"Twas when the hour of evening came

Upon the Lake, serene and cool, When Day had hid his sultry flame Behind the palms of BARAMOULE.' When maids began to lift their heads, Refresh'd, from their embroider'd beds, Where they had slept the sun away, And wak'd to moonlight and to play. All were abroad · the busiest hive

8

On BELA's hills is less alive

When saffron beds are full in flower,

Than look'd the Valley in that hour.
A thousand restless torches play'd
Through every grove and island shade;
A thousand sparkling lamps were set
On every dome and minaret;

And fields and pathways, far and near,
Were lighted by a blaze so clear,

That you could see, in wandering round,
The smallest rose-leaf on the ground.

7 Bernier.

8 A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehangeery, or Memoirs of Jehanguire, where there is an account of the beds of saffron flowers about Cashmere.

Yet did the maids and matrons leave

Their veils at home, that brilliant eve;
And there were glancing eyes about,

And cheeks, that would not dare shine out
In open day, but thought they might
Look lovely then, because 'twas night!
And all were free, and wandering,

And all exclaim'd to all they met
That never did the summer bring

So gay a Feast of Roses yet;

The moon had never shed a light

So clear as that which bless'd them there; The roses ne'er shone half so bright,

Nor they themselves look'd half so fair.

And what a wilderness of flowers!

It seem'd as though from all the bowers
And fairest fields of all the year,
The mingled spoil were scatter'd here.
The Lake too like a garden breathes,
With the rich buds that o'er it lie,

As if a shower of fairy wreaths
Had fall'n upon it from the sky!

And then the sounds of joy, the beat

Of tabors and of dancing feet; -

The minaret-cryer's chaunt of glee

Sung from his lighted gallery,'

And answer'd by a ziraleet

From neighbouring Haram, wild and sweet;

The merry laughter, echoing

From gardens, where the silken swing

Wafts some delighted girl above

The top leaves of the orange grove;
Or, from those infant groups at play
Among the tents' that line the way,
Flinging, unaw'd by slave or mother,
Handfuls of roses at each other! —

And the sounds from the Lake, the low whisp'ring in

boats,

As they shoot through the moonlight; — the dipping

of oars,

And the wild, airy warbling that every where floats,

Through the groves, round the islands, as if all the shores

9 "It is the custom among the women to employ the Maazeen to chaunt from the gallery of the nearest minaret, which on that occasion is illuminated, and the women assembled at the house respond at intervals with a ziraleet or joyous chorus.". Russell.

"At the keeping of the Feast of Roses we beheld an infinite number of tents pitched, with such a crowd of men, women, boys and girls, with music, dances," &c. &c.- Herbert.

Like those of KATHAY utter'd music, and gave
An answer in song to the kiss of each wave! 2
But the gentlest of all are those sounds, full of feeling,
That soft from the lute of some lover are stealing,—
Some lover, who knows all the heart-touching power
Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour.

Oh! best of delights as it every where is

To be near the lov'd One, - what a rapture is his,

Who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may glide O'er the Lake of CASHMERE, with that One by his side! If Woman can make the worst wilderness dear,

Think, think what a Heav'n she must make of CASHMERE!

So felt the magnificent Son of Acbar, 3

When from power and pomp and the trophies of war
He flew to that Valley, forgetting them all

With the Light of the Haram, his young NOURMAHAL.
When free and uncrown'd as the Conqueror rov'd
By the banks of that Lake, with his only belov❜d,

2 "An old commentator of the Chou-King says,, the ancients having remarked that a current of water made some of the stones near its banks send forth a sound, they detached some of them, and being charmed with the delightful sound they emitted, constructed King or musical instruments of them."- Grosier.

3 Jehanguire was the son of the Great Acbar.

He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully snatch From the hedges, a glory his crown could not match, And preferr❜d in his heart the least ringlet that curl'd Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the world!

There's a beauty, for ever unchangingly bright,

Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer day's light,
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender,
Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendour.
This was not the beauty-oh! nothing like this,
That to young
NOURMAHAL gave such magic of bliss ;
But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days,
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies
From the lips to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes,
Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams,
Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heav'n in his dreams!
When pensive, it seem'd as if that very grace,
That charm of all others, was born with her face;
And when angry, - for ev'n in the tranquillest climes
Light breezes will ruffle the flowers sometimes-
The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken
New beauty, like flow'rs that are sweetest when shaken.