And mine is the gentle song that bears
From soul to soul, the wishes of love,
As a bird, that wafts through genial airs
The cinnamon-seed from grove to grove.

'Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure The past, the present, and future of pleasure† ;

The Pompadour pigeon is the species, which, by carrying the fruit of the cinnamon to different places, is a great disseminator of this valuable tree." See Brown's Illustr. Tab. 19.

+ "Whenever our pleasure arises from a succession of sounds, it is a perception of a complicated nature, made up of a sensation of the present sound or note, and an idea or remembrance of the foregoing, while their mixture and concurrence produce such a mysterious delight, as neither could have produced alone. And it is often heightened by an anticipation of the succeeding notes. Thus Sense, Memory, and Imagination, are conjunctively employed.". Gerrard on

Taste.

This is exactly the Epicurean theory of Pleasure, as explained by Cicero :- " Quocirca corpus gaudere tamdiu, dum præsentem sentiret voluptatem: animum et præsentem percipere pariter cum corpore et prospicere venientem, nec præteritam præterfluere sinere."

:

Madame de Staël accounts upon the same principle for the gratification we derive from rhyme : "Elle est l'image de l'espérance et du souvenir. Un son nous fait désirer celui qui doit lui répondre, et quand le second retentit il nous rappelle celui qui vient de nous échapper."

When Memory links the tone that is gone With the blissful tone that's still in the ear; And Hope from a heavenly note flies on

To a note more heavenly still that is near.

The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me,
Can as downy soft and as yielding be

As his own white plume, that high amid death
Through the field has shone-yet moves with a breath!
And, oh, how the eyes of Beauty glisten,

When Music has reach'd her inward soul,

Like the silent stars, that wink and listen
While Heaven's eternal melodies roll.

So, hither I come

From my fairy home,

And if there's a magic in Music's strain,
I swear by the breath

Of that moonlight wreath,

Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again.

'Tis dawn—at least that earlier dawn,

Whose glimpses are again withdrawn*,

"The Persians have two mornings, the Soobhi Kazim

As if the morn had wak'd, and then

Shut close her lids of light again.
And NOURMAHAL is up, and trying

The wonders of her lute, whose strings—
Oh, bliss!—now murmur like the sighing
From that ambrosial Spirit's wings.

And then, her voice-'tis more than human — Never, till now, had it been given

To lips of any mortal woman

To utter notes so fresh from heaven; Sweet as the breath of angel sighs,

When angel sighs are most divine.— "Oh! let it last till night," she cries, "And he is more than ever mine."

and the Soobhi Sadig, the false and the real day-break. They account for this phenomenon in a most whimsical manner. They say that as the sun rises from behind the Kohi Qaf (Mount Caucasus), it passes a hole perforated through that mountain, and that darting its rays through it, it is the cause of the Soobhi Kazim, or this temporary appearance of daybreak. As it ascends, the earth is again veiled in darkness, until the sun rises above the mountain, and brings with it the Soobhi Sadig, or real morning." Scott Waring. He thinks Milton may allude to this, when he says,

"Ere the blabbing Eastern scout,
The nice morn on the Indian steep
From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.”

And hourly she renews the lay,

So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness Should, ere the evening, fade away,

For things so heavenly have such fleetness! But, far from fading, it but grows

Richer, diviner as it flows;

Till rapt she dwells on every string,
And pours again each sound along,
Like echo, lost and languishing,

In love with her own wondrous song.

That evening, (trusting that his soul
Might be from haunting love releas'd

By mirth, by music, and the bowl,)
The' Imperial SELIM held a feast
In his magnificent Shalimar *

In whose Saloons, when the first star

* "In the centre of the plain, as it approaches the Lake, one of the Delhi Emperors, I believe Shah Jehan, constructed a spacious garden called the Shalimar, which is abundantly stored with fruit-trees and flowering shrubs. Some of the rivulets which intersect the plain are led into a canal at the back of the garden, and flowing through its centre, or occasionally thrown into a variety of water-works, compose the chief beauty of the Shalimar. To decorate this spot the Mogul Princes of India have displayed an equal magnificence

Of evening o'er the waters trembled,
The Valley's loveliest all assembled;
All the bright creatures that, like dreams,
Glide through its foliage, and drink beams
Of beauty from its founts and streams *;
And all those wandering minstrel-maids,
Who leave-how can they leave? —the shades
Of that dear Valley, and are found

Singing in gardens of the South†

and taste; especially Jehan Gheer, who, with the enchanting Noor Mahl, made Kashmire his usual residence during the summer months. On arches thrown over the canal are erected, at equal distances, four or five suites of apartments, each consisting of a saloon, with four rooms at the angles, where the followers of the court attend, and the servants prepare sherbets, coffee, and the hookah. The frame of the doors of the principal saloon is composed of pieces of a stone of a black colour, streaked with yellow lines, and of a closer grain and higher polish than porphyry. They were taken, it is said, from a Hindoo temple, by one of the Mogul princes, and are esteemed of great value."- Forster.

* "The waters of Cachemir are the more renowned from its being supposed that the Cachemirians are indebted for their beauty to them."— Ali Yezdi.

"From him I received the following little Gazzel, or Love Song, the notes of which he committed to paper from the voice of one of those singing girls of Cashmere, who wander from that delightful valley over the various parts of India.”— Persian Miscellanies.