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diff --git a/11266-0.txt b/11266-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..339e274 --- /dev/null +++ b/11266-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,988 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11266 *** + +SONNETS + +BY THE + +NAWAB NIZAMAT JUNG BAHADUR + + +"_Love is not discoverable by the eye, but only by the soul. Its +elements are indeed innate in our mortal constitution, and we +give it the names of Joy and Aphrodite; but in its highest nature no +mortal hath fully comprehended it_." + +EMPEDOCLES. + + +"_Every one choose the object of his affections according to his +character.... The Divine is beauty, wisdom, goodness, and by these the +wings of the soul are nourished_." + +PLATO. + + + + +1917 + + + + +CONTENTS + + + FOREWORD, BY R.C. FRASER + NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF THE SONNET IN ENGLISH LITERATURE + PROLOGUE + I. REBIRTH + II. THE CROWN OF LIFE + III. BEFORE THE THRONE + IV. WORSHIP + V. UNITY + VI. LOVE'S SILENCE + VII. THE SUBLIME HOPE + VIII. THE HEART OF LOVE + IX. "'TWIXT STAR AND STAR" + X. THE HIGHER KNIGHTHOOD + XI. IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM + XII. ETERNAL JOY + XIII. CONSTANCY + XIV. CALM AFTER STORM + XV. THE STAR OF LOVE + XVI. IMPRISONED MUSIC + XVII. LOVE'S MESSAGE + XVIII. ECSTASY + XIX. THE DREAM + XX. ETHEREAL BEAUTY + XXI. A CROWN OF THORNS + XXII. TWO HEARTS IN ONE + XXIII. YEARNING + XXIV. LOVE'S GIFT + EPILOGUE + + + + +FOREWORD + +BY RICHARD CHARLES FRASER + + +The following Sonnet Sequence,--written during rare intervals of leisure +in a busy and strenuous life,--was privately printed in Madras early in +1914, without any intention of publication on the part of the author. He +has, however, now consented to allow it to be given to a wider audience; +and we anticipate in many directions a welcome for this small but +significant volume by the writer of _India to England_, one of the most +popular and often-quoted lyrics evoked by the Great War. + +The Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur, was born in the State of Hyderabad, but +educated in England; and there are some--at Cambridge and elsewhere--who +will remember his keenly discriminating interest in British history and +literature, and the comprehensive way he, in a few words, would indicate +his impressions of poets and heroes, long dead, but to him ever-living. + +His appreciation was both ardent and just; he could swiftly recognise +the nobler elements in characters which at first glance might seem +startlingly dissimilar; and he could pass without apparent effort from +study of the lives of men of action to the inward contemplations of +abstruse philosophers. + +To those who have not met him, it may appear paradoxical to say that his +tastes were at the same moment acutely fastidious and widely +sympathetic; but anyone who has talked with him will recall the blend of +high impersonal ideas with a remarkable personality which seldom failed +to stimulate other minds--even if those others shared few if any of his +intellectual tastes. + +A famous British General (still living) was once asked, "What is the +most essential quality for a great leader of men?" And he replied in one +word "SYMPATHY." The General was speaking of leadership in relation to +warfare; and by "Sympathy" he meant swift insight into the minds of +others; and, with this insight, the power to arouse and fan into a flame +the spark of chivalry and true nobility in each. The career of the Nawab +Nizamat Jung has not been set in the world of action,--he is at present +a Judge of the High Court in Hyderabad,--but nevertheless this +definition of sympathy is not irrelevant, for the Nawab's personal +influence has been more subtle and far-reaching than he himself is yet +aware. His love of poetry and history, if on the one hand it has +intensified his realisation of the sorrows and tragedies of earthly +life, on the other hand has equipped him with a power to awake in others +a vivid consciousness of the moral value of literature,--through which +(for the mere asking) we any of us can find our way into a kingdom of +great ideas. This kingdom is also the kingdom of eternal realities--or +so at least it should be; and those who in the early nineties in England +talked with Nizamoudhin (as he then was) could scarcely fail to notice +that he valued the genius of an author, or the exploits of a character +in history, chiefly in proportion to the permanent and vital nature of +the truths this character had laboured to express--whether in words or +action. + +But Truth, has many faces; and scarcely any poet (except perhaps +Shakespeare) has come within measurable distance of expressing every +aspect of the human character. The Nawab could take pleasure in reading +poets as temperamentally dissimilar as Shelley and Scott, Spenser and +Byron,--to name only a few. Shelley, who was a spirit utterly unable to +understand this world or ordinary homespun human nature; and Scott, who +not only comprehended both without an effort, but who combined the +practical and the romantic elements successfully in his own life, A +devotion to Spenser, "the poet's poet," the poet of a dreamy yet very +real and living chivalry,--Spenser who used to forget himself in his +creations,--did not prevent the Nawab from understanding Byron, who +never could forget himself at all; and who, with all his vivid impulses +of generous sympathy for the oppressed, is nevertheless generally +classed to-day as a colossal egoist. (Unjustly so, for no mere egoist +would have toiled as he toiled for Greek emancipation, in the +nerve-racking campaign which cost him his life.) + +In _India to England_--most characteristic of the war poems of Nizamat +Jung--we see traces of the influence of more than one of the English +poets he has read so lovingly. But the poem is none the less poignantly +personal. The same may be said of the Sonnets here prefaced; for +although they are related to the sonnets of earlier poets whose work +must be familiar to the writer, yet they are in no sense imitations, nor +are they echoes. + +"_Poetry is the natural language of strong emotion_," the Nawab said many +years ago;--and if it may be asked why, holding this view, he has chosen +such an elaborate (and, some people might add, artificial) form as the +Sonnet, we can only answer that when an emotion or conviction is +deep-seated and permanent, it becomes clarified, concentrated, and +intensified under the stern discipline of compression within the +arbitrary yet expressive limitations of a sonnet.[A] + +One of the main reasons why the Nawab's friends have urged the +publication of his Sonnets, is that despite occasional imperfections (of +which he himself is conscious), they form a consistent whole, and in +their spirit and sentiment they are akin to some of the most noble +utterances of the great minds and hearts whose words have been like +torches to show what heights a strong aspiring soul can climb. + +"_The Will is the master. Imagination the tool, and the body the plastic +material_," said a famous physician, who was also a practical man of the +world;--and the poet who identifies his will and imagination with the +eternal truths, who looks up to the stars instead of down into the mud, +may always, even in his weariest hours, cheer himself by mental +companionship with the other resolute souls whose pens have been used as +swords in the service of Divine Beauty. + +Of all the most famous writers of Sonnets, it is Michelangelo whose +words come back most vividly to memory as we read the Nawab's +expressions of faith. + + "_Love wakes the soul and gives it wings to fly_." + + + "_All beauty that to human sight is given + Is but the shadow, if we rightly see, + Of Him from Whom man's spirit issueth_." + + + "_As heat from fire, my love from the ideal + Is parted never_." + + + "_Oh noble spirit, noble semblance taking, + We mirrored in Thy mortal beauty see + What Heaven and earth achieve in harmony_." + +Thus wrote Michelangelo of Vittoria Colonna (Marchioness of Pescara), +"being enamoured of her divine spirit";[B] and though in the Sonnets of +the Nawab, who uses what is for him a foreign tongue, the ideal is +sometimes greater than the expression of it, yet the spirit shines out +with a light which none can mistake. And whether the average man accepts +or rejects the standards therein embodied, lovers of poetry will +recognise that the Nawab, in his championship of a high and noble ideal, +fights in the same army as Dante and Michelangelo,--neither of them +cloistered dreamers, neither of them arm-chair theorists, but men who +lived and loved and suffered amidst the turmoil of a world they viewed +with wide-open eyes and unflinching minds. + +The chivalrous ideal of an exalted and inspiring love can be rejected if +we please;--but let none claim to be manly because this ideal seems too +ethereal. For it is by the most vigorous, most strenuous, and most +commanding souls and minds that this faith in the Eternal Beauty has +been cherished and upheld most ardently and resolutely. + +_September 29, 1917_. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] See "Note on the History of the Sonnet in English Literature," below. + +[B] Ascanio Condivi's "Life of Michelangelo Buonarroti." + + + + +NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF THE SONNET IN ENGLISH LITERATURE + + +Now that Italy holds such a brilliant place among our Allies during this +the greatest war in the world's history--the war of chivalry (which is +to say moral and spiritual right) against the arrogant might of the +Prussian Octopus,--it is well to remember that it was from Italy the +Sonnet first came into England. The word _sonnet_ in fact, is from the +Italian _sonetto_ (literally "a little sound"), and the _sonetto_ was +originally a short poem recited or sung to the accompaniment of music, +probably the lute or mandolin. + +Whether its birth should be attributed to Italy or Sicily,--or to +Provence, the cradle of troubadour poetry,--is a subject on which the +learned may still indulge in pleasant controversies. But in Italy, +towards the end of the thirteenth century, it had already become a +favourite mode of expression; and some forty years later, in a +manuscript treatise on the _Poetica Volgare_ (written in 1332 by a Judge +in Padua), sixteen different forms of sonnet were enumerated as then in +current use. + +But despite the continued vogue of the Sonnet, and its association with +the names of such masters as Dante, Petrarch, Tasso and Michelangelo in +Italy; Ronsard in France; Camoens in Portugal; Shakespeare, Milton, +Wordsworth and Rossetti in England--to say nothing of a host of minor +poets, who, though one star differeth from another in glory, yet +constitute a brilliant galaxy--it is remarkable that even now the +average non-literary reader when asked "What is a Sonnet?" seldom gives +any more explicit reply than to say it is "a short poem limited to +fourteen lines." + +The rules for the structure of those fourteen lines, and the labour and +patience entailed in producing a poem under these limitations, are not +always realised even by those who enjoy the results of the poet's +concentrated efforts. The more successful a sonnet, the more the reader +is apt to accept its beauty as if it had grown by a natural process like +a flower. This, perhaps, is the best compliment we could pay the poet; +but if the poet is one who boldly essays a most difficult and complex +form, in a language which for him is foreign, then we should pause a +moment to consider what it is that he has set out to accomplish. + +Taking the structure first (though for the poet the spirit and impetus +of the central idea must of course come first)--a sonnet on the Italian +(Petrarchan) model must consist of fourteen lines of ten syllables each, +and must be composed of a major and minor system, i.e. an octave and a +sestet. + +In the octave (the first eight lines) the first, fourth, fifth and +eighth lines must rhyme on the same sound, and the second, third, sixth +and seventh, must rhyme on another sound. + +In the sestet (the last six lines) more liberty of rhyme and arrangement +is permitted, but a rhymed couplet at the end is not usual except when +the sonnet departs from the Italian model and is on the English or, as +we say, "Shakespearian" pattern. + +Each sonnet must be complete; and, even if one of a sequence, it should +contain within itself everything necessary to the understanding of it. +It must be the expression of _one_ emotion, _one_ fact, _one_ idea, and +"the continuity of the thought, idea, or emotion must be unbroken +throughout." "Dignity and repose," "expression ample yet reticent," are +qualities which one of our ablest modern critics emphasises as +essential, and the end must always be more impressive than the +beginning,--the reader must be carried onwards and upwards, and left +with a definite feeling that in what has been said there is neither +superfluity nor omission, but rather a completeness which precludes all +wish or need for a longer poem. + +How difficult this is for the poet can only be realised by trying to +achieve it. + +The earliest writers of English sonnets were two very romantic and +gallant men of action, Sir Thomas Wyatt, and Henry Howard, Earl of +Surrey,--both destined to brief brilliant lives and tragic deaths. They +were followed by Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney and a host of Elizabethan +poets, courtly and otherwise. But it is Shakespeare whose Sonnets +(though not conforming to the Petrarchan model) show the most force and +fire of any in our language until those of Milton. + +To analyse the variations of the Shakesperian, Spenserian and Miltonian +forms is, however, unnecessary to our present purpose, as the Sonnet +Sequence we are now prefacing is based on the Petrarchan model. Strictly +speaking, the Petrarchan sestet (the last six lines) should have three +separate rhymed sounds; the first and fourth lines, the second and +fifth, and the third and sixth should form the three rhymes. But this +rule is by no means invariably followed; even Wordsworth and Rossetti +often rhymed the first with the third, and the second with the fourth +lines; and sometimes used only two sounds,--the first, third, and fifth +lines making one rhyme and the second, fourth, and sixth the other. + +As already said, these liberties are permitted, for the sestet is not +under such arbitrary regulations as the octave. + +There are writers who keep all the rules, and yet leave their readers +cold; and others who are technically less correct, but in whom the +vigour and intensity of emotion is swiftly felt and silences adverse +criticism. The ideal is to combine deep and exalted feeling with perfect +expression, and produce a whole which goes to the heart like a beautiful +piece of music, and satisfies the mind--like one of those ancient Greek +gems which, in a small space, presents engraved images symbolic of +sublime ideas vast as the universe. + +The Nawab Nizamat Jung has written in English several sonnets which we +should admire even if English were his native language. But if any of us +would like to form some estimate of the difficulties he has surmounted, +let us sit down and try to express in a sonnet in _any_ foreign language +our own thoughts and beliefs. We shall then the better appreciate what +he has achieved. + +As, however, while the Great War lasts, few of us have leisure for +literary experiments, it will perhaps be best to read these Sonnets +primarily for their soul and spirit. In melody and expression they are +of varying degrees of merit and completeness, but in the inspiring ideal +they consistently embody they rise to heights which have been scaled +only by the noblest. In tone and temper--as already said--they are akin +to the Sonnets to Vittoria Colonna by Michelangelo,--of whom it was +written by one who knew him well, "_Though I have held such long +intercourse with him I have never heard from his mouth a word, that was +not most honourable.... In him there are no base thoughts.... He loves +not only human beauty, but everything that is beautiful and exquisite in +its own kind,--marvelling at it with a wonderful admiration_." + +Here we see defined the temperament of the heroic poet, that inner +nobility and exaltation without which mere technical skill can avail +little in moving and holding the hearts of men. + +This note on the structure of the Sonnet would fail in its purpose if it +distracted the reader from the spirit behind the form;--for the spirit +is the life,--and few who read these Sonnets will deny that the spirit +of Nizamat Jung is that of the true poet, ever striving to look beyond +ephemeral sorrows up to the Eternal Beauty--now hidden behind a veil, +but some day to be revealed in all its splendour and completeness. + +R.C.F. + +_October 6, 1917_. + + + + +SONNETS + + + + +PROLOGUE + + + As one who wanders lone and wearily + Through desert tracts of Silence and of Night, + Pining for Lovers keen utterance and for light, + And chasing shadowy forms that mock and flee, + My soul was wandering through Eternity, + Seeking, within the depth and on the height + Of Being, one with whom it might unite + In life and love and immortality; + + When lo! she stood before me, whom I'd sought, + With dying hope, through life's decaying years-- + A form, a spirit, human yet divine. + Love gave her eyes the light of heav'n, and taught + Her lips the mystic music of the spheres. + Our beings met,--I felt her soul in mine; + + + + +I + +REBIRTH + + + To me no mortal but a spirit blest, + A Light-girt messenger of Love art thou-- + The radiant star of Hope upon thy brow. + The thrice-pure fire of Love within thy breast! + Thou comest to me as a heavenly guest, + As God's fulfilment of the purest vow + Love's heart e'er made--thou com'st to show e'en _now_ + The Infinite, th' Eternal and the Best! + + I clasp thy feet,--O fold me in thy wings, + And place thy pure white hands upon my head, + And breathe, O breathe, thy love-breath o'er mine eyes + Till, like the flame that from dark ashes springs, + My chastened spirit, from a self that's dead, + Upon the wings of Love shall heav'nward rise. + + + + +II + +THE CROWN OF LIFE + + + I know not what Love is,--a memory + Of Heav'n once known,--a yearning for some goal + That shines afar,--a dream that doth control + The spirit, shadowing forth what is to be. + But this I know, my heart hath found in thee + The crown of life, the glory of the soul, + The healing of all strife, the making whole + Of my imperfect being,--yea, of me! + + For to mine eyes thine eyes, through Love, reveal + The smile of God; to me God's healing breath + Comes through thy hallowed lips whose pray'r is Love. + Thy touch gives life! And oh, let me but feel + Thy hovering hand my closing eyes above,-- + Then, then, my soul will triumph over Death. + + + + +III + +BEFORE THE THRONE + + + When on thy brow I gaze and in thine eyes-- + Eyes heavy-laden with the soul's desire, + Not passion-lit, but lit with Heav'n's own fire-- + I have a vision of Love's Paradise. + Gazing, my trancèd spirit straightway flies + Beyond the zone to which the stars aspire; + I hear the blent notes of the white-wing'd quire + Around Immortal Love triumphant rise. + + And there I kneel before th' eternal throne + Of Love, whose light conceals him,--there I see, + Veiled in his sacred light, a face well known + To me on earth, now, yearning, bend o'er me. + Heaven's mystic veil, inwove of light and tone, + Conceals thee not, Belovèd,--I know thee! + + + + +IV + +WORSHIP + + + How poor is all my love, how great thy claim! + How weak the breath, the voice which would reveal + All that thy soul hath taught my soul to feel-- + Longings profound,--deep thoughts without a name. + If God's self might be worshipped, without blame, + In His best works, then would I silent kneel + Watching thine eyes,--until my soul should steal + Back, unperceived, to regions whence it came! + + If my whole life were but one thought of thee, + That thought the purest worship of my heart + And my soul's yearning blent; if at thy feet + I offered such a life, there still would be + Something to wish for,--something to complete + The measure of my love and thy desert. + + + + +V + +UNITY + + + When I approach thee, Love, I lay aside + All that is mortal in me; with a heart + Absolved and pure, and cleansed in every part + Of every thought that I might wish to hide + From God, I come,--fit spirit to abide + With such a soaring spirit as thou art, + Whose eye transfixes with a fiery dart + Presumptuous passion and ignoble pride. + + Yea, thus I come to thee, and thus I dare + To gaze into thine eyes; I take thy hand, + And its soft touch upon my lips and eyes + Thrills thy pure being, while it lingers there, + Into my heart and soul;--and then we stand + Like the first two that loved in Paradise! + + + + +VI + +LOVE'S SILENCE + + + When through thine eyes the light of Heav'n doth shine + Upon my being, and thy whisper brings, + As the soft rustling of an angel's wings, + Joy to my soul and peace and grace divine; + When thus thy body and thy soul combine + To weave the mystic web thy beauty flings + Around my heart, whose thrilling silence rings + With Hope's unuttered songs that make thee mine,-- + + Ah, then, O Love! what need of words have we, + Who speak in feeling to each other's heart? + Words are too weak Love's message to impart, + Too frail to live through Love's eternity. + Silence, the voice of God, alone must be + Love's voice for thee, beloved as them art. + + + + +VII + +THE SUBLIME HOPE + + + What need to tell thee o'er and o'er again + What eyes to eyes have spoken silently + And heart to heart hath uttered? Love must be + For us a hushed delight, a voiceless pain + Serenely borne! Our lips must ne'er profane + Our inmost feelings,--lest the sanctity + Of Love be lessened in our hearts and we + Nought higher than the common path attain! + + The common path were death to us, whose love, + O'erruled by Fate, from earthly hopes debarred, + Must look to Heav'n for sublimer joys + Than those which earth can give, which earth destroys. + Our path is steep, but there is light above, + And Faith can make the roughest way less hard. + + + + +VIII + +THE HEART OF LOVE + + + Look in mine eyes, Belovèd,--for my tongue + Must never utter what my heart doth claim,-- + And read Love there, for Love's forbidden name + Dies on my trembling lips unvoiced, unsung. + Nor sighs, nor tears--the bitter tribute wrung + From hearts of woe--must e'er that love proclaim + For which the world's unpitying heart would blame + Thy pity--though from purest fountains sprung. + + Fate and the world, they bid wide oceans roll + Between our yearning hearts and their desire; + Yea, lips they silence, but can ne'er control + The heart of Love, nor quench its sacred fire. + I must not speak; O look into my soul-- + There read the message which thou dost require! + + + + +IX + +"TWIXT STAR AND STAR" + + + Not here,--not here, where weak conventions mar + Life's hopes and joys, Love's beauty, truth and grace, + Must I come near thee, greet thee face to face, + Pour in thine ear the songs and sighs that are + My heart's best offerings. But in regions far, + Where Love's ethereal pinions may embrace + Beauty divine--in the clear interspace + Of twilight silence betwixt star and star, + + And in the smiles of cloudless skies serene, + In Dawn's first blush and Sunset's lingering glow, + And in the glamour of the Moon's chaste beams-- + My soul meets thine, and there thine image seen, + More real than life, doth to my lone heart show + Such charms as live in Memory's haunting dreams! + + + + +X + +THE HIGHER KNIGHTHOOD + + + A time there was, when for thy beauty's prize-- + Hadst thou but deemed my love that prize deserved-- + What hope, what faith my daring heart had nerved + For proud achievement and for high emprize! + No Knight, that owned the spell of Beauty's eyes + And wore her sleeve upon his helm, had served + His vows with faith like mine; I ne'er had swerved + One jot from mine for all beneath the skies. + + That time is dead, alas! and yet this heart + Is thine, still thine, with Love's high chivalry + And Faith that cannot die; but now its part + Must be a higher knighthood,--patiently + To brook life's ills, and, pierced with many a dart, + By sacrifice of self to merit thee. + + + + +XI + +IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM + + + As when the Moon, emerging from a cloud, + Sheds on the dreary earth her gracious light, + A smile comes o'er the frowning brow of Night, + Who hastens to withdraw her sable shroud; + And then the lurking shadows' dark-robed crowd, + Pursued with glitt'ring shafts, is put to flight; + And, robed in silv'ry raiment, soft and bright + The humblest flower as a Queen seems proud; + + So when thou com'st to me in Beauty's bloom, + And on thy face soft Pity's graces shine, + Thou can'st dispel the heavy shades of gloom + From my sad heart, which ceases then to pine; + And Hope and Joy their quenched beams relume + And gild the universe with light divine. + + + + +XII + +ETERNAL JOY + + + Truth is but as the eye of God doth see; + And Love is truth, and Love hath made thee mine. + What though on earth our lives may not combine, + Love makes us one for all Eternity! + God gives us to each other, bids us be + Each other's soul's fulfilment, makes Love shine + Upon our souls as His own light divine. + An effluence of His own deity. + + Why ask for more? Our union is above + All earthly unions, ours those heights serene + Where Love alone is Heav'n and Heav'n is Love-- + Where never comes the world's harsh breath between + Hope's fruits and flow'rs. Ah, why then earthward move, + Where pure and perfect bliss hath never been? + + + + +XIII + +CONSTANCY + + + Ah, Love, I know that to my love thou art, + And must be, in this life, a dream,--a name! + But be it joy or grief, or praise or blame, + I give thee all the worship of my heart. + 'Tis not for Love to bid life's cares depart; + Love wings the soul for Heaven whence it came. + Such love from Petrarch's soul did Laura claim, + And Beatrice to Dante did impart. + + To thee I turn,--be thou or near or far, + And whether on my love thou frown or smile,-- + As, in mid-ocean, to some fairy isle + Palm-crowned; as, in the heav'ns, to eve's bright star + Whose pure white fire allures the vision, while + Myriads of paler lights unnoticed are! + + + + +XIV + +CALM AFTER STORM + + + Thou hast but seen what but mine eyes have shown-- + Mine eyes that gazing on thee picture Heaven; + Thou hast but heard what but my voice hath given-- + My voice that takes from thine a calmer tone. + Ah! couldst thou know all that my heart hath known, + While with Despair's dark phantoms it hath striven-- + From faith to doubt, from joy to sorrow driven, + Till rescued and redeemed by Love alone,-- + + Thou wouldst not marvel were my cloudless brow + O'er-clouded, were my aspect less serene! + Love smiles on Death, unveils his mystery + Of joy and grief, and Love bids me avow + This truth, with chastened heart and tranquil mien,-- + 'Less pure Love's bliss if less Love's agony.' + + + + +XV + +THE STAR OF LOVE + + + Time's cycle rolls--once more I hail the day + On which propitious Heaven sent to Earth, + Disguised in thy fair form, in mortal birth, + The Star of Love, whose pure celestial ray + Glides through the spirit's gloom and lights the way + To bliss! I hail thy coming 'midst the dearth + Of the soul's aspirations, when the worth + Of hearts like thine had ceased men's hearts to sway. + + I greet thee, Love, and with thee scale the height, + That cloudless height where winged spirits rest: + Where the deep yearnings of the mortal breast, + From mortal bin set free, reveal to sight + That living Presence, that Eternal Light + In which enwrapt the eager soul is blest. + + + + +XVI + +IMPRISONED MUSIC + + + Oh, had I but the poet's voice to sing, + Then would the music prisoned in my heart + (Panting in vain its message to impart) + Hover around thee, Love, on trembling wing, + To tell thee of the soft-eyed hopes that cling + To Love's white feet, the doubts and fears that start + And pierce his bosom with a poisoned dart,-- + The smiles that soothe, the cold hard looks that sting! + + But 'tis not mine, the soaring joy of Song: + I strive to voice my soul, but strive in vain. + Though passion thrills, and eager fancies throng, + Deckt in the varying hues of joy and pain, + Yet the weak voice--as weak as Love is strong-- + Dies murm'ring on Love's throbbing heart again. + + + + +XVII + +LOVE'S MESSAGE + + + We will not take Love's name; that little word, + By lips too oft profaned, we will not use. + From Nature's best and loveliest we will choose + Fit symbols for Love's message; like a bird,-- + Whose warbled love-notes by its mate are heard + In greenwood glade,--shalt thou in strains profuse + The prisoned music of thy heart unloose, + While my heart's love is by sweet flow'rs averred. + + Then take, O take these fresh-awakened flowers, + The symbols of my love, and keep them near, + Where they may feel thy breath and touch thy hand; + Then sing thy songs to me,--in silver showers + Pour forth, thine eager soul, and I shall hear; + Ah, thus will Love Love's message Understand! + + + + +XVIII + +ECSTASY + + + The Nightingale upon the Rose's breast + Warbling her tale of life-long sorrow lies, + Till in love's trancèd ecstasy her eyes + Close and her throbbing heart is set at rest; + For, to the yielding flow'r her bosom prest, + Death steals upon her in the sweet disguise + Of crownèd love and brings what life denies,-- + mingling of the souls,--Love's eager quest! + + Thus let my heart against thy heart repose, + Sigh forth its life in one delicious sigh, + Then drink new life from out thy balmy breath; + Thus in love's languor let our eyelids close, + And let our blended souls enchanted lie, + And dream of joy beyond the gates of death. + + + + +XIX + +THE DREAM + + + Was it a dream, when, through the spirit's gloom, + I saw the yearning face of Beauty shine-- + Soft in its human aspect, though divine, + Pleading for human love, though armed with doom? + And was it but a dream, that faint perfume, + Blent of loose tress and soft lips joined to mine, + Those fair white arms that did my neck entwine, + That neck's sweet warmth, that smooth cheek's floral bloom? + + Ah! was it true, or was it but a dream + Of bliss that scarce to mortal hearts is given? + Ah! was it thou, Belovèd, or some bright + Phantom of thee that made thy presence seem, + Rich with the warmth of Life, the light of Heaven, + To hover o'er the realms where both unite? + + + + +XX + +ETHEREAL BEAUTY + + + Nay, it was thou, when the fair Evening Star + Leaned on the purple bosom of the West; + 'Twas thou, when o'er the far hills' frowning crest + Fell the soft beams of Cynthia's silv'ry car: + Thyself--than stars and moonbeams fairer far-- + A vision in ethereal beauty drest! + But, when thy head drooped flow'r-like on my breast, + Then did no word our souls' communion mar: + + Love spake to love without a sign or glance, + And heart to heart its inmost depth revealed + In the deep thrilling silence of that trance, + Till earth, and earthly being ceased to be, + And our blent souls at that high altar kneeled + Whence Love doth gaze upon Eternity! + + + + +XXI + +A CROWN OF THORNS + + + There was a crown of thorns upon the head + Of Love, when he across my threshold came. + I knew the sign and did not ask his name, + But took him to my heart, although he said, + 'The soul's dumb agonies, the tears unshed + That sear the heart, th' injustice and the blame + Of the harsh world,--God wills that I should claim + Through these immortal Life when Hope is dead.' + + I took him to my heart and clasped him close. + E'en though his thorns did make my bosom bleed. + Then from the very core of pain arose + A joy that seemed to be the utmost need + Of my worn soul! Love whispered, '_This_ the meed + Of hearts that keep their faith amidst Love's woes.' + + + + +XXII + +TWO HEARTS IN ONE + + + Two hearts made one by Love that cannot die + Whatever life may bring, shall never part; + In life they're one, and e'en in death one heart! + Are we not such, Belovèd, thou and I? + Ah, then, why mourn that 'neath another sky, + Far from these longing arms and eyes thou art? + I clasp thee still, and lo! thy lips impart + New life to me as in the days gone by. + + I feel thy heart in mine,--our hopes and fears, + Like music's wedded notes, together flow; + Our sighs the same, the same our smiles and tears,-- + The selfsame bliss is ours, the selfsame woe. + For Love no weary leagues, no ling'ring years-- + Two hearts in one nor time nor distance know. + + + + +XXIII + +YEARNING + + + The night is sweet: thy breath is in the air, + I feel it on my face; thy tender eyes + Look love upon me from yon starry skies! + They bring to me, those glancing moonbeams fair, + The shine and ripple of thy silken hair. + And in the silent whispers and the sighs + That from the throbbing heart of Nature rise, + I hear thee, feel thee,--own thy presence there. + + Ah, fond deceit!--too soon the heart, unblest, + Unsated, turns from these illusive charms + Back to the haunting dream of heav'n once known: + It pines for those soft eyes, that throbbing breast, + Those sweet life-giving lips, those circling arms-- + The breath, the touch, the warmth of Beauty flown. + + + + +XXIV + +LOVE'S GIFT + + + I'm far from thee, yet oft our spirits meet: + We share the longings of each other's breast, + And all our joys and sorrows are confest + As though our lips did love's fond tale repeat. + Ah! then thine eyes send forth, mine eyes to greet, + Glances in which thy whole soul is exprest, + Then, like some song-bird flutt'ring in its nest, + I hear thy heart in pulsing cadence beat. + + I know its music and I know its thought; + My heart to it th' unuttered words supplies; + I listen to the thrilling melody + Until my soul its subtle tone hath caught. + And then I take it as Love's gift,--it lies + Imprisoned in my own weak poesy! + + + + +EPILOGUE + + + From out the golden dawn of vanished years + She glides into my dreams, a form divine + Of light and love, to soothe the thoughts that pine + For what has been, to stem the tide of tears + That inward flows upon the heart and sears + Its inmost core. Her countenance benign, + Where Love and Pity's chastened graces shine, + Reflects the hallowed light of other spheres. + + Then to my anguished soul, with care outworn, + Comes, like a strain on aerial wings upborne, + This message from her soul:--'_Bid sorrow cease; + Love dies not;--'tis th' immortal life above. + And chastened souls, that win eternal peace + Through earthly suff'ring, know that Heaven is Love_!' + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets +by Nizam-ud-din-Ahmad, (Nawab Nizamat Jung Bahadur) + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11266 *** |