Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Recollections of the Arabian Nights
For other versions of this work, see Recollections of the Arabian Nights (Tennyson).
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.
I.When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew freeIn the silken sail of infancy,The tide of time flowed back with meThe forwardflowing tide of time;And many a sheeny summermorn,Adown the Tigris I was borne,By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold,Highwalléd gardens green and old;True Mussulman was I and sworn,For it was in the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid.
II.Anight my shallop, rustling throughThe low and blooméd foliage, droveThe fragrant, glistening deeps, and cloveThe citronshadows in the blue:By gardenporches on the brim,The costly doors flung open wide,Gold glittering through lamplight dim,And broidered sophas on each side:In sooth it was a goodly time,For it was in the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid.
III.Often, where clearstemmed platans guardThe outlet, did I turn awayThe boathead down a broad canalFrom the main river sluiced, where allThe sloping of the moonlit swardWas damaskwork, and deep inlay Of breaded blosms unmown, which creptAdown to where the waters slept.A goodly place, a goodly time,For it was in the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid!
IV.A motion from the river wonRidged the smooth level, bearing onMy shallop through the starstrown calm,Until another night in nightI entered, from the clearer light,Imbowered vaults of pillared palm,Imprisoning sweets, which as they clombHeavenward, were stayed beneath the domeOf hollow boughs.—A goodly time,For it was in the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid!
V.Still onward; and the clear canalIs rounded to as clear a lake.From the green rivage many a fallOf diamond rillets musical,Through little chrystal arches lowDown from the central fountain's flowFall'n silverchiming, seemed to shakeThe sparkling flints beneath the prow.A goodly place, a goodly time,For it was in the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid!
VI.Above through many a bowery turnA walk with varycoloured shellsWandered engrained. On either sideAll round about the fragrant marge,From fluted vase, and brazen urnIn order, eastern flowers large, Some dropping low their crimson bellsHalf-closed, and others studded wideWith disks and tiars, fed the timeWith odour in the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid.
VII.Far off, and where the lemongroveIn closest coverture upsprung,The living airs of middle nightDied round the bulbul as he sung.Not he: but something which possessedThe darkness of the world, delight,Life, anguish, death, immortal loveCeasing not, mingled, unrepressed,Apart from place, witholding time,But flattering the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid.
VIII.Blackgreen the gardenbowers and grotsSlumbered: the solemn palms were rangedAbove, unwooed of summer wind.A sudden splendour from behindFlushed all the leaves with rich goldgreen,And flowing rapidly betweenTheir interspaces, counterchangedThe level lake with diamondplotsOf saffron light. A lovely time,For it was in the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid!
IX.Darkblue the deep sphere overhead,Distinct with vivid stars unrayed,Grew darker from that underflame;So, leaping lightly from the boat,With silver anchor left afloat,In marvel whence that glory came Upon me, as in sleep I sankIn cool soft turf upon the bank,Entrancéd with that place and time,So worthy of the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid.
X.Thence through the garden I was borne—A realm of pleasance, many a mound,And many a shadowchequered lawnFull of the city's stilly sound.And deep myrrhthickets blowing roundThe stately cedar, tamarisks,Thick rosaries of scented thorn,Tall orient shrubs, and obelisksGraven with emblems of the time,In honour of the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid.
XI.With dazéd vision unawaresFrom the long alley's latticed shadeEmerged, I came upon the greatPavilion of the Caliphat,Right to the carven cedarn doors,Flung inward over spangled floors,Broadbaséd flights of marble stairsRan up with golden balustrade,After the fashion of the time,And humour of the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid.
XII.The fourscore windows all alightAs with the quintessence of flame,A million tapers flaring brightFrom wreathéd silvers looked to shameThe hollowvaulted dark, and streamedUpon the moonéd domes aloof In inmost Bagdat, till there seemedHundreds of crescents on the roofOf night newrisen, that marvellous time,To celebrate the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid.
XIII.Then stole I up, and trancedlyGazed on the Persian girl alone,Serene with argentlidded eyesAmorous, and lashes like to raysOf darkness, and a brow of pearlTresséd with redolent ebony,In many a dark delicious curl,Flowing below her rosehued zone;The sweetest lady of the time,Well worthy of the golden primeOf good Haroun Alraschid.
XIV.Six columns, three on either side,Pure silver, underpropped a richThrone o' the massive ore, from whichDowndrooped, in many a floating fold,Engarlanded and diaperedWith inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold.Thereon, his deep eye laughterstirredWith merriment of kingly pride,Sole star of all that place and time,I saw him—in his golden prime,The Good Haroun Alraschid!