No More Learning

By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail!
And Woman's eye is wet--Man's cheek is pale:
Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race,
Thy destined lord is come too late:
He sees not--ne'er shall see thy face!
Can he not hear
The loud Wul-wulleh[186] warn his distant ear?
Thy handmaids weeping at the gate, 1110
The Koran-chanters of the Hymn of Fate,[he][187]
The silent slaves with folded arms that wait,
Sighs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale,
Tell him thy tale!
Thou didst not view thy Selim fall!
That fearful moment when he left the cave
Thy heart grew chill:
He was thy hope--thy joy--thy love--thine all,
And that last thought on him thou could'st not save
Sufficed to kill; 1120
Burst forth in one wild cry--and all was still.
Peace to thy broken heart--and virgin grave!
Ah! happy! but of life to lose the worst!
That grief--though deep--though fatal--was thy first!
Thrice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the force
Of absence--shame--pride--hate--revenge--remorse!
And, oh!
that pang where more than Madness lies
The Worm that will not sleep--and never dies;
Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night,
That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light, 1130
That winds around, and tears the quivering heart!
Ah! wherefore not consume it--and depart!
Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting Chief!
Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head,
Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread:[188]
By that same hand Abdallah--Selim bled.
Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief:
Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed,
She, whom thy Sultan had but seen to wed,[hf]
Thy Daughter's dead! 1140
Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,
The Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream.
What quenched its ray? --the blood that thou hast shed!
Hark! to the hurried question of Despair:[189]
"Where is my child? "--an Echo answers--"Where? "[190]

XXVIII.

Within the place of thousand tombs
That shine beneath, while dark above
The sad but living cypress glooms[hg]
And withers not, though branch and leaf
Are stamped with an eternal grief, 1150
Like early unrequited Love,
One spot exists, which ever blooms,
Ev'n in that deadly grove--
A single rose is shedding there
Its lonely lustre, meek and pale:
It looks as planted by Despair--
So white--so faint--the slightest gale
Might whirl the leaves on high;
And yet, though storms and blight assail,
And hands more rude than wintry sky 1160
May wring it from the stem--in vain--
To-morrow sees it bloom again!
The stalk some Spirit gently rears,
And waters with celestial tears;
For well may maids of Helle deem
That this can be no earthly flower,
Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,
And buds unsheltered by a bower;
Nor droops, though Spring refuse her shower,
Nor woos the Summer beam: 1170
To it the livelong night there sings
A Bird unseen--but not remote:
Invisible his airy wings,
But soft as harp that Houri strings
His long entrancing note!
It were the Bulbul; but his throat,
Though mournful, pours not such a strain:
For they who listen cannot leave
The spot, but linger there and grieve,
As if they loved in vain!