Repentance

I it t-his vault of turki’s upreared of old,
The children of Adam are dull and cold ;
Their hearts are never in thankful mood,
But their thoughts are still of ingratitude ;
And the worth is unknown, till they fade away,
Of the blessings which brighten each passing day.
Though many a lover may nerve his heart,
When he deems he is weary of love, to part,
When the flame of absence is kindled by Doom
His body will waste and his heart consume.
The light that the rose-cheek of Yitsuf shed
Made the house of bondage a bright rose-bed ;
But Zulaikha, whose palace had been more fair
Than a garden of roses when he was there,
Pelt a deep gloom on her spirit press,
When she saw not the light of his loveliness.
Sad was her heart in that dungeon’s hold,
And one sorrow by parting became twofold.
Where is woe like the lover’s who looks on the pk
Once blest with the light of his darling’s face ?
What comfort is found in the drear rose-bed,
When the thorns are left and the roses are dead ?
Ah, how the heart of the bulbul is torn —
A roseless garden and spears of thorn !
When her look on her desolate garden was bent,
Like a bud unclosing her robe she rent.
Why should the hand of the mourner refrain
From tearing his robe in a torment of pain ?
Let him rend through his bosom a way to his heart
That comfort may enter and banish the smart.
She tore her rose-cheek in her wild despair ;
She rent her locks like the spikenard’s hair ;
And her mangled cheek and her hair might show
How she rent her heart in her lonely woe.
Her heart beat her bosom with fingers of stone,
And the war-drum of parting was loud in its tone.
Though queen of the army of beauty, the beat
Of that drum of the foenian proclaimed her defeat.
With both hands she threw ashes and dust on her head,
And a flood of hot tears from her eyes she shed.
That dust and water were clay to close
The rifts in her heart that was rent by her woes ;
But a handful of clay were applied in vain
To a heart which absence has broken in twain.
Her lips of pomegranate were torn by the teeth
Whose pure pearls mangled the ruby beneath ;
But those teeth were pressed on her lip that they
The torrent that ran from her heart might stay.
With blue she tinted her cheek of rose,
Like a lily drenched when the brook o’erflows :
Bed for the days of our joy we keep,
And blue is their colour who mourn and weep.
With the blood of her heart on her cheek she wrote;
With the hand of anguish her knee she smote :
“Who e’er wrought as I wrought ? ” — it was thus she complained —
“ Who has drunk of the poison which I have drained ?
What lover’s axe in this world of woe
E’er struck his own foot with so deadly a blow ?
I tore out mine eyes with this hand : I fell
In my blindness, self-cast, to the depths of the well.
A mountain of woe on my back I laid,
And am crushed to the earth with the load down- weighed.
My heart is made blood by the fate that drew
My eager steps his fair shape to pursue.
The treacherous Heavens have darkened my day :
I let my love go and he passed away.
Estranged from mine own heart no longer I know
Where balm may be found that will soften my woe.”
Thus broken-hearted she made lament,
And ever in weeping the night was spent.
Each thing he had touched, as it met her eye,
Drew from her bosom a long deep sigh.
Sad was her soul, and her eyes were dim.
As she caught up the raiment once worn by him.
But the touch was to her as the breath of the rose,
And soothed- the fierce pain of her burning woes.
About her own neck his collar she tied,
With a hundred kisses of love applied :
“This is my collar of glory, nay,
The band of my heart,” she would cry, “and its stay.”
To place her arm in his mantle’s sleeve
Would for a moment her pain relieve;
As she thought of her love it was touched and kissed,
And with silver filled of her dainty wrist.
She pressed to her eyes — and the touch was sweet —
The skirt that had lain on her darling’s feet,
And, hopeless to fasten her lips on them,
Deluded her soul with a kiss of the hem.
Pearl and ruby in showers she spread
Over the cap that had decked his head.
For once it had shaded the beautiful brow
To which the whole world loved in worship to how.
To the zone that had girdled his waist she gave
The honour due from a faithful slave;
As a token most dear of her vanished fawn
Bound her neck for a snare was the girdle drawn.
With dim eyes weeping, her hands displayed
The glittering folds of his robe of brocade.
She bathed its skirts with her tears, and the gleam
Of the rubies she dropped was on band and seam.
Thus was the grief of Zulailcha renewed
Through the dreary day by each thing she viewed.
As she knew not the value of present joy
The fierce flame of absence must bliss destroy.
Zulailcha sorrowed, but sorrowed in vain ;
Only patience was left her to heal her pain.
Yes, patience would bring her the balm of rest,
But how could she banish her love from her breast ?
Death to the lover who weeps alone
Is the loss of the love he has loved and known.
Of torments and woe there is none like this —
To part from one’s love after days of bliss.
If no sweet companionship linked their lives,
His heart may break, but it still survives.
Zulailcha fain from herself would fly,
And, of good despairing, would gladly die.
The wall and the floor with her head she smote.
The blood-thirsty dagger was raised to her throat.
She sought, like a watchman, the roof at night
To cast herself down from the giddy height.
She twisted a cord of her hair, and strove
To stifle her breath with the noose she wove.
She sought release for her weary soul —
A poisonous draught from life’s pleasant bowl.
She sickened of all, and would fain destroy
Her life with each thing that was once her joy.
The pitying nurse sought her lady’s side,
Kissed her hands and feet and blessed her and cried
“ May thy darling return to dispel thy woe ;
May thy cup with the wine of his love o’erflow !
May a happy meeting thy bliss restore,
With no fear of parting for evermore !
How long shall this folly subdue thee ? Arise,
Throw off thy madness, again be wise.
This sad heart bleeds when thy grief I see :
What woman ever has acted like thee ?
Patience — list to the voice of age —
Patience alone will thy grief assuage.
Impatience has brought thee this fever of pain :
Let patience allay it with soothing rain.
When o’er thee the whirlwinds of sorrow pass,
Flee not before them like scattered grass.
Keep thy foot in thy skirt with undaunted will,
And stand firm in thy place like a rooted hill.
Patience will lead thee to lasting bliss,
And the fruit of thy longing thou shalt not miss.
Every triumph from patience springs,
The happy herald of better things.
Through patience the pearl from the rain-drop
And the diamond shines and the ruby glows ;
The full ear springs from the scattered seed,
And food from the ear for the traveller’s need.
So moons come and vanish till babes are horn,
And with moonlike beauty the world adorn.”
Zulaikha listened, and, half consoled,
The outward signs of her grief controlled.
Bent to the skirt was her robe, but still
She confined her feet with a stronger will.
But if for a moment the lover hears,
The warner speaks to forgetful ears ;
Hushed is that tongue and no traces remain
Of the words of wisdom he spoke in vain.