Then thus he spoke :-« Stranger, though new the frame Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can wave;—
Thy soul inhabits now, I've track'd its flame
For many an age,' in every chance and change
Of that Existence, through whose varied range,-
As through a torch-race, where, from hand to hand
The flying youths transmit their shining brand,—
From frame to frame the unextinguish'd soul
Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal!
«Nor think 't is only the gross Spirits, warm'd
With duskier fire and for earth's medium form'd,
That run this course ;-Beings, the most divine,
Thus deign through dark mortality to shine.
Such was the Essence that in Adam dwelt,
To which all Heaven, except the Proud One, knelt:2
Such the refined Intelligence that glow'd
In Moussa's frame;-and, thence descending, flow'd
Through many a prophet's breast; (32)-in Issa 3 shone
And in Mohammed burn'd; till, hastening on,
(As a bright river that, from fall to fall
In many a maze descending, bright through all,
Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth pass'd,
In one full lake of light it rests at last!)
That Holy Spirit, settling calm and free
From lapse or shadow, centres all in me!»>
Again, throughout the assembly at these words,
Thousands of voices rung; the warriors' swords
Were pointed up to heaven; a sudden wind
In the open banners play'd, and from behind
These Persian hangings, that but ill could screen
The Haram's loveliness, white hands were seen
Waving embroider'd scarves, whose motion gave
A perfume forth;-like those the Houris wave
When beckoning to their bowers the Immortal Brave.
But, once my own, mine all till in the grave!
The pomp is at an end,—the crowds are gone-
Each car and heart still haunted by the tone
Of that deep voice, which thrill'd like Alla's own!
The young all dazzled by the plumes and lances,
The glittering throne, and Haram's half-caught glances;
The old deep pondering on the promised reign
Of peace and truth; and all the female train
Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze
A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze!
But there was one among the chosen maids
Who blush'd behind the gallery's silken shades,—
One, to whose soul the pageant of to-day
Has been like death;-you saw her pale dismay,
Ye wondering sisterhood, and heard the burst
Of exclamation from her lips, when first
She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known,
Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne,
Ah Zelica! there was a time, when bliss
Shone o'er thy heart from every look of his;
When but to see him, hear him, breathe the air
In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer!
When round him hung such a perpetual spell,
Whate'er he did, none ever did so well.
Too happy days! when, if he touch'd a flower,
Or gem of thine, 't was sacred from that hour;
When thou didst study him till every tone
And gesture and dear look became thy own,—
Thy voice like his, the changes of his face
In thine reflected with still lovelier grace,
Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught
With twice the aerial sweetness it had brought!
E'er beam'd before,-but ah! not bright for thee;
No-dread, unlook'd-for, like a visitant
From the other world, he comes as if to haunt
Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight,
Long lost to all but Memory's aching sight:-
Sad dreams! as when the Spirit of our Youth
Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth
And innocence once ours, and leads us back,
In mournful mockery, o'er the shining track
Of our young life, and points out every ray
Of hope and peace we 've lost upon the way!
<< But these,» pursued the Chief, « are truths sublime, Yet now he comes-brighter than even he
That claim a holier mood and calmer time
Than earth allows us now;-this sword must first
The darkling prison-house of mankind burst,
Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in
Her wakening day-light on a world of sin!
But then, celestial warriors, then, when all
Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall;
When the glad slave shall at these feet lay down
His broken chain, the tyrant lord his crown,
The priest his book, the conqueror his wreath,
And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath
Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze
That whole dark pile of human mockeries;-
Then shall the reign of Mind commence on earth,
And starting fresh, as from a second birth,
Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring,
Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing!
Then, too, your Prophet from his angel brow
Shall cast the Veil, that hides its splendours now,
And gladden'd Earth shall, through her wide expanse,
Bask in the glories of this countenance!
« For thee, young warrior, welcome!-thou hast yet Some tasks to learn, some frailties to forget,
The transmigration of souls was one of his doctrines. - See D'HERBELOT.
2. And when we said unto the angels, Worship Adam, they all worshipped him except Eblis (Lucifer), who refused. The Koran, ch. ii. 1 Jesus.
Once happy pair!—in proud Bokhara's groves,
Who had not heard of their first youthful loves?
Born by that ancient flood,' which from its spring
In the Dark Mountains swiftly wandering,
Enrich'd by every pilgrim brook that shines
With relics from Bucharia's ruby mines,
And, lending to the Caspian half its strength,
In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length;—
There, on the banks of that bright river born,
The flowers, that hung above the wave at morn,
Bless'd not the waters as they murmur'd by,
With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh
The Amoo, which rises in the Belur Tag, or Dark Mountains, and running nearly from east to west, splits into two branches, one of which falls into the Caspian Sea, and the other into Aral Nabr, or the Lake of Eagles.
And virgin glance of first affection cast
Upon their youth's smooth current as it pass'd!
But war disturb'd this vision-far away
From her fond eyes, summon'd to join the array
Of Persia's warriors on the hills of Thrace,
The youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling-place
For the rude tent and war-field's deathful clash,-
His Zelica's sweet glances for the flash
Of Grecian wild-fire,—and Love's gentle chains
For bleeding bondage on Byzantium's plains.
Month after month, in widowhood of soul Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll Their suns away-but ah! how cold and dim Even summer suns, when not beheld with him! From time to time ill-omen'd rumours came (Like spirit-tongues, muttering the sick man's name, Just ere he dies); at length, those sounds of dread Fell withering on her soul, Azim is dead!» Oh grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate First leaves the young heart lone and desolate In the wide world, without that only tie For which it loved to live or fear'd to die ;Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken Since the sad day its master-chord was broken!
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Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, Even reason blighted sunk beneath its touch; And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose Above the first dead pressure of its woes, Though health and bloom return'd, the delicate chain Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again.
| Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray;A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone All stars of heaven, except the guiding one! Again she smiled, nay, much and brightly smiled, But 't was a lustre, strange, unreal, wild; [And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 'T was like the notes, half ecstacy, half pain, The bulbul utters, ere her soul depart, When, vanquish'd by some minstrel's powerful art, She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her heart!
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Alas, poor Zelica! it needed all
The fantasy, which held thy mind in thrall,
To see in that gay Haram's glowing maids
A sainted colony for Eden's shades;
Or dream that he,—of whose unholy flame
Thou wert too soon the victim,-shining came
From Paradise, to people its pure sphere
With souls like thine, which he hath ruin'd here!
No-had not Reason's light totally set,
And left thee dark, thou hadst an amulet
In the loved image, graven on thy heart,
Which would have saved thee from the tempter's art,
And kept alive, in all its bloom of breath,
That purity, whose fading is love's death!-
But lost, inflamed,—a restless zeal took place
Of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace ;—
First of the Prophet's favourites, proudly first
In zeal and charms,-too well the Impostor nursed
Her soul's delirium, in whose active flame,
Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant frame,
He saw more potent sorceries to bind
To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind,
More subtle chains than hell itself e'er twined.
No art was spared, no witchery;-all the skill
His demons taught him was employ'd to fill
Her mind with gloom and ecstacy by turns-
That gloom, through which Frenzy but fiercer burns;
That ecstacy, which from the depth of sadness
Glares like the maniac's moon, whose light is madness.
'T was from a brilliant banquet, where the sound Of poesy and music breathed around, Together picturing to her mind and ear The glories of that heaven, her destined sphere, Where all was pure, where every stain that lay Upon the spirit's light should pass away, And, realizing more than youthful love E'er wish'd or dream'd, she should for ever rove Through fields of fragrance by her Azim's side, His own bless'd, purified, eternal bride !— 'T was from a scene, a witching trance like this, He hurried her away, yet breathing bliss, To the dim charnel-house; through all its steams Of damp and death, led only by those gleams Which foul Corruption lights, as with design To show the gay and proud she too can shine!— And, passing on through upright ranks of dead, Which to the maiden, doubly crazed by dread, Seem'd, through the bluish death-light round them cast, To move their lips in mutterings as she pass'dThere, in the awful place, when each had quaff'd And pledged in silence such a fearful draught, Such-oh! the look and taste of that red bowl Will haunt her till she dies-he bound her soul By a dark oath, in hell's own language framed, Never, while earth his mystic presence claim'd, While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both, Never, by that all-imprecating oath,
In joy or sorrow from his side to sever.
She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, Never, never!»
From that dread hour, entirely, wildly given
To him and she believed, lost maid!--to Heaven, Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflamed, How proud she stood, when in full Haram named
The Priestess of the Faith!-how flash'd her eyes
With light, alas! that was not of the skies,
When round, in trances only less than hers,
She saw the Haram kneel, her prostrate worshippers!
Well might Mokanna think that form alone
Had spells enough to make the world his own :-
Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit's play
Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray,
When from its stem the small bird wings away!
Lips in whose rosy labyrinth, when she smiled,
The soul was lost; and blushes, swift and wild
As are the momentary meteors sent
Across the uncalm, but beauteous firmament,
And then her look!-oh! where 's the heart so wise,
Could unbewilder'd meet those matchless eyes?
Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal,
Like those of angels, just before their fall;
Now shadow'd with the shames of earth-now cross'd
By glimpses of the heaven her heart had lost;
In every glance there broke, without control,
The flashes of a bright but troubled soul,
Where sensibility still wildly play'd,
Like lightning, round the ruins it had made!
And such was now young Zelica—so changed From her who, some years since, delighted ranged The almond groves that shade Bokhara's tide, All life and bliss, with Azim by her side! So alter'd was she now, this festal day, When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzling array, The vision of that Youth, whom she had loved, And wept as dead, before her breathed and moved ;When-bright, she thought, as if from Eden's track But half-way trodden, he had wander'd back Again to earth, glistening with Eden's light— Her beauteous Azim shone before her sight.
Oh Reason! who shall say what spells renew, When least we look for it, thy broken clew! Through what small vistas o'er the darken'd brain Thy intellectual day-beam bursts again; And how, like forts, to which beleaguerers win Unhoped-for entrance through some friend within, One clear idea, waken'd in the breast By Memory's magic, lets in all the rest! Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee! But, though light came, it came but partially; Enough to show the maze in which thy sense Wander'd about, but not to guide it thence; Enough to glimmer o'er the yawning wave, But not to point the harbour which might save. Hours of delight and peace, long left behind, With that dear form came rushing o'er her mind; But oh! to think how deep her soul had gone In shame and falsehood since those moments shone; And then her oath-there madness lay again, And, shuddering, back she sunk into her chain Of mental darkness, as if bless'd to flee From light, whose every glimpse was agony ! Yet, one relief this glance of former years Brought, mingled with its pain,-tears, floods of tears, Long frozen at her heart, but now like rills Let loose in spring-time from the snowy hills, And gushing warm, after a sleep of frost, Through valleys where their flow had long been lost!
Sad and subdued, for the first time her frame Trembled with horror, when the summons came (A summons proud and rare, which all but she, And she, till now, had heard with ecstacy), To meet Mokanna at his place of prayer, A garden oratory, cool and fair,
By the stream's side, where still at close of day The Prophet of the Veil retired to pray; Sometimes alone-but oftener far, with one, One chosen nymph to share his orison.
Of late none found such favour in his sight
As the young Priestess; and though, since that night
When the death-caverns echoed every tone
Of the dire oath that made her all his own,
The Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize,
Had, more than once, thrown off his soul's disguise,
And utter'd such unheavenly, monstrous things,
As even across the desperate wanderings
Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out,
Threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt;-
Yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow,
The thought, still haunting her, of that bright brow
Whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye conceal'd,
Would soon, proud triumph! be to her reveal'd,
To her alone; and then the hope, most dear,
Most wild of all, that her transgression here
Was but a passage through earth's grosser fire,
From which the spirit would at last aspire,
Even purer than before,-as perfumes rise
Through flame and smoke, most welcome to the skies-
And that when Azim's fond, divine embrace
Should circle her in heaven, no darkening trace
Would on that bosom he once loved remain,
But all be bright, be pure, be his again!—
These were the wildering dreams, whose cursed deceit
Had chain'd her soul beneath the tempter's feet,
And made her think even damning falsehood sweet.
But now that Shape, which had appall'd her view,
That Semblance-oh how terrible, if true!—
Which came across her frenzy's full career
With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, severe,
As when, in northern seas, at midnight dark,
An isle of ice encounters some swift bark,
And startling all its wretches from their sleep,
By one cold impulse hurls them to the deep;—
So came that shock not frenzy's self could bear,
And waking up each long-lull'd image there,
But check'd her headlong soul, to sink it in despair!
Wan and dejected, through the evening dusk, She now went slowly to that small kiosk, Where, pondering alone his impious schemes, Mokanna waited her-too wrapt in dreams Of the fair-ripening future's rich success, To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, That sat upon his victim's downcast brow, Or mark how slow her step, how alter'd now From the quick ardent Priestess, whose light bound Came like a spirit's o'er th' unechoing ground,— From that wild Zelica, whose every glance Was thrilling fire, whose every thought a trance!
Upon his couch the Veil'd Mokanna lav,
While lamps around-not such as lend their ray,
Glimmering and cold, to those who nightly pray
In holy Koom, or Mecca's dim arcades,-
But brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely maids
Look loveliest in, shed their luxurious glow
Upon his mystic Veil's white glittering flow.
Beside him, 'stead of beads and books of prayer,
Which the world fondly thought he mused on there,
Stood vases, fill'd with Kishmee's golden wine,
And the red weepings of the Shiraz vine;
Of which his curtain'd lips full many a draught
Took zealously, as if each drop they quaff'd,
Like Zemzem's Spring of Holiness, 3 had power
To freshen the soul's virtues into flower!
And still he drank and ponder'd-nor could see
The approaching maid, so deep his reverie;
At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which broke
From Eblis at the Fall of Man, he spoke :-
« Yes, ye vile race, for hell's amusement given,
Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin with heaven;
God's images, forsooth!-such gods as he
Whom India serves, the monkey deity;—4 (33)
Ye creatures of a breath, proud things of clay,
To whom, if Lucifer, as grandams say,
Refused, though at the forfeit of Heaven's light,
To bend in worship, Lucifer was right!— (34)
Soon shall I plant this foot upon the neck
Of your foul race, and without fear or check,
Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame,
My deep-felt, long-nursed loathing of man's name!-
Soon, at the head of myriads, blind and fierce
As hooded falcons, through the universe
I'll sweep my darkening, desolating way,
Weak man my instrument, curst man my prey!
« Ye wise, ye learn'd, who grope your dull
By the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone,
Like superstitious thieves, who think the light
From dead men's marrow guides them best at night 5-
Ye shall have honours-wealth,-yes, sages, yes-
I know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothingness;
Undazzled it can track yon starry sphere,
But a gilt stick, a bauble blinds it here.
How I shall laugh, when trumpeted along,
In lying speech, and still more lying song,
By these learn'd slaves, the meanest of the throng;
Their wits bought up, their wisdom shrunk so small,
A sceptre's puny point can wield it all!
«Ye too, believers of incredible creeds,
Whose faith inshrines the monsters which it breeds;
Who, bolder even than Nemrod, think to rise
By nonsense heap'd on nonsense to the skies;
Ye shall have miracles, ay, sound ones too,
Seen, heard, attested, every thing—but true.
Your preaching zealots, too inspired to seek
One of meaning for the things they speak;
grace
Your martyrs, ready to shed out their blood
For truths too heavenly to be understood :
The cities of Com (or Koom) and Cashan are full of mosques, mausoleums, and sepulchres of the descendants of Ali, the saints of
* An island in the Persian Gulf, celebrated for its white wine.
And your state priests, sole venders of the lore
That works salvation;-as on Ava's shore,
Where none but priests are privileged to trade
In that best marble of which Gods are made; '- (35)
They shall have mysteries-ay, precious stuff
For knaves to thrive by-mysteries enough;
Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can weave,
Which simple votaries shall on trust receive,
While craftier feign belief, till they believe.
A heaven too ye must have, ye lords of dust,—
A splendid Paradise,-pure souls, ye must:
That Prophet ill sustains his holy call,
Who finds not Heavens to suit the tastes of all;
Houris for boys, omniscience for sages,
And wings and glories for all ranks and ages.
Vain things!-as lust or vanity inspires,
The Heaven of each is but what each desires,
And, soul or sense, whate'er the object be,
Man would be man to all eternity!
So let him-Eblis! grant this crowning curse,
But keep him what he is, no Hell were worse.»>-
«Oh my lost soul!» exclaim'd the shuddering maid, Whose ears had drunk like poison all he said.Mokanna started--not abash'd, afraid,—
He knew no more of fear than one who dwells
Beneath the tropics knows of icicles!
But, in those dismal words that reach'd his ear,
«Oh my lost soul!» there was a sound so drear,
So like that voice, among the sinful dead,
In which the legend o'er Hell's Gate is read,
That, new as 't was from her, whom nought could dim
Or sink till now, it startled even him.
Ha, my fair Priestess !»—thus with ready wile,
The Impostor turn'd to greet her-« thou, whose smile
Hath inspiration in its rosy beam
Beyond the enthusiast's hope or Prophet's dream!
Light of the Faith! who twinest religion's zeal
So close with love's, men know not which they feel,
Nor which to sigh for in their trance of heart,
The Heaven thou preachest or the Heaven thou art!
What should I be without thee? without thee
How dull were power, how joyless victory!
Though borne by angels, if that smile of thine
Bless'd not my banner, 't were but half divine.
But-why so mournful, child? those eyes, that shone
All life last night-what!-is their glory gone?
Come, come-this morn's fatigue hath made them pale,
They want rekindling-suns themselves would fail,
Did not their comets bring, as I to thee,
From Light's own fount supplies of brilliancy!
Thou seest this cup-no juice of earth is here,
But the pure waters of that upper sphere,
Whose rills o'er ruby beds and topaz flow,
Catching the gem's bright colour, as they go.
Nightly my Genii come and fill these urns-
Nay, drink-in every drop life's essence burns;
'T will make that soul all fire, those eyes all light-
Come, come, I want thy loveliest smiles to-night:
There is a youth-why start?-thou saw'st him then;
The miraculous well at Mecca; so called, says Sale, from the Look'd he not nobly? such the god-like men marmuring of its waters.
* A kind of lantern formerly used by robbers, called the Hand of Glory, the candle for which was made of the fat of a dead malefactor. This, however, was rather a western than an eastern superstition.
Thou'lt have to woo thee in the bowers above;-
Though he, I fear, hath thoughts too stern for love,
Seme's Ava, vol. ii. p. 376.
Too ruled by that cold enemy of bliss
The world calls Virtue-we must conquer this;-
Nay, shrink not, pretty sage; 't is not for thee
To scan the mazes of Heaven's mystery.
The steel must pass through fire ere it can yield
Fit instruments for mighty hands to wield.
This very night I mean to try the art
Of powerful beauty on that warrior's heart.
All that my Haram boasts of bloom and wit,
Of skill and charms, most rare and exquisite,
Shall tempt the boy;-young Mirzala's blue eyes,
Whose sleepy lid like snow on violets lies;
Arouya's cheeks, warm as a spring-day sun,
And lips that, like the seal of Solomon,
Have magic in their pressure; Zeba's lute,
And Lilla's dancing feet, that gleam and shoot
Rapid and white as sea-birds o'er the deep!
All shall combine their witching powers to steep
My convert's spirit in that softening trance,
From which to Heaven is but the next advance;
That glowing, yielding fusion of the breast,
On which Religion stamps her image best.
But hear me, Priestess! though each nymph of these
Hath some peculiar practised power to please,
Some glance or step which, at the mirror tried,
First charms herself, then all the world beside;
There still wants one, to make the victory sure,
One, who in every look joins every lure;
Through whom all beauty's beams concenter'd pass,
Dazzling and warm, as through love's burning-glass;
Whose gentle lips persuade without a word,
Whose words, even when unmeaning, are adored,
Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine,
Which our faith takes for granted are divine!
Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and light,
To crown the rich temptations of to-night;
Such the refined enchantress that must be
This hero's vanquisher,—and thou art she!»
With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart and pale,
The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil
From which these words, like south-winds through a fence
Of Kerzrah flowers, came fill'd with pestilence: 1
So boldly utter'd too! as if all dread
of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled,
And the wretch felt assured that, once plunged in,
Her woman's soul would know no pause in sin!
At first, though mute she listen'd, like a dream
Seem'd all he said; nor could her mind, whose beam
As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme.
But when, at length, he utter'd «< Thou art she!>>
All flash'd at once, and shrieking piteously,
But swear to me this moment 't is not he,
And I will serve, dark fiend! will worship even thee!»
«Beware, young raving thing!-in time beware,
Nor utter what I cannot, must not bear
Even from thy lips. Go-try thy lute, thy voice,
The boy must feel their magic-I rejoice
To see those fires, no matter whence they rise,
Once more illuming my fair Priestess' eyes;
And should the youth, whom soon those eyes shall warm,
Indeed resemble thy dead lover's form,
So much the happier wilt thou find thy doom,
As one warm lover, full of life and bloom,
Excels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb.
Nay, nay, no frowning, sweet! those eyes were made
For love, not anger-I must be obey'd.»
«Obey'd!—'t is well-yes, I deserve it all—
On me, on me Heaven's vengeance cannot fall
Too heavily-but Azim, brave and true
And beautiful-must he be ruin'd too?
Must he too, glorious as he is, be driven
A renegade like me from Love and Heaven?
Like me!-weak wretch, I wrong him—not like me;
No-he's all truth and strength and purity!
Fill up your madd'ning hell-cup to the brim,
Its witchery, fiends, will have no charm for him.
Let loose your glowing wantons from their bowers,
He loves, he loves, and can defy their powers!
Wretch as I am, in his heart still I reign
Pure as when first we met, without a stain!
Though ruin'd-lost-my memory, like a charm
Left by the dead, still keeps his soul from harm.
Oh! never let him know how deep the brow
He kiss'd at parting is dishonour'd now-
Ne'er tell him how debased, how sunk is she,
Whom once he lov'd-once!—still loves dotingly!
Thou laugh'st, tormentor,-what-thou 'It brand my
Do, do-in vain-he 'll not believe my shame-
He thinks me truc, that nought beneath God's sky
Could tempt or change me, and-so once thought I.
But this is past-though worse than death my lot,
Than hell-'t is nothing, while he knows it not.
Far off to some benighted land I'll fly,
Where sunbeam ne'er shall enter till I die :
Where none will ask the lost one whence she came,
But I may fade and fall without a name!
And thou-curst man or fiend, whate'er thou art,
Who found'st this burning plague-spot in my heart,
And spread'st it-oh, so quick!—through soul and frame
With more than demon's art, till I became
«Oh not for worlds!» she cried-« Great God! to whom A loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame!-
I once knelt innocent, is this
Are all my dreams, my hopes of heavenly bliss,
My purity, my pride, then come to this,
To live, the wanton of a fiend! to be
The pander of his guilt-oh infamy!
And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep
In its hot flood, drag others down as deep!
Others?-ha! yes-that youth who came to-day-
Not him I loved-not him-oh! do but say,
I. It is commonly said in Persia, that if a man breathe in the hot south-wind which in June or July passes over that flower, the Kerzereh, it will kill him.-THEVENOT.
« Hold, fearless maniac, hold,
Nor tempt my rage-by Heaven not half so bold
The puny
bird that dares with teazing hum
Within the crocodile's stretch'd jaws to come!' (36)
And so thou 'It fly, forsooth?-what!—give up all
Thy chaste dominion in the Haram Hall,
Where now to Love and now to Alla given,
Half mistress and half saint, thou hang'st as even
The ancient story concerning the Trochilus, or humming-bird. entering with impunity into the mouth of the crocodile, is firmly be lieved at Java. -BARROW's Cochin-China.
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