The Women of Memphis

Love is ill suited with, peace and rest :
Scorn and reproaches become him best.
Bebuke gives strength to his tongue, and blame
Wakes the dull spark to a brighter flame.
Blame is the censor of Love’s bazaar :
It suffers no rust the pure splendour to mar.
Blame is the whip whose impending blow
Speeds the willing lover and wakes the slow ;
And the weary steed who can hardly crawl
Is swift of foot when reproaches fall.
When the rose of the secret had opened and blown,
The voice of reproach was a bulbul in tone.
The women of Memphis, who heard the tale first,
The whispered slander received and nursed.
Then, attacking Zulaikha for right and wrong,
Their uttered reproaches were loud and long :
“ Heedless of honour and name she gave
The love of her heart to the Hebrew slave,
Who lies so deep in her soul enshrined
That to sense and religion her eyes are blind.
She loves her servant. ’Tis strange to think
That erring folly sojow can sink ;
But stranger still that the slave she wooes
Should scorn her suit and her love refuse.
His cold eye to hers he never will raise ;
He never will walk in the path where she strays.
He stops if before him her form he sees ;
If she lingers a moment he turns and flees.
When her lifted veil leaves her cheek exposed.
With the stud of his eyelash his eye is closed.
If she weeps in her sorrow he laughs at her pain,
And closes each door that she opens in vain.
It may be that her form is not fair in his eyes,
And his cold heart refuses the proffered prize.
If once her beloved one sate with us
He would sit with us ever, not treat us thus.
Our sweet society ne’er would he leave,
But joy unending would give and receive.
But not all have this gift in their hands : to enthral
The heart they would win is not given to all.
There is many a woman, fair, good, and kind,
To whom never the heart of a man inclined ;
And many a Laila with soft black eye,
The tears of whose heart-blood are never dry.”
Zulaikha heard, and resentment woke
To punish the dames for the words they spoke.
She summoned them all from the city to share
A sumptuous feast which she bade prepare.
A delicate banquet meet for kings
Was spread with the choicest of dainty things.
Gups filled with sherbet of every hue
Shone as rifts in a cloud when the sun gleams through.
There were goblets of purest crystal filled
With wine and sweet odours with art distilled.
The golden cloth blazed like the sunlight ; a whole
Cluster of stars was each silver bowl.
From goblet and charger rare odours came ;
There was strength for the spirit and food for the frame.
All. daintiest fare that your lip would taste,
From fish to fowl, on the cloth was placed.
It seemed that the fairest their teeth had lent
For almonds, their lips for the sugar sent.
A mimic palace rose fair to view
Of a thousand sweets of each varied hue,
Where instead of a carpet the 'floor w r as made
With bricks of candy and marmalade.
Fruit in profusion, of sorts most rare,
Piled in baskets, bloomed fresh and fair.
Those who looked on their soft transparency felt
That the delicate pulp would dissolve and melt.
Bands of boys and young maidens, fine
As mincing peacocks, were ranged in line ;
And the fair dames of Memphis, like Peris eyed,
In a ring on their conches sate side by side.
They tasted of all that they fancied, and each
Was courteous in manner and gentle in speech.
The feast was ended ; the cloth was raised,
And Zulaikha sweetly each lady praised.
Then she set, as she planned in her wily breast,
A knife and an orange beside each guest:
An orange, to purge the dark thoughts within
Each jaundiced heart with its golden skin.
One hand, as she bade them, the orange clasped,
The knife in the other was firmly grasped.
Thus she addressed them : “ Dames fair and sweet,
Most lovely of all when the fairest meet,
Why should my pleasure your hearts annoy ?
Why blame me for loving my Hebrew boy ?
If your eyes with the light of his eyes were filled,
Each tongue that blames me were hushed and stilled.
I will bid him forth, if you all agree,
And bring him near for your eyes to see.”
“ This, even this,” cried each eager dame,
“ Is the dearest wish that our hearts can frame.
Bid him come ; let us look on the lovely face :
That shall stir our hearts with its youthful grace.
Already charmed, though our eyes never fell
On the youth we long for, we love him well.
These oranges still in our hands we hold,
To sweeten the spleen with their skins of gold.
But they please us not, for he is not here :
Let not one he cut till the hoy appear.”
She sent the nurse to address him thus :
“ Come, free-waving cypress, come forth to us.
Let us worship the ground which thy dear feet press
And bow down at the sight of thy loveliness.
Let our love-stricken hearts be thy chosen retreat,
And our eyes a soft carpet beneath thy feet.”
But he came not forth, like a lingering rose
Which the spell of the charmer has failed to unclose
Then Zulaikha flew to the house where he dwelt.
And in fond entreaty before him knelt :
“ My darling, the light of these longing eyes,
Hope of my heart,” thus she spoke with sighs,
“ I fed on the hope which thy words had given;
But that hope from my breast by despair is driven.
For thee have I forfeited all : my name
Through thee has been made a reproach and shame.
I have found no favour : thou wouldst not fling
One pitying look on so mean a thing.
Yet let not the women of Memphis see
That I am so hated and scorned by thee.
Come, sprinkle the salt of thy lip to cure
The wounds of my heart and the pain I endure.
Let the salt be sacred : repay the debt
Of the faithful love thou shouldst never forget.”
The heart of Yusuf grew soft at the spell
Of her gentle words, for she charmed so well.
Swift as the wind from her knees she rose,
And decked him gay with the garb she chose.
Over his shoulders she drew with care,
The scented locks of his curling hair,
Like serpents of jet-black lustre seen
With their twisted coils where the grass is green.
A girdle gleaming with gold, round the waist
That itself was fine as a hair, she braced.
I marvel so dainty a waist could bear
The weight of the jewels that glittered there.
She girt his brow with bright gems ; each stone
Of vrondrous beauty enhanced his own.
On his shoes were rubies and many a gem,
And pearls on the latcliets that fastened them.
A scarf, on whose every thread was strung
A loving heart, on his arm was hung.
A golden ewer she gave him to hold,
And a maid brow-bound with a fillet of gold
r In her hand a basin of silver bore,
And shadow-like moved as he walked before.
If a damsel had looked, she at once had resigned
All joy of her life, all the peace of her mind.
Too weak were my tongue if it tried to express
The charm of his wonderful loveliness.
Like a bed of roses in perfect bloom
That secret treasure appeared in the room.
The women of Memphis beheld him, and took
From that garden of glory the rose of a look.
One glance at his beauty o’erpowered each soul
And drew from their fingers the reins of control.
Each lady would cut through the orange she held,
As she gazed on that beauty unparalleled.
But she wounded her finger, so moved in her heart.
That she knew not her hand and the orange apart.
One made a pen of her finger, to write
On her soul his name who had ravished her sight —
A reed which, struck with the point of the knife,
Poured out a red flood from each joint in the strife.
One scored a calendar’s lines in red
On the silver sheet of her palm outspread,
And each column, marked with the blood-drops, showed
Like a brook when the stream o’er the bank has flowed.
When they saw that youth in his beauty’s pride :
“No mortal is he,” in amaze they cried.
No clay and water composed his frame,
But, a holy angel, from heaven he came.”
“ ’Tis my peerless boy,” cried Zulaikha, “ long
For him have I suffered reproach and wrong.
I told him my love for him, called him the whole
Aim and desire of my heart and soul.
He looked on me coldly; I bent not his will
To give me his love and my hope fulfil.
He still rebelled : I was forced to send
To prison the boy whom I could not bend.
In trouble and toil, under lock and chain,
He passed long days in affliction and pain.
But Iris spirit was tamed by the woe he felt,
And the heart that was hardened began to melt.
Keep your wild bird in a cage and see
How soon he forgets that he once was free.”
Of those who wounded their hands a part
Lost reason and patience, and mind and heart.
Too weak the sharp sword of his love to stay.
They gave up their souls ere they moved away.
The reason of others grew dark and dim,
And madness possessed them for love of him.
Bare-headed, bare-footed, they fled amain,
And the light that had vanished ne’er kindled again.
To some their senses at length returned,
But their hearts were wounded, their bosoms burned.
They were drunk, with the cup which was full to the
Trim,
And the birds of their hearts were ensnared by him.
Isay, Yusuf’s love was a mighty bowl
With varied power to move the soul.
One drank the wine till her senses reeled ;
To another, life had no joy to yield ;
One offered her soul his least wish to fulfil ;
One dreamed of him ever, but mute and still.
But only the woman to whom no share
Of the wine was vouchsafed could be pitied there.