Fakeer of Jungheera 2.2
Now echoing with the sound of song,
Have chased the night from Rajmahal,
Where flows the revel loud and long,
Those lamps are all of glittering gold
Like sunset gleaming o'er the sea,
And scented is the store they hold
As ever maiden's locks may be.
Their rays are flashing free and far,
As at some blest Immortal's call,
Whose hand from heaven had plucked each star
To gem that brilliant festival;
And still where'er their light they fling
New beauties out of darkness spring;
Like Memory casting back her beams
O'er years of past Elysian dreams
That dawn upon the dazzled view,
As brought from heaven so bright, so new!—
A feast the prince hath made to-night;
And young and old are glad and gay,
And every feature beams delight,
As 'twere the spirit's holiday.
As if the pleasure man has yet
Brought down from brighter, better spheres
Had there in smiles together met,
And banished earthly griefs and tears.
Roses, festooned and gaily wreathed,
Scattered their sweets on all so fair,
As if in each an angel breathed,
Or love-lorn fay were sighing there.
On carpet bright of velvet green
Whose broidered rim with gold is shining,
With pearls the glittering lines between,
The prince is all at ease reclining.
And golden cups and goblets bright
With spices sweet from Lunka's isle,
And sherbets all like liquid light,
Sparkle around him there the while.
And crystal vases gemmed with gold,
Meet ornaments for heavenly bowers,
In fragrant heaps and clusters hold
The most enchanting fairy flowers.
A shawl is wreathed around his brow
Flashing in purple pleasure's pride;
His eye laughs out, his heart is now
Afloat upon enjoyment's tide.
Behold a young Cashmerian girl
With cheek of rose, and neck of pearl,
Before him stands—the fairest star
Burning in beauteous skies afar
Might trembling shrink away to vie
With the pure lustre of her eye.
And on her small, white, ice-like feet,
Just feet to fall on fairest flowers,
In garden groves, by moon-lit hours,
Are golden anklets tinkling sweet.
Her arm is raised, so round, so fair,
So delicate, it looks as 'twere
Made of soft moonbeams; on her cheek
The blushes burn and breathe and speak;
The smile comes from her ruby lips
Like the sun rushing from eclipse;
And floats the perfume in her hair,
For careless hearts a fatal snare.
Protect him, Alla! who may chance
To be a youthful stander-by,
As in the slow, the graceful dance
She shoots the lightning of her eye;
And when her voice of music flows
Like richest odour from the rose,
Let not her notes of magic dart
Too deep into her hearer's heart.--