"Written in light o'er ALLA's head, "By seraph eyes shall long be read. "Of Eden moves not holier far "Than ev'n this sigh the boon must be "That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee." Now, upon SYRIA's land of roses 3 Softly the light of Eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted LEBANON ; Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, To one, who look'd from upper air 3 Richardson thinks that Syria had its name from Suri, a beauti ful and delicate species of rose for which that country has been al ways famous; hence, Suristan, the Land of Roses. Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks As they were all alive with light; And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks With their rich restless wings, that gleam With brilliants from the mine, or made Of tearless rainbows, such as span The' unclouded skies of PERISTAN ! 4 "The number of lizards I saw one day in the great court of the Temple of the Sun at Baalbec, amounted to many thousands; the ground, the walls, and stones of the ruined buildings, were covered with them."- Bruce. 5 The Syrinx or Pan's pipe is still a pastoral instrument in Syria.-Russel. Of the wild bees of PALESTINE, Banquetting through the flowery vales; And, JORDAN, those sweet banks of thine, And woods, so full of nightingales ! But nought can charm the luckless PERI; Yet haply there may lie conceal'd Beneath those Chambers of the Sun, Some amulet of gems, anneal'd The Temple of the Sun at Balbec. May teach her where, beneath the moon, In earth or ocean lies the boon, The charm, that can restore so soon, Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither; That flutter'd round the jasmine stems, And, near the boy, who tir'd with play Now nestling 'mid the roses lay, "You behold there a considerable number of a remarkable species of beautiful insects, the elegance of whose appearance and their attire procured for them the name of Damsels."-- Sonnini. She saw a wearied man dismount From his hot steed, and on the brink Of a small imaret's rustic fount 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, |