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; 3

9 "Thousands of variegated loories visit the coral-trees."

Barrow.

"In Mecca there are quantities of blue pigeons, which none will affright or abuse, much less kill."

Pitt's Account of the Mahometans.

2❝ The Pagoda Thrush is esteemed among the first choristers of India. It sits perched on the sacred Pagodas, and from thence delivers its melodious song."-Pennant's Hindostan.

3 Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutmeg season, come in flights from the southern isles to India, and "the strength of the nutmeg," says Tavernier, so intoxicates them that they fall dead drunk to

the earth."

And those that under ARABY'S soft sun

Build their high nests of budding cinnamon; e
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!

6

So on, through scenes past all imagining, More like the luxuries of that impious King, " Whom Death's dark Angel, with his lightning torch, Struck down and blasted even in Pleasure's porch,

Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent,

Arm'd with Heav'n's sword, for man's enfranchisement——
Young AZIM wander'd, looking sternly round,
His simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound
But ill according with the pomp and grace
And silent lull of that voluptuous place!

4 "That bird which liveth in Arabia, and buildeth its nest with cinnamon."- Brown's Vulgar Errors.

5" The spirits of the martyrs will be lodged in the crops of green birds.” — Gibbon, vol. ix. p. 421.

6 Shedad, who made the delicious gardens of Irim, in imitation of Paradise, and was destroyed by lightning the first time he attempted to enter them.

"Is this then," thought the youth, "is this the way "To free man's spirit from the deadening sway

"Of worldly sloth; to teach him, while he lives,
"To know no bliss but that which virtue gives,
"And when he dies, to leave his lofty name
"A light, a land-mark on the cliffs of fame?
"It was not so, land of the generous thought
"And daring deed! thy godlike sages taught;
"It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease,

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Thy Freedom nurs'd her sacred energies;

"Oh! not beneath th' enfeebling, withering glow

"Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow,

"With which she wreath'd her sword, when she would

❝dare

"Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air

"Of toil, of temperance,

of that high, rare,

"Etherial virtue, which alone can breathe

"Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath!

"Who, that surveys this span of earth we press,
"This speck of life in time's great wilderness,
"This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
"The past, the future, two eternities! -

"Would sully the bright spot or leave it bare,
"When he might build him a proud temple there,
"A name, that long shall hallow all its space,
"And be each purer soul's high resting-place!
" But no
it cannot be, that one, whom God
"Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod,
"A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws

"Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane his cause "With the world's vulgar pomps;

no, no

"Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze

I see

"Of my young soul; - shine on, 'twill stand the blaze!"

So thought the youth; - but, ev'n while he defied

This witching scene, he felt its witchery glide

Through every sense.

The perfume, breathing round,

Like a pervading spirit; the still sound

Of falling waters, lulling as the song
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng
Around the fragrant NILICA, and deep

In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep!"

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7 My Pandits assure me that the plant before us (the Nilica)

is their Sephalica, thus named because the bees are supposed to sleep on its blossoms." Sir W. Jones.

And music too dear music! that can touch
Beyond all else the soul that loves it much
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem
Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream ; —
All was too much for him, too full of bliss,
The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this;
Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave

His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid; -
He thought of ZELICA, his own dear maid,
And of the time when, full of blissful sighs,

They sat and look'd into each other's eyes,

Silent and happy as if God had given

Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven!

"Oh my lov'd mistress! whose enchantments still "Are with me, round me, wander where I will "It is for thee, for thee alone I seek

"The paths of glory — to light up thy cheek

"With warm approval in that gentle look,
"To read my praise, as in an angel's book,
"And think all toils rewarded, when from thee

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I gain a smile, worth immortality!