Even then, her presence had the power
To sooth, to warm-nay, even to bless-
If ever bliss could graft its flower
On stem so full of bitterness-
Even then her glorious smile to me
Brought warmth and radiance, if not balm;
Like moonlight o'er a troubled sea,

Brightening the storm it cannot calm.

Oft, too, when that disheartening fear,
Which all who love, beneath yon sky,
Feel, when they gaze on what is dear-

The dreadful thought that it must die!
That desolating thought, which comes
Into men's happiest hours and homes;
Whose melancholy boding flings
Death's shadow o'er the brightest things,
Sicklies the infant's bloom, and spreads
The grave beneath young lovers' heads!
This fear, so sad to all-to me

Most full of sadness, from the thought
That I must still live on,' when she
Would, like the snow that on the sea
Fell yesterday, in vain be sought;
That heaven to me this final seal
Of all earth's sorrow would deny,
And I eternally must feel

The death-pang, without power to die!
Ev'n this, her fond endearments-fond
As ever cherish'd the sweet bond

"Twixt heart and heart-could charm away;
Before her look no clouds would stay,
Or, if they did, their gloom was gone,
Their darkness put a glory on!
But 'tis not, 'tis not for the wrong,
The guilty, to be happy long;
And she, too, now, had sunk within
The shadow of her tempter's sin,
Too deep for ev'n Omnipotence
To snatch the fated victim thence!

Listen, and, if a tear there be

Left in your hearts, weep it for me.

"Twas on the evening of a day,
Which we in love had dreamt away;
In that same garden, where-the pride
Of seraph splendor laid aside,

And those wings furl'd, whose open light
For mortal gaze were else too bright-
I first had stood before her sight,

And found myself-oh, ecstasy,
Which even in pain I ne'er forget-

1 Pococke, however, gives it as the opinion of the Mahometan doctors, that all souls, not only of men and of animals,

Worshipp❜d as only God should be, And loved as never man was yet! In that same garden were we now, Thoughtfully side by side reclining, Her eyes turn'd upward, and her brow With its own silent fancies shining.

It was an evening bright and still

As ever blush'd on wave or bower, Smiling from heaven, as if naught ill

Could happen in so sweet an hour. Yet, I remember, both grew sad

In looking at that light-even she, Of heart so fresh, and brow so glad,

Felt the still hour's solemnity, And thought she saw, in that repose, The death-hour not alone of light, But of this whole fair world-the close Of all things beautiful and bright— The last, grand sunset, in whose ray Nature herself died calm away!

Little did she, alas, or I

Ev'n I, whose soul, but half-way yet Immerged in sin's obscurity

Was as the earth whereon we lie,

O'er half whose disk the sun is setLittle did we foresee the fate,

The dreadful-how can it be told? Such pain, such anguish to relate

Is o'er again to feel, behold!

But, charged as 'tis, my heart must speak
Its sorrow out, or it will break!
Some dark misgivings had, I own,

Pass'd for a moment through my breast-
Fears of some danger, vague, unknown,
To one, or both-something unbless'd
To happen from this proud request.
But soon these boding fancies fled;

Nor saw I aught that could forbid My full revealment, save the dread Of that first dazzle, when, unhid, Such light should burst upon a lid Ne'er tried in heaven ;-and even this glare She might, by love's own nursing care, Be, like young eagles, taught to bear. For well I knew, the lustre sheċ From Cherub wings, when proudlier spread, Was, in its nature, lambent, pure,

And innocent as is the light

The glow-worm hangs out to allure

Her mate to her green bower at night. Oft had I, in the mid-air, swept Through clouds in which the lightning slept, As in its lair, ready to spring,

Yet waked it not-though from my wing

A thousand sparks fell glittering!

Oft too when round me from above

The feather'd snow, in all its whiteness, Fell, like the moultings of heaven's Dove,'So harmless, though so full of brightness, Was my brow's wreath, that it would shake From off its flowers each downy flake As delicate, unmelted, fair, And cool as they had lighted there.

Nay ev'n-with LILIS-had I not

Around her sleep all radiant beam'd, Hung o'er her slumbers, nor forgot

To kiss her eyelids, as she dream'd?

1 The Dove, or pigeon which attended Mahomet as his Familiar, an' was frequently seen to whisper in his ear, was, if I recollec right, one of that select number of animals (including also the ant of Solomon, the dog of the Seven Sleepers, &c.) which were thought by the Prophet worthy of admission into Paradise.

"The Moslems have a tradition that Mahomet was saved

(when he hid himself in a cave in Mount Shur) by his pursuers finding the mouth of the cave covered by a spider's web, and a nest built by two pigeons at the entrance, with two eggs unbroken in it, which made them think no one could have entered it. In consequence of this, they say, Mahomet enjoined his followers to look upon pigeons as sacred, and never to kill a spider."-Modern Universal History, vol 1.

And yet, at morn, from that repose,
Had she not waked, unscathed and bright,
As doth the pure, unconscious rose,
Though by the fire-fly kiss'd all night?

Thus having-as, alas, deceived
By my sin's blindness, I believed-
No cause for dread, and those dark eyes
Now fix'd upon me, eagerly

As though th' unlocking of the skies

Then waited but a sign from me-
How could I pause? how ev'n let fall
A word, a whisper that could stir
In her proud heart a doubt, that all
I brought from heaven belong'd to her.
Slow from her side I rose, while she
Arose, too, mutely, tremblingly,
But not with fear-all hope, and pride,
She waited for the awful boon,
Like priestesses, at eventide,

Watching the rise of the full moon, Whose light, when once its orb hath shone, "Twill madden them to look upon!

Of all my glories, the bright crown,

Which, when I last from heaven came down,
Was left behind me, in yon star

That shines from out those clouds afar,-
Where, relic sad, 'tis treasured yet,
The downfallen angel's coronet!-
Of all my glories, this alone

Was wanting:-but th' illumined brow,
The sun-bright locks, the eyes that now
Had love's spell added to their own,
And pour'd a light till then unknown ;-
Th' unfolded wings, that, in their play,
Shed sparkles bright as ALLA's throne;
All I could bring of heaven's array,

Of that rich panoply of charms
A Cherub moves in, on the day
Of his best pomp, I now put on;
And, proud that in her eyes I shone

Thus glorious, glided to her arms;
Which still (though, at a sight so splendid,
Her dazzled brow had, instantly,
Sunk on her breast) were wide extended
To clasp the form she durst not see!1
Great Heaven! how could thy vengeance light
So bitterly on one so bright?

How could the hand, that gave such charms,
Blast them again, in love's own arms?
Scarce had I touch'd her shrinking frame
When-oh most horrible !-I felt

1 "Mohammed, (says Sale,) though a prophet, was not able to bear the sight of Gabriel, when he appeared in his proper form, much ess would others be able to support it."

That every spark of that pure flame

Pure, while among the stars I dweltWas now, by my transgression, turn'd Into gross, earthly fire, which burn'd, Burn'd all it touch'd, as fast as eye

Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes; Till there-oh God, I still ask why Such doom was hers?-I saw her lie Blackening within my arms to ashes! That brow, a glory but to see

Those lips, whose touch was what the first Fresh cup of immortality

Is to a new-made angel's thirst!
Those clasping arms, within whose round-
My heart's horizon-the who bound
Of its hope, prospect, heaver was found!
Which, even in this dread moment, fond

As when they first were round me cast,
Loosed not in death the fatal bond,

But, burning, held me to the last!
All, all, that, but that morn, had seem'd
As if Love's self there breathed and beam'¿
Now, parch'd and black, before me lay,
Withering in agony away;

And mine, oh misery! mine the flame,
From which this desolation came ;-
I, the cursed spirit, whose caress

Had blasted all that loveliness!

'Twas maddening!-but now hear even worse— Had death, death only, been the curse

I brought upon her-had the doom
But ended here, when her young bloom
Lay in the dust-and did the spirit
No part of that fell curse inherit,

"Twere not so dreadful-but, come near-
Too shocking 'tis for earth to hear-
Just when her eyes, in fading, took

Their last, keen, agonized farewell,
And look'd in mine with-oh, that look!
Great vengeful Power, whate'er the hell
Thou mayst to human souls assign,
The memory of that look is mine!—

In her last struggle, on my brow
Her ashy lips a kiss impress'd,

So withering!-I feel it now

"Twas fire--but fire, ev'n more unbless'd Than was my own, and like that flame, The angels shudder but to name,

Hell's everlasting element !

Deep, deep it pierced into my brain,

Madd'ning and torturing as it went;

And here-mark here, the brand, the stain

It left upon my front-burnt in

By that last kiss of love and sin

A brand, which all the pomp and pride Of a fallen Spirit cannot hide!

But is it thus, dread Providence

Can it, indeed, be thus, that she,
Who, (but for one proud, fond offence,)
Had honor'd heaven itself, should be
Now doom'd-I cannot speak it-no,
Merciful ALLA! 'tis not so-
Never could lips divine have said
The fiat of a fate so dread.

And yet, that look-so deeply fraught

With more than anguish, with despairThat new, fierce fire, resembling naught

In heaven or earth-this scorch I bear!Oh-for the first time that these knees

Have bent before thee since my fall, Great Power, if ever thy decrees

Thou couldst for prayer like mine recall, Pardon that spirit, and on me,

On me, who taught her pride to err,
Shed out each drop of agony

Thy burning vial keeps for her!
See, too, where low beside me kneel
Two other outcasts, who, though gone
And lost themselves, yet dare to feel

And pray for that poor mortal one.
Alas, too well, too well they know
The pain, the penitence, the wo
That Passion brings upon the best,
The wisest, and the loveliest.-
Oh, who is to be saved, if such

Bright, erring souls are not forgiven;
So loath they wander, and so much
Their very wand'rings lean towards heaven!
Again, I cry, Just Power, transfer

That creature's sufferings all to me-
Mine, mine the guilt, the torment be,
To save one minute's pain to her,
Let mine last all eternity!"

He paused, and to the earth bent down
His throbbing head; while they, who felt
That agony as 'twere their own,

Those angel youths, beside him knelt,
And, in the night's still silence there,
While mournfully each wand'ring air
Play'd in those plumes, that never more
To their lost home in heaven must soar,
Breathed inwardly the voiceless prayer,
Unheard by all but Mercy's ear-
And which if Mercy did not hear,
Oh, God would not be what this bright
And glorious universe of His,
This world of beauty, goodness, light,

And endless love, proclaims He is !

Not long they knelt, when, from a wood
That crown'd that airy solitude,
They heard a low, uncertain sound,
As from a lute, that just had found
Some happy theme, and murmur'd round
The new-born fancy, with fond tone,
Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own!
Till soon a voice, that match'd as well
That gentle instrument, as suits
The sea-air to an ocean-shell,

(So kin its spirit to the lute's,) Tremblingly follow'd the soft strain, Interpreting its joy, its pain,

And lending the light wings of words To many a thought, that else had lain Unfledged and mute among the chords.

All started at the sound-but chief

The third young Angel, in whose face,
Though faded like the others, grief

Had left a gentler, holier trace;
As if, even yet, through pain and ill,
Hope had not fled him-as if still
Her precious pearl, in sorrow's cup,
Unmelted at the bottom lay,
To shine again, when, all drunk up,

The bitterness should pass away.
Chiefly did he, though in his eyes
There shone more pleasure than surprise,
Turn to the wood, from whence that sound
Of solitary sweetness broke;
Then, listening, look delighted round

To his bright peers, while thus it spoke :"Come, pray with me, my seraph love,

"My angel-lord, come pray with me; "In vain to-night my lip hath strove "To send one holy prayer above"The knee may bend, the lip may move, "But pray I cannot, without thee! "I've fed the altar in my bower

"With droppings from the incense tree; "I've shelter'd it from wind and shower, "But dim it burns the livelong hour, "As if, like me, it had no power

"Of life or lustre, without thee!

"A boat at midnight sent alone

"To drift upon the moonless sea, "A lute, whose leading chord is gone, "A wounded bird, that hath but one "Imperfect wing to soar upon,

"Are like what I am, without thee!

"Then ne'er, my spirit-love, divide,

"In life or death, thyself from me;

"But when again, in sunny pride, "Thou walk'st through Eden, let me glide, "A prostrate shadow, by thy side

"Oh happier thus than without thee!"

The song had ceased, when, from the wood
Which, sweeping down that airy height,
Reach'd the lone spot whereon they stood-

There suddenly shone out a light
From a clear lamp, which, as it blazed,
Across the brow of one, who raised
Its flame aloft, (as if to throw
The light upon that group below,)
Display'd two eyes, sparkling between
The dusky leaves, such as are seen
By fancy only, in those faces,

That haunt a poet's walk at even,
Looking from out their leafy places

Upon his dreams of love and heaven.
"Twas but a moment-the blush, brought
O'er all her features at the thought
Of being seen thus, late, alone,

By any but the eyes she sought,

Had scarcely for an instant shone

Through the dark leaves, when she was gone

Gone, like a meteor that o'erhead Suddenly shines, and, ere we've said, "Behold, how beautiful!"-'tis fled.

Yet, ere she went, the words, "I come,
"I come, my NAMA," reach'd her ear,
In that kind voice, familiar, dear,
Which tells of confidence, of home,-

Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near,
Till they grow one,-of faith sincere,
And all that Love most loves to hear;
A music, breathing of the past,

The present, and the time to be,
Where Hope and Memory, to the last,

Lengthen out life's true harmony!

1 Seth is a favorite personage among the Orientals, and acts a conspicuous part in many of their most extravagant romances. The Syrians pretended to have a Testament of this Patriarch in their possession, in which was explained the whole theology of angels, their different orders, &c. &c. The Curds, too, (as Hyde mentions in his Appendix,) have a book, which contains all the rites of their religion, and which they call Sohuph Sheit, or the Book of Seth.

In the same manner that Seth and Cham are supposed to have preserved these memorials of antediluvian knowledge, Xixuthrus is said in Chaldæan fable to have deposited in Siparis, the city of the Sun, those monuments of science which he had saved out of the waters of a deluge.-See Jablonski's learned remarks upon these columns or tablets of Seth, which he supposes to be the same with the pillars of Mercury, or the Egyptian Thoth.-Pantheon. Egypt. lib. v., сар. 5.

The Mussulmans, says D'Ilerbelot, apply the general name, Mocarreboun, to all those Spirits "qui approchent le plus près le Trône." Of this number are Mikail and Gebrail.

The Seraphs stand3-this burning sign
Traced on their banner, "Love divine!”
Their rank, their honors, far above

Ev'n those to high-brow'd Cherubs given,
Though knowing all ;-so much doth love

Transcend all Knowledge, ev'n in heaven!

3 The Seraphim, or Spirits of Divine Love. There appears to be, among writers on the East, as well as among the Orientals themselves, considerable indecision with regard to the respective claims of Seraphim and Cherubim to the highest rank in the celestial hierarchy. The derivation which Hyde assigns to the word Cherub seems to determine the precedence in favor of that order of spirits:"Cherubim, i. e. Propinqui Angeli, qui sc. Deo proprius quam alii accedunt; nam Charab est i. q. Karab, appropinquare." (P. 263.) Al Beidawi, too, one of the commentators of the Koran, on that passage, "the angels, who bear the throne, and those who stand about it," (chap. xl.) says, "These are the Cherubim, the highest order of angels." On the other hand, we have seen, in a preceding note, that the Syrians place the sphere in which the Seraphs dwell at the very summit of all the celestial systems; and even, among Mahometans, the words Azazil and Mocarrehoun (which mean the spirits that stand nearest to the throne of Alla are indiscriminately applied to both Seraphim and Cheru bim.