And here MOHAMMED, born for love and guile,
Forgets the Koran in his Mary's smile ;-
Then beckons some kind angel from above
With a new text to consecrate their love!!

With rapid step, yet pleas'd and lingering eye,
Did the youth pass these pictur'd stories by,
And hasten'd to a casement, where the light
Of the calm moon came in, and freshly bright
The fields without were seen, sleeping as still
As if no life remain'd in breeze or rill.
Here paus'd he, while the music, now less near,
Breath'd with a holier language on his ear,
As though the distance and that heavenly ray
Through which the sounds came floating, took away
All that had been too earthly in the lay.
Oh! could he listen to such sounds unmov'd,
And by that light-nor dream of her he lov'd?
Dream on, unconscious boy! while yet thou may'st;
'Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste.
Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart,
Ere all the light, that made it dear, depart.
Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last,
Clear, beautiful, by nought of earth o'ercast;
Recall her tears, to thee at parting given,
Pure as they weep, if angels weep, in heaven!
Think in her own still bower she waits thee now,
With the same glow of heart and bloom of brow,
Yet shrin'd in solitude-thine all, thine only,
Like the one star above thee, bright and lonely!
Oh that a dream so sweet, so long enjoy'd,
Should be so sadly, cruelly destroy'd!

Put back the ringlets from her brow, and gaz'd
Upon those lids, where once such lustre blaz'd,
Ere he could think she was indeed his own,
Own darling maid, whom he so long had known
In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both;
Who, e'en when grief was heaviest-when loth
He left her for the wars-in that worst hour
Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night-flower,'
When darkness brings its weeping glories out,
And spreads its sighs like frankincense about!

"Look up my ZELICA-One moment show
Those gentle eyes to me, that I may know
Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone,
But there, at least, shines as it ever shone.
Come, look upon thy AZIM-one dear glance,
Like those of old, were heaven! whatever chance
Hath brought thee here, oh! 'twas a blessed one!
There-my sweet lids-they move-that kiss hath run
Like the first shoot of life through every vein,
And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again!
Oh the delight-now, in this very hour,

When, had the whole rich world been in my power
I should have singled out thee, only thee,
From the whole world's collected treasury-
To have thee here-to hang thus fondly o'er
My own best purest ZELICA once more!"

It was indeed the touch of those lov'd lips
Upon her eyes that chas'd their short eclipse,
And, gradual as the snow, at heaven's breath,
Melts off and shows the azure flowers beneath,
Her lids unclos'd, and the bright eyes were seen

The song is hush'd, the laughing nymphs are flown, Gazing on his,-not, as they late had been,
And he is left, musing of bliss, alone;—
Alone?-no, not alone-that heavy sigh,
That sob of grief, which broke from some one
Whose could it be?-alas! is misery found
Here, even here, on this enchanted ground?
He turns, and sees a female form, close veil'd,
Leaning, as if both heart and strength had fail'd,
Against a pillar near;-not glittering o'er
With gems and wreaths, such as the other wore,
But in that deep-blue melancholy dress,"
BOKHARA's maidens wear in mindfulness
Of friends or kindred, dead or far away;—
And such as ZELICA had on that day

Quick, restless, wild-but mournfully serene;
As if to lie, ev'n for that tranc'd minute,
nigh-So near his heart, had consolation in it;

He left her, when, with heart too full to speak,
He took away her last warm tears upon his cheek.

A strange emotion stirs within him,-more
Than mere compassion ever wak'd before;
Unconsciously he opes his arms, while she
Springs forward, as with life's last energy,
But, swooning in that one convulsive bound,
Sinks, ere she reach his arms, upon the ground;-

And thus to wake in his belov'd caress
Took from her soul one half its wretchedness.
But when she heard him call her good and pure,
Oh 'twas too much-too dreadful to endure !
Shuddering she broke away from his embrace,
And, hiding with both hands her guilty face,
Said, in a tone, whose anguish would have riven
A heart of very marble, "pure!-oh! heaven."-

That tone-those looks so chang'd-the withering

blight,

That sin and sorrow leave where'er they light-.
The dead despondency of those sunk eyes,
Where once, had he thus met her by surprise,
He would have seen himself, too happy boy!
Reflected in a thousand lights of joy;
And then the place, that bright unholy place,
Where vice lay hid beneath each winning grace
And charm of luxury, as the viper weaves

Her veil falls off-her faint hands clasp his knees-Its wily covering of sweet balsam-leaves;2-
"Tis she herself!-'tis ZELICA he sees!
But, ah, so pale, so chang'd-none but a lover
Could in that wreck of beauty's shrine discover
The once ador'd divinity! ev'n he
Stood for some moments mute, and doubtingly

1 The particulars of Mahomet's amour with Mary, the Coptic girl, in justification of which he added a new chapter to the Koran, may be found in Gagnier's Notes upon Abulfeda, r. 151.

9 "Deep-blue is their mourning colour."-Hanway.

All struck upon his heart, sudden and cold
As death itself;-it needs not to be told-
No, no-he sees it all, plain as the brand
Of burning shame can mark-whate'er the hand,

1 The sorrowful nyctanthes, which begins to spread its rich odour after sunset.

2 "Concerning the vipers, which Pliny says were frequent among the balsam-trees, I made very particular inquiry: several were brought me alive, both in Yambo and Jidda."-Bruce

years,

That could from heav'n and him such brightness sever,
'Tis done to heav'n and him she's lost for ever!
It was a dreadful moment; not the tears,
The lingering, lasting misery of
Could match that minute's anguish-all the worst
Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst,
Broke o'er his soul, and, with one crash of fate,
Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate!

"Oh! curse me not," she cried, as wild he toss'd His desperate hand tow'rds heav'n-"though I am lost,

Think not that guilt, that falsehood made me fall;
No, no 'twas grief, 'twas madness did it all!

Enough, that we are parted-that there rolls
A flood of headlong fate between our souls,
Whose darkness severs me as wide from thee
As hell from heav'n, to all eternity!"--

"ZELICA! ZELICA!" the youth exclaim'd,
In all the tortures of a mind inflam'd
Almost to madness-" by that sacred Heav'n,
Where yet, if pray'rs can move, thou'lt be forgiver,
As thou art here-here, in this writhing heart,
All sinful, wild, and ruin'd as thou art!
By the remembrance of our once pure love,
Which, like a church-yard light, still burns above
The grave of our lost souls-which guilt in thee

Nay, doubt me not-though all thy love hath ceas'd-Cannot extinguish, nor despair in me!

I know it hath-yet, yet believe, at least,
That every spark of reason's light must be
Quench'd in this brain, ere I could stray from thee!
They told me thou wert dead-why, Azım, why,
Did we not both of us that instant die

When we were parted?-oh, could'st thou but know
With what a deep devotedness of woe
I wept thy absence-o'er and o'er again
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,
And memory, like a drop, that, night and day,
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!
Didst thou but know how pale I sat at home,
My eyes still turn'd the way thou wert to come,
And, all the long, long night of hope and fear,
Thy voice and step still sounding in my ear-
Oh God! thou would'st not wonder, that, at last,
When every hope was all at once o'ercast,
When I heard frightful voices round me say
Azim is dead!-this wretched brain gave way,
And I became a wreck, at random driven,
Without one glimpse of reason or of Heaven-
All wild-and ev'n this quenchless love within
Turn'd to foul fires to light me into sin!
Thou pitiest me--I knew thou would'st-that sky
Hath nought beneath it half so lorn as I.
The fiend, who lur'd me hither-hist! come near,
Or thou too, thou art lost, if he should hear-
Told me such things-oh! with such dev'lish art,
As would have ruin'd ev'n a holier heart-
Of thee, and of that ever-radiant sphere,
Where, bless'd at length, if I but serv'd him here,
I should for ever live in thy dear sight,
And drink from those pure eyes eternal light!
Think, think how lost, how madden'd I must be,
To hope that guilt could lead to God or thee!
Thou weep'st for me-do, weep-oh! that I durst
Kiss off that tear! but, no-these lips are curst,
They must not touch thee;-one divine caress,
One blessed moment of forgetfulness

I've had within those arms, and that shall lie,
Shrin'd in my soul's deep memory till I die!
The last of joy's last relics here below,
The one sweet drop in all this waste of woe,
My heart has treasur'd from affection's spring,
To soothe and cool its deadly withering!
But thou-yes, thou must go-for ever go;
This place is not for thee-for thee! oh no:
Did I but tell thee half, thy tortur'd brain
Would burn like mine, and mine go wild again!
Enough, that Guilt reigns here-that hearts, once good,
Now tainted, chill'd and broken, are his food.

I do conjure, implore thee to fly hence-
If thou hast yet one spark of innocence,
Fly with me from this place.-

"With thee! oh bliss

'Tis worth whole years of torment to hear this.
What! take the lost one with thee ?—let her rove
By thy dear side, as in those days of love,
When we were both so happy, both so pure--
Too heavenly dream! if there's on earth a cure
For the sunk heart, 'tis this--day after day
To be the blest companion of thy way;-
To hear thy angel eloquence--to see
Those virtuous eyes for ever turn'd on me;
And in their light re-chasten'd silently,
Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun,
Grow pure by being purely shone upon!
And thou wilt pray for me--I know thou wilt-
At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt
Come heaviest o'er the heart, thou'lt lift thine eyes,
Full of sweet tears, unto the darkening skies,
And plead for me with Heav'n, till I can dare
To fix my own weak, sinful glances there ;-
Till the good angels, when they see me cling
For ever near thee, pale and sorrowing,
Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven,
And bid thee take thy weeping slave to heaven!
Oh yes, I'll fly with thee.-

Scarce had she said
These breathless words, when a voice, deep and dread
As that of MONKER, waking up the dead
From their first sleep-so startling 'twas to both-
Rung through the casement near, "Thy oath! thg
oath!"

Oh Heav'n, the ghastliness of that maid's look!-
""Tis he," faintly she cried, while terror shook
Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her eyes,
Though through the casement, now, nought but th
skies

And moonlight fields were seen, calm as before-
""Tis he, and I am his-all, all is o'er-
Go-fly this instant, or thou art ruin'd too-
My oath, my oath, oh God! 'tis all too true,
True as the worm in this cold heart it is-

I am MOKANNA's bride-his, AZIM, his.-
The Dead stood round us, while I spoke that vow.
Their blue lips echo'd it-I hear them now!
Their eyes glar'd on me, while I pledg'd that bowl,
'Twas burning blood-I feel it in my soul!
And the Veil'd Bridegroom-hist! I've seen to-night
What angels know not of-so foul a sight

So horrible-oh! may'st thou never see
What there lies hid from all but hell and me!
But I must hence-off, off-I am not thine,
Nor Heav'n's, nor Love's, nor aught that is divine-
Hold me not-ha!-think'st thou the fiends that sever
Hearts, cannot sunder hands ?—thus, then-for ever!"

With all that strength which madness lends the
weak,

She flung away his arm; and, with a shriek,-
Whose sound, though he should linger out more years
Than wretch e'er told, can never leave his ears,—
Flew up through that long avenue of light,
Fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of night,
Across the sun, and soon was out of sight.

LALLA ROOKH could think of nothing all day but the misery of these two young lovers. Her gaiety was gone, and she looked pensively even upon FADLADEEN. She felt too, without knowing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure in imagining that AZIM must have been just such a youth as FERAMORZ; just as worthy to enjoy all the blessings, without any of the pangs, of that illusive passion, which too often, like the sunny apples of Istkahar, is all sweetness on one side, and all bitterness on the other.

of a Princess, every thing was arranged as on the
preceding evening, and all listened with eagernes
while the story was thus continued :-

WHOSE are the gilded tents that crowd the way,
Where all was waste and silent yesterday?
This City of War, which, in a few short hours,
Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers
Of Him, who, in the twinkling of a star,
Built the high pillar'd halls of CHILMINAR,'
Had conjur'd up, far as the eye can see,
This world of tents, and domes, and sun-bright ar
mory!-

Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a fold
Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold;—
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun,
Their chains and poitrels glittering in the sun;
And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's shells,
Shaking in every breeze their light-ton'd bells!

But yester-eve, so motionless around,
So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound
But the far torrent, or the locust-bird2
Hunting among the thickets, could be heard ;-
Yet hark! what discords now, of every kind,
Shouts, laughs, and screams, are revelling in the wind'
The neigh of cavalry; the tinkling throngs
Of laden camels and their driver's songs ;-

Who leads this mighty army?-ask ye “who?”
And mark ye not those banners of dark hue,
The Night and Shadow, over yonder tent ?—

As they passed along a sequestered river after sun-Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze set, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank, Of streamers from ten thousand canopies ;whose employment seemed to them so strange, that War-music, bursting out from time to time they stopped their palankeens to observe her. She With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime ;had lighted a small lamp, filled with oil of cocoa, Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds are mute, and placing it in an earthen dish, adorned with a The mellow breathings of some horn or flute, wreath of flowers, had committed it with a trembling That, far off, broken by the eagle note hand to the stream, and was now anxiously watching Of th' Abyssinian trumpet,' swell and float? its progress down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. LALLA ROOKн was all curiosity:-when one of her attendants, who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges, It is the CALIPH's glorious armament. (where this ceremony is so frequent, that often, in the dusk of the evening, the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like the Oton-tala or Sea of Stars,) informed the Princess that it was the usual way in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe return. If the lamp sunk immediately, the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream, and continued to burn till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain.

Rous'd in his palace by the dread alarms,
That hourly came, of the false Prophet's arms,
And of his host of infidels, who hurl'd
Defiance fierce at Islam' and the world;—
Though worn with Grecian warfare, and behind
The veils of his bright palace calm reclin'd,
Yet brook'd he not such blasphemy should stain,
Thus unreveng'd, the evening of his reign;
But, having sworn upon the Holy Grave
To conquer or to perish, once more gave

1 The edifices of Chilminar and Balbec are supposed tc have been built by the Genii, acting under the orders of Jar ben Jan, who governed the world long before the time of Adam.

of the water of a fountain, between Shiraz and Ispahan,
2 A native of Khorassan, and allured southward by means
called the Fountain of Birds, of which it is so fond that it
will follow wherever that water is carried.
3 "This trumpet is often called in Abyssinia, nesser cano,
which signifies, The note of the Eagle."-Note of Bruce's
editor.

LALLA ROOKH, as they moved on, more than once looked back, to observe how the young Hindoo's lamp proceeded; and, while she saw with pleasure that it was still unextinguished, she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river. The remainder of the journey was passed in silence. She now, for the first time, felt that shade of melancholy, which comes over the youthful maiden's heart, as sweet and transient as her own breath upon a mirror; nor was it till she heard the lute of FERAMORZ, touched lightly at the door of her pavilion, that she waked from the reverie in which she had been wandering. Instantly her eyes were lighted up with pleasure, and, 6 "The Persians swear by the Tomb of Shah Besade, who is buried at Casbin; and when one desires another to after a few unheard remarks from FADLADEEN upon asservate a matter, he will ask him if he dare swear by the ⚫ne indecorum of a poet seating himself in presencel Holy Grave.”—Struy.

F

4 The two black standards borne before the Caliphs of the House of Abbas were called, allegorically, the Night and

the Shadow. See Gibbon.

5 The Mahometan Religion.