Was caught up by another lute,

And so divinely breath'd around,
That all stood hush'd and wondering,
And turn'd and look'd into the air,
As if they thought to see the wing

Of ISRAFIL 377, the Angel, there ;-
So powerfully on every soul

That new, enchanted measure stole.
While now a voice, sweet as the note
Of the charm'd lute, was heard to float

Along its chords, and so entwine

Its sounds with theirs, that none knew whether The voice or lute was most divine,

So wondrously they went together :

There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told,
When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie,
With heart never changing, and brow never cold,
Love on through all ills, and love on till they die!
One hour of a passion so sacred is worth

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss;
And, oh if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.

"T was not the air, 't was not the words,
But that deep magic in the chords
And in the lips, that gave such power
As Music knew not till that hour.
At once a hundred voices said,
"It is the mask'd Arabian maid !"
While SELIM, who had felt the strain
Deepest of any, and had lain
Some minutes rapt, as in a trance,
After the fairy sounds were o'er,

Too inly touch'd for utterance,

Now motion'd with his hand for more :

Fly to the desert, fly with me,

Our Arab tents are rude for thee;

But, oh the choice what heart can doubt, Of tents with love, or thrones without?

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
The' acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor lov'd the less
For flowering in a wilderness.

Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silvery-footed antelope

As gracefully and gaily springs

As o'er the marble courts of kings.

Then come- -thy Arab maid will be
The lov'd and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.

Oh there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,-
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought;

As if the very lips and eyes,
Predestin'd to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,

Sparkled and spoke before us then!

So came thy every glance and tone,

When first on me they breath'd and shone ;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if lov'd for years.

Then fly with me,-if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown

A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.

Come, if the love thou hast for me
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,-
Fresh as the fountain under ground,
When first 't is by the lapwing found. 378

But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipp'd image from its base,
To give to me the ruin'd place; -

Then, fare thee well-I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake

When thawing suns begin to shine,
Than trust to love so false as thine!

There was a pathos in this lay,

That, ev'n without enchantment's art,
Would instantly have found its way
Deep into SELIM's burning heart;
But, breathing, as it did, a tone
To earthly lutes and lips unknown;
With every chord fresh from the touch
Of Music's Spirit, 't was too much!
Starting, he dash'd away the cup,-
Which, all the time of this sweet air,
His hand had held, untasted, up,

As if 't were fix'd by magic there,And naming her, so long unnam'd, So long unseen, wildly exclaim'd, "Oh NOURMAHAL! oh NOURMAHAL ! "Hadst thou but sung this witching strain,

"I could forget-forgive thee all,

"And never leave those eyes again."

The mask is off-the charm is wrought-
And SELIM to his heart has caught,

In blushes, more than ever bright,
His NOURMAHAL, his Haram's Light!
And well do vanish'd frowns enhance
The charm of every brighten'd glance;
And dearer seems each dawning smile
For having lost its light awhile:
And, happier now for all her sighs,

As on his arm her head reposes,

She whispers him, with laughing eyes,

"Remember, love, the Feast of Roses!"

FADLADEEN, at the conclusion of this light rhapsody, took occasion to sum up his opinion of the young Cashmerian's poetry,- of which, he trusted, they had that evening heard the last. Having recapitulated the epithets, "frivolous"-"inharmonious "-"nonsensical," he proceeded to say that, viewing it in the most favourable light, it resembled one of those Maldivian boats, to which the Princess had alluded in the relation of her dream 379,- a slight, gilded thing, sent adrift without rudder or ballast, and with nothing but vapid sweets and faded flowers on board. The profusion, indeed, of flowers and birds, which this poet had ready on all occasions,not to mention dews, gems, &c. was a most oppressive kind of opulence to his hearers; and had the unlucky effect of giving to his style all the glitter of the flowergarden without its method, and all the flutter of the aviary without its song. In addition to this, he chose his subjects badly, and was always most inspired by the worst parts of them. The charms of paganism, the merits of rebellion, these were the themes honoured with his particular enthusiasm; and, in the poem just recited, one of his most palatable passages was in praise of that beverage of the Unfaithful, wine; -"being, perhaps," said he, relaxing into a smile, as conscious of his own character in the Haram on this point, "one of those bards, whose fancy owes all its illumination to the grape, like that painted porcelain 380, so curious and so rare, whose images are only visible when liquor is poured into it." Upon the whole, it was his opinion, from the specimens which they had heard, and which, he begged to say, were the most tiresome part of the journey, that -whatever other merits this well-dressed young gentleman might possess-poetry was by no means his proper avocation:" and indeed," concluded the critic, "from