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Of the wild bees of PALESTINE,

Banquetting through the flowery, vales; – And, JORDAN, those sweet banks of thine,

And woods, so full of nightingales !

But nought can charm the luckless PERI;
Her soul is sad — her wings are weary -
Joyless she sees the sun look down
On that great Temple, once his own,"
Whose lonely columns stand sublime,

Flinging their shadows from on high,
Like dials, which the wizard, Time,

Had rais’d to count his ages by!

Yet haply there may lie conceal'd

Beneath those Chambers of the Sun,
Some amulet of gems, annealid
In upper fires, some tablet seald

With the Great Name of SOLOMON,
Which, spell’d by her illumin'd eyes,

6 The Temple of the Sun at Balbec.

May teach her where, beneath the moon,
In earth or ocean lies the boon,
The charm, that can restore so soon,

An erring Spirit to the skies !

Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither;

Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven,

Nor have the golden bowers of Even In the rich West begun to wither; — When, o'er the vale of BALBEC winging

Slowly, she sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild-flowers singing,

As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel-flies ?
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like' winged flowers or flying gems:
And, near the boy, who tir'd with play:
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,

7 “ You behold there a considerable number of a remarkable species of beautiful insects, the elegance of whose appearance and their attire procured for them the name of Damsels.” — Sonnini.

She saw a wearied man dismount

From his hot steed, and on the brink Of a small imaret's rustic fount

Impatient fling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turn’d

To the fair child, who fearless sat, Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd

Upon a brow more fierce than that, Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire, Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire ! In which the Peri's eye could read Dark tales of many a ruthless deed; The ruin'd maid — the shrine profan'dOaths broken — and the threshold stain'd. With blood of guests ! — there written, all, Black as the damning drops that fall From the denouncing Angel's pen, Ere Mercy weeps them out again !

Yet tranquil now that man of crime,
(As if the balmy evening time.
Soften'd his spirit,) look'd and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play:-

Though still, whene'er his eye by chance Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, As torches, that have burnt all night Through some impure and godless rite,

Encounter morning's glorious rays.

But hark! the vesper call to prayer,

As slow the orb of day-light sets, Is rising sweetly on the air,

From Syria's thousand minarets ! The boy has started from the bed Of flowers, where he had laid his head, And down upon the fragrant sod

Kneels, with his forehead to the south, Lisping th' eternal name of God

From purity's own cherub mouth,
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of Paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,
And seeking for its home again!

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Oh 'twas a sight — that Heav'n — that Child
A scene, which might have well beguild
Ev'n haughty Ellis of a sigh
For glories lost and peace gone by!

And how felt he, the wretched Man
Reclining there -- while memory ran
O’er many a year of guilt and strife,
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting-place,
Nor brought him back one branch of grace!
66 There was a time,” he said in mild,
Heart-humbled tones — “ thou blessed child !
ss When young and haply pure as thou,
66 I look'd and pray'd like thee - but now -"
He hung his head — each nobler aim

And hope and feeling, which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came

Fresh o'er him, and he wept - he wept !

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!

In whose benign, redeeming flow . Is felt the first, the only sense

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.

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