Half draws the falchion from its sheath; All's o'er in rust your blades may lie; He, at whose word they've scatter'd death, And ask, and wondering guess what means The battle-cry at this dead hour Ah! she could tell you she, who leans Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast, With brow against the dew-cold mast Her soul's first idol and its last, Lies bleeding in that murderous strife. But see what moves upon the height? Some signal!-'tis a torch's light. What bodes its solitary glare? In gasping silence tow'rd the shrine The death-pile blaz'd into the sky, And far away o'er rock and flood ""Tis he!" the shuddering maid exclaims, But, while she speaks, he's seen no more; High burst in air the funeral flames, And IRAN's hopes and hers are o'er! One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave Then sprung, as if to reach that blaze, Where still she fix'd her dying gaze, And, gazing, sunk into the wave, Deep, deep, where never care or pain Shall reach her innocent heart again! Farewel― farewel to thee, ARABY's daughter! (Thus warbled a PERI beneath the dark sea) No pearl ever lay, under OMAN's green water, . More pure in its shell than thy Spirit in thee. Oh! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, How light was thy heart 'till love's witchery came, Like the wind of the south 3 o'er a summer lute blowing, And hush'd all its music and wither'd its frame ! But long, upon ARABY's green sunny highlands, And still, when the merry date-season is burning, And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old, The happiest there, from their pastime returning, At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses Her dark flowing hair for some festival day, 5 3 "This wind (the Samoor) so softens the strings of lutes, that they can never be tuned while it lasts."— Stephen's Persia. 4" One of the greatest curiosities found in the Persian Gulf is a fish which the English call Star-fish. It is circular, and at night very luminous, resembling the full moon surrounded by rays.” — Mirza Abu Taleb. 5 For a description of the merriment of the date-time, of their work, their dances, and their return home from the palm-groves at the end of autumn with the fruits, v. Kempfer, Amanitat. Exot. Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her tresses, Nor shall IRAN, belov'd of her Hero! forget thee,→→ Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start, Close, close by the side of that Hero she'll set thee, Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart. Farewel—be it ours to embellish thy pillow With every thing beauteous that grows in the deep; Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreath'd chamber, We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, 6 Some naturalists have imagined that amber is a concretion of the tears of birds. - v. Trevoux, Chambers. We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian' are sparkling, And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. Farewel farewel until Pity's sweet fountain Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that mountain, They'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this wave. 7 "The bay Kieselarke, which is otherwise called the Golden Bay, the sand whereof shines as fire." Struy. |