Suspicions

The arrows of Love are pointed so well
That no wisdom’s shield may their stroke repel.
To the ground of the heart they will cleave their way,
And a hundred traces their wounds betray.
The odour of incense breathes far and wide,
And love, like music, it were vain to hide.
Through a hundred folds of the veil will steal
The perfume your labour would fain conceal.
The love of Zulaikha was unconfessed,
And the seed of sorrow lay dark in her breast.
But the love waxed strong, and the sorrow grew,
And more, ever more, they were forced to view.
The water flowed from her eyes in a flood —
Water ? Ah, no ; ’twas a stream of blood ;
And, as each big drop from their lashes fell,
There was a traitor her secret to tell.
'From her burning bosom she heaved the sigh,
And the steam of her sorrow went up to the sky,
While each long sigh from her bosom came
To show the fierce heat of her secret burning.
At night she was sleepless ; her food she spurned.
And to yellow .tulips her roses were, turned.
You may search the garden, but look in vain
Tor a tulip free from all spot and stain.
’Twas known to her maidens by signs like these
That the mind of Zulaikha was ill at ease.
But her hidden sorrow they knew not, nor guessed
What troubled the calm of their lady’s breast.
“ Who ever,” cried one, “ has seen aught so strange
Some evil glance may have wrought the change,”
Another maiden the grief would trace
To a Dev, or one of the Peris’ race.
Cried a third : “ A magician, I know full well,
bias laid on our lady his secret spell.”
“ Nay,” said another, “ ’tis Love that weighs
On the captive bosom whereon he preys.
When she wakes no lover can meet her sight,
And the anguish comes from the dreams of night.”
Thus each maiden her thought expressed,
Pondered each sign, and .inferred and guessed.
But still the secret of love, concealed
Mid doubt and conjecture, was nnrevealed.
She had a nurse who possessed a store
Gleaned from the treasures of magic lore.
Deep was her knowledge of lovers’ ways ;
She had loved and been loved in her youthful days.
Skilled .in the arts which let lovers meet,
She could lead the cold youth to the maiden’s feet.
Before her lady one night she fell,
Uncalled how long she had served her well,
And “ Sweet bud of the royal garden,” she cried,
“ A thorn from whose stem were a beauty’s pride,
May thy lips over smile, and thy heart be gay,
And thy splendour lend to my fortune a ray.
My soul like a pheasant would flutter round thee,
Of the garden of beauty thou fair cypress-tree.
My sea of affection the stream has supplied.
Which, has fed thy growth on its fertile side.
These eyes of mine saw thy dear cheek first,
And the new-born child in these arms was nursed.
With musk and rose-water thy limbs and head
X bathed, and sweet drops on thy lips I shed.
With the strings of mine own loving soul I tied
The cradle bands which my heart supplied.
Thy sugar lips to this breast I drew,
And by me thy body- and spirit grew.
Night came, but my care for thee robbed me of rest ;
Morn dawned, and my nursling I bathed and dressed.
The babe that by night on iny bosom lay,
Was the stamp on my bade when I moved by day.
The fair rose-bush to a cypress grew,
But my hand from thy mantle I never withdrew,
in each loving service for thee I wrought,
And cared for thy needs with mine earnest thought.
Where’er that heart-ravishing cypress moved,
The love of thy faithful shadow was proved.
When my dear lady rested I stood by her bed,
Anti laid at her feet, when she slumbered, my head.
Ne’er has this love for thee fallen away:
Still with faith and affection I serve and obey.
Then wilt thou refuse thy heart’s secret to tell,
A stranger to her who has served thee so well ?
Tell me the cause of this wild unrest,
Of this heavy heart in a youthful breast.
Why are thy roses so faded ? Why
Is thy warm breath turned to a cold cold sigh ?
Why, sun as thou art, wilt thou wane like the .moon,
And long for the eve ere the height of thy noon, ?
Some moon has bewitched thee. But, darling, say
What moon is he that has crossed thy way.
If he be an angel in heaven above,
A. child of pure light, who has gained thy love,
By adoration and stress of prayer
I will draw him down from the glories there.
If a Peri, dwelling in waste and hill.
My trade and my strength is in magic skill
The might of my spells shall the spirit confine
In a glassy prison and make him thine.
And soon shall thy bosom be glad, if a son
Of the race of Adam thy heart has won.
For what son of earth would refuse to see
His lady, and mistress, and queen in thee ? ”
She ceased ; and the heart of Zulaikha was stirred
By the tale of magic and love she heard.
Her only hope was the truth to speak.
While her tears were as stars to the moon of her cheek :
“ Unseen is the treasure I long for. The key
Of the treasure-house door is lost to me.
How can I tell where the bird may rest
Who makes with the phoenix of story his nest ?
Yet the fabled phcenix is known to fame,
While the bird of my love has not even a name.
How sweet is their longing, compared with mine,
Who can name the dear object for which they pine ?
'Though bitter the thought that they may not meet,
Yet to name the beloved one ever is sweet.”
Then the faithful nurse was honoured, and shared
The secret the love-lorn maiden declared.
The tale of the vision made watchful her eyes,
And the senseless love-swoon made her active and wise.
Scarce a line in the book of that heart had she read,
And the hope to aid her was cold and dead.
For that line was conjecture and vain surmise,
And where can be searching with blinded eyes ?
She could open no prison to free Love’s slave,
But she opened her lips in the counsel she gave :
“ The hand of the Devs in this trouble I trace.
For guile and deceit is the joy of their race.
They raise bright phantoms and overthrow
Our maddened brain’s empire with empty show.”
“ Nay,” cried Zulaikha, “ weak, weak were their skill,
To show the rare beauty that haunts me still.
And poor frail woman could ne’er give birth
To an angel fairer than children of earth.”
“ Why trouble thy soul,” said the nurse, “ for a dream
Whose forms are but fancy and only seem ? ”
“ It' the dream had been false it had never misled
A true-hearted maiden ” Zulaikha said ;
“ For the maxim of sages is, all the world through,
‘ The false to the false, and the true to the true.’ ”
“ Thou art wise and prudent,” she answered ; “ strive
The thought of the dream from thy breast to drive.”
“ Had I strength,” said Zulaikha, “the thought to control,
This crushing weight never had pressed on my soul.
But counsel is feeble the load to withstand,
And the reins of my purpose fall loose from my hand.
On my heart the fair vision I saw in my sleep
Is engraved as on stone, and the letters are deep.
The flood may rush o’er them, wild winds blow in vain,
For the lines that are graven on rock will remain.”
The sad nurse ceased from the vain assay
To counsel where Love held his paramount sway. '
To Zulaikha’s father the tale she confessed,
And wild was the grief of his troubled breast,
Isiut the hand of counsel might lend no aid,
And Fate must be guide of the life of the maid.