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!