Pining

When the heart has found with its darling rest.
Will it turn to welcome a meaner guest ?
Will the moth spread her wings in the warm sunlight,
When the sheen of the lamp has attracted her flight ?
In vain for the bulbul sweet basil is strown,
Tor he lives for the love of the rose alone.
If the rising sun bids the lotus wake,
Will she glance at the moon from her native lake ?
' In a palace meet for the mightiest kings,
Zulaikha saw round her all precious things.
The Grand Vizier was her watchful slave ;
Gold and treasure unasked he gave.
Maidens, lovely, with cheeks of rose,
Served her ever, nor sought repose ;
Slave-girls, whose ravishing glances were sweet.
Sate waiting her pleasure about her feet ;
And boys in silk raiment, a goodly train,
Young, fresh, and sweet as the sugar-cane —
Moorish pages of amber wrought,
Pure as angels, in word and thought —
Duteously served in the liarein, all
Ready to come at their lady’s call.
Many a young and lovely dame
Of Memphis to visit Zulaikha came ;
They delighted to talk with the bride, her peers
In graceful stature and youthful years.
She received her guests in the corridor, where
Stranger and friend might her welcome share ;
She spread the carpet of joy, and while
Her heart was bleeding, her lip had a smile.
She spoke and listened ; her look was gay,
Rut her heart was in pain, ah ! far away.
By her absent lover her soul was claimed,
Though words of welcome her sweet lip framed.
'When night o’er her face a dark curtain had thrown,
She withdrew, like a moon, to her chamber alone.
On the pedestal raised by her love she set
The dear, dear form she could never forget ;
Humbly before it her knee she bent,
And poured out her grief in a wild lament ;
While the harp of her love with a mournful air,
Kept time with the outburst of deep despair ;
“ Didst thou not tell me, O thou most dear
To this longing heart, that thy home was here,
The Grand Vizier of the kingdom ? How
I wish that thine were the title now t
Thine honour the crown of my head would be,
And to live thy slave were enough for me ;
I pine in Egypt, forlorn, unknown,
Hopeless of meeting with thee, mine own.
How long to this terrible fate am I doomed ?
How long shall my heart in this flame be consumed ?
Come, be the light of my garden ; calm
The pangs of my soul with thy healing balm.
In the deep of despair for my lover I pined,
But an angel came and left hope behind ;
That hope has driven my doubt away,
And is still my life’s consolation and stay.
By the light of thy beauty that lives in my heart,
I know we shall meet, yes, never to part.
Tears of hot blood these sad eyes ever fill,
But in all the six regions they yearn for thee still.
How blessed, my love, will the time be when
I shall look once more on my moon of men.
I shall roll up the carpet of life when I see
Thy dear face again, and shall cease to be.
For self will be lost in that rapture, and all
The threads of my thought from my hand will fall ;
Hot me wilt thou find, for this self will have fled :
Thou wilt be my soul in mine own soul’s stead.
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All thought of self will be swept from my mind,
And thee, only thee, in my place shall I find ;
More precious than heaven, than earth more dear.
Myself were forgotten if thou wort near,”
Thus through the night in her anguish she spoke,
Ivor ceased her complaint till the morning broke.
At the first faint breath of the young day’s breeze,
She changed her lament into words like these :
“ Wind of the morning, whose soft touch floods
With musky odour the jasmine buds,
That makes the cypress and lily so fair,
And decks the rose-leaf and the spikenard’s hair ;
Each leaf is a bell while the branches sway,
And the trees are dancing, though rooted in clay ;
The heart has rest when thy light wings stir,
Eor thou art the lover’s fleet messenger.
From the distant beloved thou bringest news,
That bids the sad spirit forget its bruise.
And what beating heart has a woe like mine ?
What soul in such anguish can waste and pine ?
Bowed down with sorrow, my heart is faint,
Have pity upon me, and hear my plaint.
The world has no place where thou mayest not win
An easy entrance to breathe therein ;
By no gate of iron art thou opposed,
A window admits thee if doors are closed.
Pity me, visit each distant place
Where thy breath may fall on my loved one’s face ;
Visit each palace where dwells a king,
Each prince’s home, on thy balmy wing ;
Seek my moon in each city; repair
To each throne and see if my king be there.
Steal through the garden where spring is gay.
On the lip of the streamlet a moment stay.
Peradventure, thine eye in the search may discover
By the rill the cypress form of my lover ;
Speed to the deserts of far Cathay,
And the picture-houses of China survey.
Here look around for his likeness ; snare
A wild gazelle with his fragrance there.
'When thou turnest back from those distant scenes,
Over mountain tops and through deep ravines,
If a partridge gracefully move from the brake,
Lay thy hand on the bird for my dear love’s sake.
Shouldst thou meet on thy journey a caravan
Led by a gallant heart-ravishing man,
Look with mine eyes on that prince that he
May travel hither and come to me ;
One glance of his eye will assuage my woes,
And I from Hope’s garden shall gather a rose.”
Thus, from the dawn till the sun rose high
And raced through the course of the noonday shy,
With blood in her eyes, in her heart unease,
She poured her complaint to the morning breeze,
And when the whole land with the full light glowed,
The light of her face to her friends she showed.
The maidens her fellows, each in her place,
Basked in the light of the lady’s face ;
With those damsels, gay-hearted and pure as gay,
Her hearing changed not from day to day.
Thus, in the gloom of unceasing woe,
Month and year passed dreary and slow.
In the guarded bounds of the house confined,
Bor the fresh free air of the field she pined ;
Then seared with anguish, with woo forspent,
like the mourning tulip she raised her tent.
To the tulip she spoke of the scars she bore,
And her love whom perchance she should see no more.
Like a torrent that sweeps down a deep defile,
She sped with wet eyes to the banks of Nile,
Confided to him her keen sorrow and gave
The flood of her tears to the rushing wave.
Thus, through the daylight she sorrowed and wept,
And the eye of hope on the road she kept,
If perchance her love, her true soul’s delight,
Should rise like the sun or the moon on her sight.
Rise, Jaini ! rise ! turn thy thought aside.
And the Moon of Canaan from Canaan guide.
In the heart of Zulaikha sweet hope is strong
As she looks on the road she has watched so long;
Too long has she waited, and hoped, and endured,
Let her lover come, and her heart be cured.