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!

Alexander And Zenobia

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