Religion's soften'd glories shine,

Like light through summer foliage stealing, Shedding a glow of such mild hue, So warm, and yet so shadowy too, As makes the very darkness there More beautiful than light elsewhere!

Such is the maid who, at this hour,
Hath risen from her restless sleep,
And sits alone in that high bower,
Watching the still and shining deep.

Ah! 'twas not thus,

And beating heart,

with tearful eyes

she us'd to gaze

On the magnificent earth and skies,

In her own land, in happier days. Why looks she now so anxious down Among those rocks, whose rugged frown Blackens the mirror of the deep?

Whom waits she all this lonely night?

Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep, For man to scale that turret's height !

So deem'd at least her thoughtful sire,
When high, to catch the cool night-air,

After the day-beam's withering fire, 3

3

He built her bower of freshness there, And had it deck'd with costliest skill,

And fondly thought it safe as fair: — Think, reverend dreamer! think so still,

Nor wake to learn what Love can dare —
Love, all-defying Love, who sees

No charm in trophies won with ease;
Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss
Are pluck'd on Danger's precipice!
Bolder than they, who dare not dive
For pearls, but when the sea's at rest,
Love, in the tempest most alive,

Hath ever held that pearl the best
He finds beneath the stormiest water!
Yes-ARABY's unrivall'd daughter,

Though high that tower, that rock-way rude,
There's one who, but to kiss thy cheek,

Would climb th' untrodden solitude

Of ARARAT'S tremendous peak, *

4

3 At Gombaroon and the Isle of Ormus it is sometimes so hot, that

the people are obliged to lie all day in the water.

Marco Polo.

4 This mountain is generally supposed to be inaccessible.

And think its steeps, though dark and dread,
Heav'n's path-ways, if to thee they led!
Ev'n now thou seest the flashing spray,
That lights his oar's impatient way; -
Ev'n now thou hear'st the sudden shock
Of his swift bark against the rock,
And stretchest down thy arms of snow,
As if to lift him from below!
Like her to whom, at dead of night,
The bridegroom, with his locks of light,
Came, in the flush of love and pride,
And scal'd the terrace of his bride;
When, as she saw him rashly spring,
And mid-way up in danger cling,

She flung him down her long black hair,
Exclaiming breathless, "There, love, there!"
And scarce did manlier nerve uphold

The hero ZAL in that fond hour,

5 In one of the books of the Shâh Nâmeh, when Zal (a celebrated hero of Persia, remarkable for his white hair) comes to the terrace of his mistress Rodahver at night, she lets down her long tresses to assist him in his ascent; - he, however, manages it in a less romantic way by fixing his crook in a projecting beam. v. Champion's Ferdosi.

Than wings the youth who fleet and bold
Now climbs the rocks to HINDA'S bower.

See

light as up their granite steeps

6

The rock-goats of ARABIA clamber, " Fearless from crag to crag he leaps,

And now is in the maiden's chamber.

She loves but knows not whom she loves,
Nor what his race, nor whence he came;
Like one who meets, in Indian groves,

Some beauteous bird, without a name,

Brought by the last ambrosial breeze,
From isles in the' undiscover'd seas,
To show his plumage for a day

To wondering eyes, and wing away

!

Will he thus fly - her nameless lover?

Alla forbid 'twas by a moon

As fair as this, while singing over

Some ditty to her soft Kanoon,"

6" On the lofty hills of Arabia Petræa are rock-goats."-Niebuhr.

'

7 Canun, espèce de psalterion, avec des cordes de boyaux; les dames en touchent dans le serrail, avec des décailles armées de pointes de coco." · Toderini, translated by De Cournand.

Alone, at this same witching hour,
She first beheld his radiant eyes

Gleam through the lattice of the bower,
Where nightly now they mix their sighs;
And thought some spirit of the air

(For what could waft a mortal there ?)
Was pausing on his moonlight way
To listen to her lonely lay!

This fancy ne'er hath left her mind :

And though, when terror's swoon had past,

She saw a youth, of mortal kind,

Before her in obeisance cast,

Yet often since, when he hath spoken

Strange, awful words, -and gleams have broken

From his dark eyes, too bright to bear,
Oh! she hath fear'd her soul was given

To some unhallow'd child of air,

Some erring Spirit, cast from heaven,
Like those angelic youths of old,

Who burn'd for maids of mortal mould,
Bewilder'd left the glorious skies,

And lost their heaven for woman's eyes!