When we lie at dead of night, Sounds from all the minarets. Cheer thee!-soon shall signal lights, Think what bliss that hour will be! So pass'd the desert dream away, Fleeting as his who heard this lay. 1 'Whoever returns from a pilgrimage to Mecca hangs this plant (the mitre-shaped Aloe) over his street-door, as a token of his having performed this holy journey.'-Hasselquist. ? This form of notice to the caravans to prepare for marching was applied by Hafiz to the necessity of relinquishing the pleasures of this world, and preparing for death:-' For me what room is there for pleasure in the bower of Beauty, when every moment the bell makes proclamation, "Bind on your bus Nor long the pause between, nor mov'd The spell-bound audience from that spot; While still, as usual, Fancy rov'd On to the joy that yet was not ;Fancy, who hath no present home, But builds her bower in scenes to come, Walking for ever in a light That flows from regions out of sight. But see, by gradual dawn descried, A mountain realm-rugged as e'er Uprais'd to heaven its summits bare, Or told to earth, with frown of pride, That Freedom's falcon nest was there, 'Tis Maina's land-her ancient hills, All with a truth so fresh portray'd And now, light bounding forth, a band Of mountaineers, all smiles, advance→ Nymphs with their lovers, hand in hand, Link'd in the Ariadne dance; 6 And while, apart from that gay throng, A minstrel youth, in varied song, Tells of the loves, the joys, the ills Of these wild children of the hills, The rest by turns, or fierce, or gay, As war or sport inspires the lay, Follow each change that wakes the strings, And act what thus the lyrist sings: Of some lone Spirit of the Sea, The requiem of her Brave and Free. Where, thron'd above this world, he hears | Seem'd to the fancy, like a dirge Then, when battle's hour is over, With the nymph, who'll soon be bride, In her sunny smile forgot. Oh, no life is like the mountaineer's, Where, thron'd above this world, he hears Nor only thus through summer suns Then how blest, when night is closing, As slow that minstrel, at the close, Follow'd the changes of his lay, Through which, as faintly died away Across the wave its mournful burst, Sudden, amid their pastime, pause sound Of that strange music nearer draws, When the Balaika Is heard o'er the sea, Thou'lt dance the Romaika, My own love, with me. Then, at the closing Of each merry lay, We'll lie reposing, Beneath the night ray! Or if, declining, The moon leave the skies, Oh then, how featly Its light mazes through!1 From heaven's high bow'rs, Is heard o'er the sea, How changingly for ever veers With hand in hand, like links, enlock'd, Through the light air they seem'd to flit In labyrinthine maze, that mock'd Each dazzled eye that follow'd it?' Some call'd aloud the Fountain Dance! While one young, dark eyed Amazon Whose step was air-like, and whose glance Flash'd, like a sabre in the sun, Sportively said, 'Shame on these soft And languid strains we hear so oft. Daughters of Freedom! have not we Learn'd from our lovers and our sires The Dance of Greece, while Greece was free That Dance, where neither flutes nor But sword and shield clash on the ear, Thus saying, she, with playful grace, Hung, shadowing each sunny charm: And, with a fair young armourer's aid, Fixing it on her rounded arm, The heart of youth, 'twixt smiles and A mimic shield with pride display'd; tears! Ev'n as in April, the light vane The shadow from each blooming brow, 'Twas by the maids of Delos led, When, slow at first, then circling fast, As the gay spirits rose-at last, In dancing the Romaika (says Mr. Douglas) they begin in slow and solemn step till they have gained the time, but by degrees the air becomes more sprightly; the conductress of the dance sometimes setting to her partner, sometimes darting before the rest, and leading them through the most rapid revolutions; sometimes crossing under the hands which are held up to let her pass, and giving as much liveliness and intricacy as she can to the figures, into which she conducts her companions, while their business is to follow Then, springing tow'rds a grove that Its canopy of foliage near, She wav'd the light branch, as a spear. The grove, their verdant armoury, Falchion and lance alike supplied; her in all her movements, without breaking the chain, or losing the measure.' For a description of the Pyrrhic Dance, see De Guys, &c.-It appears from Apuleius (lib. x.) that this war-dance was, among the ancients, sometimes performed by females. 3 See the costumes of the Greck women of Natolia in Castellan's Maurs des Othomans. The sword was the weapon chiefly used in this dance. And reach the spot, with rapture new, There, by her own bright Attic flood, With quiver on the rose-trees hung, Who seems just dropp'd from yonder sky, And stands to watch that maid, with eye So full of thought, for one so young ?That child-but, silence! lend thine ear, And thus in song the tale thou'lt hear : SONG. As Love, one summer eve, was straying, As woman will be woman still. Though seldom yet the boy hath giv'n To learned dames his smiles or sighs, So handsome Pallas look'd, that ev'n, Love quite forgot the maid was wise. Besides, a youth of his discerning Knew well that, by a shady rill, At sunset hour, whate'er her learning, A woman will be woman still. Her flute he prais'd in terms extatic,Wishing it dumb, nor car'd how soon;-For Wisdom's notes, howe'er chromatic, To Love seem always out of tune. But long as he found face to flatter, The nymph found breath to shake and thrill; As, weak or wise-it doesn t matterWoman, at heart, is woman still. Love chang'd his plan, with warmth esclaiming, How rosy was her lip's soft dye!' And much that flute, the flatt'rer, blaming, For twisting lips so sweet awry. The nymph look'd down, beheld her fea tures Reflected in the passing rill, And started, shock'd-for, ah, ye creatures! Ev'n when divine, you're women still Quick from the lips it made so odious, That graceless flute the Goddess took, And, while yet fill'd with breath melodious, Where, as its vocal life was fleeting Adown the current, faint and shrill, 'Twas heard in plaintive tone repeating, Woman, alas, vain woman still!' An interval of dark repose-- Which now its depth of light disclos'd. A bow'r it seem'd, an Indian bow'r, Within whose shade a nymph repos'd, Sleeping away noon's sunny hourLovely as she, the sprite who weaves Her mansion of sweet Durva leaves, seems With some hid fancy-she, too, dreams! Oh for a wizard's art to tell The wonders that now bless her sight! 'Tis done a truer, holier spell Than e'er from wizard's lip yet fell Thus brings her vision all to light: And, there, the last unfinish'd word That tribute of subdued applause A charm'd, but timid, audience pays, Follow'd this song, and left a pause A bashful maiden stood, to hide And said, 'Oh Love! whate'er my lot, And delicate as those day-flowers, So rich upon the ear had grown An echo in each bosom round- Her blushes, while the lute she tried-And each some matchless fav'rite nam'd; While blushing, as her fingers ran Он, Memory, how coldly Thou paintest joy gone by; That former days recall, But, Memory, too truly Thou paint'st the grief that's past; But those of Sorrow last. But makes them darker still. So went the moonlight hours along, 1This morning we paid our visit to the Cave of Trophonius, and the Fountains of Memory and -Oblivion, just upon the water of Hercyna, which flows through stupendous rocks.'— Williams's Travels in Greece, |