Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Minor Poems — 1829 text — reading text

minds, resembles the delirium of opium. The passionate excitement of Love and the buoyancy of spirit attendant upon intoxication are its less holy pleasures — the price of which, to those souls who make choice of “Al Aaraaf” as their residence after life, is final death and annihilation. †There be tears of perfect moan Wept for thee in Helicon. — Milton. [The following footnotes appear at the bottom of page 36:] *It was entire in 1687 — the most elevated spot in Athens. †Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows Than have the white breasts of the Queen of Love. — Marlow . [The following footnotes appear at the bottom of page 37:] *Pennon — for pinion. — Milton. [Prefatory Material] TAMERLANE. ADVERTISEMENT. This Poem was printed for publication in Boston, in the year 1827, but suppressed through circumstances of a private nature. TO JOHN NEAL THIS POEM IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. Tamerlane TAMERLANE. ————— 1 Kind solace in a dying hour! — Such, father, is not (now) my theme — I will not madly deem that power Of Earth may shrive me of the sin Unearthly pride hath revell'd in — I have no time to dote or dream: You call it hope — that fire of fire! It is but agony of desire: If I can hope — Oh God! I can — Its fount is holier — more divine — I would not call thee fool, old man, But such is not a gift of thine. 2 Know thou the secret of a spirit Bow'd from its wild pride into shame. O! yearning heart! I did inherit Thy withering portion with the fame, The searing glory which hath shone Amid the jewels of my throne, Halo of Hell! and with a pain Not Hell shall make me fear again — O! craving heart, for the lost flowers And sunshine of my summer hours! Th’ undying voice of that dead time, With its interminable chime, Rings, in the spirit of a spell, Upon thy emptiness — a knell. 3 I have not always been as now: The fever'd diadem on my brow I claim'd and won usurpingly —— Hath not the same fierce heirdom given Rome to the Caesar — this to me? The heritage of a kingly mind, And a proud spirit which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind. 4 On mountain soil I first drew life: The mists of the Taglay have shed Nightly their dews upon my head, And, I believe, the winged strife And tumult of the headlong air Hath nestl'd in my very hair. 5 So late from Heaven — that dew — it fell (’Mid dreams of an unholy night) Upon me — with the touch of Hell, While the red flashing of the light From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er, Appeared to my half-closing eye The pageantry of monarchy, And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar Came hurriedly upon me, telling Of human battle, where my voice, My own voice, silly child! — was swelling (O! how my spirit would rejoice, And leap within me at the cry) The battle-cry of Victory! 6 The rain came down upon my head Unshelter'd — and the heavy wind Was giantlike — so thou, my mind! — It was but man, I thought, who shed Laurels upon me: and the rush — The torrent of the chilly air Gurgled within my ear the crush Of empires — with the captive's prayer — The hum of suiters — and the tone Of flattery ’round a sovereign's throne. 7 My passions, from that hapless hour, Usurp'd a tyranny which men Have deem'd, since I have reach'd to power; My innate nature — be it so: But, father, there liv'd one who, then, Then — in my boy-hood — when their fire Burn'd with a still intenser glow, (For passion must, with youth, expire) E’en then who knew this iron heart In woman's weakness had a part. 8 I have no words — alas! — to tell The loveliness of loving well! Nor would I now attempt to trace The more than beauty of a face Whose lineaments, upon my mind, Are —— shadows on th’ unstable wind: Thus I remember having dwelt Some page of early lore upon, With loitering eye, till I have felt The letters — with their meaning — melt To fantasies — with none. 9 O! she was worthy of all love! Love — as in infancy was mine — ’Twas such as angel minds above Might envy; her young heart the shrine On which my ev’ry hope and thought Were incense — then a goodly gift, For they were childish — and upright — Pure —— as her young example taught: Why did I leave it, and, adrift, Trust to the fire within, for light? 10 We grew in age — and love — together — Roaming the forest, and the wild; My breast her shield in wintry weather — And, when the friendly sunshine smil'd, And she would mark the opening skies, I saw no Heaven — but in her eyes. 11 ­ Young Love's first lesson is —— the heart: For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles, When, from our little cares apart, And laughing at her girlish wiles, I'd throw me on her throbbing breast, And pour my spirit out in tears — There was no need to speak the rest — No need to quiet any fears Of her — who ask'd no reason why, But turn'd on me her quiet eye! 12 Yet more than worthy of the love My spirit struggled with, and strove, When, on the mountain peak, alone, Ambition lent it a new tone — I had no being — but in thee: The world, and all it did contain In the earth — the air — the sea — Its joy — its little lot of pain That was new pleasure —— the ideal, Dim, vanities of dreams by night — And dimmer nothings which were real — (Shadows — and a more shadowy light!) Parted upon their misty wings, And, so, confusedly, became Thine image and — a name — a name! Two separate — yet most intimate things. 13 I was ambitious — have you known The passion, father? You have not: A cottager, I mark'd a throne Of half the world as all my own, And murmur'd at such lowly lot — But, just like any other dream, Upon the vapor of the dew My own had past, did not the beam Of Beauty which did while it thro' The minute — the hour — the day — oppress My mind with double loveliness. 14 We walk'd together on the crown Of a high mountain which look'd down Afar from its proud natural towers Of rock and forest, on the hills — The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers And shouting with a thousand rills. 15 I spoke to her of power and pride, But mystically — in such guise That she might deem it nought beside The moment's converse; in her eyes I read, perhaps too carelessly — A mingled feeling with my own — The flush on her bright cheek, to me Seem'd to become a queenly throne Too well that I should let it be Light in the wilderness alone. 16 I wrapp'd myself in grandeur then, And donn'd a visionary crown —— Yet it was not that Fantasy Had thrown her mantle over me — But that, among the rabble — men, Lion ambition is chain'd down — And crouches to a keeper's hand — Not so in deserts where the grand The wild — the terrible conspire With their own breath to fan his fire. 17 Look ’round thee now on Samarcand! — Is she not queen of Earth? her pride Above all cities? in her hand Their destinies? in all beside Of glory which the world hath known Stands she not nobly and alone? Falling — her veriest stepping-stone Shall form the pedestal of a throne — And who her sovereign? Timour — he Whom the astonished people saw Striding o'er empires haughtily A diadem'd outlaw — 18 O! human love! thou spirit given, On Earth, of all we hope in Heaven! Which fall'st into the soul like rain Upon the Siroc wither'd plain, And failing in thy power to bless But leav'st the heart a wilderness! Idea! which bindest life around With music of so strange a sound And beauty of so wild a birth — Farewell! for I have won the Earth! 19 When Hope, the eagle that tower'd, could see No cliff beyond him in the sky, His pinions were bent droopingly — And homeward turn'd his soften'd eye. 20 ’Twas sunset: when the sun will part There comes a sullenness of heart To him who still would look upon The glory of the summer sun. That soul will hate the ev’ning mist So often lovely, and will list To the sound of the coming darkness (known To those whose spirits harken) as one Who, in a dream of night, would fly But cannot from a danger nigh. 21 What tho' the moon — the white moon Shed all the splendor of her noon, Her smile is chilly — and her beam, In that time of dreariness, will seem [So like you gather in your breath] A portrait taken after death. And boyhood is a summer sun Whose waning is the dreariest one — For all we live to know is known And all we seek to keep hath flown — Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall With the noon-day beauty — which is all. 22 I reach'd my home — my home no more — For all had flown who made it so — I pass'd from out its mossy door, And, tho' my tread was soft and low, A voice came from the threshold stone Of one whom I had earlier known — O! I defy thee, Hell, to show On beds of fire that burn below, A humbler heart — a deeper wo — 23 ­ Father, I firmly do believe — I know — for Death who comes for me From regions of the blest afar, Where there is nothing to deceive, Hath left his iron gate ajar, And rays of truth you cannot see Are flashing thro' Eternity —— I do believe that Eblis hath A snare in ev’ry human path — Else how, when in the holy grove I wandered of the idol, Love, Who daily scents his snowy wings With incense of burnt offerings From the most unpolluted things, Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven Above with trelliced rays from Heaven No mote may shun — no tiniest fly The light’ning of his eagle eye — How was it that Ambition crept, Unseen, amid the revels there, Till growing bold, he laughed and leapt In the tangles of Love's very hair? [Prefatory Material] MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. My nothingness — my wants — My sins — and my contrition — SOUTHEY E PERSIS. And some flowers — but no bays. MILTON. Preface PREFACE. ————— 1 ROMANCE who loves to nod and sing With drowsy head and folded wing Among the green leaves as they shake Far down within some shadowy lake To me a painted paroquet Hath been — a most familiar bird — Taught me my alphabet to say — To lisp my very earliest word While in the wild wood I did lie A child — with a most knowing eye. 2 Of late, eternal Condor years So shake the very air on high With tumult, as they thunder by, I hardly have had time for cares Thro' gazing on th’ unquiet sky! And, when an hour with calmer wings Its down upon my spirit flings — That little time with lyre and rhyme To while away — forbidden things! My heart would feel to be a crime Did it not tremble with the strings! 1. To —— 1. TO —— —— 1 Should my early life seem, [As well it might,] a dream — Yet I build no faith upon The king Napoleon — I look not up afar For my destiny in a star: 2 In parting from you now Thus much I will avow — There are beings, and have been Whom my spirit had not seen Had I let them pass me by With a dreaming eye — ­If my peace hath fled away In a night — or in a day — In a vision — or in none — Is it therefore the less gone? — 3 I am standing ‘mid the roar Of a weather-beaten shore, And I hold within my hand Some particles of sand — How few! and how they creep Thro' my fingers to the deep! My early hopes? no — they Went gloriously away, Like lightning from the sky At once — and so will I. 4 So young? ah! no — not now — Thou hast not seen my brow, But they tell thee I am proud — They lie — they lie aloud — My bosom beats with shame At the paltriness of name With which they dare combine A feeling such as mine — Nor Stoic? I am not: In the terror of my lot I laugh to think how poor That pleasure “to endure!” What! shade of Zeno! — I! Endure! — no — no — defy. 2. To —— 2. TO —— —— 1 I saw thee on thy bridal day — When a burning blush came o'er thee Tho' happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee: 2 And, in thine eye a kindling light [Whatever it might be] Was all on Earth my fetter'd sight Of Loveliness could see. 3 That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame — As such it well may pass — Tho' its glow hath rais'd a fiercer flame In the breast of him, alas! 4 Who saw thee on that bridal day, When that deep blush would come o'er thee, Tho' Happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee. 3. To —— 3. TO —— —— 1 The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see The wantonest singing birds Are lips — and all thy melody Of lip-begotten words — 2 Thine eyes, in