Fringilla: Some Tales in Verse by Richard Doddridge Blackmore (black books to read TXT) 📖

old,
Swathes him, as his rank requires,
Head to foot, in linen fold.

Seven attendants round him vying,
In a lighter vesture plying,
Four with skirts, and other three
Tunic'd short from waist to knee.

XI

Free among them stands the maiden,
Clad in white for her long rest;
Crowned with gold, and jewel-laden,
With a lily on her breast

Lily is the mark that showeth
Where that pure and sweet heart gloweth;
Here must come, to shed her life,
Point of sacrificial knife.

Here the knife is, cold and gleaming,
Here the colder butcher band.
Was the true love nought but dreaming,
Feeble heart, and coward hand?

XII

Strength unto the weak is given,
When their earthly bonds are riven;
Ere the spirit is called away,
Heaven begins its tranquil sway.

Life hath been unstained, and therefore
Pleasant to look back upon;
But there is not much to care for,
When the light of love is gone.

Still, though love were twice as fleeting,
Longeth she for one last greeting;
If her eyes might only dwell
Once on his, to say farewell

XIII

"Glorious Hapi," spake Piromis,
Lifting high his weapon'd hand;
"Earth thy footstool, heaven thy dome is,
We the pebbles on thy strand.

"Thou hast leaped the cubits twenty,
Dowering us with peace and plenty;
Mutha shows thee her retreat,
And the desert licks thy feet,

"We have passed through our purgation,
Once again we are thy kin;
God, accept our expiation,
Maiden pure of mortal sin."

XIV

"Ha!" the king cried, smiling blandly;
"Ha!" the trumpets answered grandly.
Proudly priest whirled, knife on high,
While the maiden bowed--to die.

Sudden, through the ranks beside her,
Scattering men, like sparks of flint,
Burst a snow-white horse and rider,
Rapid as the lightning's glint.

One blow hurls Arch-priest to quiver
Headless, in his beloved river,
In the twinkling of an eye,
All the rest are dead, or fly.

XV

Iram, from Pyropus sweeping,
As a mower swathes the rye,
Caught his love, in terror sleeping,
And her light form swings on high.

"Soul of Khons!" Sesostris shouted,
Striding down the planks blood-grouted--
Into his beard fell something light,
And he spat, and swooned with fright.

What hath made this great king stagger,
Reel, and shriek--"unclean, unclean!"
Thunderbolt, or flash of dagger?
Nay, 'twas but a garden bean.

XVI

Brave Pyropus, blood-bespattered,
Snorts at men and corpses scattered,
Throws his noble chest more wide,
Leaps into the leaping tide.

Vainly hiss a thousand arrows,
Launched at random through the foam;
Every stroke the distance narrows
Twixt him and his desert home.

Sorely tried, and passion-shaken,
Long amid her foes forsaken,
Now, in tumult of surprise,
Lita knows not where she lies.

XVII

Till a bright wave breaks upon her,
And her clear perceptions wake--
All his valour, prowess, honour,
Scorn of life, for her poor sake!

Gently then her eyes she raises,
(Eyes, whence all the pure soul gazes)
Softly brings her lips to his--
Lips, wherein the whole heart is.

Let the furious waters welter,
Let the rough winds roar above;
Waves are warmth, and storms are shelter,
In the upper heaven of love.

XVIII

Fierce the flood, and wild the danger;
Yet the noble desert-ranger
Flinches not, nor flags, before
He hath brought them safe ashore.

Lives there man, who would have striven,
Reckless thus of storm and sword;
Leaped into the gulf, and given
Heart and soul, to please his Lord?

With caresses they have plied him,
Hand in hand they kneel beside him,
While their mutual vows they plight
To the God of life and light

XIX

Ha! What meaneth yon sword-flashing?
Trumps, and shouts from wave and isle?
Lo, the warrior galleys dashing,
To avenge insulted Nile!

Haste! The brave steed, leaping lightly,
'Neath his double burden sprightly,
Challenges, with scornful note,
Every horse in Pharaoh's boat.

King of Egypt, curb thy rages;
Lo, how trouble should be borne!
Memnon soothes the woe of ages,
With a sweet song, every morn.

KADISHA; OR, THE FIRST JEALOUSY

AN EASTERN LEGEND

HERE IS A CURIOUS LEGEND AS TO THE ORIGIN OP JEALOUSY. WHEN ADAM AND EVE WERE IN PARADISE, THE FORMER WAS ACCUSTOMED TO RETIRE AT EVENTIDE TO THE RECESSES OF THE GARDEN, FOR THE PURPOSE OF PRAYER. ON ONE OF THESE OCCASIONS THE DEVIL APPEARED TO EVE, AND INFORMED HER THAT HER SOLITUDE WAS TO BE ACCOUNTED FOR BY THE ATTRACTIONS OF ANOTHER FAIR ONE. EVE REPLIED THAT IT COULD NOT BE SO, AS SHE WAS THE ONLY WOMAN IN EXISTENCE. "IF I SHOW YOU ANOTHER, WILL YOU BELIEVE ME?" RETURNED THE EVIL ONE, AND PRODUCED A MIRROR, IN WHICH SHE SAW HER OWN REFLECTION, AND MISTOOK IT FOR HER RIVAL. See "Life in Abyssinia," by Mr. Parkyns. Murray, Albemarle Street.

The Kadisha, flowing to the south of Lebanon, is called "the holy river," as having been a minor stream of Paradise.


PART I

True love's regale is incomplete,
'Till bitter leaven make it sweet;
Accept not then our tale amiss,
That jealousy was part of bliss;
But rather note a mercy here,
That fact was thus outrun by fear;
And so, before the harder bout,
When sin must be encountered too,
A woman's heart already knew
The way to conquer doubt

I

"When sleep was in the summer air,
And stars looked down on Paradise,
And palms and cedars answered fair
The visionary night-wind's sighs,
And murmuring prayer:

When every flower was in its hood
(By clasps of diamond dew retained),
Or sunk to elude Phalcena's brood,
Down slumber's breast with shadows veined,
In solitude:

The citron, stephanote, and rose,
Pomegranate, hoya, calycanth,
And yet unwanted amaranth,
Were sweetness in repose:

II

When rivulets were loth to creep,
Except unto the pillow moss,
And distant lake, encurtained deep,
Was but a silver thread across
The eyes of sleep:

When nightingales, in the sycamore,
Sang low and soft, as an echo dreaming;
And slept the moon upon heaven's shore--
The tidal shore of heaven, beaming
With lazuled ore:

When new-born earth was fain to lean
In Summer's arms,