grief her bosom swells,

And fancies, through the rustling leaves,

She from the garden-breeze receives

The breathings of her own true love,

Fond as the cooings of the dove.

In that romantic neighbourhood

A grove of palms majestic stood;

Never in Arab desert wild

A more enchanting prospect smiled;

So fragrant, of so bright a hue,

Not Irem richer verdure knew;

Nor fountain half so clear, so sweet,

As that which flow'd at Lailî's feet.

The Grove of Palms her steps invites;

She strolls amid its varied scenes,

Its pleasant copses, evergreens,

In which her waken'd heart delights.

Where'er the genial zephyr sighs,

Lilies and roses near her rise:

A while the prospect charms her sight,

A while she feels her bosom light,

Her eyes with pleasure beaming bright:

But sadness o'er her spirit steals,

And thoughts, too deep to hide, reveals:

Beneath a cypress-tree reclined,

In secret thus she breathes her mind:—

“O faithful friend, and lover true,

Still distant from thy Lailî's view;

Still absent, still beyond her power

To bring thee to her fragrant bower;

O noble youth, still thou art mine,

And Lailî, Lailî still is thine!”

As thus she almost dreaming spoke,

A voice reproachful her attention woke,

“What! hast thou banish'd prudence from thy mind?

And shall success be given to one unkind?

Majnûn on billows of despair is toss'd,

Lailî has nothing of her pleasures lost;

Majnûn has sorrow gnawing at his heart,

Lailî's blithe looks far other thoughts impart;

Majnûn the poison-thorn of grief endures,

Lailî, all wiles and softness, still allures;

Majnûn her victim in a thousand ways,

Lailî in mirth and pastime spends her days;

Majnûn's unnumber'd wounds his rest destroy,

Lailî exists but in the bowers of joy;

Majnûn is bound by love's my sterious spell,

Lailî's bright cheeks of cheerful feelings tell;

Majnûn his Lailî's absence ever mourns,

Lail'îs light mind to other objects turns.”

At this reproof tears flow'd apace

Down Lailî's pale, dejected face;

But soon to her glad heart was known

The trick, thus practised by her own

Gay, watchful, ever-sportive train,

Who long had watch'd, nor watch'd in vain;

And mark'd, in her love's voice and look,

Which never woman's glance mistook.

Her mother, too, with kneer eye,

Saw deeper through the mystery,

Which Lailî thought her story veil'd,

And oft that fatal choice bewail'd;

But Lailî still loved on; the root

Sprang up, and bore both bud and fruit;

And she believed her secret flower

As safe as treasure in a guarded tower.