Frantic with grief her rosy cheek she tore,
And rent her locks, her darling charge no more:
But when the night his raven wing had spread,
And hung with sable every mountain's head,
Her tender limbs were numb'd with biting cold,
And round her feet the curling billows roll'd;
With trembling arms a rifted crag she grasp'd,
And the rough rock with hard embraces clasp'd.
While thus she stood, and made a piercing

moan,

By chance her emerald touch'd the rugged stone;
That moment gleam'd from heaven a golden ráy,
And taught the gloom to counterfeit the day:
A winged youth, for mortal eyes too fair,
Shot like a meteor through the dusky air;
His heavenly charms o'ercame her dazzled sight,
And drown'd her senses in a flood of light;
His sunny plumes, descending, he display'd;
And softly thus address'd the mournful maid-

Say, thou, who dost yon wondrous ring possess,
What cares disturb thee, or what wants oppress;
To faithful ears disclose thy secret grief,
And hope (so Heaven ordains) a quick relief.'
The maid replied, Ah, sacred genius! bear
A hopeless damsel from this land of care;
Waft me to softer climes and lovelier plains,
Where nature smiles, and spring eternal reigns.'
She spoke; and, swifter than the glance of
thought,

To a fair isle his sleeping charge he brought.
Now morning breathed: the scented air was mild,
Each meadow blossom'd, and each valley smiled;
On every shrub the pearly dewdrops hung,
On every branch a feather'd warbler sung;

The cheerful spring her flowery chaplets wove, And incense-breathing gales perfumed the grove. The damsel rose; and, lost in glad surprise, Cast round the gay expanse her opening eyes, That shone with pleasure, like a starry beam, Or moonlight sparkling on a silver stream.

She thought some nymph must haunt that lovely

scene,

Some woodland goddess, or some fairy queen;
At least she hoped in some sequester'd vale
To hear the shepherd tell his amorous tale :
Led by these flattering hopes,-from glade to
glade,

From lawn to lawn, with hasty steps she stray'd;
But not a nymph by stream or fountain stood,
And not a fairy glided through the wood;
No damsel wanton'd o'er the dewy flowers,
No shepherd sung beneath the rosy bowers:
On
every side she saw vast mountains rise,
That thrust their daring foreheads in the skies;
The rocks of polish'd alabaster seem'd,
And in the sun their lofty summits gleam'd.
She call'd aloud; but not a voice replied,
Save Echo babbling from the mountain's side.

By this had night o'ercast the gloomy scene,
And twinkling stars emblazed the blue serene:-
Yet on she wander'd-till, with grief oppress'd,
She fell; and, falling, smote her snowy breast:
Now, to the heavens her guilty head she rears,
And pours her bursting sorrow into tears;
Then plaintive speaks- Ah, fond mistaken maid!
How was thy mind by gilded hopes betray'd!
Why didst thou wish for bowers and flowery hills,
For smiling meadows, and for purling rills;

Since on those hills no youth or damsel roves,
No shepherd haunts the solitary groves?
Ye meads that glow with intermingled dyes,
Ye flowering palms that from yon hillocks rise,
Ye quivering brooks that softly murmur by,
Ye panting gales that on the branches die;
Ah! why has Nature through her gay domain
Display'd your beauties, yet display'd in vain ?
In vain, ye flowers, you boast your vernal bloom,
And waste in barren air your fresh perfume.
Ah! leave, ye wanton birds, yon lonely spray;
Unheard you warble, and unseen you play :
Yet stay till fate has fix'd my early doom,
And strow with leaves a hapless damsel's tomb.
Some grot or grassy bank shall be my bier,
My maiden herse unwater'd with a tear.'

Thus while she mourns, o'erwhelm'd in deep despair,

She rends her silken robes, and golden hair :
Her fatal ring, the cause of all her woes,
On a hard rock with maddening rage she throws;
The gem, rebounding from the stone, displays
Its verdant hue, and sheds refreshing rays:
Sudden descends the Genius of the Ring,
And drops celestial fragrance from his wing;
Then speaks, Who calls me from the realms of
Ask, and I grant; command, and I obey.' [day?
She drank his melting words with ravish'd ears,
And stopp'd the gushing current of her tears?
Then kiss'd his skirts, that like a ruby glow'd,
And said, O bear me to my sire's abode.'
Straight o'er her eyes a shady veil arose,
And all her soul was lull'd in still repose.

By this, with flowers the rosy-finger'd dawn Had spread each dewy hill and verdurous lawn ;

She waked; and saw a new built tomb, that stood In the dark bosom of a solemn wood,

While these sad sounds her trembling ears invade,

'Beneath yon marble sleeps thy father's shade.' She sigh'd, she wept, she struck her pensive breast, And bade his urn in peaceful slumber rest.

And now, in silence, o'er the gloomy land,
She saw advance a slowly-winding band;
Their cheeks were veil'd, their robes of mournful
hue

Flow'd o'er the lawn, and swept the pearly dew;
O'er the fresh turf they sprinkled sweet perfume,
And strow'd with flowers the venerable tomb.
A graceful matron walk'd before the train,
And tuned in notes of woe the funeral strain:
When from her face her silken veil she drew,
The watchful maid her aged mother knew.
O'erpower'd with bursting joy, she runs to meet
The mourning dame, and falls before her feet.

The matron with surprise her daughter rears,
Hangs on her neck, and mingles tears with tears.
Now o'er the tomb their hallow'd rites they pay,
And form with lamps an artificial day:
Ere long the damsel reach'd her native vale,
And told, with joyful heart, her moral tale;
Resign'd to Heaven, and lost to all beside,
She lived contented, and contented died.

THE ENCHANTED FRUIT;

OR,

The Hindu Wife.

AN ANTEDILUVIAN TALE.

WRITTEN IN THE PROVINCE OF BAHAR.

'O LOVELY Age', by Brahmans famed,
Pure Seyte Yug' in Sanscrit named!
Delightful! Not for cups of gold,
Or wives a thousand centuries old;
Or men, degenerate now and small,
Then one and twenty cubits tall:
Not that plump cows full udders bore,
And bowls with holy curd3 ran o'er;
Not that, by deities defended,

Fish, Boar, Snake, Lion*, heaven-descended,
Learn'd Pundits, now grown sticks and clods,
Redde fast the Nagry of the Gods',

And Laymen, faithful to Narayn

6

Believed in Brahma's mystic strain';

A parody on the Ode in Tasso's Aminta, beginning O bella eta dell' oro!

2 The Golden Age of the Hindus.

3 Called Joghrat, the food of Crishna in his infancy and youth.

4 The four first Avatars, or Incarnation of the Divine Spirit. 5 The Sanscrit or Sangscrit is written in letters so named.

6 Narayn or Narayan, the Spirit of God.

7 The Vayds, or sacred writings of Brahma, called Rig, Sam, and Yejar: doubts have been raised concerning the authority of the fourth, or At'herven, Vayd.