that a poet cannot wander through his regions of enchantment, without having a critic for ever, like the old Man of the Sea (Sinbad), upon his back!" Fadladeen, it was plain, took this last luckless allusion to himself, and would treasure it up in his mind as a whetstone for his next criticism. A sudden silence ensued; and the Princess, glancing a look at Feramorz, saw plainly she must wait for a more courageous moment.

But the glories of Nature, and her wild, fragrant airs, playing freshly over the current of youthful spirits, will soon heal even deeper wounds than the dull Fadladeens of this world can inflict. In an evening or two after, they came to the small Valley of Gardens, which had been planted by order of the Emperer for his favourite sister Rochinara, during their progress to Cashmere, some years before; and never was there a more sparkling assemblage of sweets, since the Gulzar-e-Irem, or Rose-bower of Irem. Every precious flower was there to be found, that poetry, or love, or religion has ever consecrated-from the dark hyacinth, to which Hafez compares his mistress's hair, to the Camalatá, by whose rosy blossoms the Heaven of Indra is scented. As they sat in the cool fragrance of this delicious spot, and Lalla Rookh remarked, that she could fancy it the abode of that flowerloving nymph whom they worship in the temples of Kathay, or of one of those Peris-those beautiful creatures of the air, who live upon perfumes, and to whom a place like this might make some amends for the Paradise they have lost,-the young Poet, in whose eyes she appeared, while she spoke, to be one of the bright spiritual creatures she was describing, said, hesitatingly, that he remembered a story of a Peri, which, if the Princess had no objection, he would venture to relate. "It is," said he, with an appealing look to Fadladeen," in a lighter and humbler strain than the other;" then, striking a few careless but melancholy chords on his kitar, he thus began:

PARADISE AND THE PERI.

ONE morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood, disconsolate;
And as she listen'd to the springs

Of life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings
Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!
"How happy," exclaim'd this child of air,
Are the holy spirits who wander there,

'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall;
Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea,
And the stars themselves have flowers for me,

One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all!
Though sunny the lake of cool Cashmere,
With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,*

And sweetly the founts of that valley fall;
Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hay,
And the golden floods, that thitherward stray,†
Yet-oh 'tis only the blest can say

How the waters of Heaven outshine them all
Go, wing thy flight from star to star,
From world to luminous world, as far

As the universe spreads its flaming wall;
Take all the pleasures of all the spheres,
And multiply each through endless years,
One minute of Heaven is worth them all!"

The glorious Angel, who was keeping
The Gates of Light, beheld her weeping;
And, as he nearer drew and listen'd
To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten'd
Within his eyelids, like the spray

From Eden's fountain, when it lies

* "Numerous small islands emerge from the Lake of Cashmere." + The Altan Kol or Golden River of Tibet has abundance of gold in its sands.-Pinkerton.

On the blue flow'r, which-Bramins say-
Blooms no where but in Paradise!
"Nymph of a fair, but erring line!"
Gently he said-"One hope is thine.
"Tis written in the Book of Fate,
The Peri yet may be forgiven
Who brings to this eternal gate

The gift that is most dear to Heaven!
Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin;-
"Tis sweet to let the pardon'd in!"
Rapidly as comets run

To th' embraces of the sun :-
Fleeter than the starry brands,
Flung at night from angel hands*
At those dark and daring sprites,
Who would climb th' empyreal heights,
Down the blue vault the Peri flies,

And, lighted earthward by a glance
That just then broke from morning's eyes,
Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.
But whither shall the Spirit go

To find this gift for Heav'n ?" I know
The wealth," she cries, " of every urn,
In which unnumber'd rubies burn,
Beneath the pillars of Chilminar ;†—
I know where the Isles of Perfume are
Many a fathom down in the sea,
To the south of sun-bright Araby ;-
I know, too, where the Genii hid
The jewell'd cup of their king Jamshid,§
With life's elixir sparkling high-
But gifts like these are not for the sky.
Where was there ever a gem that shone
Like the steps of Alla's wonderful throne?

And the drops of life-oh! what would they be
In the boundless deep of eternity?"

While thus she mus'd, her pinions fann'd
The air of that sweet Indian land,

"The Mohammedans suppose that falling stars are the firebrands wherewith the good angels drive away the bad when they approach too near the empyreum or verge of the Heavens."

"The Forty Pillars; so the Persians call the ruins of Persepolis. It is imagined by them that this palace and the edifices at Balbec were built by Genii, for the purpose of hiding in their subterraneous caverns immense treasures, which still remain there."

The Isles of Panchaia.

"The cup of Jamshid, discovered, they say, when digging for the foundations of Persepolis."

On the blue flow'r, which-Bramins say-
Blooms no where but in Paradise!
"Nymph of a fair, but erring line!"
Gently he said-"One hope is thine.
"Tis written in the Book of Fate,
The Peri yet may be forgiven

Who brings to this show]

"The cup of Jamshid, discovered, they say, when digging for the foundations of Persepolis."