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Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,

An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,

Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER.

“Poor maiden !” thought the youth, “if thou wert

sent,
With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment,
To wake unholy wishes in this heart,
Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art.
For though thy lip should sweetly counsel wrong,
Those vestal eyes would disavow its song.
But thou hast breath'd such purity, thy lay
Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day,
And leads thy soul —if e'er it wander'd thence-
So gently back to its first innocence,
That I would sooner stop the unchain'd dove,
When swift returning to its home of love,
And round its snowy wing new fetters twine,
Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine!”!

Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when, sparkling

through The gently open'd curtains of light blue That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes, Peeping like stars through the blue evening skies, Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair That sat so still and melancholy there:And now the curtains fly apart, and in From the cool air, ʼmid showers of jessamine Which those without fling after them in play, Two lightsome maidens spring, -- lightsome as they Who live in the air on odors, — and around The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, Chase one another, in a varying dance

Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance,
Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit :-
Wliile she, who sung so gently to the lute
Her dream of home, steals timidly away,
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray, -
But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain,
Creatures of light we never see again!

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Around the white necks of the nymphs who danc'd
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd
More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er
The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore;
While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall
Of curls descending, bells as musical
As those that, on the golden-shafted trees
Of EDEN, shake in the eternal breeze, 85
Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet,
As 'twere the ecstatic language of their feet.
At length the chase was o’er, and they stood wreath'd
Within each other's arms; while soft there breath'd
Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs
Of moonlight flowers, music that seem'd to rise
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose;
And, as it swell’d again at each faint close,
The ear could track, through all that maze of chords
And young sweet voices, these impassion'd words :

A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh

Is burning now through earth and air :
Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh;

Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there !

His breath is the soul of flowers like these,

And his floating eyes — oh! they resemble 86 Blue water-lilies, 87 when the breeze

Is making the stream around them tremble.

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power!

Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss !
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

By the fair and brave

Who blushing unite,
Like the sun and wave,

When they meet at night;

By the tear that shows

When passion is nigh,
As the rain-drop flows

From the heat of the sky;

By the first love-beat

Of the youthful heart,
By the bliss to meet,

And the pain to part;

A

By all that thou hast

To mortals given,
Which – oh, could it last,

This earth were heaven!

We call thee hither, entrancing Power!

Spirit of Love! Spirit of Bliss !
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

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Impatient of a scene whose luxuries stole,
Spite of himself, too deep into his soul,
And where, midst all that the young heart loves most
Flowers, music, smiles -- to yield was to be lost,
The youth had started up, and turn'd away
From the light nymphis, and their luxurious lay,
To muse upon the pictures that hung round,88 –
Bright images, that spoke without a sound;
And views, like vistas into fairy ground.
But here again new spells came o’er his sense: –
All that the pencil's mute omnipotence
Could call up into life, of soft and fair,
Of fond and passionate, was glowing there;
Nor yet too warm, but touch'd with that fine art
Which paints of pleasure but the purer part;
Which knows even Beauty when half-veil'd is best, –
Like her own radiant planet of the west,
Whose orb when half-retir'd looks loveliest.89
There hung the history of the Genii-King,
Traced through each gay, voluptuous wandering
With her from SABA's bowers, in whose bright eyes
He read that to be blest is to be wise;
Here fond ZULEIKA 91

Woos with

open arms
The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms,
Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone,
Wishes that Heaven and she could both be won;
And here MOHAMMED, born for love and guile,
Forgets the Koran in his MARY's smile ;-
Then beckons some kind angel from above
With a new text to consecrate their love.92

90

With rapid step, yet pleas'd and ling'ring eye,
Did the youth pass these pictur'd stories by,
And hasten’d to a casement, where the light
Of the calm moon came in, and freshly bright

The fields without were seen, sleeping as still
As if no life remain'd in breeze or rill.
Here paus'd he, while the music, now less near,
Breath'd with a holier language on his ear,
As though the distance, and that heavenly ray
Through which the sounds came floating, took away
All that had been too earthly in the lay.

Oh! could he listen to such sounds unmov’d, And by that light — nor dream of her he lov’d ? Dream on, unconscious boy ! while yet thou may'st; 'Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste. Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart, Ere all the light, that made it dear, depart. Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last, Clear, beautiful, by nought of earth o'ercast; Recall her tears, to thee at parting given, Pure as they weep, if angels weep, in Heaven. Think, in her own still bower she waits thee now, With the same glow of heart and bloom of brow, Yet shrin'd in solitude thine all, thine only, Like the one star above thee, bright and lonely. Oh! that a dream so sweet, so long enjoy'd, Should be so sadly, cruelly destroy'd !

The song is hush'd, the laughing nymphs are flown, And he is left, musing of bliss, alone; Alone ? - no, not alone

that heavy sigh, That sob of grief, which broke from some one nigh – Whose could it be ? — alas! is misery found Here, even here, on this enchanted ground ? He turns, and sees a female form, close veild, Leaning, as if both heart and strength had fail'd, Against a pillar near; — not glittering o’er With gems and wreaths, such as the others wore,

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