Oriental Scenes, Dramatic Sketches and Tales/Nour Juffeir Khan
NOUR JUFFEIR KHAN.
A TALE OF THE JUMNA.
How darkly 'gainst the crimson sky
Those massy heaps of ruins frown,
Whose domes, in towering majesty,
The crags with mournful splendour crown.
No more upon the lofty walls
In troops the well-armed vassals stand;
No more within its stately halls
A gallant chieftain holds command.
But the fierce vulture builds her nest,
The hungry panther makes his lair,
And noisome beasts the courts infest,
And poisonous snakes are brooding there.
While o'er the silent strand below
The lowly river[1] glides—so hushed,
So undisturbed its currents flow,
Where late a proud flotilla rushed,
That strangers deem the desert rude
In its impervious solitude,
Had ever been the dreary haunt,
Of prowling wolves and tigers gaunt;
And the soft wind had only borne
Upon its fresh and balmy wings,
Of some lone bird the cry forlorn,
Or savage creature's murmurings.
For the bright sands no foot-prints wear,
Save of the forest's denizens—
The track of the gigantic bear,
Pacing its wild and dismal glens;
The fearful alligator's tread,
The steep and rugged paths, where shine,
In slender spears profusely shed,
Quills of the fretful porcupine.
Yet, on this now-deserted strand
In fleet career a warlike band
Flung the jerreed, or galloped o'er
In stately guise the echoing shore.
And round each crag and pinnacle
Unnumbered perfumed flowers were springing,
And from the towers the merry bell
Or cittara's softer sounds were ringing.
The passing boatman wondering gazed
Where streaming o'er the midnight sky
A thousand lamps and torches blazed,
And bursts of joyous revelry
Came o'er the breeze, from those bright halls
Where, twining their gay coronals,
Mid flowers, and lights, and eye-beams glancing,
Shining in gold and gems and pearls,
To music's thrilling notes advancing,
A clustering troop of graceful girls
Displayed before a raptured throng
The witcheries of dance and song.
Oh! not alone in festal hours
Pleasure illumed those lofty towers;
For there domestic happiness
In all its holy beauty smiled,
And love with innocent caress
The bright winged sunny day beguiled—
Yet 'twas not might of foreign foe
That laid yon ruined fortress low!
Our slender bark makes little way
Striving against the current's flight,
And soon the sun's fast fading ray
Will melt into the shades of night.
Come—I will tell the tale to thee,
While our small pinnace lazily
Glides to its place of destined rest;
And while on Jumna's roseate breast
The beautiful reflection glows
Of turret tall and arching port,
And on its liquid mirror shews
The outline of the crumbling fort.
Then winding through yon steep defile
We'll leave these lowly scenes[2] a while,
And wandering o'er the teeming plains
White with the cotton's bursting pod,
Or through the clustering sugar canes,
The crested parrot's sweet abode,
Mark where the nut-wreathed castors grow,
Or spreads the vagrant indigo,
Those rich productions of the soil,
Which yield their wealth with little toil.
But to my tale—with gentle hand
Nour Juffeir Khan the district swayed,
And plenty smiled upon the land
Which the mild Omrah's rule obeyed.
From fierce ambition's paths afar
No cares disturbed the hill-crowned fort,
And only waged in mimic war,
Or flung in some adventurous sport,
'Gainst sylvan enemies alone
The sharp and well-aimed spears were thrown.
And truly 'twas a gallant sight
When issued forth the hunter's train,
Urging their coursers' rapid flight,
Or wheeling round the rugged plain,
Or speeding to the lovely haunts
The nyl ghau loves mid bushy dells,
Upon those trampling elephants,
Who to their silvery sounding bells
Through jungles deep, with stately pace,
And step unerring, lead the chase.
Some are equipped with howdahs, where
The lavish hand has richly wrought
Crimson and gold; while others bear
Encaged the spotted leopards, taught
With the majestic stag to cope,
Or spring upon the antelope.
Nor these alone the chief enlists
To aid his sport; for on the wrists
Of falconers, with pride elate
The regal birds in haughty state
Sit throned like kings; or soaring high
O'er their devoted victims fly,
A single instant hovering,
Then stooping down with steady wing
Upon the quarry's head alight,
Who blinded, and with struggling weak
Not long sustains the dreadful fight,
But sinks beneath the cruel beak
Of his fierce foe, who drinks the blood,
Ere from the breast life's pulses part,
And rushing in a crimson flood,
From the poor victim's quivering heart.
And all around, the thronging rout
Whose motley groups on foot advance,
Filling the air with cry and shout,
And armed with javelin and lance,
Or simpler spears of the bamboo,
With reckless footsteps rushing through
The dark defiles of the ravine,
Heighten the spirit of the scene;
Where gaily trapped, the fiery horse
With all his native ardour pants,
Outstripping in his rapid course
The more majestic elephants.
And chiefs in regal pomp arrayed,
Silver and silk, and gold brocade,
The crimson shawl across the breast
Above the graceful shoulder hung,
Or sash-wise, round the shining vest,
Or o'er the gem-starred turban flung,
In all their glittering panoply,
The lofty port—the gleaming brand—
Appear like those bright genii
Who erst had ruled the sunny land.
'Twas a fair pageant, and might seem
More like a poet's noon-tide dream
Than cold reality—the throng
With whirl-wind speed who rush along
The tangled wild, arousing there
From copse, and dell, and fields of air
The forest's tenants from the rocks
Uprising with a piercing cry,
The startled pea fowl soar in flocks,
And spread like clouds along the sky.
While the hyena and the wolf,
Jackalls and bears, and bounding deer
Seek shelter in some caverned gulf,
Or o'er the hill tops disappear.
Through jungle, brake, and brushwood crashing,
Still do the hunter train sweep on—
A dazzling meteor brightly flashing!
A moment's space, and it is gone,
Leaving the forest's deep recess
In all its native loneliness.
When from the jovial chase returned
His tranquil home the Omrah sought,
For him the perfumed tapers burned,
And upon glittering trays were brought
To spread the hospitable board,
The ample feast, whose dainty fare
Invited by their bounteous lord,
The Zumeendars and vassals share—
Rose water, paan and spices prest
Profusely on each welcomed guest.
The Jumna's finny tribes appear
With quarters of the hunted deer;
Pigeons and kids, and rich pillaus,
And kaaries bright with golden glow;
While from each sculptured silver vase
The many coloured sherbets flow.
Plucked from the river's sandy bed,
The gushing water melons shed
Their grateful streams; and there in piles,
Heaped up the glossy mango smiles;
Citrons, pomegranates, and the bright
Pistachio nut from far Thibet;
And grapes that gleam with topaz light,
And sweetmeats in a glistening net
Of frosted sugar heaped around,
And all with flower-wreathed garlands crowned.
Thus gaily sped the chieftain's hours,
Or still more happily, amid
The bright Zenana's sacred bowers,
Where in her sweet seclusion hid,
Like some fair lotus bending deep
Beneath the wave its roseate bells;
Like those pure lily buds that keep
Their virgin court mid forest-cells;
Or jewel in a lovely mine[3];
Or image in a hallowed shrine;
Above the Jumna's sparkling waters,
The flower of Delhi's radiant daughters,
Blesses the undivided love
Of one who never wished to rove
From the fair creature by his side,
His beautiful imperial bride.
And she—oh! in this earthly sphere,
Or heaven's wide realm, no dream of bliss
Is half so precious and so dear,
So cherished as her infant's kiss,
And that loved husband's fondness shewn
For her bright form, and her's alone!
Her woman's heart on earth has found
Its own domestic parardise;
She knows no happiness beyond
The flowery fields and sunny skies, ⠀⠀
Where blessed and blessing she rejoices,
And joins to her's those cherub voices;
Arising when the crimson flush
Is fading into twilight dim,
Or with the morning's earliest blush,
In that soul-thrilling choral hymn,
Whose sweet and simple strain imparts
The gratitude of guileless hearts.
Dearest! I've lingered in my song,
And fain would still the lay prolong,
In fond yet idle pleasure dwelling
On bliss which cheats the listening ear,
With soothing softness only telling
What gentle spirits love to hear.
Yet I must hasten with the tale;
For when we reach yon woody cliff,
Crouding to strike the flimsy sail,
The crew who guide our fairy skiff,
Will leave on deck no quiet spot
Where we may sit, and pensively,
While musing o'er life's changeful lot,
Complete the Omrah's history.
Spurned in disgrace from Scindia's court
To shelter his dishonoured head,
Indignant to his kinsman's fort
An outcast younger brother fled;
Bringing a fierce marauding crew
Of Afghaun and Mahratta hordes,
A reckless band, who only knew
The crimson laws of their own swords.
Eager for bloodshed and for broil,
And feeding their luxurious tastes,
Insatiate, with the fearful spoil
Of cities stormed, and burning wastes,
Not long did Meer Jah Asiph view
Unmoved his brother's blissful state;
Nor was it long ere envy grew,
And jealousy, and deadly hate,
In the dark soul where pity's beam
Dwelled not—and soon the miscreant planned
With horrid craft a treacherous scheme;
And, aided by his lawless band,
He seized upon the ill-watched keep,
And slew its guardians in their sleep;
And then—but let me draw a veil
Before the horrors of the tale.
Nour Juffeir stabbed, disarmed, and bound,
Beheld with glazed and phrenzied eyes
His wife and infants fall around,
While on his heart the victim's cries
Entered like scorpion stings—o'er wrought,
That outraged heart could bear no more.
And now the seeming corse is brought.
With its pale comrades to the shore,
And all the slaughtered find a grave,
Within the Jumna's blood-stained wave.
Meer Asiph reigned—the revel loud
Daily resounded from the fort;
And there a fierce and needy croud
From the encircling states resort—
A profligate licentious race
By rapine and by murder fed,
Wretches who bring a foul disgrace
Upon their ruthless master's head;
Mocking the Prophet's holy laws
With fiend-like oaths and scornful laugh,
The precious vintage of Schirauz
From golden bowls they deeply quaff,
Spending each night in savage glee,
Wassail, and wine, and minstrelsy.
One balmy eve, with flaming torch
And crystal lamp, each wide saloon,
Verandah, gallery, and porch,
Shone with the gorgeous light of noon.
The gayest of their festivals—
The ductile fingered jugglers came,
And featly poised the golden balls,
In sparkling founts and showers of flame;
There too in strange and fitful dance
To the soft breathings of a flute
The many-coloured serpents glance,
And o'er the marble pavement shoot;
And there with necromantic skill
The shrewd magician played his part;
The raptured croud were gazing still
With wonder on his potent art,
All heedless of the murmuring sound
In distant chambers gathering round—
A sudden simultaneous cry
The preconcerted signal gave,
Unarmed—unknowing where to fly,
Each half intoxicated slave
Sank horror stricken from the blaze
Of Juffeir Khan's indignant gaze!
Deeming the rebel recreant crew
Too worthless for his righteous sword,
Upon his brother's throat he flew,
And dragged him from the guilty board—
Beneath the stern avenger's grasp
Meer Asiph for an instant quailed,
But struggling in the deadly clasp
His giant strength at length prevailed;
His powerful hands were disengaged,
And equally the combat raged.
In dumb suspense the vassals viewed
The progress of the mortal feud;
Still in each other's fierce embrace
Across the wide and slippery hall,
Without a moment's breathing space
They reached the fort's surrounding wall.
See'st thou the cleft along the edge
Of yonder overhanging ledge?
Upon that dreadful precipice,
Burning to end the deadly strife,
By one avenging sacrifice,
Careless of safety or of life,
Nour Juffeir still with arms enrolled
Round his foe's throat in snake-like fold,
A moment gazed upon the deep
With triumph flashing in his eye,
And springing to the fatal leap,
Entwined the mangled bodies lie,
And weltering in each other's gore
Breathed their last sighs on Jumna's shore.