Tamerlane and Other Poems — 1827 text

Tamerlane and Other Poems — 1827 text Local reading text of the 1827 volume, assembled from its historical sections in the cited electronic transcription. All 12 distinct linked historical text files in the source contents were included; Al Aaraaf files contain both parts where present. This preserves the early text rather than substituting later Raven Edition readings. It is not a scanned original or a diplomatic facsimile: typography, ornamental rules and page layout are simplified; some half-titles are not represented by the source. Historical author notes are retained. Modern website commentary and double-bracketed editorial corrections are omitted. No independent word-by-word proofreading is claimed. [Preface] PREFACE. ========== THE greater part of the Poems which compose this little volume, were written in the year 1821-2, when the author had not completed his fourteenth year. They were of course not intended for publication; why they are now published concerns no one but himself. Of the smaller pieces very little need be said; they perhaps savour too much of Egotism; but they were written by one too young to have any knowledge of the world but from his own breast. In Tamerlane, he has endeavoured to expose the folly of even risking the best feelings of the heart at the shrine of Ambition. He is conscious that in this there are many faults, (besides that of the general character of the poem) which he flatters himself he could, with little trouble, have corrected, but unlike many of his predecessors, has been too fond of his early productions to amend them in his old age. He will not say that he is indifferent as to the success of these Poems — it might stimulate him to other attempts — but he can safely assert that failure will not at all influence him in a resolution already adopted. This is challenging criticism — let it be so. Nos hæc novimus esse nihil. Tamerlane TAMERLANE. ========== I. I have sent for thee, holy friar; (1) But ’twas not with the drunken hope, Which is but agony of desire To shun the fate, with which to cope Is more than crime may dare to dream, That I have call'd thee at this hour: Such father is not my theme — Nor am I mad, to deem that power Of earth may shrive me of the sin Unearthly pride hath revell'd in — I would not call thee fool, old man, But hope is not a gift of thine; If I can hope (O God! I can) It falls from an eternal shrine. II. The gay wall of this gaudy tower Grows dim around me — death is near. I had not thought, until this hour When passing from the earth, that ear Of any, were it not the shade Of one whom in life I made All mystery but a simple name, Might know the secret of a spirit Bow'd down in sorrow, and in shame. — Shame said'st thou? Aye I did inherit That hatred portion, with the fame, The worldly glory, which has shown A demon-light around my throne, Scorching my sear'd heart with a pain Not Hell shall make me fear again. III. I have not always been as now — The fever'd diadem on my brow I claim'd and won usurpingly — Aye — the same heritage hath giv’n Rome to the Cæsar — this to me; The heirdom of a kingly mind — And a proud spirit, which hath striv’n Triumphantly with human kind. In mountain air I first drew life; The mists of the Taglay have shed (2) Nightly their dews on my young head; And my brain drank their venom then, When after day of perilous strife With chamois, I would seize his den And slumber, in my pride of power, The infant monarch of the hour — For, with the mountain dew by night, My soul imbib'd unhallow'd feeling; And I would feel its essence stealing In dreams upon me — while the light Flashing from cloud that hover'd o'er, Would seem to my half closing eye The pageantry of monarchy! And the deep thunder's echoing roar Came hurriedly upon me, telling Of war, and tumult, where my voice My own voice, silly child! was swelling (O how would my wild heart rejoice And leap within me at the cry) The battle-cry of victory! * * * * * IV. The rain came do