Iv monologue — Ismael; an oriental tale. With other poems

What light is streaming through the darken’d gloom? That radiance comes from Selyma’s lone room! She, pensive, leaning on her iv’ry arm, Hangs o’er her lattice, to imbibe the balm That eve imparts, while Fancy’s pow’r pourtrays The ling’ring charm, that hangs on other days. 130 From her bright eyes, where Love had fix’d his throne, The tears of mem’ry cours’d each other down, And her white bosom heav’d so deep a sigh-- ’Twas like a long, long strain of dying melody! “And where art thou, companion of my youth? “Where are thy vows of never-ceasing truth? “’Tis in idea alone, alas! I trace “The well-known features of that beaming face; “Curs’d be the fatal, the dire-omen’d day, “That glory tore thee, from mine arms, away! 140 “Curs’d be that glory, which will lead thee on, “Where ruthless Azrail’s thickest dangers throng; “Yes, thou wilt die; or, living, die to me!” ‘No, Selyma, I’m here, and live for thee.’ Scarce had the virgin turn’d her wond’ring eyes, Scarce giv’n the sound of fearful, glad surprise, Then at her feet, reality has brought The worshipp’d object of her ev’ry thought: Swift o’er the senses of her ravish’d soul, A temporary, kind oblivion stole; 150 But soon reviv’d, her eager eyes survey Him, whom she thought was ever snatch’d away. “And dost thou live, and does mine eye once more, “View, what it deem’d was ever, ever o’er?” ‘Yes, Selyma, my first, my only love, ‘I still am faithful as thy kindred dove. ‘The _Chieftain Ismael_, heir to Persia’s throne, ‘Comes, _humble Ismael’s_ vows of love to own; ‘To lead thee forth, the fairest of the fair, ‘My love, my glory, and my realms to share. 160 ‘To morrow’s sun shall see my banners wave ‘O’er Persia’s city, and Alvante’s grave. ‘And thronging crowds shall hail my lovely bride, ‘Rich Iran’s princess, and high Ismael’s pride!’