Читать книгу Ismael; an oriental tale. With other poems онлайн

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And her white bosom heav’d so deep a sigh—

’Twas like a long, long strain of dying melody!

“And where art thou, companion of my youth?

“Where are thy vows of never-ceasing truth?

“’Tis in idea alone, alas! I trace

“The well-known features of that beaming face;

“Curs’d be the fatal, the dire-omen’d day,

“That glory tore thee, from mine arms, away!140

“Curs’d be that glory, which will lead thee on,

“Where ruthless Azrail’s thickest dangers throng;

“Yes, thou wilt die; or, living, die to me!”

‘No, Selyma, I’m here, and live for thee.’

Scarce had the virgin turn’d her wond’ring eyes,

Scarce giv’n the sound of fearful, glad surprise,

Then at her feet, reality has brought

The worshipp’d object of her ev’ry thought:

Swift o’er the senses of her ravish’d soul,

A temporary, kind oblivion stole;150

But soon reviv’d, her eager eyes survey

Him, whom she thought was ever snatch’d away.

“And dost thou live, and does mine eye once more,

“View, what it deem’d was ever, ever o’er?”