"Youth passed in penitence, and age
"In long and painful pilgrimage,
"Shall leave no traces of the flame

"That wastes me now nor shall his name

"E'er bless my lips, but when I pray "For his dear spirit, that away

"Casting from its angelic ray

"Think

"Th' eclipse of earth, he, too, may shine
"Redeemed, all glorious and all Thine!
think what victory to win
"One radiant soul like his from sin,
"One wandering star of virtue back
"To its own native, heavenward track!
"Let him but live, and both are Thine,
"Together thine-for, blest or crost,
"Living or dead, his doom is mine,

"And, if he perish, both are lost!"

THE next evening LALLA ROOKн was entreated by her Ladies to continue the relation of her wonderful dream; but the fearful interest that hung round the fate of HINDA and her lover had completely removed every trace of it from her mind;

much to the disappointment of a fair seer or two in her train, who prided themselves on their skill in interpreting visions, and who had already remarked, as an unlucky omen, that the Princess, on the very morning after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms of the sorrowful tree, Nilica.284

FADLADEEN, whose indignation had more than once broken out during the recital of some parts of this heterodox poem, seemed at length to have made up his mind to the infliction; and took his seat this evening with all the patience of a martyr, while the Poet resumed his profane and seditious story as follows:

To tearless eyes and hearts at ease
The leafy shores and sun-bright seas,
That lay beneath that mountain's height,
Had been a fair enchanting sight.
'T was one of those ambrosial eves
A day of storm so often leaves
At its calm setting-when the West
Opens her golden bowers of rest,
And a moist radiance from the skies
Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes
Of some meek penitent, whose last
Bright hours atone for dark ones past,
And whose sweet tears, o'er wrong forgiven,
Shine, as they fall, with light from Heaven!

Had rushed through KERMAN's almond groves, And shaken from her bowers of date

That cooling feast the traveller loves,285

Now, lulled to languor, scarcely curl

The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam Limpid, as if her mines of pearl

Were melted all to form the stream:

And her fair islets, small and bright,

With their green shores reflected there, Look like those PERI isles of light,

That hang by spell-work in the air.

But vainly did those glories burst
On HINDA's dazzled eyes, when first
The bandage from her brow was taken,
And, pale and awed as those who waken
In their dark tombs - when, scowling near,
The Searchers of the Grave 286 appear,
She shuddering turned to read her fate

In the fierce eyes that flashed around;
And saw those towers all desolate,

That o'er her head terrific frowned,
As if defying e'en the smile
Of that soft heaven to gild their pile.
In vain with mingled hope and fear,
She looks for him whose voice so dear
Had come like music to her ear
Strange, mocking dream! again 't is fled.
And oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread
That through her inmost bosom run,

When voices from without proclaim
"HAFED, the Chief" — and, one by one,

The warriors shout that fearful name! He comes - the rock resounds his tread How shall she dare to lift her head, Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare Not YEMEN's boldest sons can bear? In whose red beam, the Moslem tells,

Such rank and deadly lustre dwells,
As in those hellish fires that light

The mandrake's charnel leaves at night.2
How shall she bear that voice's tone,
At whose loud battle-cry alone
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran,
Scattered like some vast caravan,

287

When, stretched at evening round the well,
They hear the thirsting tiger's yell!
Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down,
Shrinking beneath the fiery frown,
Which, fancy tells her, from that brow
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now:
And shuddering as she hears the tread
Of his retiring warrior band.
Never was pause so full of dread;

Till HAFED with a trembling hand
Took hers, and, leaning o'er her, said,
"HINDA;" that word was all he spoke,
And 't was enough—the shriek that broke
From her full bosom, told the rest.
Panting with terror, joy, surprise,
The maid but lifts her wondering eyes,

To hide them on her Gheber's breast! 'Tis he, 't is he the man of blood,

The fellest of the Fire-fiend's brood,
HAFED, the demon of the fight,

Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight, –

Is her own loved Gheber, mild

And glorious as when first he smiled