But hear me, Priestess !-thougn each nymph of these | Must he too, glorious as he is, be driven
Hath some peculiar practised power to please,
Some glance or step, which, at the mirror tried,
First charms herself, then all the world beside;
There still wants one to make the victory sure,
One, who in every look joins every lure;
Through whom all beauty's beams concenter'd pass,
Dazzling and warm, as through love's burning-glass;
Whose gentle lips persuade without a word,
Whose words, ev'n when unmeaning, are ador'd,
Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine,
Which our faith takes for granted are divine!
Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and light,
To crown the rich temptations of to-night;
Such the refined enchantress that must be
This Hero's vanquisher, and thou art she!"
With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart and pale,
The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil
From whence these words, like south-winds through
Of Kerzrah flow'rs, came filled with pestilence :'
So boldly utter'd too! as if all dread
of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled,
And the wretch felt assur'd, that once plung'd in,
Her woman's soul would know no pause in sin!
At first, though mute she listen'd, like a dream
Seem'd all he said; nor could her mind, whose beam
As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme.
But when, at length, he utter'd "Thou art she!"
All flash'd at once, and, shrieking piteously,
A renegade like me from Love and Heaven;
Like me?-weak wretch, I wrong him-not like me;
No-he's all truth, and strength, and purity!
Fill up your madd'ning hell-cup to the brim,
Its witchery, fiends, will have no charm for him.
Let loose your glowing wantons from their bowers.
He loves, he loves, and can defy their powers!
Wretch as I am, in his heart still I reign
Pure as when first we met, without a stain!
Though ruin'd-lost-my memory, like a charm
Left by the dead, still keeps his soul from harm.
Oh! never let him know how deep the brow
He kiss'd at parting is dishonour'd now-
Ne'er tell him how debas'd, how sunk is she,
Whom once he lov'd-once!-still loves dotingly.
Thou laugh'st, tormentor,-what!--thoul't brand my
name?
Do, do—in vain-he'll not believe my shame--
He thinks me true, that nought beneath God's sky
Could tempt or change me, and-so once thought 1.
But this is past-though worse than death my lot,
Than hell-'tis nothing, while he knows it not.
Far off to some benighted land I'll fly,
Where sunbeam ne'er shall enter till I die;
Where none will ask the lost one whence she came
But I may fade and fall without a name!
And thou-curst man or fiend, whate'er thou art,
Who found'st this burning plague-spot in my heart,
And spread'st it-oh, so quick!—thro' soul and frame
With more than demon's art, till I became
"Oh not for worlds!" she cried-"Great God! to A loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame!
I once knelt innocent, is this my doom?
Are all my dreams, my hopes of heavenly bliss,
My purity, my pride, then come to this,-
To live, the wanton of a fiend! to be
The pander of his guilt-oh, infamy!
And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep
In its hot flood, drag others down as deep!
Others ?-ha! yes-that youth who came to-day-
Not him I lov'd-not him-oh! do but say,
But swear to me this moment 'tis not he,
And I will servé, dark fiend! will worship, even thee!"
'Beware, young raving thing!-in time beware, Nor utter what I cannot, must not bear
Ev'n from thy lips. Go-try thy lute, thy voice;
The boy must feel their magic-I rejoice
To see those fires, no matter whence they rise,
Once more illuming my fair Priestess' eyes;
"Hold, fearless maniac, hold,
Nor tempt my rage-by Heav'n, not half so bold
The puny bird that dares with teazing hum
Within the crocodile's stretch'd jaws to come.'—
And so thou'lt fly, forsooth ?-what, give up all
Thy chaste dominions in the Haram hall,
Where now to Love, and now to ALLA given,
Half mistress and half saint, thou hang'st as even
As doth MEDINA's tomb, 'twixt hell and heaven!
Thou'lt fly?-as easily may reptiles run,
The gaunt snake once hath fix'd his eyes upon;
As easily, when caught, the prey may be
Pluck'd from his loving folds, as thou from me.
No, no, 'tis fix'd-let good or ill betide,
Thou'rt mine till death, till death MOKANNA's bride!
Hast thou forgot thy oath ?"-
And should the youth, whom soon those eyes shall The maid, whose spirit his rude taunts had stirr'd
Indeed resemble thy dead lover's form,
So much the happier wilt thou find thy doom,
As one warm lover, full of life and bloom,
Excels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb.-
Nay, nay, no frowning, sweet! those eyes were made
For love, not anger-I must be obey'd."
'Obey'd!-'tis well-yes, I deserve it all-
On me, on me Heav'n's vengeance cannot fall
Too heavily-but AZIM, brave and true,
And beautiful-must he be ruin'd too?
1 "It is commonly said in Persia, that if a man breathe in the hot south-wind, which in June or July passes over that flower, [the Kerzerah,] it will kill him." " Thevenot.
Through all its depths, and rous'd an anger there,
That burst and lighten'd ev'n through her despair!-
Shrunk back, as if a blight were in the breath
That spoke that word, and stagger'd, pale as death.
"Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in bowers
The bridal place-the charnel vault was ours!
Instead of scents and balms, for thee and me
Rose the rich steams of sweet mortality ;-
Gay flickering death-lights shone while we were wed,
And, for our guests, a row of goodly dead,
1 The ancient story concerning the Trochilus, or bumming bird, entering with impunity into the mouth of the crocodile, is firmly believed at Java. Barrow's Cochin
(Immortal spirits in their time, no doubt,)
From reeking shrouds, upon the rite look'd out!
introduced, and FADLADEEN, who could never make up his mind as to the merits of a poet, till he knew
That oath thou heardst more lips than thine repeat-the religious sect to which he belonged, was about
to ask him whether he was a Shia or a Sooni, when LALLA ROOKH impatiently clapped her hands for silence, and the youth, being seated upon the musnud near her, proceeded:
That cup-thou shudderest, lady—was it sweet?
That cup we pledg'd, the charnel's choicest wine,
Hath bound thee-aye-body and soul all mine;
Bound thee by chains, that, whether blest or curst
No matter now, not hell itself shall burst!-
Hence, woman, to the Haram, and look gay,
Look wild, look-any thing but sad;-yet stay-
One moment more-from what this night hath pass'd,
I see that thou know'st me, know'st me well at last.
Ha ha! and so, fond thing, thou thought'st all true,
And that I love mankind!--I do, I do-
As victims, love them; as the sea-dog doats
Upon the small sweet fry that round him floats;
Or as the Nile-bird loves the slime that gives
That rank and venomous food on which she lives!!
And, now thou see'st my soul's angelic hue,
'Tis time those features were uncurtain'd too;-
This brow, whose light-oh, rare celestial light!
Hath been reserv'd to bless thy favour'd sight!
These dazzling eyes, before whose shrouded might
Thou'st seen immortal man kneel down and quake-Now led against thee; and, let conquerors boast
Would that they were Heaven's lightnings for his sake!
But turn and look-then wonder, if thou wilt,
That I should hate, should take revenge, by guilt,
Upon the hand, whose mischief or whose mirth
Sent me thus maim'd and monstrous upon earth;
And on that race who, though more vile they be
Than mowing apes, are demi-gods to me!
Here, judge, if Hell with all its power to damn,
Can add one curse to the foul thing I am!"—
PREPARE thy soul, young AzIM! thou hast brav'd
The bands of GREECE, still mighty, though enslav'd,
Hast fac'd her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame,
Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame;
All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow,
But a more perilous trial waits thee now,-
Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes
From every land where woman smiles or sighs;
Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise
His black or azure banner in their blaze;
And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash
That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash,
To the sly, stealing splendours, almost hid,
Like swords half-sheath'd, beneath the downcast lid
Such, AZIM, is the lovely, luminous host
He rais'd his veil-the Maid turn'd slowly round,
Look'd at him-shriek'd—and sunk upon the ground.
Their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms
A young, warm spirit against beauty's charms,
Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall,
Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all.
Now, through the Harem chambers, moving lights
And busy shapes proclaim the toilet s rites ;-
From room to room the ready handmaids hie,
Some skill d to wreathe the turban tastefully,
Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade,
O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid,
Who, if between the folds but one eye shone,
Like SEBA's Queen could vanquish with that one :'
While some bring leaves of Henna to imbue
On their arrival, next night, at the place of encamp-The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue,2 ment, they were surprised and delighted to find the groves all round illuminated; some artists of Yamtcheou having been sent on previously for the purpose. On each side of the green alley, which led to the Royal Pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboowork were erected, representing arches, minarets, and towers, from which hung thousands of silken All is in motion; rings, and plumes, and pearls lanterns, painted by the most delicate pencils of Can-Are shining every where;-some younger girls ton. Nothing could be more beautiful than the leaves of the mango-trees and acacias, shining in the light of the bamboo scenery, which shed a lustre round as soft as that of the nights of Peristan.
So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem
Like tips of coral branches in the stream;
And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye,
To give that long, dark languish to the eye,'
Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to cull
From fair CIRCASSIA's vales, so beautiful.
Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds,
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads;
Gay creatures! sweet, though mournful 'tis to see
How each prefers a garland from that tree
And the dear fields and friendships far away.
The maid of INDIA, blest again to hold
In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold,
Thinks of the time, when, by the GANGES' flood,
Her little play-mates scatter'd many a bud
LALLA ROOKH, however, who was too much occu-Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day, pied by the sad story of ZELICA and her lover, to give a thought to any thing else, except, perhaps, him who related it, hurried on through this scene of splendour to her pavilion,-greatly to the mortification of the poor artists of Yamtcheou, and was followed with equal rapidity by the great Chamberlain, cursing, as he went, that ancient Mandarin, whose parental 1 "Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes." anxiety in lighting up the shores of the lake, where-Sol. Song.. his beloved daughter had wandered and been lost, was the origin of these fantastic Chinese illuminations. Without a moment's delay young FERAMORZ was
1 Circum easdem ripas [Nili, viz.] ales est Ibis. Ea serpentium populatur ova, gratissímamque ex his midis escam suis refert.-Solinus.
na, so that they resembled branches of coral."-Story of 2 "They tinged the ends of her fingers scarlet with HenPrince Futtun in Bahardanush.
3 "The women blacken the inside of their eyelids with a powder named the black Cohol."-Russel.
4 "The appearance of the blossoms of the gold-coloured Campac on the black hair of the Indian women, has supplied the Sanscrit Poets with many elegant allusions.-See Asiatic Researches vol. iv.
Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam
Just dripping from the consecrated stream;
While the young Arab, haunted by the smell
Of her own mountain-flowers, as by a spell,-
The sweet Elcaya,' and that courteous tree
Which bows to all who seek its canopy2—
Sees call'd up round her by these magic scents,
The well, the camels, and her father's tents;
Sighs for the home she left with little pain,
And wishes e'en its sorrows back again!
Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls,
Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls
Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound
From many a jasper fount, is heard around,
Young AZIM roams bewilder'd,-nor can guess
What means this maze of light and loneliness.
Here the way leads, o'er tesselated floors,
Or mats of CAIRO, through long corridors,
Where, rang'd in cassolets and silver urns,
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns;
And spicy rods, such as illume at night
The bowers of TIBET,' send forth odorous light,
Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road
For some pure Spirit to its blest abode !—
And here, at once, the glittering saloon
Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon;
Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays
In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays
High as th' enamell'd cupola which towers
All rich with arabesques of gold and flowers;
And the mosaic floor beneath shines through
The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew,
Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye,
That on the margin of the Red Sea lie.
Here too he traces the kind visitings
Of woman's love in those fair, living things
Of land and wave, whose fate,-in bondage thrown
For their weak loveliness-is like her own!
On one side, gleaming with a sudden grace
Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase
In which it undulates, small fishes shine,
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;
While, on the other, lattic'd lightly in
With odoriferous woods of CAMORIN,4
Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;-
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between
The crimson blossoms of the coral tree,"
In the warm isles of India's sunny sea:
Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, and the thrush
Of Indostan," whose holy warblings gush,
1 "A tree famous for its perfume, and common on the hills of Yemen."-Niebuhr.
2 Of the genus mimosa, "which droops its branches whenever any person approaches it, seeming as if it saluted
those who retire under its shade."-Niebuhr.
3 "Cloves are a principal ingredient in the composition of the perfumed rods, which men of rank keep constantly burning in their presence."-Turner's Tibet.
4" C'est d'où vient le bois d'aloes, que les Arabes appellent Oud Comari, et celui du sandal, qui s'y trouve en grande quantité."-D'Herbelot.
5"Thousands of variegated loories visit the coral trees." Barrow.
6 "In Mecca, there are quantities of blue pigeons, which none will affright or abuse, much less kill."-Pitt's Account of the Mahometans.
At evening, from the tall pagoda's top ;-
Those golden birds, that, in the spice-time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood,
And those that under Araby's soft sun
Build their high nests of budding cinnamon;2-
In short, all rare and beauteous things that fly
Through the pure element, here calmly lie
Sleeping in light, like the green birds' that dwell
In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel!
So on through scenes past all imagining,-
More like the luxuries of that impious King,*
Whom Death's dark Angel, with his lightning torch
Struck down and blasted even in Pleasure's porch,--
Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent,
Arm'd with Heaven's sword, for man's enfranchise
Young AZIM wander'd, looking sternly round;
His simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound,
But ill according with the pomp and grace
And silent lull of that voluptuous place!
"Is this, then," thought the youth, "is this the way
To free man's spirit from the deadening sway
Of worldly sloth;-to teach him, while he lives,
To know no bliss but that which virtue gives;
And when he dies, to leave his lofty name
A light, a land-mark on the cliffs of fame?
It was not so, land of the generous thought
And daring deed! thy godlike sages taught;
It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease,
Thy Freedom nurs'd her sacred energies;
Oh! not beneath th' enfeebling, withering glow
Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow,
With which she wreath'd her sword, when she would
dare
Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air
Of toil,--of temperance,—of that high, rare,
Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe
Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath!
Who, that surveys this span of earth we press,
This speck of life in time's great wilderness,
This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
The past, the future, two eternities!
Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare,
When he might build him a proud temple there,
A name, that long shall hallow all its space,
And be each purer soul's high resting-place?
But no--it cannot be that one, whom God
Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod,--
A Prophet of the truth, whose mission draws
Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane his cause
With the world's vulgar pomps-no, no-I see-
He thinks me weak-this glare of luxury
Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze
Of my young soul;-shine on, 'twill stand the blaze!"
1 Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutmeg season, come in flights from the southern Isles to India, and "the strength of the nutmeg," says Tavernier, "so intoxicates them, that they fall dead drunk to the earth."
2"That bird which liveth in Arabia, and buildeth its nest with cinnamon."-Brown's Vulgar Errors. 3 "The spirits of the martyrs will be lodged in the crops of green birds."-Gibbon, vol. ix. p. 421.
7 "The Pagoda Thrush is esteemned among the first choristers of India. It sits perched on the sacred Pagodas, and 4 Shedad, who made the delicious gardess of Irim, in from thence delivers its melodious song."-Pennant's Hin-imitation of Paradise, and was destroyed br ightning the dostan. I first time he attempted to enter them.
So thought the youth;-but, ev'n while he defied
The witching scene, he felt its witchery glide
Through every sense. The perfume, breathing round,
Like a pervading spirit ;--the still sound
Of falling waters, lulling as the song
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng
Around the fragrant NILICA, and deep
In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep!!
And music too-dear music! that can touch
Beyond all else the soul that loves it much-
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem
Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream;—
All was too much for him, too full of bliss:
The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this.
Soften'd, he sunk upon a couch, and gave
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid;—
He thought of ZELICA, his own dear maid,
And of the time, when, full of blissful sighs,
They sat and look'd into each other's eyes,
Silent and happy-as if God had given
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven!
"O my lov'd mistress! whose enchantments still
Are with me, round me, wander where I will—
It is for thee, for thee alone I seek
The paths of glory-to light up thy cheek
With warm approval-in that gentle look,
To read my praise, as in an angel's book,
And think all toils rewarded, when from thee
I gain a smile, worth immortality!
How shall I bear the moment, when restor'd
To that young heart where I alone am lord,
Though of such bliss unworthy, since the best
Alone deserve to be the happiest !-
When from those lips, unbreath'd upon for years,
I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears,
And find those tears warm as when last they started,
Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted!
Oh my own life!-why should a single day,
A moment, keep me from those arms away?"
While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze
Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies,
Each note of which but adds new, downy links
To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks.
He turns him tow'rd the sound, and, far away
Through a long vista, sparkling with the play
Of countless lamps,—like the rich track which Day
Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us;
So long the path, its light so tremulous ;—
He sees a group of female forms advance,
Some chain'd together in the mazy dance
By fetters, forg'd in the green sunny bowers,
As they were captives to the King of Flowers ;-
And some disporting round, unlink'd and free,
Who seem'd to mock their sister's slavery,
And round and round them still, in wheeling flight
Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night;
While others walk'd as gracefully along,
Their feet kept time, the very soul of song
From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill,
Or their own youthful voices, heavenlier still!
1 "My Pundits assure me that the plant before us [the Nilica] is their Sephalica, thus named because the bees are supposed to sleep on its blossoms."-Sir W. Jones.
And now they come, now pass before his eye,
Forms such as Nature moulds, when she would vie
With Fancy's pencil, and gave birth to things
Lovely beyond its fairest picturings!
Awhile they dance before him, then divide,
Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide
Around the rich pavilion of the sun,
Till silently dispersing, one by one,
Through many a path that from the chamber leads
To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads,
Their distant laughter comes upon the wind,
And but one trembling nymph remains behind-
Beck'ning them back in vain, for they are gone,
And she is left in all that light alone;
No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow,
In its young bashfulness more beauteous now;
But a light, golden chain-work round her hair,
Such as the maids of YEZD and SHIRAZ wear
From which, on either side, gracefully hung
A golden amulet, in th' Arab tongue,
Engraven o'er with some immortal line
From holy writ, or bard scarce less divine;
While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood,
Held a small late of gold and sandal-wood,
Which once or twice, she touch'd with hurried strain,
Then took her trembling fingers off again.
But when at length a timid glance she stole
At AZIM, the sweet gravity of soul
She saw through all his features calm'd her fear,
And, like a half-tam'd antelope, more near,
Though shrinking still, she came ;-then sat her down
Upon a musnud's' edge; and, bolder grown,
In the pathetic mode of ISFAHAN
Touch'd a preluding strain, and thus began:
There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER's stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
That bower and its music I never forget,
But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER? No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly
And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was
Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,
An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER! "Poor maiden!" thought the youth, "if thou wert sent,
With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment,
To wake unholy wishes in this heart,
Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art.
1 Musnuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for persons of distinction.
2 The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call their musical modes or Perdas by the names of different countries or cities; as, the mode of Isfahan, the mode of Irak, ote 3 A river which flows near the ruirs of Chilminar
For though thy lip should sweetly counsel wrong,
Those vestal eyes would disavow its song.
But thou hast breath'd such purity, thy lay
Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day,
And leads thy soul-if e'er it wander'd thence-
So gently back to its first innocence,
That I would sooner stop th' unchained dove,
When swift returning to its home of love,
And round its snowy wing new fetters twine,
Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine."
Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when, sparkling
through
The gently open'd curtains of light blue
That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes,
Peeping like stars through the blue evening skies,
Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair
That sat so still and melancholy there.-
And now the curtains fly apart, and in
From the cool air, 'mid showers of jessamine
Which those without fling after them in play,
Two lightsome maidens spring, lightsome as they
Who live in th' air on odours, and around
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground,
Chase one another in a varying dance
Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance,
Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit :-
While she, who sung so gently to the lute
Her dream of home, steals timidly away,
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,-
But takes with her from AzIM's heart that sigh
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain,
Creatures of light we never see again!
Around the white necks of the nymphs who danc'd,
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd
More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er
The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore;'
While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall
Of curls descending, bells as musical
As those that, on the golden-shafted trees
Of EDEN, shake in the Eternal Breeze,
Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet,
As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their feet!
At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreath'd
Within each other's arms; while soft there breath'd
Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs
Of moonlight flowers, music that seem'd to rise
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose;
And, as it swell'd again at each faint close,
The ear could track through all that maze of chords
And young sweet voices, these impassion'd words :-
A SPIRIT there is, whose fragrant sigh
Is burning now through earth and air; Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh, Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there!
His breath is the soul of flowers like these,
And his floating eyes-oh! they resemble
Blue water-lilies,' when the breeze
Is making the stream around them tremble!
Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power!
Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss!
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,
And there never was moonlight so sweet as this
By the fair and brave,
Who blushing unite,
Like the sun and the wave,
When they meet at night!
By the tear that shows
When passion is nigh,
As the rain-drop flows
From the heat of the sky!
By the first love-beat
Of the youthful heart,
By the bliss to meet,
And the pain to part!
By all that thou hast
To mortals given,
Which-oh! could it last,
This earth were heaven!
We call thee hither, entrancing Power!
Spirit of Love! Spirit of Bliss!
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour!
And there never was moonlight so sweet as this
Impatient of a scene, whose luxuries stole, Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, And where, 'midst all that the young heart loves most, Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost; The youth had started up and turn'd away From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay, To muse upon the pictures that hung round,Bright images, that spoke without a sound, And views, like vistas into fairy ground. But here again new spells came o'er his sense ;All that the pencil's mute omnipotence Could call up into life, of soft and fair, Of fond and passionate, was glowing there; Nor yet too warm, but touch'd with that fine art Which paints of pleasure but the purer part; Which knows ev'n Beauty when half-veil'd is best, Like her own radiant planet of the west, Whose orb when half retir'd looks loveliest ! There hung the history of the Genii-King, Trac'd through each gay, voluptuous wandering With her from SABA's bowers, in whose bright eyes He read that to be blest is to be wise ;'Here fond ZULEIKA' woos with open arms The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms, Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone, Wishes that heav'n and she could both be won!
1 "To the north of us, [on the coast of the Caspian, near 1 The blue lotos, which grows in Cashmere and in Badku] was a mountain which sparkled like diamonds, Persia. arising from the sea-glass and crystals, with which it 2 For the loves of King Solomon, [who was supposed to abounds."-Journey of the Russian Ambassador to Per-preside over the whole race of Genii] with Balkis, the sia, 1746, Queen of Sheba or Saba, see D' Herbelot, and the Notes on the Koran, chap. 2.
2 "To which will be added, the sound of the bells, hanging on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind proceeding from the throne of God, as often as the blessed wish for music."-Sale
3 The wife of Potiphar, thus named by the Orientals. Her adventure with the Patriarch Joseph is the subject of many of their poems and romances
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