i On thy crimson lips of bliss Burning Phoebus gives the rose, As a white and beauteous dove Like the lily-queen, my love, Save the blush thou needs must wear. 'Tis enough-wild rapture's dream Greets me as already thine Come ye then, at twilight gleam, THE BRIDEGROOM'S LAMENT. "Aye, marry 'tis a tale Of old tradition, full of wonderment And such sweet sorrows as make crystal beads "She died in all her summer glory, O мy bed it is a tyrant, And it will not let me sleep, And my pillow seems to whisper "Hassan, lie awake and weep." For the couch that should delight me O my faithful heart is bleeding, I died for my love's sake. My troth-plight droop'd and faded Ere she yet was well a bride, And it false would be if Hassan liv'd When young Zoraida died. O fatal was the dream I dreamt, I woke, and from my lattice And the sun which rose so warmly, Grew pale at eve, and coldly set, Unlike a bridal night. O bitter is my cup of life, And darkly o'er its venom-brim The sweetest rose in Araby Is wither'd ere 'twas blown, And the blighted heart it grew upon Can never flower alone. O weep, ye maids, and ye who prize A maiden's peerless faith, O tell it oft, when I am gone, He sought his bride in death; O brightest of the ebon-eyed, Ere morrow's dawn, we'll meet, my bride, In fond eternity. Yon silver moon that laughs on high, As though to slight my pain, May still disport her paly lamp, I come, I come, Zoraida love, All in my summer's bloom : Within thy virgin tomb. Where late the roses spread, And I'll clasp thee in a close embrace, Since 'tis our bridal bed. THE SPELL ! "She was bright as a summer's morn When all the heav'n is streak'd with dappled fires, "There was a pretty redness in her lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in her cheek." 'Tis not because thy lovesome eye Outbeams the young Gazelle's; 'Tis not because thy tuneful sigh It is the spell, my blooming maid, "Tis not the hue that love has ta'en Thy vermil lip to flush; Nor is it that the roses twain Are wedded in thy blush. |