creed of the Hindoos. Feizi, having complied with his desire, returned to the sultan, who, touched with his story, respected his oath, and forebore to insist on his translating the sacred books, although that had been the object of his stratagem. The sultan Akbar was a liberal thinker, and was anxious to attain truth, but gave offence to his Mohammedan subjects by the favour he shewed to the Hindoos, * Spring. 'Tis spring-a hundred hopes are rife ; Dews are sparkling as they fall; The rose, expanding into life, Offers Gemsheid's cup to all. Drops of rain that kiss the earth, From the sun derive their birth. See the blossoms, pale till now, Warm and blush in ev'ry beam, Till with varied hues they glow, And like flashing jewels gleam. Rays are pouring on each flow'r, The hyacinth, with waving tresses, Tender leaves rich verdure gain; Day of feasting, day of gladness! And her thorns the beams around her. In the thrall of love has bound her. Tell, O poet! in thy lay, What the ten-tongued lilies say; The events related in the following poem occurred A.D. 1606, A.H. 1015; and are related by Ferishta in his celebrated history, many of the materials for which he drew from Feizi, whose poetical work, the Mahabarit, contains the chronicles of the Hindoo princes. It may not be out of place to add what remains of the history of the heroine of this episode. His Chaja Aiass was a native of Western Tartary, and left his country to try his fortune in Hindostan. He was accompanied by his wife, and was overtaken in the desert by fatigue and hunger. In this lamentable situation a daughter was born to him. When the unfortunate family reached Lahore, the emperor Akbar kept his court there. Asiph Chan, one of his principal omrahs, was a relation to Aiass, and received him with great kindness; and, from one situation of trust to another, he became high treasurer of the empire in the space of a few years. desert-born was called Mehr-ul-Nissa, or the Sun of Women. As she grew up, she excelled all the women of the East in beauty, learning, and accomplishments. She was educated with the greatest care; and her genius aud acquirements soon became the theme of general conversation. She was witty, satirical, ambitious, lofty, and her spirit beyond control. It happened on one occasion that Selim, the princeroyal, came to visit her father. When the public entertainment was over, and all but the principal guests were withdrawn, and the wine brought, the ladies, according to custom, were introduced in their veils, Mehr-ul-Nissa had resolved to make a conquest of the prince. She exerted all her powers of pleasing; her dancing and singing enraptured him; and at length, as if by accident, she dropped her veil, and his heart became completely her own. Selim, distracted with love, applied to his father, the sultan, to assist him; but Akbar, aware that the hand of the dangerous beauty was already disposed of, refused to commit an act of tyranny; and, in despite of the despair of the prince, Mehr-ul-Nissa became the wife of her father's choice, Shere Afkun, a Turkomanian nobleman, of high lineage and great renown. The bridegroom, shortly after, disgusted with the insults and annoyances which he met with from the prince, left the court of Agra, and retired, with his wife, to Bengal, where he became governor of the district of Burdwan. When Selim succeeded his father, he recalled Shere; but he dared not so far outrage public opinion as to deprive the illustrious omrah of his wife. Shere was a man of exalted feeling, and very popular; his strength and valour rendered him remarkable, and his good qualities endeared him to the people. He had spent his youth in Persia; and had served with extraordinary renown Shah Ismail, the chief of the Suvi line. His original name was Asta Jillō; but having killed a lion, he was dignified with the title of Shere Afkun,-Destroyer of the Lion. Under the latter name, he obtained celebrity in India. He served in the wars of Akbar with extraordinary reputation; and at the taking of Sind displayed prodigies of valour. Selim, now called Jehangire, kept his court at Delhi when Shere returned. He vainly hoped that time had erased the memory of Mehr-ul-Nissa from the monarch's mind; and being of a noble and trusting disposition, he suspected no treachery. Jehangire, however, had resolved, if possible, to rid himself of his rival. On one occasion, when hunt, ing, he caused him to be exposed to a tiger. Shere defended himself against the beast in a manner described as perfectly miraculous, without weapons, and killed him. The sultan next laid a plot to have him trodden to death by an elephant; but he again escaped, having attacked the raging animal, and cut off its trunk. His house was after this beset by assassins, and he was in great peril, but once more succeeded in foiling his assailants. However, he at length fell a victim to the persevering cruelty of his rival; and, being drawn into an ambush, fell, pierced with six balls, after a fearful struggle, in which many of his murderers perished. Mehr-ul-Nissa's conduct on this occasion might give cause to suspect that her grief was not extreme. She gave out that her husband, being aware of the sultan's attachment to her, had commanded that, in case of his death, she should no longer resist his wishes, but surrender herself to him imme diately. She was accordingly conveyed with great care from Burdwan, where her unfortunate husband had again retired, hoping to live with her in peace, to Delhi, where she was received with every demonstration of respect and affection by the sultana mother. But an unforeseen disappointment awaited her; for, whether actuated by remorse or caprice, Jehangire, now that no impediment was in the way of his happiness, refused to see her, and she was shut up in one of the worst apartments of his seraglio, where four years were passed by the neglected beauty, in such poverty and necessity, that, in order to support herself, she was obliged to employ her talent in various works, which were so exquisite, that she obtained a quick sale for them amongst the ladies of Delhi and Agra. By this means she was enabled to repair and beautify her apartments; and she then clothed her attendants in the richest manner, retaining, however, herself, the simplest dress she could devise. Curiosity at length subdued the moody resolve of the sultan, and he resolved to see the singular being who, under whatever circumstances she appeared, commanded attention. He visited her apartments, where all he saw delighted him, but Mehr-ul-Nissa herself the most. He inquired why she made so great a difference in the costume of her slaves and her own? To which question she replied: "Those born to servitude must dress as it pleases those whom they serve: these are my servants; I alleviate their bondage by every means in my power. But I, that am your slave, O emperor of the Moghuls! must dress according to your pleasure, not my own." Charmed with the spirit of her answer, Jehangire at once forgot all his coldness; his former love returned in its most tender form; he resolved to compensate his indifference to the beautiful widow by loading her with riches and pomp. The very next day, a magnificent festival was prepared to celebrate their nuptials. Her name was changed by an edict into Noor-mâ-hal, the Light of the Harem.* All his former faand, vourites vanished before her; during the remainder of the reign of Jehangire, she bore the chief sway in She was afterwards called Noor-Jehân, Light of the World, and her name was joined to that of the emperor on the current coin. Who has not read with delight the poet Moore's exquisite description of this w al? all the affairs of the empire. She advanced all her family to the highest posts. Her numerous relatives poured in from Tartary, on hearing of the fortune of the house of Aiass. Her father, worthy as he was great, sustained his rank with dignity and virtue; her brothers also acquitted themselves in their several governments, much to the satisfaction of all parties; and no family ever rose so rapidly or so deservedly to honour, rank, and eminence, as that of Chaja Aiass and his desert-born. The lit-chi, a tree of China, of which it is recorded that, before the hand of man Yumiring sn innect Jenee ----·-aß it; but as soon as any one A task, a fearful task, must yet be done, Ere he the desert's path shall dare explore : His babe must sleep beneath yon tree -alone ! No parent's kiss shall ever wake her more. Some leaves he pluck'd-the only leaves that grew Upon that mound, so parch'd and desolate; These o'er the sleeping innocent he threw, Look'd not, nor turn'd, and left it to its fate. "My babe, thou wert a pearl too bright, For pitiless earth's unfriendly slight. He who first called thee forth, again Shall place thee in thy parent shell; There shalt thou slumber, free from pain, While guardian Peris watch thee well. Within our hearts, two living urns, Shall live thy mem'ry, blessed one! As the white water-lily turns Her silver petals to the moon, Though distance must their loves divide, And but his image gilds the tide." Oh, who shall tell what horror, what dismay Flash'd wildly from lost Zehra's haggard eye, When, toiling slowly on their devious way, Lest ought of evil should betide The cherish'd idol of her heart. She traced the father's features there, In that small tablet, pure and fair, Exulting in a mother's name; And, in her daughter, nursed the flame That burn'd, divided, yet the same. And has she lost that blessed one? How lost? Starved-left to beasts a prey! Was deed so fell by Aiass done? Her own beloved, her hope, her stay! Has mis'ry changed his heart to stone? My child, my child!" she shrieks. The desert wild Return'd in hollow yells, "Give back my child!" With flashing eye and rapid pace, Of hope or fear alike bereft, Flies Aiass, guided by the trace His courser's tott'ring steps had left, Along the deep and sandy way, Back where his poor deserted infant lay. But, coiled around it, peering in it To the closed eyes and tranquil face, Winding its dark rings on the ivory skin, A black snake holds it in his fell em To-day is giv'n to pleasure, To-day your counsels spare; The wine-cup and the fair. The dervish may be seen, I care not who the truth declare His eyes are on his charming fair, 典 Beside a fountain's brink a group res clined, Where waters sported with the morning wind; Trees threw their shadows broad and deep around, And grass, like em'ralds freshen'd all the All former care and future toil forgot, Rich musk from Khoten, gems and stuffs Bound o'er the desert sands to far Lahore. From climes remote, and diff'rent nations some, Amidst these arid tracks were bent to roam In search of pleasure, wand'ring from their home. They sang their country's legends as they lay, And soothed with melody the devious way. One dark-eyed minstrel lured the curious throng, To list the Brahmin's sad, mysterious song. Lay of Brimha's Sorrow. Minstrel, wake the magic spell! Sing of love, its wonders tell ; Tell how it subdues the proud. Shall we blame weak man that falls, When thy glowing verse recalls How immortal natures bowed; Who shall say where love begins, Sing of Brimha, and the pain Born in awful mystery; Sometimes when the stars look dim, Brimha (or Wisdom) says the sacred book of the contempt shewn of his orders by the men he had created, Rudder (the Weeper), because he was produced in tears. before Brimha, and began to weep. Brimha afterwards woman named Kam (Love): she proceeded from his heart. fall in lows and being reproached by the ten men, he Hindoos, weeping for the produced a brown spirit called The brown spirit sat down created ten men, and one With this beautiful being conquered his passion and |