“FLY to the desert, fly with me, | |
| Our Arab tents are rude for thee; | |
| But oh! the choice what heart can doubt | |
| Of tents with love or thrones without? | |
| |
| “Our rocks are rough, but smiling there | 5 |
| The acacia waves her yellow hair, | |
| Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less | |
| For flowering in the wilderness. | |
| |
| “Our sands are bare, but down their slope | |
| The silvery-footed antelope | 10 |
| As gracefully and gayly springs | |
| As o’er the marble courts of kings. | |
| |
| “Then come,—thy Arab maid will be | |
| The loved and lone acacia-tree, | |
| The antelope, whose feet shall bless | 15 |
| With their light sound thy loneliness. | |
| |
| “Oh! there are looks and tones that dart | |
| An instant sunshine through the heart, | |
| As if the soul that minute caught | |
| Some treasure it through life had sought; | 20 |
| |
| “As if the very lips and eyes | |
| Predestined to have all our sighs, | |
| And never be forgot again, | |
| Sparkled and spoke before as then! | |
| |
| “So came thy every glance and tone, | 25 |
| When first on me they breathed and shone; | |
| New, as if brought from other spheres, | |
| Yet welcome as if loved for years! | |
| |
| “Then fly with me, if thou hast known | |
| No other flame, nor falsely thrown | 30 |
| A gem away, that thou hadst sworn | |
| Should ever in thy heart be worn. | |
| |
| “Come, if the love thou hast for me | |
| Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,— | |
| Fresh as the fountain underground, | 35 |
| When first ’t is by the lapwing found. | |
| |
| “But if for me thou dost forsake | |
| Some other maid, and rudely break | |
| Her worshipped image from its base, | |
| To give to me the ruined place; | 40 |
| |
| “Then, fare thee well!—I ’d rather make | |
| My bower upon some icy lake | |
| When thawing suns begin to shine, | |
| Than trust to love so false as thine!” | |
| |
| There was a pathos in this lay, | 45 |
| That even without enchantment’s art | |
| Would instantly have found its way | |
| Deep into Selim’s burning heart; | |
| But breathing, as it did, a tone | |
| To earthly lutes and lips unknown; | 50 |
| With every chord fresh from the touch | |
| Of music’s spirit, ’t was too much! | |
| Starting, he dashed away the cup,— | |
| Which, all the time of this sweet air, | |
| His hand had held, untasted, up, | 55 |
| As if ’t were fixed by magic there, | |
| And naming her, so long unnamed, | |
| So long unseen, wildly exclaimed, | |
| “O Nourmahal! O Nourmahal! | |
| Hadst thou but sung this witching strain, | 60 |
| I could forget—forgive thee all, | |
| And never leave those eyes again.” | |
| |
| The mask is off,—the charm is wrought,— | |
| And Selim to his heart has caught, | |
| In blushes, more than ever bright, | 65 |
| His Nourmahal, his Harem’s Light! | |
| And well do vanished frowns enhance | |
| The charm of every brightened glance; | |
| And dearer seems each dawning smile | |
| For having lost its light awhile; | 70 |
| And, happier now for all her sighs, | |
| As on his arm her head reposes, | |
| She whispers him, with laughing eyes, | |
| “Remember, love, the Feast of Roses!” | |
| |
