I.

Heaven visits man with days of sadness,

Embitters oft his nights with tears;

Blest is the Fakir who with gladness

Views Mecca in declining years.

II.

Blest he who sees pale Death await him

On Danube’s ever glorious shore;

The girls of Paradise shall greet him,

And sorrows ne’er afflict him more.

III.

But he more blest, O beauteous Zarem!

Who quits the world and all its woes,

To clasp thy charms within the harem,

Thou lovelier than the unplucked rose!

They sing, but-where, alas! is Zarem,

Love’s star, the glory of the harem?

Pallid and sad no praise she hears,

Deaf to all sounds of joy her ears,

Downcast with grief, her youthful form

Yields like the palm tree to the storm,

Fair Zarem’s dreams of bliss are o’er,

Her loved Giray loves her no more!

He leaves thee! yet whose charms divine

Can equal, fair Grusinian! thine?

Shading thy brow, thy raven hair

Its lily fairness makes more fair;

Thine eyes of love appear more bright

Than noonday’s beam, more dark than night;

Whose voice like thine can breathe of blisses,

Filling the heart with soft desire?

Like thine, ah! whose inflaming kisses

Can kindle passion’s wildest fire?

Who that has felt thy twining arms

Could quit them for another’s charms?

Yet cold, and passionless, and cruel,

Giray can thy vast love despise,

Passing the lonesome night in sighs

Heaved for another; fiercer fuel

Burns in his heart since the fair Pole

Is placed within the chief’s control.

The young Maria recent war

Had borne in conquest from afar;

Not long her love-enkindling eyes

Had gazed upon these foreign skies;

Her aged father’s boast and pride,

She bloomed in beauty by his side;

Each wish was granted ere expressed.

She to his heart the object dearest,

His sole desire to see her blessed;

As when the skies from clouds are clearest,

Still from her youthful heart to chase

Her childish sorrows his endeavour,

Hoping in after life that never

Her woman’s duties might efface

Remembrance of her earlier hours,

But oft that fancy would retrace

Life’s blissful spring-time decked in flowers.

Her form a thousand charms unfolded,

Her face by beauty’s self was moulded,

Her dark blue eyes were full of fire, —

All nature’s stores on her were lavished;

The magic harp with soft desire,

When touched by her, the senses ravished.

Warriors and knights had sought in vain

Maria’s virgin heart to move,

And many a youth in secret pain

Pined for her in despairing love.

But love she knew not, in her breast

Tranquil it had not yet intruded,

Her days in mirth, her nights in rest,

In her paternal halls secluded,

Passed heedless, peace her bosom’s guest.

That time is past! The Tartar’s force

Rushed like a torrent o’er her nation, —

Rages less fierce the conflagration

Devouring harvests in its course, —

Poland it swept with devastation,

Involving all in equal fate,

The villages, once mirthful, vanished,

From their red ruins joy was banished,

The gorgeous palace desolate!

Maria is the victor’s prize; —

Within the palace chapel laid,

Slumb’ring among th’illustrious dead,

In recent tomb her father lies;

His ancestors repose around,

Long freed from life and its alarms;

With coronets and princely arms

Bedecked their monuments abound!

A base successor now holds sway, —

Maria’s natal halls his hand

Tyrannic rules, and strikes dismay

And wo throughout the ravaged land.

Alas! the Princess sorrow’s chalice

Is fated to the dregs to drain,

Immured in Bakchesaria’s palace

She sighs for liberty in vain;

The Khan observes the maiden’s pain,

His heart is at her grief afflicted,

His bosom strange emotions fill,

And least of all Maria’s will

Is by the harem’s laws restricted.

The hateful guard, of all the dread,

Learns silent to respect and fear her,

His eye ne’er violates her bed,

Nor day nor night he ventures near her;

To her he dares not speak rebuke,

Nor on her cast suspecting look.

Her bath she sought by none attended,

Except her chosen female slave,

The Khan to her such freedom gave;

But rarely he himself offended

By visits, the desponding fair,

Remotely lodged, none else intruded;

It seemed as though some jewel rare,

Something unearthly were secluded,

And careful kept untroubled there.

Within her chamber thus secure,

By virtue guarded, chaste and pure,

The lamp of faith, incessant burning,

The VIRGIN’S image blest illumed,

The comfort of the spirit mourning

And trust of those to sorrow doomed.

The holy symbol’s face reflected

The rays of hope in splendour bright,

And the rapt soul by faith directed

To regions of eternal light.

Maria, near the VIRGIN kneeling,

In silence gave her anguish way,

Unnoticed by the crowd unfeeling,

And whilst the rest, or sad or gay,

Wasted in idleness the day,

The sacred image still concealing,

Before it pouring forth her prayer,

She watched with ever jealous care;

Even as our hearts to error given,

Yet lighted by a spark from heaven,

Howe’er from virtue’s paths we swerve,

One holy feeling still preserve.

Now night invests with black apparel

Luxurious Tauride’s verdant fields,

Whilst her sweet notes from groves of laurel

The plaintive Philomela yields.

But soon night’s glorious queen, advancing

Through cloudless skies to the stars’ song,

Scatters the hills and dales along,

The lustre of her rays entrancing.

In Bakchesaria’s streets roamed free

The Tartars’ wives in garb befitting,

They like unprisoned shades were flitting

From house to house their friends to see,

And while the evening hours away

In harmless sports or converse gay.

The inmates of the harem slept; —

Still was the palace, night impending

O’er all her silent empire kept;

The eunuch guard, no more offending

The fair ones by his presence, now

Slumbered, but fear his soul attending

Troubled his rest and knit his brow;

Suspicion kept his fancy waking,

And on his mind incessant preyed,

The air the slightest murmur breaking

Assailed his ear with sounds of dread.

Now, by some noise deceitful cheated,

Starts from his sleep the timid slave,

Listens to hear the noise repeated,

But all is silent as the grave,

Save where the fountains softly sounding

Break from their marble prisons free,

Or night’s sweet birds the scene surrounding

Pour forth their notes of melody:

Long does he hearken to the strain,

Then sinks fatigued in sleep again.

Luxurious East! how soft thy nights,

What magic through the soul they pour!

How fruitful they of fond delights

To those who Mahomet adore!

What splendour in each house is found,

Each garden seems enchanted ground;

Within the harem’s precincts quiet

Beneath fair Luna’s placid ray,

When angry feelings cease to riot

There love inspires with softer sway!

The women sleep; — but one is there

Who sleeps not; goaded by despair

Her couch she quits with dread intent,

On awful errand is she bent;

Breathless she through the door swift flying

Passes unseen; her timid feet

Scarce touch the floor, she glides so fleet.

In doubtful slumber restless lying

The eunuch thwarts the fair one’s path,

Ah! who can speak his bosom’s wrath?

False is the quiet sleep would throw

Around that gray and care-worn brow;

She like a spirit vanished by

Viewless, unheard as her own sigh!

The door she reaches, trembling opes,

Enters, and looks around with awe,

What sorrows, anguish, terrors, hopes,