Tartar Song 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 formYields 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 divineCan equal, fair Grusinian! thine?Shading thy brow, thy raven hairIts lily fairness makes more fair;Thine eyes of love appear more brightThan 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 kissesCan kindle passion's wildest fire?

Who that has felt thy twining armsCould quit them for another's charms?Yet cold, and passionless, and cruel,Giray can thy vast love despise,Passing the lonesome night in sighsHeaved for another; fiercer fuelBurns in his heart since the fair PoleIs placed within the chief's control.

The young Maria recent warHad borne in conquest from afar;Not long her love-enkindling eyesHad 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 chaseHer childish sorrows his endeavour,Hoping in after life that neverHer woman's duties might effaceRemembrance of her earlier hours,But oft that fancy would retraceLife'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 vainMaria's virgin heart to move,And many a youth in secret painPined for her in despairing love.But love she knew not, in her breastTranquil 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 forceRushed like a torrent o'er her nation,--Rages less fierce the conflagrationDevouring 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 armsBedecked their monuments abound!A base successor now holds sway,--Maria's natal halls his handTyrannic rules, and strikes dismayAnd wo throughout the ravaged land.

Alas! the Princess sorrow's chaliceIs fated to the dregs to drain,Immured in Bakchesaria's palaceShe 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 willIs 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 offendedBy 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 mourningAnd trust of those to sorrow doomed.The holy symbol's face reflectedThe rays of hope in splendour bright,And the rapt soul by faith directedTo 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 apparelLuxurious Tauride's verdant fields,Whilst her sweet notes from groves of laurelThe plaintive Philomela yields.But soon night's glorious queen, advancingThrough cloudless skies to the stars' song,Scatters the hills and dales along,The lustre of her rays entrancing.In Bakchesaria's streets roamed freeThe Tartars' wives in garb befitting,They like unprisoned shades were flittingFrom house to house their friends to see,And while the evening hours awayIn harmless sports or converse gay.The inmates of the harem slept;--Still was the palace, night impendingO'er all her silent empire kept;The eunuch guard, no more offendingThe fair ones by his presence, nowSlumbered, but fear his soul attendingTroubled his rest and knit his brow;Suspicion kept his fancy waking,And on his mind incessant preyed,The air the slightest murmur breakingAssailed 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 soundingBreak from their marble prisons free,Or night's sweet birds the scene surroundingPour 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 delightsTo those who Mahomet adore!What splendour in each house is found,Each garden seems enchanted ground;Within the harem's precincts quietBeneath fair Luna's placid ray,When angry feelings cease to riotThere love inspires with softer sway!

The women sleep;--but one is thereWho sleeps not; goaded by despairHer couch she quits with dread intent,On awful errand is she bent;Breathless she through the door swift flyingPasses unseen; her timid feetScarce touch the floor, she glides so fleet.In doubtful slumber restless lyingThe eunuch thwarts the fair one's path,Ah! who can speak his bosom's wrath?False is the quiet sleep would throwAround that gray and care-worn brow;She like a spirit vanished byViewless, unheard as her own sigh!

The door she reaches, trembling opes,Enters, and looks around with awe,What sorrows, anguish, terrors, hopes,Rushed through her heart at what she saw!The image of the sacred maid,The Christian's matron, reigning there,And cross attracted first the fair,By the dim lamp-light scarce displayed!Oh! Grusinka, of earlier daysThe vision burst upon thy soul,The tongue long silent uttered praise,The heart throbs high, but sin's controlCannot escape, 'tis passion, passion sways!

The Princess in a maid's reposeSlumbered, her cheek, tinged like the rose,By feverish thought, in beauty blooms,And the fresh tear that stains her faceA smile of tenderness illumes.Thus cheers the moon fair Flora's race,When by the rain opprest they lieThe charm and grief of every eye!It seemed as though an angel sleptFrom heaven descended, who, distressed,Vented the feelings of his breast,And for the harem's inmates wept!Alas! poor Zarem, wretched fair,By anguish urged to mere despair,On bended knee, in tone subduedAnd melting strain, for pity sued.

"Oh! spurn not such a suppliant's prayer!"Her tones so sad, her sighs so deep,Startled the Princess in her sleep;Wond'ring, she views with dread before herThe stranger beauty, frighted hearsFor mercy her soft voice implore her,Raises her up with trembling hand,And makes of her the quick demand,"Who speaks? in night's still hour alone,Wherefore art here?" "A wretched one,To thee I come," the fair replied,"A suitor not to be denied;Hope, hope alone my soul sustains;Long have I happiness enjoyed,And lived from sorrow free and care,But now, alas! a prey to painsAnd terrors, Princess hear my prayer,Oh! listen, or I am destroyed!

Not here beheld I first the light,Far hence my native land, but yetAlas! I never can forgetObjects once precious to my sight;Well I remember towering mountains,Snow-ridged, replete with boiling fountains,Woods pervious scarce to wolf or deer,Nor faith, nor manners such as here;But, by what cruel fate o'ercome,How I was snatched, or when, from homeI know not,--well the heaving oceanDo I remember, and its roar,But, ah! my heart such wild commotionAs shakes it now ne'er felt before.I in the harem's quiet bloomed,Tranquil myself, waiting, alas!With willing heart what love had doomed;Its secret wishes came to pass:Giray his peaceful harem sought,For feats of war no longer burned,Nor, pleased, upon its horrors thought,To these fair scenes again returned.

"Before the Khan with bosoms beatingWe stood, timid my eyes I raised,When suddenly our glances meeting,I drank in rapture as I gazed;He called me to him,--from that hourWe lived in bliss beyond the powerOf evil thought or wicked word,The tongue of calumny unheard,Suspicion, doubt, or jealous fear,Of weariness alike unknown,Princess, thou comest a captive here,And all my joys are overthrown,Giray with sinful passion burns,His soul possessed of thee alone,My tears and sighs the traitor spurns;No more his former thoughts, nor feelingFor me now cherishes Giray,Scarce his disgust, alas! concealing,He from my presence hastes away.Princess, I know the fault not thineThat Giray loves thee, oh! then hearA suppliant wretch, nor spurn her prayer!

Throughout the harem none but thouCould rival beauties such as mineNor make him violate his vow;Yet, Princess! in thy bosom coldThe heart to mine left thus forlorn,The love I feel cannot be told,For passion, Princess, was I born.Yield me Giray then; with these tressesOft have his wandering fingers played,My lips still glow with his caresses,Snatched as he sighed, and swore, and prayed,Oaths broken now so often plighted!Hearts mingled once now disunited!His treason I cannot survive;Thou seest I weep, I bend my knee,Ah! if to pity thou'rt alive,My former love restore to me.Reply not! thee I do not blame,Thy beauties have bewitched Giray,Blinded his heart to love and fame,Then yield him up to me, I pray,Or by contempt, repulse, or grief,Turn from thy love th'ungenerous chief!Swear by thy faith, for what though mineConform now to the Koran's laws,Acknowledged here within the harem,Princess, my mother's faith was thine,By that faith swear to give to ZaremGiray unaltered, as he was!But listen! the sad prey to scornIf I must live, Princess, have care,A dagger still doth Zarem wear,--I near the Caucasus was born!"

She spake, then sudden disappeared,And left the Princess in dismay,Who scarce knew what or why she feared;Such words of passion till that dayShe ne'er had heard. Alas! was sheTo be the ruthless chieftain's prey?Vain was all hope his grasp to flee.Oh! God, that in some dungeon's gloomRemote, forgotten, she had lain,Or that it were her blessed doomTo 'scape dishonour, life, and pain!How would Maria with delightThis world of wretchedness resign;Vanished of youth her visions bright,Abandoned she to fates malign!Sinless she to the world was given,And so remains, thus pure and fair,Her soul is called again to heaven,And angel joys await it there!

Days passed away; Maria sleptPeaceful, no cares disturbed her, now,--From earth the orphan maid was swept.But who knew when, or where, or how?If prey to grief or pain she fell,If slain or heaven-struck, who can tell?She sleeps; her loss the chieftain grieves,And his neglected harem leaves,Flies from its tranquil precincts far,And with his Tartars takes the field,Fierce rushes mid the din of war,And brave the foe that does not yield,For mad despair hath nerved his arm,Though in his heart is grief concealed,With passion's hopeless transports warm.His blade he swings aloft in airAnd wildly brandishes, then lowIt falls, whilst he with pallid stareGazes, and tears in torrents flow.

His harem by the chief deserted,In foreign lands he warring roved,Long nor in wish nor thought revertedTo scene once cherished and beloved.His women to the eunuch's rageAbandoned, pined and sank in age;The fair Grusinian now no moreYielded her soul to passion's power,Her fate was with Maria's blended,On the same night their sorrows ended;Seized by mute guards the hapless fairInto a deep abyss they threw,--If vast her crime, through love's despair,Her punishment was dreadful too!

At length th'exhausted Khan returned,Enough of waste his sword had dealt,The Russian cot no longer burned,Nor Caucasus his fury felt.In token of Maria's lossA marble fountain he uprearedIn spot recluse;--the Christian's crossUpon the monument appeared,(Surmounting it a crescent bright,Emblem of ignorance and night!)Th'inscription mid the silent wasteNot yet has time's rude hand effaced,Still do the gurgling waters pourTheir streams dispensing sadness round,As mothers weep for sons no more,In never-ending sorrows drowned.In morn fair maids, (and twilight late,)Roam where this monument appears,And pitying poor Maria's fateEntitle it the FOUNT OF TEARS!

My native land abandoned long,I sought this realm of love and song.Through Bakchesaria's palace wandered,Upon its vanished greatness pondered;All silent now those spacious halls,And courts deserted, once so gayWith feasters thronged within their walls,Carousing after battle fray.Even now each desolated roomAnd ruined garden luxury breathes,The fountains play, the roses bloom,The vine unnoticed twines its wreaths,Gold glistens, shrubs exhale perfume.The shattered casements still are thereWithin which once, in days gone by,Their beads of amber chose the fair,And heaved the unregarded sigh;The cemetery there I found,Of conquering khans the last abode,Columns with marble turbans crownedTheir resting-place the traveller showed,And seemed to speak fate's stern decree,"As they are now such all shall be!"Where now those chiefs? the harem where?Alas! how sad scene once so fair!Now breathless silence chains the air!But not of this my mind was full,The roses' breath, the fountains flowing,The sun's last beam its radiance throwingAround, all served my heart to lullInto forgetfulness, when lo!A maiden's shade, fairer than snow,Across the court swift winged its flight;--Whose shade, oh friends! then struck my sight?Whose beauteous image hovering nearFilled me with wonder and with fear?Maria's form beheld I then?Or was it the unhappy Zarem,Who jealous thither came againTo roam through the deserted harem?That tender look I cannot flee,Those charms still earthly still I see!

He who the muse and peace adores,Forgetting glory, love, and gold,Again thy ever flowery shoresSoon, Salgir! joyful shall behold;The bard shall wind thy rocky waysFilled with fond sympathies, shall viewTauride's bright skies and waves of blueWith greedy and enraptured gaze.Enchanting region! full of lifeThy hills, thy woods, thy leaping streams,Ambered and rubied vines, all rifeWith pleasure, spot of fairy dreams!Valleys of verdure, fruits, and flowers,Cool waterfalls and fragrant bowers!All serve the traveller's heart to fillWith joy as he in hour of mornBy his accustomed steed is borneIn safety o'er dell, rock, and hill,Whilst the rich herbage, bent with dews,Sparkles and rustles on the ground,As he his venturous path pursuesWhere AYOUDAHGA'S crags surround!