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!

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 cast to west, splits into two branches, one of which falls into the Caspian sea, and the other into Aral Nahr, 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 th' 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, "Azım is dead!" Oh grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate First leaves the young heart lone and desolate n the wide world, without that only tie For which it loved to live or fear'd to die ;

VOL. I.

Lorn as the hung-up lute, that neʼer hath spoken
Since the sad day its master-chord was broken!

Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such,
Even reason sunk blighted 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 'twas a lustre, strange, unreal, wild;

And when she sung to her lute's touching strain,
'Twas like the notes, half extacy, 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!

Such was the mood in which that mission found Young ZELICA,-that mission, which around

* The nightingale.

The Eastern world, in every region bless'd

With woman's smile, sought out its loveliest,
To grace that galaxy of lips and eyes,

Which the Veil'd Prophet destined for the skies!—
And such quick welcome as a spark receives
Dropp'd on a bed of autumn's wither'd leaves,
Did every tale of these enthusiasts find

In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind.
All fire at once the madd'ning zeal she caught;-
Elect of Paradise! blest, rapturous thought;
Predestined bride, in heaven's eternal dome,

Of some brave youth-ha! durst they say "of some?"
No-of the one, one only object traced

In her heart's core too deep to be effaced;

The one whose memory, fresh as life, is twined
With every broken link of her lost mind;

Whose image lives, though Reason's self be wreck'd,
Safe 'mid the ruins of her intellect !

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 th' 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 extacy by turns-
That gloom, through which Frenzy but fiercer burns ;