While, on the other, latticed lightly in
With odoriferous woods of COMORIN,*
Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between
The crimson blossoms of the coral tree†
In the warm isles of INDIA's sunny sea:
MECCA'S blue sacred pigeon ‡, and the thrush
Of HINDOSTAN §, whose holy warblings gush,
At evening, from the tall pagoda's top;·
Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop
About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food ||
Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood, ¶
And those that under ARABY's soft sun

Build their high nests of budding cinnamon; ↓

*

"C'est d'où vient le bois d'aloes, que les Arabes appellent Oud Comari, et celui du sandal, qui s'y trouve en grande quantité.”D'HERBELOT.

t "Thousands of variegated loories visit the coral-trees." ― BAR

ROW.

"In Mecca there are quantities of blue pigeons, which none will affright or abuse, much less kill.” — PITT's Account of the Maho

metans.

§ "The Pagoda Thrush is esteemed among the first choristers of India. It sits perched on the sacred pagodas, and from thence delivers its melodious song." PENNANT'S Hindostan.

Tavernier adds, that while the Birds of Paradise lie in this intoxicated state, the emmets come and eat off their legs; and that hence it is they are said to have no feet.

Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutmeg season, come in flights from the southern isles to India; and "the strength of the nutmeg," says Tavernier, "so intoxicates them that they fall dead drunk to the earth."

"That bird which liveth in Arabia, and buildeth its nest with cinnamon." BROWN'S Vulgar Errors.

In short, all rare and beauteous things, that fly
Through the pure element, here calmly lie
Sleeping in light, like the green birds* that dwell
In EDEN's radiant fields of asphodel!

So on, through scenes past all imagining,
More like the luxuries of that impious King, †
Whom Death's dark Angel, with his lightning torch,
Struck down and blasted even in Pleasure's porch,

Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent,

Arm'd with Heav'n's sword, for man's enfranchisement-
Young AZIM wander'd, looking sternly round,
His simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound
But ill according with the pomp and grace
And silent lull of that voluptuous place.

"Is this, then," thought the youth, "is this the way "To free man's spirit from the deadening sway "Of worldly sloth,-to teach him while he lives, "To know no bliss but that which virtue gives, “And when he dies, to leave his lofty name "A light, a landmark on the cliffs of fame? "It was not so, Land of the generous thought "And daring deed, thy god-like sages taught; "It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease, Thy Freedom nurs'd her sacred energies;

"The spirits of the martyrs will be lodged in the crops of green birds."- GIBBON, vol. ix. p. 421.

† Shedad, who made the delicious gardens of Irim, in imitation of Paradise, and was destroyed by lightning the first time he attempted

to enter them.

"Oh! not beneath the' enfeebling, withering glow

"Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow,

"With which she wreath'd her sword, when she would

dare

"Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air

"Of toil, of temperance, of that high, rare, "Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe

"Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath. "Who, that surveys this span of earth we press, "This speck of life in time's great wilderness,

This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, "The past, the future, two eternities! "Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, "When he might build him a proud temple there, "A name, that long shall hallow all its space, "And be each purer soul's high resting-place. "But no it cannot be, that one, whom God "Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod, "A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws

"Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane its cause "With the world's vulgar pomps;-no, no,-I see

"He thinks me weak-this glare of luxury

"Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze

"Of my young soul-shine on, 't will stand the blaze!"

So thought the youth;-but, ev'n while he defied This witching scene, he felt its witchery glide Through ev'ry sense. The perfume breathing round, Like a pervading spirit;— the still sound

Of falling waters, lulling as the song

Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng

Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep

*

In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep;
And music, too-dear music! that can touch
Beyond all else the soul that loves it much-
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem
Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream;
All was too much for him, too full of bliss,
The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this;
Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid;
He thought of ZELICA, his own dear maid,
And of the time when, full of blissful sighs,
They sat and look'd into each other's eyes,
Silent and happy-as if God had given
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven.

"Oh, my lov'd mistress, thou, whose spirit still "Is with me, round me, wander where I will"It is for thee, for thee alone I seek

"The paths of glory; to light up thy cheek

"With warm approval — in that gentle look,

"To read my praise, as in an angel's book,
"And think all toils rewarded, when from thee
"I gain a smile worth immortality!

"How shall I bear the moment, when restor❜d

"To that young heart where I alone am Lord,

* 66 'My Pandits assure me that the plant before us (the Nilica) is their Sephalica, thus named because the bees are supposed to sleep on its blossom."— SIR W. JONES.

"Though of such bliss unworthy, since the best

-

"Alone deserve to be the happiest :—

"When from those lips, unbreathed upon for

"I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears,

years,

"And find those tears warm as when last they started, "Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted. "O my own life! — why should a single day, "A moment keep me from those arms away?"

While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, Each note of which but adds new, downy links To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. He turns him tow'rd the sound, and far away Through a long vista, sparkling with the play Of countless lamps,—like the rich track which Day Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us, So long the path, its light so tremulous ;He sees a group of female forms advance, Some chain'd together in the mazy dance By fetters, forg'd in the green sunny bowers, As they were captives to the King of Flowers; And some disporting round, unlink'd and free, Who seem'd to mock their sisters' slavery; And round and round them still, in wheeling flight Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night;

While others wak'd, as gracefully along

Their feet kept time, the very soul of song

*

"They deferred it till the King of Flowers should ascend his throne of enamelled foliage." — The Bahardanush.