Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1833/Thubare, a Port on the Arabian Coast
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THUBARE.
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THUBARE, A PORT ON THE ARABIAN COAST.
HOU lovely port of Araby,
Of Araby the blest,
I think of the time, when thy summer clime,
Was bright on my midnight rest;
And the gates uprose, which at evening close,
Lest they harbour forbidden guest.
Oh! I must let my thoughts go back,
O’er the charmed spots in memory’s track;
Back like a bark that at random sails,
Or the dreamings of those delicious tales.
Now, was not that a beautiful dream,
Of the prince who pined for love,
And who sought on his way, so mournfully,
For the arrow he shot above.
On he went through the gloomy wood,
Where the heavy boughs were sweeping,
Dark with a century’s solitude,
Whose watch they had been keeping.
The moss was gray on each aged tree,
And the sound of the branches was that of the sea,
When, girt by the rocks, and stirred by the wind,
It moans like a giant in fetters confined.
Next he came to a gloomy cave,
But, oh! ’twas a cave like night;
For the spars a trembling radiance gave,
Like the stars in the morning light;
And a gentle meteor glided around,
It seemed like a living thing,
So soft was the gleam of its moonlit eyes!
So bright was its shadowy wing.
It moved with a song that was sweet and low,
As the waters when over white pebbles they flow;
Around and before Prince Ahmed it shone,
And it looked a kind welcome, while guiding him on,
It was a radiant garden,
To which the cavern led,
Heavy with early roses,
A thousand thickets spread;
Roses that breathe of summer,
To colder climes unknown,
With the burning sigh and colour
Of the lovely southern zone:
And there were silver fountains,
That in the noontide hours,
Fell down o’er marble basins,
In cool and fragrant showers;
For the dews of evening fed them,
With the life of many a bloom,
Till blended with their waters
Was every flower's perfume.
And there were graceful cypress-trees,
That drooped above a lake;
Oh, love, how much of loveliness
Was given for thy sake!
And buoyant on the liquid plain,
Which threw their image back again;
A float of water-lilies reared
Their temples to the sun,
Shrines where some insect conqueror keeps
The red gold he has won;
Or it might chance some victor bee
Made them his ivory treasury.
Glittering with light, a palace bright
Now rises on the air,
The meteor's blaze sinks ’mid its rays,
Oh! prince, thy home is there.
He enters, and a thrilling song
Rises those shining halls among;
The first one was with amber lined,
Like that upon the west,
When one pale line of tender light
Shows where the day hours rest:
The next was of the sapphire stone,
The third with precious metals shone;
The fourth was like the midnight sky,
When every star shines out on high;
The roof was bright with pearl and gem,
Golconda's king might choose ’mid them
The glory of his diadem.
A lady leant upon the throne,
But pale with love, and pale with fear;
For love and fear are at her heart,
The bright and mighty mistress here;
The words are dying on her mouth,
A red rose opening to the south;
The long lash hides her downcast eye,
Downcast, though glorious as the sky:
Whate’er her power, whate’er her will,
A woman is but woman still:
Her raven hair falls o’er her brow,
She's thankful for its shadow now;
Her white hand clasped within his own,
The prince is kneeling at her throne.
Thou lovely port of Araby,
A vision and a dream,
Is on thine own enchanted shore,
Is on thy charmed stream:
Oh! glory to thy fair date-trees,
And to their thousand memories
Of moonlit walks, of midnight tales;
Of all our earlier world,
When all the colours of its youth
Like banners were unfurled;
And fancy, at whose feet take birth
A thousand blossoms o’er our earth,
Was young, and ardent, and sublime,
Ah! little like our actual time.
It is scarce necessary to say, that the story to which the above poem refers, is that of the Fairy Pari-Banou and Prince Ahmed.