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While, on the other, lattic'd lightly in
With odoriferous woods of Comorin,
Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;-
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between
The crimson blossoms of the coral tree
In the warm isles of India's sunny sea:
Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, and the thrush
Of Hindostan, whose holy warblings gush,
At evening, from the tall pagoda's top ;-
Those golden birds that, in the spice time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood;
And those that under Araby's soft sun
Build their high nests of budding cinnamon ;-
In short, all rare and beauteous things, that fly
Through the pure element, here calmly lie
Sleeping in light, like the green birds that dwell
In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel!

Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when sparkling
The gently open'd curtains of light blue [through
That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes,
Peeping like stars through the blue evening skies,
Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair
That sat so still and melancholy there-
And now the curtains fly apart, and in
From the cool air, mid showers of jessamine
Which those without fling after them in play,
Two lightsome maidens spring, lightsome as they
Who live in the' air on odours, and around
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground,
Chase one another, in a varying dance
Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance,
Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit:-
While she, who sang so gently to the lute
Her dream of home, steals timidly away,
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,—
But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain,
Creatures of light we never see again!

Around the white necks of the nymphs who danc'd
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd
More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er
The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore;
While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall
Of curls descending, bells as musical
As those that, ou the golden-shafted trees
Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze,
Rang round their steps, at every bound more sweet,
As 'twere th' extatic language of their feet!

At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreath'd
Within each other's arms; while soft there breath'd
Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs
Of moonlight flowers, music that seem'd to rise
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose;
And, as it swell'd again at each faint close,
The ear could track through all that maze of chords,
And young sweet voices, these impassion'd words:-

A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh

Is burning now through earth and air;

Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh, Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there!

His breath is the soul of flowers like these, And his floating eyes-oh! they resemble Blue water-lilies, when the breeze

Is making the stream around them tremble! Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power! Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss!

Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,
And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

By the fair and brave,

Who blushing unite,
Like the sun and wave,

When they meet at night!
By the tear that shows
When passion is nigh,
As the rain-drop flows
From the heat of the sky!
By the first love-beat
Of the youthful heart,
By the bliss to meet,
And the pain to part!
By all that thou hast
To mortals given,
Which-oh; could it last,
This earth were heaven!

We call thee hither, entrancing Power!
Spirit of Love! Spirit of Bliss!

Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,
And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

Impatient of a scene, whose luxuries stole,
Spite of himself, too deep into his soul,

And where,midst all that the young heart loves most,
Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost,
The youth had started up, and turn’d away
From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay,
To muse upon the pictures that hung round,-
Bright images, that spoke without a sound,
And views, like vistas into fairy ground.
But here again new spells came o'er his sense;—
All that the pencil's mute omnipotence
Could call up into life, of soft and fair,
Of fond and passionate, was glowing there;
Nor yet too warm, but touch'd with that fine art
Which paints of pleasure but the purer part;
Which knows ev'n beauty when half-veil'd is best,
Like her own radiant planet of the west,
Whose orb when half retir'd looks loveliest !
There hung the history of the Genii-king,
Trac'd through each gay, voluptuous wandering
With her from Saba's bowers, in whose bright eyes
He read that to be blest is to be wise ;-
Here fond Zuleika woos with open arms
The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms,
Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone,
Wishes that Heav'n and she could both be won!
And here Mohammed, born for love and guile,

Forgets the Koran in his Mary's smile ;Then beckons some kind angel from above With a new text to consecrate their love!

MOKANNA IN BATTLE.

Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day- [way!
They clash-they strive-the Caliph's troops give
Mokanna's self plucks the black banner down,
And now the Orient World's imperial crown
Is just within his grasp-when, hark, that shout!
Some hand hath check'd the flying Moslems' rout,
And now they turn-they rally-at their head
A warrior (like those angel youths, who led,
In glorious panoply of heav'n's own mail,
The Champions of the Faith through Beder's vale)
Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives,
Turns on the fierce pursuers' blades, and drives
At once the multitudinous torrent back,
While hope and courage kindle in his track,
And, at each step, his bloody falchion makes
Terrible vistas through which victory breaks!
In vain Mokanna, midst the general flight,
Stands, like the red moon, on some stormy night,
Among the fugitive clouds that, hurrying by,
Leave only her unshaken in the sky!—
In vain he yells his desperate curses out,
Deals death promiscuously to all about,

To foes that charge and coward friends that fly,
And seems of all the Great Arch-enemy!
The panic spreads-" a miracle!" throughout
The Moslem ranks, 66
a miracle!" they shout,
All gazing on that youth, whose coming seems
A light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams;
And every sword, true as o'er billows dim
The needle tracks the load-star, following him!

Right tow'rds Mokanna now he cleaves his path,
Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath
He bears from Heav'n withheld its awful burst
From weaker heads, and souls but half-way curst,
To break o'er him, the mightiest and the worst!
But vain his speed---though, in that hour of blood,
Had all God's seraphs round Mokanna stood,
With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall,
Mokanna's soul would have defied them all ;---
Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too strong
For human force, hurries ev'n him along;
In vain he struggles mid the wedg'd array
Of flying thousands,---he is borne away;
And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows
In this fore'd flight is---murdering, as he goes!
As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might
Surprizes in some parch'd ravine at night,
Turns, ev'n in drowning, on the wretched flocks
Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks,
And, to the last, devouring on his way,
Bloodies the stream he hath not power to stay!

THE PERI.

One morn a Peri at the gate

Of Eden stood, disconsolate;

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Of one who, at this silent hour,

Had thither stol'n to die alone:
One who in life, where'er he mov'd,

Drew after him the hearts of many;
Yet now, as though he ne'er were lov'd,
Dies here, unseen, unwept by any!
None to watch near him---none to slake
The fire that in his bosom lies,
With ev'n a sprinkle from that lake,

Which shines so cool before his eyes.
No voice, well-known through many a day,
To speak the last, the parting word,
Which, when all other sounds decay,
Is still like distant music heard:
That tender farewell on the shore
Of this rude world, when all is o'er,
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark
Puts off into the unknown dark.

Deserted youth! one thought alone

Shed joy around his soul in death--That she, whom he for years had known, And lov'd, and might have call'd his own, Was safe from this foul midnight's breath ;--Safe in her father's princely halls, Where the cool airs from fountain-falls, Freshly perfum'd by many a brand Of the sweet wood from India's land, Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd.

But see,---who yonder comes by stealth,
This melancholy bower to seek,
Like a young envoy, sent by health,
With rosy gifts upon her cheek?
'Tis she---far off, through moonlight dim,
He knew his own betrothed bride,
She, who would rather die with him,

Than live to gain the world beside!--Her arms are round her lover now,

His livid cheek to hers she presses,
And dips, to bind his burning brow,

In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses.
how little did he think

Ah! once,

An hour would come, when he should shrink With horror from that dear embrace,

Those gentle arms, that were to him
Holy as is the cradling place

Of Eden's infant cherubim!
And now he yields---now turns away,
Shuddering as if the venom lay
All in those proffer'd lips alone---
Those lips that, then so fearless grown,
Never until that instant came
Near his unask'd or without shame.
"Oh! let me only breathe the air,

The blessed air, that's breath'd by thee,
And, whether on its wings it bear

Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me! There,---drink my tears, while yet they fall,--Would that my bosom's blood were balm, And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all, To give thy brow one minute's calm.

Nay, turn not from me that dear face--

Am I not thine---thy own lov'd bride--The one, the chosen one, whose place

In life or death is by thy side? Think'st thou that she, whose only light,

In this dim world, from thee hath shone, Could bear the long, the cheerless night,

That must be hers, when thou art gone? That I can live, and let thee go, Who art my life itself?---No, no--When the stem dies, the leaf that grew Out of its heart must perish too! Then turn to me, my own love, turn, Before like thee I fade and burn; Cling to these yet cool lips, and share The last pure life that lingers there!" She fails---she sinks---as dies the lamp In charnel airs or cavern-damp, So quickly do his baleful sighs Quench all the sweet light of her eyes! One struggle---and his pain is past--Her lover is no longer living! One kiss the maiden gives, one last,

Long kiss, which she expires in giving!

"Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stole The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul,

As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast--

66

Sleep on, in visions of odour rest,

In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd
Th' enchanted pile of that lonely bird,
Who sings at the last his own death lay,
And in music and perfume dies away!"

Thus saying, from her lips she spread

Unearthly breathings through the place, And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed Such lustre o'er each paly face,

That like two lovely saints they seem'd

Upon the eve of dooms-day taken

From their dim graves, in odour sleeping ;--While that benevolent Peri beam'd

Like their good angel, calmly keeping

Watch o'er them, till their souls would waken!

But morn is blushing in the sky;

Again the Peri soars above,
Bearing to Heav'n that precious sigh
Of pure, self-sacrificing love.
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate,
The Elysian palm she soon shall win,
For the bright Spirit at the gate

Smil'd as she gave that offering in;
And she already hears the trees
Of Eden, with their crystal bells
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze

That from the throne of Alla swells;
And she can see the starry bowls

That lie around that lucid lake, Upon whose banks admitted souls

Their first sweet draught of glory take! But ah! ev'n Peri's hopes are vain--Again the Fates forbade, again

Th' immortal barrier clos'd---" not yet,"
The angel said as, with regret,

He shut from her that glimpse of glory---
"True was the maiden, and her story,
Written in light o'er Alla's head,
By seraph eyes shall long be read.

But, Peri, see---the crystal bar
Of Eden moves not---holier far
Than ev'n this sigh the boon must be
That opes the gates of Heav'n for thee."

Now, upon Syria's land of roses
Softly the light of eve reposes,
And, like a glory, the broad sun
Hangs over sainted Lebanon;

Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer, in a vale of flowers,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.

To one, who look'd from upper air
O'er all the' enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melons on their banks,
More golden where the sun-light falls;---
Gay lizards, glittering on the walls
Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright
As they were all alive with light;---
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks,

With their rich restless wings, that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam
Of the warm west,---as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine, or made
Of tearless rainbows, such as span
The' unclouded skies of Peristan!
And then, the mingling sounds that come,
Of shepherd's ancient reed, with hum
Of the wild bees of Palestine,

Banquetting through the flowery vales ;--And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, And woods, so full of nightingales!

But nought can charm the luckless Peri;
Her soul is sad---her wings are weary---
Joyless she sees the sun look down
On that great temple, once his own,
Whose lonely columns stand sublime,

Flinging their shadows from on high,
Like dials, which the wizard Time

Had rais'd to count his ages by!
Yet haply there may lie conceal'd,

Beneath those chambers of the sun,
Some amulet of gems, anneal'd
In upper fires, some tablet seal'd

With the great name of Solomon,
Which, spell'd by her illumin'd eyes,
May teach her where, beneath the moon,
In earth or ocean lies the boon,
The charm, that can restore so soon
An erring spirit to the skies!

Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither ;---
Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven,
Nor have the golden bowers of even
In the rich west begun to wither;---
When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging
Slowly, she sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild-flowers singing,
As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel-flies,
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers or flying gems:---
And, near the boy, who tir'd with play
Now nestling mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount
From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small imaret's rustic fount

Impatient fling him down to drink.
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd
To the fair child, who fearless sat,
Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd
Upon a brow more fierce than that,---
Sullenly fierce---a mixture dire,
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire!
In which the Peri's eye could read
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed;
The ruin'd maid---the shrine profan'd---
Oaths broken---and the threshold stain'd

With blood of guests!---there written, all,
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing angel's pen,
Ere Mercy weeps them out again!
Yet tranquil now that man of crime,
(As if the balmy evening time
Soften'd his spirit,) look'd and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play :---
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches, that have burnt all night
Through some impure and godless rite,
Encounter morning's glorious rays.
But hark! the vesper-call to prayer,
As slow the orb of day-light sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air,

From Syria's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed

Of flowers, where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod

Kneels, with his forehead to the south,
Lisping th' eternal name of God

From purity's own cherub-mouth,
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,

Like a stray babe of Paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,

And seeking for its home again!

Oh 'twas a sight---that Heav'n---that child--A scene, which might have well beguil'd

Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh

For glories lost and peace gone by!

And how felt he, the wretched man
Reclining there---while memory ran
O'er many a year of guilt and strife;
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting-place,
Nor brought him back one branch of grace!
"There was a time," he said in mild,
Heart-humbled tones---" thou blessed child!
When young and haply pure as thou,
I look'd and pray'd like thee---but now---”
He hung his head---each nobler aim

And hope and feeling, which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came
Fresh o'er him, and he wept---he wept!

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!

In whose benign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.

"There's a drop," said the Peri, "that down from
Falls through the withering airs of June [the moon
Upon Egypt's land, of so healing a power,
So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in the hour
That drop descends, contagion dies,
And health reanimates earth and skies!---
Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin,

The precious tears of repentance fall?
Though foul thy fiery plagues within,
One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all!"
And now---behold him kneeling there
By the child's side, in humble prayer,
While the same sun-beam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,

And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven
The triumph of a soul forgiven!

"Twas when the golden orb had set,
While on their knees they linger'd yet,
There fell a light, more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star,
Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek:
To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam---
But well the' enraptured Peri knew,
'Twas a bright smile the angel threw
From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear
Her harbinger of glory near!

66

Joy, joy for ever! my task is done---
The gates are pass'd, and Heaven is won!
Oh! am I not happy? I am, I am---

To thee, sweet Eden! how dark and sad
Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam,
And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad!
"Farewel, ye odours of earth, that die,
Passing away like a lover's sigh ;---
My feast is now of the tooba tree,
Whose scent is the breath of eternity!
"Farewel ye vanishing flowers, that shone,

In my fairy wreath, so bright and brief,---
Oh! what are the brightest that e'er have blown,

To the lote-tree, springing by Alla's throne,
Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf!
Joy, joy for ever!-my task is done-
The gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is won!"

THE RETREAT OF THE FIRE-
WORSHIPPERS.

There stood-but one short league away
From old Harmozia's sultry bay-

A rocky mountain, o'er the sea
Of Oman beetling awfully;
A last and solitary link

Of those stupendous chains that reach
From the broad Caspian's reedy brink
Down winding to the green sea-beach.
Around its base the bare rocks stood,
Like naked giants, in the flood,

As if to guard the gulf across;
While, on its peak, that brav'd the sky,
A ruin'd temple tower'd, so high

That oft the sleeping albatross
Struck the wild ruins with her wing,
And from her cloud-rock'd slumbering
Started-to find man's dwelling there
In her own silent fields of air!
Beneath, terrific caverns gave
Dark welcome to each stormy wave
That dash'd, like midnight revellers, in ;—
And such the strange, mysterious din
At times throughout those caverns roll'd,—
And such the fearful wonders told
Of restless sprites imprison'd there,
That bold were Moslem, who would dare,
At twilight hour, to steer his skiff
Beneath the Gheber's lonely cliff.

On the land side, those towers sublime,
That seem'd above the grasp of time,
Were sever'd from the haunts of men
By a wide, deep, and wizard glen,
So fathomless, so full of gloom,

No eye could pierce the void between;
It seem'd a place where Gholes might come
With their foul banquets from the tomb,
And in its caverns feed unseen.
Like distant thunder from below,
The sound of many torrents came;
Too deep for eye or ear to know
If 'twere the sea's imprison'd flow,
Or floods of ever-restless flame.
For each ravine, each rocky spire
Of that vast mountain stood on fire;
And, though for ever past the days,
When God was worshipp'd in the blaze
That from its lofty altar shone,-

Though fled the priests, the votaries gone,
Still did the mighty flame burn on

Through chance and change, through good and ill,
Like its own God's eternal will,
Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable!
Thither the vanquish'd Hafed led

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