For mine is the lay that lightly floats,

And mine are the murmuring, dying notes,
That fall as soft as snow on the sea,
And melt in the heart as instantly!
And the passionate strain that, deeply going,
Refines the bosom it trembles through,
As the musk-wind, over the water blowing,
Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too!

Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway
The Spirits of past Delight obey;

Let but the tuneful talisman sound,

And they come, like Genii, hovering round.
And mine is the gentle song, that bears

From soul to soul, the wishes of love,
As a bird, that wafts through genial airs
The cinnamon seed from grove to grove.

'Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure

9

The past, the present, and future of pleasure;

9" The Pompadour pigeon is the species, which, by carrying the fruit of the cinnamon to different places, is a great disseminator of this valuable tree.”. -v. Brown's Illustr. Tab. 19.

When Memory links the tone that is gone

With the blissful tone that's still in the ear; And Hope from a heavenly note flies on

To a note more heavenly still that is near!

The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me,
Can as downy soft and as yielding be

As his own white plume, that high amid death
Through the field has shone-yet moves with a breath.

And, oh, how the eyes of Beauty glisten,

When Music has reach'd her inward soul,

Like the silent stars, that wink and listen

While Heav'n's eternal melodies roll!

So, hither I come

From my fairy home,

And if there's a magic in Music's strain,
I swear by the breath

Of that moonlight wreath,

Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again.

'Tis dawn—at least that earlier dawn,

Whose glimpses are again withdrawn, '

r

I

I They have two mornings, the Soobhi Kazim, and the Soobhi Sadig, the false and the real day-break."- Waring.

As if the morn had wak'd, and then
Shut close her lids of light again.
And NOURMAHAL is up, and trying

The wonders of her lute, whose strings.
Oh bliss! —now murmur like the sighing
From that ambrosial Spirit's wings!

And then, her voice 'tis more than human Never, till now, had it been given

To lips of any mortal woman

To utter notes so fresh from heaven; Sweet as the breath of angel sighs,

When angel sighs are most divine. "Oh! let it last till night," she cries, "And he is more than ever mine." And hourly she renews the lay,

So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness Should, ere the evening, fade away,

For things so heavenly have such fleetness!

But, far from fading, it but grows

Richer, diviner as it flows;

Till rapt she dwells on every string,

And

pours again each sound along,

Like Echo, lost and languishing

In love with her own wondrous song.

9

That evening, (trusting that his soul

Might be from haunting love releas'd By mirth, by music, and the bowl)

Th' Imperial SELIM held a Feast

In his magnificent Shalimar ;-
In whose Saloons, when the first star
Of evening o'er the waters trembled,
The Valley's loveliest all assembled ;
All the bright creatures that, like dreams,
Glide through its foliage, and drink beams
Of beauty from its founts and streams. '
And all those wandering minstrel-maids,
Who leave-how can they leave? -the shades
Of that dear Valley, and are found

Singing in gardens of the South 3

2

Those songs, that ne'er so sweetly sound
As from a young Cashmerian's mouth.

2 "The waters of Cachemir are the more renowned from its being supposed that the Cachemirians are indebted for their beauty to them." Ali Yezdi.

3 From him I received the following little Gazzel or Love Song, the notes of which he committed to paper from the voice of one of those singing girls of Cashmere, who wander from that delightful valley over the various parts of India." - Persian Miscellanies.

Y

There too the Haram's inmates smile;

Maids from the West, with sun-bright hair,

And from the Garden of the NILE,

Delicate as the roses there;·

4

Daughters of Love from CYPRUS' rocks,
With Paphian diamonds in their locks; —'
Light Peri forms, such as there are
On the gold meads of CANDAHAR;"
And they, before whose sleepy eyes,
In their own bright Kathaian bowers,
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies, "

That they might fancy the rich flowers,
That round them in the sun lay sighing,
Had been by magic all set flying!

"The roses of the Jinan Nile, or Garden of the Nile (attached to the Emperor of Marocco's Palace) are unequalled, and matrasses are made of their leaves for the men of rank to recline upon."— Jackson.

5 "On the side of a mountain near Paphos there is a cavern which produces the most beautiful rock crystal. On account of its brilliancy it has been called the Paphian diamond."— Mariti.

6" There is a part of Candahar, called Peria or Fairy Land."— Thevenot. In some of those countries to the north of India vegetable gold is supposed to be produced.

"These are the butterflies, which are called in the Chinese language Flying Leaves. Some of them have such shining colours, and