Alexander And Zenobia

Fair was the evening and brightly the sun     Was shining on desert and grove,     Sweet were the breezes and balmy the flowers     And cloudless the heavens above.     It was Arabia's distant land     And peaceful was the hour;     Two youthful figures lay reclined     Deep in a shady bower.     One was a boy of just fourteen     Bold beautiful and bright;     Soft raven curls hung clustering round     A brow of marble white.     The fair brow and ruddy cheek     Spoke of less burning skies;     Words cannot paint the look that beamed     In his dark lustrous eyes.     The other was a slender girl,     Blooming and young and fair.     The snowy neck was shaded with     The long bright sunny hair.     And those deep eyes of watery blue,     So sweetly sad they seemed.     And every feature in her face     With pensive sorrow teemed.     The youth beheld her saddened air     And smiling cheerfully     He said, 'How pleasant is the land     Of sunny Araby!     'Zenobia, I never saw     A lovelier eve than this;     I never felt my spirit raised     With more unbroken bliss!     'So deep the shades, so calm the hour,     So soft the breezes sigh,     So sweetly Philomel begins     Her heavenly melody.     'So pleasant are the scents that rise     From flowers of loveliest hue,     And more than all, Zenobia,     I am alone with you!     Are we not happy here alone     In such a healthy spot?'     He looked to her with joyful smile     But she returned it not.     'Why are you sorrowful?' he asked     And heaved a bitter sigh,     'O tell me why those drops of woe     Are gathering in your eye.'     'Gladly would I rejoice,' she said,     'But grief weighs down my heart.     'Can I be happy when I know     Tomorrow we must part?     'Yes, Alexander, I must see     This happy land no more.     At break of day I must return     To distant Gondal's shore.     'At morning we must bid farewell,     And at the close of day     You will be wandering alone     And I shall be away.     'I shall be sorrowing for you     On the wide weltering sea,     And you will perhaps have wandered here     To sit and think of me.'     'And shall we part so soon?' he cried,     'Must we be torn away?     Shall I be left to mourn alone?     Will you no longer stay?     'And shall we never meet again,     Hearts that have grown together?     Must they at once be rent away     And kept apart for ever?'     'Yes, Alexander, we must part,     But we may meet again,     For when I left my native land     I wept in anguish then.     'Never shall I forget the day     I left its rocky shore.     We thought that we had bid adieu     To meet on earth no more.     'When we had parted how I wept     To see the mountains blue     Grow dimmer and more distant, till     They faded from my view.     'And you too wept, we little thought     After so long a time,     To meet again so suddenly     In such a distant clime.     'We met on Grecia's classic plain,     We part in Araby.     And let us hope to meet again     Beneath our Gondal's sky.'     'Zenobia, do you remember     A little lonely spring     Among Exina's woody hills     Where blackbirds used to sing,     'And when they ceased as daylight faded     From the dusky sky     The pensive nightingale began     Her matchless melody?     'Sweet bluebells used to flourish there     And tall trees waved on high,     And through their ever sounding leaves     The soft wind used to sigh.     'At morning we have often played     Beside that lonely well;     At evening we have lingered there     Till dewy twilight fell.     'And when your fifteenth birthday comes,     Remember me, my love,     And think of what I said to you     In this sweet spicy grove.     'At evening wander to that spring     And sit and wait for me;     And 'ere the sun has ceased to shine     I will return to thee.     'Two years is a weary time     But it will soon be fled.     And if you do not meet me, know     I am not false but dead.'     * * *     Sweetly the summer day declines     On forest, plain, and hill     And in that spacious palace hall     So lonely, wide and still.     Beside a window's open arch,     In the calm evening air     All lonely sits a stately girl,     Graceful and young and fair.     The snowy lid and lashes long     Conceal her downcast eye,     She's reading and till now I have     Passed unnoticed by.     But see she cannot fix her thoughts,     They are wandering away;     She looks towards a distant dell     Where sunny waters play.     And yet her spirit is not with     The scene she looks upon;     She muses with a mournful smile     On pleasures that are gone.     She looks upon the book again     That chained her thoughts before,     And for a moment strives in vain     To fix her mind once more.     Then gently drops it on her knee     And looks into the sky,     While trembling drops are shining in     Her dark celestial eye.     And thus alone and still she sits     Musing on years gone by.     Till with a sad and sudden smile     She rises up to go;     And from the open window springs     On to the grass below.     Why does she fly so swiftly now     Adown the meadow green,     And o'er the gently swelling hills     And the vale that lies between?     She passes under giant trees     That lift their arms on high     And slowly wave their mighty boughs     In the clear evening sky,     And now she threads a path that winds     Through deeply shaded groves     Where nought is heard but sighing gales     And murmuring turtle doves.     She hastens on through sunless gloom     To a vista opening wide;     A marble fountain sparkles there     With sweet flowers by its side.     At intervals in the velvet grass     A few old elm trees rise,     While a warm flood of yellow light     Streams from the western skies.     Is this her resting place? Ah, no,     She hastens onward still,     The startled deer before her fly     As she ascends the hill.     She does not rest till she has gained     A lonely purling spring,     Where zephyrs wave the verdant trees     And birds in concert sing.     And there she stands and gazes round     With bright and searching eye,     Then sadly sighing turns away     And looks upon the sky.     She sits down on the flowery turf     Her head drooped on her hand;     Her soft luxuriant golden curls     Are by the breezes fanned.     A sweet sad smile plays on her lips;     Her heart is far away,     And thus she sits till twilight comes     To take the place of day.     But when she looks towards the west     And sees the sun is gone     And hears that every bird but one     To its nightly rest is flown,     And sees that over nature's face     A sombre veil is cast     With mournful voice and tearful eye     She says, 'The time is past!     'He will not come! I might have known     It was a foolish hope;     But it was so sweet to cherish     I could not yield it up.     'It may be foolish thus to weep     But I cannot check my tears     To see in one short hour destroyed     The darling hope of years.     'He is not false, but he was young     And time rolls fast away.     Has he forgotten the vow he made     To meet me here today?     'No. If he lives he loves me still     And still remembers me.     If he is dead, my joys are sunk     In utter misery.     'We parted in the spicy groves     Beneath Arabia's sky.     How could I hope to meet him now     Where Gondal's breezes sigh?     'He was a shining meteor light     That faded from the skies,     But I mistook him for a star     That only set to rise.     'And with a firm yet trembling hand     I've clung to this false hope;     I dared not surely trust in it     Yet would not yield it up.     'And day and night I've thought of him     And loved him constantly,     And prayed that Heaven would prosper him     Wherever he might be.     'He will not come; he's wandering now     On some far distant shore,     Or else he sleeps the sleep of death     And cannot see me more!     'O, Alexander, is it thus?     Did we but meet to part?     Long as I live thy name will be     Engraven on my heart.     'I shall not cease to think of thee     While life and thought remain,     For well I know that I can never     See thy like again!'     She ceases now and dries her tears     But still she lingers there     In silent thought till night is come     And silver stars appear.     But lo! a tall and stately youth     Ascends the grassy slope;     His bright dark eyes are glancing round,     His heart beats high with hope.     He has journyed on unweariedly     From dawn of day till now,     The warm blood kindles in his cheek,     The sweat is on his brow.     But he has gained the green hill top     Where lies that lonely spring,     And lo! he pauses when he hears     Its gentle murmuring.     He dares not enter through the trees     That veil it from his eye;     He listens for some other sound     In deep anxiety.     But vainly, all is calm and still;     Are his bright day dreams o'er?     Has he thus hoped and longed in vain,     And must they meet no more?     One moment more of sad suspense     And those dark trees are past;     The lonely well bursts on his sight     And they are met at last!