The Second Vision

Supremely blest is the bosom where
Love rules unfettered by earthly care ;
Whence fire to the flash of the lightning is lent,
That on garners of wisdom and patience is spent.
Thought may not vex it for life or fame,
And light as a straw is a mountain of blame.
Tor Love laughs at the counsel which Wisdom would j give,
And reproach is the food that will help him to live.
Twelve months Zulaikha declined and sank,
And the fair full moon to a crescent shrank.
One eve she sat curved like the young moon with woe,
And her eyes were red like the morning’s glow.
“How hast thou dealt with me, Heaven ?” she cried;
“ The sun of my glory has faded anil died.
Like an archer’s how thou hast bent my frame,
And made me the mark of the arrow of blame.
Thou hast given my reins to rebellion ; beside
Rebellion my heart will acknowledge no guide.
That form made ray bosom with, love to glow,
Tbit scarce in a dream his dear face will he show.
Never he comes when I watch and weep,
And he comes no more in a vision of sleep.-
The sight of that world-lighting moon was a gleam
Of waiving bless and no empty dream.
With ceaseless watching these eyes are dim :
May my waking fortune give sleep to him !
For then would my fortune watch o’er me in truth,
And grant me a sight of that well-loved youth.”
Hours of the night in this wild lament,
With her troubled soul at her lips, she spent.
Slumber at length lulled to rest her thought —
Slumber ? — -the swoon of a brain o’erwrought.
Ere she had rested her weary frame,
Again the sight that she longed for came.
The self-same form with a cheek more fair
Than the softest moonlight was standing there.
When her eye saw the face she remembered so well
She sprang from her couch and before it fell.
“ .'Dear cypress,” she cried, “ with the grace of the rose,
Thou hast robbed me of patience and strength and repose.
By that Creator who fashioned thee
Prom the purest light where no stain may be.
Sweet as the Water of Life, a king
In beauty supreme o’er each -living thing :
Who gave thee that lip for the spirit’s food,
And that rose with a charm for the soul endued;
Who gave bloom to that cheek and soft light to those eyes,
Where the moth of my heart flutters round till it dies ;
Who gave thee those musky tresses, a snare
Whereof my heart prizes each single hair ?
Give my lost heart the sweet pity I seek,
Open, that ruby, thy mouth, and speak.
Speak in thy fulness of ravishing grace ;
Say who thou art and the name of thy race.
Art thou a gem From what mine dost thou spring ?
Where is thy palace if thou art a king ? ”
“ Of the children of Adam,” his answer came ;
“ Earth and water composed my frame.
Now if the words of thy lips be true,
That my love has pierced thy young bosom through,
Ne’er from thy promise and faith must thou swerve,
But thy troth unplighted for me. reserve.
Beware, sweet maiden ; let no one sip
The sugar that lies on thy virgin lip.
That lip and thy heart and thy love must be
Preserved from others and kept for me.
Think not the heart in this bosom is cold
And returns not the love which thy lips have told
The. net of thy charms o’er my heart is thrown,
And the brand of thy love marks me out as thine own.”
Soon as the maid from his lips had heard
That his answering breast with her loved was stirred,
Anew o’er her bosom the frenzy came,
And her soul like a moth fluttered fast to the flame.
She arose from the thought of that vision of night,
And the flame that consumed her rose fierce and bright
Wild and more wild grew her sorrow ; her sighs
Went up from her heart like a cloud to the skies.
Her hand cast the rein of her prudence away ;
FFo prayer could move her, no counsel stay.
She tore, till a rosebud, her soul’s veil apart,
And poured down, like a tulip, the blood of her heart.
She wounded her cheek because his was so fair,
And tore, when she thought of his Tresses, her hair.
Her maidens about her sate close in a ring
As ye see round the moon a fair halo cling.
Had the chain been unlinked, like an arrow sped
From a bended bow far away she had fled.
That circle of maidens her garment held,
Or forth she had rushed by her frenzy impelled.
The bud of her will was fast hound, or her feet
Like a rose deflowered had sought the street.
When her father was ware of her madness, he sought
From the sages a cure for her mind distraught.
Through the paths of wisdom they roamed in vain,
And could find no counsel but bond and chain.
So they brought her a serpent of burnished gold,
With ruby and pearl on each twisted fold,
Like the watchful guardian of treasure, round
Her silver ankle the snake was bound.
Each treasure is watched by a serpent. Where
Was a treasure of beauty so rich and rare?
Soon as the snake beneath her mantle slept,
She uttered these pearls with the pearls she wept:
“ My heart is the captive of Love. My chains
Are dearer than all that the world contains.
Why will life- wasting Heaven with its sleight of hand
Make heavy my foot with, the weight of this band ?
To me, of all vigour and strength bereft,
Scarce is the power of motion left.
Why drive this sword through my bosom ? Why
Let this heavy chain on my weak foot lie ?
Deep is the cypress-tree rooted in clay.
And hard were the task would it move away.
About its foot will the gardener east
His chains of water to bind it fast ?
Not me, my heart’s robber in chains ye should bind
Who stole in a moment my peace of mind ;
Who would not stay near his victim till
On his tulip face she had gazed her fill.
Like the flash of the lightning he fled from mine eyes,
And uprose from my heart a thick cloud of sighs.
If happy Fortune should favour at last,
With this chain of gold I would bind him fast.
While I chose I would gaze on his cheek’s fair bloom,
And his eyes should lighten my days of gloom.
Did I say I would bind the soft darling ? Nay,
If a grain of dust on. his instep lay,
A, mountain’s weight on my soul it would be,
And the carpet of joy would be folded for me.
Would I lay on his heart a load heavy to bear,
Or his silver ankle with fetters wear ?
No ; my heart with a thousand daggers be torn
Ere his robe be pierced by a single thorn.”
Of the wishes she uttered in deep lament
One, only one, to its aim was sent.
For with mangled heart to the earth she fell
Like a bird when the fowler has aimed too well.
Senseless awhile was her ’wildered brain,
But sense returned and renewed her pain.
Again love’s flame in her bosom rose,
Again she recounted her tale of woes.
In her altering mood she would laugh or weep,
Now full of life, now as dead, or asleep.
Thus ever changing from day to day,
She lived while a year passed slowly away.