Tamerlane and Other Poems — 1827 text — reading 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 down upon my head But barely shelter'd — and the wind Pass'd quickly o'er me — but my mind Was mad’ning — for ’twas man that shed Laurels upon me — and the rush, The torrent of the chilly air Gurgled in my pleas'd ear the crash Of empires, with the captive's prayer, The hum of suitors, the mix'd tone Of flatt’ry round a sov’reign's throne. The storm had ceas'd — and I awoke — Its spirit cradled me to sleep, And as it pass'd me by, there broke Strange light upon me, tho' it were My soul in mystery to sleep : For I was not as I had been; The child of Nature, without care, Or thought, save of the passing scene. — V. 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 boyhood, when their fire Burn'd with a still intenser glow; (For passion must with youth expire) Ev’n then, who deem'd this iron heart In woman's weakness had a part. I have no words, alas! to tell The lovliness of loving well! Nor would I dare attempt to trace The breathing beauty of a face, Which ev’n to my impassion'd mind, Leaves not its memory behind. In spring of life have ye ne’er dwelt Some object of delight upon, With steadfast eye, till ye have felt The earth reel — and the vision gone? And I have held to mem’ry's eye One object — and but one — until Its very form hath pass'd me by, But left its influence with me still. VI. ’Tis not to thee that I should name — Thou can'st not — would'st not dare to think The magic empire of a flame Which ev’n upon this perilous brink Hath fix'd my soul, tho' unforgiv’n By what it lost for passion — Heav’n. I lov'd — and O, how tenderly! Yes! she worthy of all love! Such as in infancy was mine Tho' then its passion could not be: ’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, without sin, Pure as her young examples taught; Why did I leave it and adrift, Trust to the fickle star within VII. 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 op’ning skies, I saw no Heav’n, but in her eyes — Ev’n childhood knows the human heart; For when, in sunshine and in smiles, From all our little cares apart, Laughing at her half silly wiles, I'd throw me on her throbbing breast, And pour my spirit out in tears, She'd look up in my wilder'd eye — There was no need to speak the rest — No need to quiet her kind fears — She did not ask the reason why. The hallow'd mem’ry of those years Comes o'er me in these lonely hours, And, with sweet lovliness, appears As perfume of strange summer flow’rs; Of flow’rs which we have known before In infancy, which seen, recall To mind — not flow’rs alone — but more Our earthly life, and love — and all. VIII. Yes! she was worthy of all love! Ev’n such as from th’ accursed time My spirit with the tempest strove, When on the mountain peak alone, Ambition lent it a new tone, And bade it first to dream of crime, My phrenzy to her bosom taught: We still were young: no purer thought Dwell in a seraph's breast than thine; (3) For passionate love is still divine: I lov'd her as an angel might With ray of the all living light Which blazes upon Edis’ shrine. (4) It is not surely sin to name, With such as mine — that mystic flame, I had no being but in thee! The world with all its train of bright And happy beauty (for to me All was an undefin'd delight) The world — its joy — its share of pain Which I felt not — its bodied forms Of varied being, which contain The bodiless spirits of the storms, The sunshine, and the calm — the ideal And fleeting vanities of dreams, Fearfully beautiful! the real Nothings of mid-day waking life — Of an enchanted life, which seems, Now as I look back, the strife Of some ill demon, with a power Which left me in an evil hour, All that I felt, or saw, or thought, Crowding, confused became (With thine unearthly beauty fraught) Thou — and the nothing of a name. IX. The passionate spirit which hath known, And deeply felt the silent tone Of its own self supremacy, — (I speak thus openly to thee, ’Twere folly now to veil a thought With which this aching, breast is fraught) The soul which feels its innate right — The mystic empire and high power Giv’n by the energetic might Of Genius, at its natal hour; Which knows [believe me at this time, When falsehood wore a ten-fold crime, There is a power in the high spirit To know the fate it will inherit] The soul, which knows such power, will still Find Pride the ruler of its will. Yes! I was proud — and ye who know The magic of that meaning word, So oft perverted, will bestow Your scorn, perhaps, when ye have heard That the proud spirit had been broken, The proud heart burst in agony At one upbraiding word or token Of her that heart's idolatry — I was ambitious — have ye known Its fiery passion? — ye 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 it had pass'd me as a dream Which, of light step, flies with the dew, That kindling thought — did not the beam Of Beauty, which did guide it through The livelong summer day, oppress My mind with double loveliness — * * * * * X. 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, whence amid bowers Her own fair hand had rear'd around, Gush'd shoutingly a thousand rills, Which as it were, in fairy bound Embrac'd two hamlets — those our own — Peacefully happy — yet alone — * * * * * I spoke to her of power and pride — But mystically, in such guise, That she might deem it naught 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 A light in the dark wild, alone. XI. There — in that hour — a thought came o'er My mind, it had not known before — To leave her while we both were young, — To follow my high fate among The strife of nations, and redeem The idle words, which, as a dream Now sounded to her heedless ear — I held no doubt — I knew no fear Of peril in my wild career; To gain an empire, and throw down As nuptial dowry — a queen's crown The only feeling which possest, With her own image, my fond breast — Who, that had known the secret thought Of a young peasant's bosom then, Had deem'd him, in compassion, aught But one, whom phantasy had led Astray from reason — Among men Ambition is chain'd down — nor fed [As in the desert, where the grand, The wild, the beautiful, conspire With their own breath to fan its fire] With thoughts such feeling can command; Uncheck'd by sarcasm, and scorn Of those, who hardly will conceive That any should become “great,” born (5) In their own sphere — will not believe That they shall stoop in life to one Whom daily they are wont to see Familiarly — whom Fortune's sun Hath ne’er shone dazzlingly upon Lowly — and of their own degree — XII. I pictur'd to my fancy's eye Her silent, deep astonishment, When, a few fleeting years gone by, (For short the time my high hope lent To its most desperate intent,) She might recall in him, whom Fame Had gilded with a conquerer's name, (With glory — such as might inspire Perforce, a passing thought of one, Whom she had deem'd in his own fire Wither'd and blasted; who had gone A traitor, violate of the truth So plighted in his early youth,) Her own Alexis, who should plight (6) The love he plighted then — again, And raise his infancy's delight, The bride and queen of Tamerlane — XIII. One noon of a bright summer's day I pass'd from out the matted bow’r Where in a deep, still slumber lay My Ada. In that peaceful hour, A silent gaze was my farewell. I had no other solace — then T’awake