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THE Princess, whose heart was sad enough already, could have wished that FERAMORZ had chosen a less melancholy story; as it is only to the happy that tears are a luxury. Her ladies, however, were by no means sorry that love was once more the Poet's theme; for, whenever he spoke of love, they said, his voice was as sweet as if he had chewed the leaves of that enchanted tree which grows over the tomb of the musician, Tan-Sein.235

Their road all the morning had lain through a very dreary country ;- through valleys, covered with a low bushy jungle, where, in more than one place, the awful signal of the bamboo staff,236 with the white flag at its top, reminded the traveller that, in that very spot, the tiger liad made some human creature his victim. It was, therefore, with much pleasure that they arrived at sunset in a safe and lovely glen, and encamped under one of those holy trees whose smooth columns and spreading roofs seem to destine them for natural temples of religion. Beneath this spacious shade, some pious hands had erected a row of pillars ornamented with the most beautiful porcelain,287 which now supplied the use of mirrors to the young maidens, as they adjusted their hair in descending from the palankeens. Here, while, as usual, the Princess sat listening anxiously, with FADLADEEN in one of his loftiest moods of criticism by her side, the young Poet, leaning against a branch of the tree, thus continued his story:





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THE morn hath risen clear and calm,

And o'er the Green Sea 288 palely shines,
Revealing BAHREIN'S 239 groves of palm,

And lighting KISHMA's 239 amber vines.
Fresh smell the shores of ARABY,
While breezes from the Indian sea
Blow round SELAMA's 240 sainted cape,

And curl the shining flood beneath,
Whose waves are rich with many a grape,

And cocoa-nut and flowery wreath,
Which pious seamen, as they pass'd,
Had tow’rd that holy headland cast -
Oblations to the Genii there
For gentle skies and breezes fair!
The nightingale now bends her flight 241
From the high trees, where all the night

She sung so sweet, with none to listen;
And hides her from the morning star

Where thickets of pomegranate glisten
In the clear dawn,- bespangled o'er

With dew, whose night drops would not stain
The best and brightest scimitar 242
That ever youthful Sultan wore

On the first morning of his reign.

And see

- the Sun himself ! - on wings
Of glory up the East he springs.
Angel of Light! who from the time
Those heavens began their march sublime,
Hath first of all the starry choir
Trod in his Maker's steps of fire !

Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere,
When IRAN, like a sun-flower, turn'd
To meet that eye where'er it burn'd ?

When, from the banks of BENDEMEER
To the nut-groves of SAMARCAND,
Thy temples flam’d o'er all the land ?
Where are they? ask the shades of them

Who, on CADESSIA'S 248 bloody plains,
Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem
From IRAN's broken diadem,

And bind her ancient faith in chains :
Ask the poor exile, cast alone
On foreign shores, unlov'd, unknown,
Beyond the Caspian's Iron Gates, 244

Or on the snowy Mossian mountains,
Far from his beauteous land of dates,

Her jasmine bowers and sunny fountains:
Yet happier so than if he trod
His own belov’d, but blighted, sod,
Beneath a despot stranger's nod!
Oh, he would rather houseless roam

Where Freedom and his God may lead,
Than be the sleekest slave at home

That crouches to the conqueror's creed ! Is IRAN's pride then gone forever,

Quench'd with the flame in MITHRA's caves ? No she has sons, that never

Will stoop to be the Moslem's slaves,

While heaven has light or earth has graves ;-
Spirits of fire, that brood not long,
But flash resentment back for wrong;
And hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds
Of vengeance ripen into deeds,
Till, in some treacherous hour of calm,
They burst, like ZEILAN's giant palm, 245





Whose buds fly open with a sound
That shakes the pigmy forests round!

Yes, EMIR! he, who scald that tower,

And, had he reach'd thy slumbering breast, Had taught thee, in a Gheber's power

How safe e'en tyrant heads may rest Is one of many, brave as he, Who loathe thy haughty race and thee; Who, though they know the strife is vain, Who, though they know the riven chain Snaps but to enter in the heart Of him who rends its links apart, Yet dare the issue, blest to be E’en for one bleeding moment free, And die in pangs of liberty ! Thou know'st them well -'tis some moons since

Thy turban'd troops and blood-red flags, Thou satrap of a bigot Prince,

Have swarm’d among these Green Sea crags; Yet here, e'en here, a sacred band Ay, in the portal of that land Thou, Arab, dar’st to call thy own Their spears across thy path have thrown; Here ere the winds half wing’d thee o’er Rebellion brav'd thee from the shore.

Rebellion ! foul, dishonoring word,

Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain'd The holiest cause that tongue or sword

Of mortal ever lost or gain’d. How many a spirit, born to bless,

Hath sunk beneath that withering name, Whom but a day's, an hour's success

Had wafted to eternal fame!

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As exhalations, when they burst
From the warm earth, if chill'd at first,
If check'd in soaring from the plain,
Darken to fogs and sink again;-
But, if they once triumphant spread
Their wings above the mountain-head,
Become enthroned in upper air,
And turn to sun-bright glories there!

And who is he, that wields the might

Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink,
Before whose sabre's dazzling light 246

The eyes of YEMEN's warriors wink?
Who comes, embower'd in the spears
Of KERMAN's hardy mountaineers ? —
Those mountaineers that truest, last,

Cling to their country's ancient rites,
As if that God, whose eyelids cast

Their closing gleam on IRAN's heights,
Among her snowy mountains threw
The last light of his worship too!

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'Tis HAFED - name of fear, whose sound

Chills like the muttering of a charm !
Shout but that awful name around,

And palsy shakes the manliest arm.
'Tis HAFED, most accurs’d and dire
(So rank'd by Moslem hate and ire)
Of all the rebel Sons of Fire;
Of whose malign, tremendous power
The Arabs, at their mid-watch hour,
Such tales of fearful wonder tell,
That each affrighted sentinel
Pulls down his cowl upon his

Lest HAFED in the midst should rise!

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