Poetry.

Lyttelton Times, Volume IX, Issue 583, 5 June 1858, Page 3

Poetry.

THE SULTAN AND THE SLAVE. ;

(BY G. P. PICKERING.)

Her hands are bound—those fair white hands Are rudely bound with cruel cords, As mute and motionless she stands To list her baptor's dreaded words :— " The Garden of the Harem may Boast of a fairer flower to-day Than ever Sultan thought to cull, Where all are bright and beautiful." And now before the Turk she kneels, Shrinking before his raptured eye, Which, fastened on lier form, she feels Is kindling with the scrutiny, And though her tears fall thick as rain, She knows their eloquence is vain. A moment —and her woman's pride The maiden's tears hath dashed asideAnother —and before the Throne, With heaving breast and flashing eye, She stands unfriended and alone The brutal flat to defy. Nor slave nor Sultan cared to break Th' unwonted silence by a word, And when, at length, the maiden spake The music of her voice was heard Distinct as rippling of the lake By morning's gentle breezes stirr'd. " Wonder ye that I dare to ask Exemption from the splendid lot Which they enjoy who wear the mask Of love, where love existeth not, Who share alike one common fate, | Professing love when all must hate? j "Oh wonder not —the trampled snake Will turn against his bruiser's heel; Think ye, then, woman's heart will break Nor all its bitter wrongs reveal; ; That she will lay her down to die, Without a murmur or a sigh, Like to some drooping rosebud flung Aside by the ungrateful hand That plucked it whence it long had clung United to a sister band? Ak no! the heart may bleed awhile In silence, and the tear repress; •But, oh! the forced, unreal smile Betrays its anguish not the less. What though the brow no day-cloud wear, Still is the canker busy there; What though the eye do smile by night, It beams not with its wonted ray, But like the star's expiring light Fadeth before the breakingday: Yet uneclipsed may shine again, To add to sorrow's lengthened chain Another and another link, Till lffe beneath the burthen sink. "Bethink thee, Sultan, were it meet That Monarch's hand the flower should pull Whose leaves will soon bestrew his feet With all he once deemed beautiful? Say, Avouldst thou pluck such tender flower To gratify a wanton hour?" She ceased—-yet ventured she to steal One upward glance, as though to learn The answer to her bold appeal Upon that brow so cold and stern. And now that stern and haughty brow - Unbent that ne'er unbent before. What hath come o'er the Sultan now?— His cheek a heightened colour wore. " Oh ever thus did virtue plead; The soul must be depraved indeed That sucli a power withstands." He said, and rising from his throne^ Himself unbound those trembling hands, And, placing her himself beside, He bade his slaves the maiden own Sultana and his Chosen Bride!