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 Majnún's songs; each thrilling word
Her almost broken heart delighting.
Lailí, 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.
The gloomy veil of night withdrawn,
How sweetly looks the silvery 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 Majnún, chant a mournful tale.
The season of the rose has led
Lailí 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 Lailí 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
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 Laili'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:
Awhile the prospect charms her sight,
Awhile 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 Laili's view;
Still absent, still beyond her power
To bring thee to her fragrant bower;
O noble youth, still thou art mine,
And Lailí, Lailí still is thine! "
As thus she almost dreaming spoke,
· A voice reproachful her attention woke.
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