IN WHICH OCCURS MR. PARNASSUS' BALLAD--THE CHIEFTAIN'S DESTINY.
"Wretched weather, eh?" remarked Mr. Oldstone. "We shall have to call
for lights soon. Here, Cyanite, a game of chess, what do you say? A
story from whom ever loses."
"Thank you," replied the Professor, "but I have a letter to write which
is of some importance."
"Come now, Crucible, have at _you_," quoth Oldstone.
"I have not played for years," replied Crucible, "and as I have no story
wherewith to pay the penalty and am consequently out of practice and
sure to lose and----"
"What do you say, Blackdeed?" asked Oldstone.
"Well, to say the truth," answered the chemist, "I find myself much in
the same position as my friend Mr. Crucible, for were I to lose, an
event which amounts to a dead certainty, I am perfectly sure I should
not be able to pay the forfeit, even if I were to be imprisoned for
it."
"Perhaps you'll oblige me, Hardcase," said the antiquary.
"Another time, thank you, Oldstone," replied the lawyer; "but the fact
is that I've promised Bleedem a game of cards."
"Well really, gentlemen, I don't know what has come over you all," said
Mr. Oldstone. "Perhaps Mr. Parnassus will oblige me, as nobody else
will."
"Well, I never piqued myself upon being much of a chess-player," replied
Parnassus, "but as the other gentlemen have refused, and I have nothing
particular to do, I don't mind doing you a favour, and if I lose and
don't happen to recollect a story, well I must owe it you."
"Agreed," said Oldstone. "Draw your chair to the table and set the
board."
The game began. Hardcase and Bleedem also had taken their seats and
commenced theirs. Professor Cyanite retired to write his letter, whilst
Messrs. Blackdeed and Crucible drew their chairs up to the fire and
talked politics.
A stillness reigned through the club as the last-mentioned gentlemen
conversed together in a low tone and the rest remained absorbed in their
several occupations. Suddenly, in the midst of this unusual silence, the
triumphant voice of Mr. Oldstone was heard to cry out the magic word,
"check-mate."
"Now then, Parnassus, my boy," said he, rubbing his hands, "a story, you
know; there's no getting out of it. Give us a little ode or ballad like
that you gave us once before, on the night of our grand saturnalia."
"When I can think of one and a propitious moment presents itself, I am
at your service, but these gentlemen, you see, are otherwise occupied;
besides, here comes Helen to lay the cloth for supper."
"Well, Helen," cried Mr. Oldstone, "and what has become of your
enamoured portrait painter?"
"Mr. McGuilp?" inquired Helen, blushing deeply. "Is he not here? I left
him some time ago cleaning his palette and brushes."
"Ah! here he comes at last," exclaimed Crucible, halting in the middle
of his politics. "Lucky dog! to be able to have so much beauty all to
himself."
"Well, if he _has_ had Helen to himself all this time, we've had a story
during his absence," said the antiquary.
"Ah, but so have we," said McGuilp. "Haven't we Helen?"
"Yes, we have indeed, and a long one," replied Helen.
"The deuce you have," said Crucible. "Upon my word, Mr. McGuilp, I think
that's hardly fair; first robbing us of our lady and then telling her a
story all to yourself, from which we are debarred."
"Come now," retorted McGuilp, "are we not quits? Have you already
forgotten my story of the 'Scharfrichter,' with which I purchased a
sitting from Helen? If Helen and I have had a story together from which
you have been shut out, at least you have had one that we have not
enjoyed."
"Yes, Crucible, I think it is all fair," said Oldstone, backing up his
young friend.
The cloth now being laid, the members drew their chairs to the table,
and the supper went off amidst laughter and jovial conversation. The
bottle went round a few times at the last before the cloth was finally
cleared, when each drew round the fire, which was now blazing fiercely,
our host having just put on a fresh log, and each lighting his pipe,
waited, according to custom, for someone to broach a new story.
"Now, Parnassus, my boy," said Oldstone, "we are quite ready for your
story. What is it to be?"
"Well then, gentlemen, since I must pay my forfeit, I will, according to
a wish expressed by Mr. Oldstone, sing you a little ballad of my own
composing."
"Yes, yes; hear, hear! A song, a song! Make ready for a song."
The members re-settled themselves on their chairs, and pronounced
themselves "all attention," while the young poet, throwing himself back
carelessly in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, began in a
clear rich voice, the following ditty.
THE CHIEFTAIN'S DESTINY.
CANTO THE FIRST.
A skiff is seen upon the main,
The purple wave of Oman's sea;
Her prow doth long to kiss again
The perfumed shores of Araby.
A gentle Zephyr fills the sail.
But, ah, too soft, too mild the gale
For one on board, who, mounted high,
Scans the far shore with eagle eye.
'Tis Selim's bark that, long away,
Hath wandered on the salt sea foam,
And brings him after many a day
Back to this land, though not his home.
What in the distance glads his eye?
A sight none other can descry--
The kerchief he his mistress gave
Now from her casement high doth wave.
The signal yet is but a speck,
The cloud has vanished from his brow;
Yet chafing still, he walks the deck
Impatiently from helm to prow,
As if his eagerness could urge
His vessel faster through the surge.
But as the craft now nigher drew,
The signal note his swarthy crew.
Now gaily speeds the gallant bark,
Soon within grasp of land once more;
The sun has set, yet 'tis not dark.
Each swarthy sailor leaps ashore,
Yet almost ere they can alight
Their captain scales a dizzy height,
And in the moonlight hand in hand
Two lovers at the casement stand.
"Oh, Selim! why this long delay?"
A soft voice whispers 'neath the moon.
"I've wept for thee full many a day,
Watching the sea from morn till noon,
In hope-- But hist! there're footsteps nigh;
The Caliph keeps a watchful eye.
The moon is up, thou must be gone--
One kiss. Farewell. We meet at dawn."
Zuleika to her bower turned--
Her jasmine bower's perfumed shade;
A fever in her bosom burned.
That night upon her couch being laid,
The nightingale that woos the rose
Breaks not so much on her repose
As the loud beating of her heart
With feelings she will ne'er impart
To mortal man, save him alone
Who wooed and won her from her sire.
Her love in secret long hath grown,
And much she fears her parents' ire;
She knows her father sets his face
Against her lover's impious race,
But still, her troth is plighted now.
"Or him or Death," thus ran her vow.
CANTO THE SECOND.
Zuleika's beauty from her birth
Had been such as might well entice
The saints above to visit Earth
From Mahommed's gay Paradise;
Her raven tresses shamed the night,
Her step so proud and yet so light,
'Twould seem as though she trod the air,
Like Peri; nor was she less less fair.
An eye that mocked the wild gazelle,
A voice, although untrained by art,
Sweet as a strain of Israfel,
The strings of whose melodious heart
A lyre are, with tones so sweet
That angels listen at his feet,
And the stars sink to the ground
When those living chords resound.
That cheek that paled the rose in hue
Grows pallid, and her bosom heaves;
Those lips, like rosebuds in the dew
Enclosing pearls within their leaves,
Are trembling, and her fairy form,
Like lily bending to the storm,
Quivers as an aspen grove,
With sore misgivings of her love.
The Caliph was a man of might;
Zuleika was his only child,
He scarce could bear her from his sight,
Nor was he of a temper mild;
And woe to him, the caitiff Giaour
Who fell in dread El Amin's power.
Zuleika sighs, what fears appal
Her soul, lest this should him befall.
The maiden slumbered scarce that night,
Or she slumbered but to dream,
Such dreams as bravest souls affright;
Then waking with a start or scream,
She soon forsook her fitful sleep,
O'er Selim's likely fate to weep,
Till the morning star's dim ray
Now heralds the approach of day.
The morning shed a ghastly light,
Appearing to Zuleika's eye
Full ominous. The clouds in sight
Like streaks of blood across the sky,
While gazing on the distance drear,
Hark! what footsteps greet her ear?
She spies afar at fullest speed
Her lover on his Arab steed.
CANTO THE THIRD.
One bound, and he is by her side;
She greets him with a sorrowing eye.
"What ails thee now, my love, my bride,
And wherefore dost thou deeply sigh?
There is a shade upon thy brow
That I have never seen till now.
Shake off these moods, dispel all fear.
Is't not enough that I am here?"
Zuleika heaved a heavy sigh.
"Oh, Selim, if thou still art mine,
Take me, and this instant fly
Unto thy home across the brine;
For if there's danger hovering nigh
With thee, and not alone, I'd die.
Set off at once, nor more delay;
See how yon orb leads on the day."
"Nay, loved one, but I have a vow.
Seest thou yon peak where clouds do lower;
That mountain doth contain, I trow,
A talisman of mighty power
Within its heart, and I have sworn
To seize it ere to-morrow's dawn.
When at thy feet the gem I lay,
Then, but not erst, our wedding day.
"This is the vow I must fulfil,
And ere we fly across the main
The talisman, come good or ill,
Is thine. I've sworn it thee to gain.
It gives eternal life and youth,
Annulling time's remorseless tooth.
The mountain opens once a day;
'Tis guarded by a Genii grey."
"Thou shalt not run this risk for me,"
Zuleika cried. But Selim's brow
Grew darker. "Never maid," quoth he,
"Shall counsel me to break my vow.
Know'st thou not a warrior's word
Is sacred ever as his sword?
An thou wouldst be a chieftain's bride,
Cease me for my vow to chide."
Then round his neck her arms she flings.
"Oh, Selim, hear me once and stay.
Azrael flaps his dusky wings,
Al Hassan smiles and points the way."
These words in boding tones she saith--
"Thou ridest on to certain death.
Last night I dreamed, my chieftain free,
That Eblis ope'd its jaws for thee."
Then with a smile he sought to lure
Her fancies from their dark abode.
"Thy maiden fears to but conjure
These phantoms that the mind corrode."
Then added, whilst his brows he bent,
"Unworthy were I my descent,
Could I be scared from this my theme
By warning through a word or dream.
"With thee I through the world would rove;
But ere I seek to make thee mine,
I'd prove me worthy of thy love,
For I am of a Gheber line.
The chieftain of a race whose breath
Flows freer in the face of Death;
No coward fear can e'er entwine
Its coils around a heart like mine.
"Think'st thou a warrior bred in strife
And nurtured at the breast of woe
Could bide a tame voluptuous life,
Or stand in dread of mortal foe?
I tell thee, girl, I live to brave
The hairbreadth chances of the grave;
Full weary were my life to me,
Were danger not a luxury.
"I carve my fate with my right arm,
My life I dedicate to thee,
I'll guard thee 'gainst the world from harm,
And hold thee like a warrior free,
Though Eblis' self should seek to wrest
Thee from this true and loving breast.
The sun is high; cease to repine.
Farewell. The charm ere eve is thine."
CANTO THE FOURTH.
He on the pommel lays his hand,
And lightly leaps into his seat;
His steed impatiently the sand
Is pawing with his eager feet.
Now forward, and away! away!
Fast onward speeds that charger gay;
Fleet as the wind is Selim's flight
To reach the goal ere fall of night.
His charger's mettle's at the test,
For until the setting sun
Gilds yonder slope he must not rest;
His and his master's will are one.
The journey will brook no delay
To stop for water on the way,
So onward fly at fullest speed
The rider and his barb Djerid.
Still onward flies the goaded steed;
Full half the day is sped and gone.
In foam and sweat the bold Djerid
Still towards the mountain's base rides on.
Now with a crash the mountain's side
Is rent in twain. A cavern wide
Displays to view a jewelled hall;
'Tis guarded by a Genii tall.
Arrived now at the mountain's base,
One hour ere the set of sun,
The cavern yawns before his face,
And soon the charger's course is run.
A voice of thunder from the cave,
That shakes the mountain, utters, "Slave,
Forbear this sacred soil to tread,
Thy death be else on thine own head."
But Selim draws from out his vest
A bough, plucked from some distant shore--
A magic bough, compelling rest
On those whom he should wave it o'er.
He waves it, and the Genii sleeps;
No guardian now the threshold keeps.
He enters; views the jewel bright
Suspended from the cavern's height,
One wrench, 'tis his, that jewel bright;
That talisman, that oft of yore
Sages have searched for day and night,
And burned their midnight oil for.
Caressing now his brave Djerid,
Still mounted, yet spurs on his steed.
Now, as the sun sinks 'neath the main,
The cavern closes once again.
But now the clouds eclipse the sky,
The air grows sultry, and the wind
Is lulled, yet on Djerid doth fly;
The mountain is left far behind.
"Zuleika! Oh, my love, my bride.
Who now shall tear thee from my side?
If not to-night, to-morrow's morn
Shall see this gem thy brow adorn."
The lowering sky grew black as night,
And vivid flashes rent the air,
No human dwelling lay in sight--
For miles and miles the plain seemed bare.
An awful stillness reigned around,
A horse's hoofs made all the sound,
And even Selim 'gan to fear
Some unknown danger hovering near.
And still more sultry grew the air,
And peal on peal of thunder rolled,
No wild beast ventured from his lair;
Yet onward sped that courser bold--
O'er crags, through marshes, bush or briar,
He trampling tore with feet of fire,
When sudden, without shriek or yell,
The horse was struck, the rider fell.
CANTO THE FIFTH.
A lightning flash hath cleft a rock,
And formed a chasm in the stone.
Within the cleft, with mighty shock,
Selim from off his steed is thrown.
His limbs are jambed between its walls;
In vain for aid he loudly calls.
No earthly power now can save
The victim from his living grave.
In vain he puts forth all his strength
To free him from the horrid cleft;
Those limbs so free are bound at length,
For of all power he's bereft.
Eternal life is in his hand
To live on thus dread Fate's command,
His doom is sealed, he cannot die,
But lingers through eternity.
Zuleika waits the coming morn
With heaving breast and watchful eye.
She scans the plain at early dawn
But nought of her lover can descry.
No tidings through the livelong day
No footsteps tread that haunted way;
Day after day, yet no return;
His fate she now herself will learn.
Then mounting at the break of day
Her milk-white palfrey, leaves her home
Behind her, and away! away!
Upon her lover's tracks to roam.
The noontide sun's fierce glowing ray
Checks not her palfrey's onward way;
She goads him on, nor slacks his speed
Till pants for thirst her jaded steed.
No water near his thirst to slake
Beneath that glowing sultry sky.
Her maiden fears now 'gin to wake,
as were some threatening danger nigh.
Her palfrey rears and ere a groan
Escapes her, a stout arm is thrown
Around her. As she calls aloud
The Genii stands half-fiend, half-cloud.
Then whisking her high up in air,
The fiend in voice of thunder cried,
"Behold thy lover in his lair;
Thou'st torn for ever from his side.
Nought can avert his destiny,
For ever through eternity
Within yon cleft he must abide.
I claim thee now to be my bride."
"Oh, Allah!" cried she, "hear my prayer:
Help me this Genii to defy.
If Selim's bride I may be ne'er,
Take back my soul and let me die!"
Her prayer is heard; her gentle soul
Now wanders towards a higher goal,
And in those realms of endless light
The angels greet a sister sprite.
Then Selim, gazing high in air,
Beholds his loved one, hears her pray.
He cries aloud in wild despair,
The Genii clasps a thing of clay;
Relaxing then his giant force,
To Earth he hurls her lily corse.
Now lie for ever side by side
Th' undying chief and his dead bride.
Zuleika's palfrey wanders home,
Alas! without its gentle freight.
El Amin hath set out to roam
For tidings of his daughter's fate.
Ne'er more to see her was his lot;
The Genii guards that haunted spot,
And close where his Zuleika lay,
The chieftain lingers to this day.
* * * * *
Scarce had the last word of the song died in the echo, than unbounded
applause once more shook the old panelled walls of the "Headless Lady."
After which Mr. Oldstone, rising and seizing the young poet by the hand,
poured forth so warm an eulogium on his poetical talent as to make that
young gentleman blush up to the roots of his hair.
The laurel crown was even hinted at again. This, however, Mr. Parnassus
modestly but firmly refused, saying that he could not sit crowned in the
midst of such a talented assembly merely because his weak endeavours to
entertain the company were given out in rhyme instead of in prose;
besides which, he added, that he had merely paid the forfeit agreed upon
for losing at chess, and that he was entitled to no thanks or marks of
honour for merely discharging his debt.
The laurel tree outside was therefore suffered to continue its growth
until some future occasion, and after various comments on our friend
Parnassus' poem, and much pleasant conversation, the company broke up
for the night, and each lighting his candle, retired to his own
chamber.
[Illustration]