Which, spell'd by her illumin'd eyes,
May teach her where, beneath the moon,

In earth or ocean, lies the boon,

The charm, that can restore so soon

An erring Spirit to the skies.

Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither;-
Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven,

Nor have the golden bowers of Even
In the rich West begun to wither;-
When, o'er the vale of BALBEC winging
Slowly, she sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild flowers singing,
As rosy and as wild as they ;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel flies,191
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers or flying gems:-
And, near the boy, who tir'd with play
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,

She saw a wearied man dismount

From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small imaret's rustic fount 192

Impatient fling him down to drink.

Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd
To the fair child, who fearless sat,

Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd

Upon a brow more fierce than that,Sullenly fierce-a mixture dire, Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire; In which the PERI's eye could read Dark tales of many a ruthless deed;

The ruin'd maid-the shrine profan'd

Oaths broken-and the threshold stain'd With blood of guests!-there written, all, Black as the damning drops that fall From the denouncing Angel's pen,

Ere Mercy weeps them out again.

Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening time
Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play:—
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance

Met that unclouded joyous gaze,

As torches that have burnt all night
Through some impure and godless rite,
Encounter morning's glorious rays.

But, hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,

Is rising sweetly on the air,

From SYRIA's thousand minarets!

The boy has started from the bed

Of flowers, where he had laid his head,

And down upon the fragrant sod

Kneels,193 with his forehead to the south,

Lisping the eternal name of God

From Purity's own cherub mouth,
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of Paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,

And seeking for its home again.

Oh! 'twas a sight-that Heaven—that child—

A scene, which might have well beguil'd

Even haughty EBLIS of a sigh

For glories lost and peace gone by!

And how felt he, the wretched Man
Reclining there-while memory ran
O'er many a year of guilt and strife,
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting-place,

Nor brought him back one branch of grace!
There was a time," he said, in mild,
Heart-humbled tones-" thou blessed child!
When, young and haply pure as thou,
"I look'd and pray'd like thee-but now-"
He hung his head-each nobler aim,

And hope, and feeling, which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came
Fresh o'er him, and he wept-he wept!

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!

In whose benign, redeeming flow

Is felt the first, the only sense

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.

"There's a drop," said the PERI, that down from the moon

Falls through the withering airs of June

"Upon EGYPT'S land, 194 of so healing a power,

66

So balmy a virtue, that e'en in the hour

"The drop descends, contagion dies,

And health re-animates earth and skies!

Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin,