Page:Felicia Hemans in The Literary Gazette 1821.pdf/11



Away! tho' still thy sword is red, With life-blood from my sire; No drop of thine may now be shed, To quench my spirit's fire: Tho' on my heart, 'twould fall more blest, Than dews upon the desert's breast.

I’ve sought thee 'midst the haunts of men, Thro' the wide city's fanes; I’ve sought thee by the lion's den, O'er pathless, boundless plains: No step that track'd the burning waste, But I its lonely course have trac'd,

Thy name hath been a baleful spell, O'er my dark bosom cast; No thought may dream, no words may tell What there unseen hath pass'd: This hollow cheek, this faded eye, Are seals of thee—behold, and fly!

Haste thee, and leave my threshold-floor, Inviolate and pure; Let not thy presence tempt me more— Man may not thus endure: Away! I bear a fetter'd arm, A heart that burns—but must not harm!

Hath not my cup for thee been pour'd,        Beneath the palm-tree's shade? Hath not soft sleep thy frame restor'd,        Within my dwelling laid? What tho' unknown—yet who shall rest Secure—if not the Arab's guest?

Begone! outstrip the fleet Gazelle, The wind in speed subdue; Fear cannot fly so swift, so well, As vengeance shall pursue: And hate, like love—in parting pain, Smiles o'er one hope—we meet again.

To-morrow—and th' avenger's hand, The warrior's dart is free; E'en now, no spot in all the land, Save this, had shelter'd thee: Let blood the monarch's hall profane, The Arab’s tent must bear no stain!

Fly! may the desert's fiery blast Avoid thy sacred way, And fetter'd, till thy steps be past, Its whirlwinds sleep to-day: I would not, that thy doom should be Assign'd by Heav'n, to aught but me.