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CANTO THE SECONDXXVIII
Within the place of thousand tombs
That shine beneath, while dark above
The sad but living cypress glooms,
And withers not, though branch and leaf
Are stamp`d with an eternal grief,
Like early unrequited Love,
One spot exists, which ever blooms,
Ev`n in that deadly grove —
A single rose is shedding there
Its lonely lustre, meek and pale:
It looks as planted by Despair —
So white — so faint — the slightest gale
Might whirl the leaves on high;
And yet, though storms and blight assail,
And hands more rude than wintry sky
May wring it from the stem — in vain —
To-morrow sees it bloom again!
The stalk some spirit gently rears,
And waters with celestial tears;
For well may maids of Helle deem
That this can be no earthly flower,
Which mocks the tempest`s withering hour,
And buds unshelter`d by a bower;
Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower,
Nor woos the summer beam:
To it the livelong night there sings
A bird unseen — but not remote:
Invisible his airy wings,
But soft as harp that Houri strings
His long entrancing note!
It were the Bulbul; but his throat,
Though mournful, pours not such a strain:
For they who listen cannot leave
The spot, but linger there and grieve,
As if they loved in vain!
And yet so sweet the tears they shed,
`Tis sorrow so unmix`d with dread,
They scarce can bear the morn to break
That melancholy spell,
And longer yet would weep and wake,
He sings so wild and well!
But when the day-blush bursts from high
Expires that magic melody.
And some have been who could believe,
(So fondly youthful dreams deceive,
Yet harsh be they that blame,)
That note so piercing and profound
Will shape and syllable its sound
Into Zuleika`s name.
`Tis from her cypress` summit heard,
That melts in air the liquid word;
`Tis from her lowly virgin earth
That white rose takes its tender birth.
There late was laid a marble stone;
Eve saw it placed — the Morrow gone!
It was no mortal arm that bore
That deep fixed pillar to the shore;
For there, as Helle`s legends tell,
Next morn `twas found where Selim fell;
Lash`d by the tumbling tide, whose wave
Denied his bones a holier grave:
And there by night, reclined, `tis said,
Is seen a ghastly turban`d head:
And hence extended by the billow,
`Tis named the "Pirate-phantom`s pillow!"
Where first it lay that mourning flower
Hath flourish`d; flourisheth this hour,
Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale;
As weeping Beauty`s cheek at Sorrow`s tale.
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