Brave, suffering souls! they little knew How many a tear their injuries drew From one meek maid, one gentle foe, Whom Love first touch'd with others' woe And spread its trembling circles wide. The Persian lily shines and towers, Before the combat's reddening stain Hath fall'n upon her golden flowers. Light-hearted maid, unaw'd, unmov'd, While heav'n but spar'd the sire she lov'd, Once at thy evening tales of blood Unlistening and aloof she stood And oft, when thou hast pac'd along Thy Haram halls with furious heat, Hast thou not curs'd her cheerful song, That came across thee, calm and sweet, Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near Hell's confines, that the damn'd can hear! Far other feelings Love hath brought — Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness, She now has but the one dear thought, And thinks that o'er, almost to madness! Oft doth her sinking heart recal His words" for my sake weep for all;" And bitterly, as day on day Of rebel carnage fast succeeds, She weeps a lover snatch'd away In every Gheber wretch that bleeds. But with his life-blood seems to swim; No more she brings with footstep light And, had he look'd with clearer sight, Had not the mists, that ever rise From a foul spirit, dimm'd his eyes— He would have mark'd her shuddering frame, When from the field of blood he came, The faltering speech the look estrang'd Voice, step, and life, and beauty chang'd He would have mark'd all this, and known Such change is wrought by Love alone! Ah! not the Love, that should have bless'd Not the pure, open, prosperous Love, In friendship's smile and home's caress, A passion, without hope or pleasure, In thy soul's darkness buried deep, It lies, like some ill-gotten treasure, Some idol, without shrine or name, O'er which its pale-ey'd votaries keep Unholy watch, while others sleep! Seven nights have darken'd OMAN's Sea, Since last, beneath the moonlight ray, She saw his light oar rapidly Hurry her Gheber's bark away, And still she goes, at midnight hour, And watch, and look along the deep For him whose smiles first made her weep, But watching, weeping, all was vain, She never saw his bark again. The night-hawk, flitting darkly by, 'Tis the eighth morn AL HASSAN's brow Is brighten❜d with unusual joy What mighty mischief glads him now, 8 Who never smiles but to destroy? The sparkle upon HERKEND's Sea, When tost at midnight furiously, Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh, More surely than that smiling eye! 1 Travels of 8" It is observed, with respect to the Sea of Herkend, that when it is tossed by tempestuous winds it sparkles like fire." two Mohammedans. "Up, daughter, up-the Kerna's' breath "Has blown a blast would waken death, "And yet thou sleep'st up, child, and see "This blessed day for Heaven and me, "A day more rich in Pagan blood "Before another dawn shall shine, "His head heart - limbs will all be mine; “This very night his blood shall steep "These hands all over ere I sleep!" "His blood!" she faintly scream'd — her mind "Yes-spite of his ravines and towers, "Without whose aid the links accurst, 9 A kind of trumpet; - it " was that used by Tamerlane, the sound of which is described as uncommonly dreadful, an so loud as to be heard at the distance of several miles." — Richardson |