# Oriental Scenes, Dramatic Sketches and Tales/The Taaje Mahal

THE TAAJE MAHAL.
Empress of beauty! must those eyes of light,
 Stars of my soul, that o'er life's paths have thrown
Rays than the sun's beams more serenely bright,
 Be quenched in darkness; has their lustre flown
For ever; and the vermeil of thy lips
Sustained a last, immutable eclipse?
Oh! thou wert far more beautiful than those
 Fair forms of geniï by poets sung,
More blooming than thine own Cashmerian rose,
 O'er thy soft cheek a crimson tint was flung,
Like morn's first flushes, or the blush that dyes
The glowing sun-sets of our eastern skies.
Fair as thou wert, thy beauty's light was dim
 To the more holy radiance of thine heart,
For thou wert pure as heaven-born seraphim,
 Thou wert my blessed one—thou art, thou art—
Still dost thou live and breathe, and I may strain,
Thy form in rapture to my breast again.
It may not be—the faint, the trembling pulse,
 So like the flutterings of a wounded bird,
The painful throes which those pale lips convulse,
 The sighs, like rose leaves in the night breeze stirred,
Tell me thy doom—and I—I see my fate— Queen of my soul, thou leavest me desolate.
Oh! could the treasures of the world restore
 Thy fading health, beloved one,—Shah Jehan
Countless as yon bright river's sands would pour
 The pearls, and gems, and gold of Hindoostan,
And yield his empire o'er the world to be
Master of one poor straw-thatched hut—with thee.
But since, nor gems, nor pearls, nor gold can save
 My peerless beauty, nor my fervent prayer
Avail to snatch thee from an envious grave,
 Since Heaven relents not to my deep despair,
And we—(be still, be still my throbbing heart!)
We, my life's dearest solace, we must part.
As thy surpassing loveliness has shone
 Transcendant over all of mortal birth,
As thy surpassing excellence has won
 The tribute homage of admiring earth,
So the world's wonder, even as thou, divine,
Queen of my soul! shall be thy matchless shrine.
And there in rich and radiant pomp supreme,
 Within the circle of each ample dome,
The gems of every Indian mine shall gleam,
 And Art's most gifted sons from Greece and Rome
The splendid fabric rear, whose gorgeous fanes
Hide from these weeping eyes thy loved remains.
And pilgrims there from many a distant clime
 Pacing with wondering steps the marble halls,
Shall as they gaze upon the work sublime,
 The sculptured splendours of the storied walls,
Dream of thy beauty, and instinctive pay
The heart's deep homage to thy sainted clay.
A hundred years have winged their flight
 O'er princely Agra's lofty towers,
A hundred years of sunshine bright
 Have revelled through its summer bowers—
Those circling suns have seen the ray
Of Moslem glory fade away.
And where the crescent reared on high
Its badge of golden blazonry,
And turbaned monarchs proudly gave
Their laws to each obedient slave,
The warriors of the western world
The red cross banner have unfurled.
Mingled with mosques and minarets,
O'er Christian spires the sun's beam sets,
And strangers from a foreign strand
Rule unopposed the conquered land.
Yet still where Jumna's chrystal tide
 In many a breeze-curled wave meanders,
And where its sparkling currents glide
 Through clustering tufts of Oleanders,
Where yonder stately garden shews
The crimson beauty of the rose,
The glittering baubool drops its gold,
And baylas perfumed buds unfold
Their crests of snow, o'er the pink bed
With the broad lotus thickly spread.
Untouched by time, unscathed by war
Lonely and bright as eve's first star,
The splendid mausoleum greets
 The stranger's rapt and dazzled eye,
And to his throbbing heart repeats
 A tale of love's idolatry.
Of precious marbles richly blent
Shines the imperial monument;
A gorgeous fabric spreading wide
 Its glittering pomp of colonnades,
Fit palace for the peerless bride
 Reposing in its hallowed shades.
Too beautiful for mortal hands,
 Its clustering cupolas and towers
Seem the bright work of fairy wands,
 And fashioned out of pearls and flowers.
And as o'er these fair spires and domes
The stranger's eye enchanted roams,
Lost in delight, he almost deems
 That wrought by some fantastic spell,
'Twill vanish like his summer dreams,
 Or cloud-encircled citadel,
Floating along the moon-lit sky,
In evanescent pageantry.
Beside the alabaster tomb!
 All richly wreathed with glittering gems,
And shining like the jewelled plume
 O'er eastern monarch's diadems,
Fond lovers kneel—and as they gaze
Upon each ingot's brilliant blaze,
The bright mosaic of the floor
 Where many coloured agates vie
With onyx thickly scattered o'er
 Turquoise, and lapis lazuli;
They dash away the rising tear,
They fear no change nor falsehood here.
Oh! every flower-enamelled gem
Is worth a mine of gold to them;
It tells of love divinely pure—
 The record that a monarch gave,
That strong affection may endure
 In human hearts beyond the grave.