Bazigha

Not from sight only, but oft from the tongue
The gracious glory of love has sprung.
Through the ear an entrance will beauty find,
To steal sense from the heart and repose from the mind.
A whisper of beauty has power to raise
The soft flame nursed by a skilful praise.
Love secretly reigns in the bosom, and yet
The eyes of the lovers may never have met
In Egypt a maiden was born to grace
The Adites ’ ancient and princely race.
The land was sweet with the smile of the girl,
And her onyx casket was fairer than pearl.
Her sugar lips had a laugh to enchain
The knotty heart of the sugar-cane.
Her hand by the lords of the realm was sought,
But to none of its darlings she gave a thought.
On the best of the nobles her pride looked down,
For in heaven itself was the maiden’s crown,
From her height of glory, and riches, and rank,
To earthly suitor her eye ne’er sank.
But soon as the beauty of Yusuf she learned.
The sun of her love to that fair moon turned.
Wider and wider the rumour flew,
And her love fresh might from each whisper drew.
She heard of his beauty, and longed to see ;
For hearing the root is, and seeing the tree.
The price of the marvellous boy she inquired,
And strove to obtain what her heart desired.
A thousand camels she bade them lade,
With gold, and jewels, and musk, and brocade,
And precious things from her stores she brought
That the price might be worthy the prize she sought.
The best of her treasure she would not spare,
Till casket and chamber were empty and bare.
Thus furnished, the way to Memphis she led,
And swiftly the news of her coming was spread.
Soon as the place where he dwelt she knew,
With an eager heart to the spot she flew.
Like a soul with no mixture of clay she beheld
His beauty, which thought never paralleled.
Ne’er had she seen such a marvel, ne’er
Dreamed of a form so divinely fair.
As she looked on his splendour she swooned and lay
In a rapturous trance with her senses astray.
She woke to consciousness slowly, and passed
Out of the swoon that had held her fast.
Her lips she opened ; she fain would speak,
From that storehouse of riches rare pearls to seek.
“ O youth,” she cried, “ from all evil free,
Who made thy beauty so fair to see ?
By whom was the sun’s own splendour lent,
And the moon, for thy forehead’s ornament ?
Say in what garden that cypress grew.
And what artist hand the fair picture drew ?
Whose compasses marked thy brow’s delicate line ?
Who curled in bright clusters those locks of thine ?
Who set the young flower in the garden ? Who
Fed the tender plant with the splendour of dew ?
Where could a master be found to teach
Thy cypress its motion, thy ruby its speech ?
Thy locks’ fair letters whose pen could trace ?
Who read the book of thy moon-bright face ?
Who bade thee from nothingness wake and arise ?
And opened to light those narcissus-like eyes ;
And that onyx lock in that pearl-casket laid,
Whence the soul of the hearer is strengthened and stayed ?
Who hollowed the well in soft round chin ?
And poured the sweet W' ater of Life therein?
Who set the dark mole on thy cheek, and spread
The raven’s wing o’er the roses’ bed
He heard her speech; and from wisdom’s spring
Flowed forth the reply to her questioning :
I am the work of that Maker, said he,
“ From whose ocean one drop is enough for me.
Heaven is but a dot which His pen has made,
And the earth but a bud in His garden displayed.
The sun is a spark of Hi wisdom’s light,
And a bubble the world of the sea of His might.
From atoms He made as, as mirrors to shine
With the borrowed light of His face divine.
Screened by dark curtains from mortal eye,
On His pure perfection 110 sddn 1Tla y he.
Whatever fair to thy sigHt appears
Is the light of His face when thy vision clears.
Host thou see the reflection Then fly to Him
To whom faint is that shadow and cold and dim.
Dost thou shun the light's Author? No, God forbid!
Or dark were thy lot when that reflex is hid.
It will last but a moment— this borrowed ray —
As the bloom of the rose and her scent decay.
Host thou seek the eternal the firm, the true ?
Then fix on Him ever steadfast view.
Tis this that pierces our hearts with pain,
That fair things are with us, ah ! not to remain.”
The maiden listened as Yusuf replied :
She folded love’s carpet and laid it aside.
“ I heard thy praises,” ’twas thus she spoke,
“ And the flame of love in my heart awoke.
Hither I journeyed thy face to see,
And my head was my foot in the search for thee.
I came, I found thee : I swooned away.
And my life at thy feet I was fain to lay.
But wisdom’s pearls thou hast deigned to string,
And pointed the way to the pure light’s spring.
Thou hast cut the fine hair with the word of truth,
And repelled the love of mine eager youth.
Thou hast lifted the veil of my hope and shown
The way to that Sun which I never had known.
This truth at last to my heart is plain,
That my love for thee like a dream was vain.
Mine eyes have been touched by the truth’s pure ray,
And the dream of folly has passed away.
Mine eyes thou hast opened — God bless thee for it ! —
And my heart to the Soul of the soul thou hast knit.
From a fond strange love thou hast turned my feet
The Lord of all creatures to know and meet,
If I bore a tongue in each single hair,
Each and all should thy praise declare.
But the voice of thanksgiving I scarce can raise
To string together the pearls of thy praise.”
Her speech was ended ; with one adieu,
Set free from her fancy, the maid- withdrew.
She hastened away from his presence, and there
On the bank of the Nile built a house of prayer.
From love of the world and its treasures freed.
Her door she opened to all in need ;
And they on the stores of her bounty fed
Till she scarce had enough for her evening bread.
For the crown that had glittered with precious stone,
For the band of gold that had bound her brow,
A woollen fillet sufficed her now.
Her silks and satin she used no more,
But a robe of felt, like a glass, she wore,
And instead of the gems of her bracelet, she
Counted the heads of her rosary.
From the world and its pleasures she turned away
To her lowly cottage to muse and pray.
The ashes she brought from the bath-stove spread
In the place of ermine supplied her bed.
With her head on a cold rough stone she slept,
And the people looked on her woes and wept.
Thus in obedience and meek content
In the house of worship her days she spent,
And, when the hour of her death was nigh,
Resigned her spirit as heroes die.
Think not the meed she had earned was denied :
The bright cheek of her loved one she saw ere she died.
Oh, learn from this maiden a hero’s part :
Let her mourning teach thee to mourn, my heart.
If thou hast not her sorrow, go mourn thy lot,
And grieve for thyself if grief trouble thee not.
In long devotion to forms that cheat
Thou hast suffered the days of thy life to fleet.
But outward forms are still passing away,
Changing their fashion from day to day.
Tread not ever on stones that are rough to thy feet,
'Nor shift from one branch to another thy seat.
Seek high o’er the sphere of this world thy rest :
In the world of reality make thee a nest.
If Truth be thine object, form- worshippers shun ;
Tor form is manifold, Truth is one.
In number trouble and error lie :
To Unity then for sure refuge fly.
If the might of the foeman oppress thee sore,
Fly to the fortress and fear no more.