There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER'S' stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER? No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly they shone, And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, was 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! I A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar. "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. "That I would sooner stop th' unchained 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, And now the curtains fly apart, and in From the cool air, 'mid showers of jessamine Which those without fling after them in play, 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;' 2" To the north of us, (on the coast of the Caspian, near Badku) was a mountain, which sparkled like diamonds, arising from the sea-glass and crystals, with which it abounds."-Journey of the Russian Ambassador to Persia, 1746. F While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall 3 As those that, on the golden-shafted trees At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreath'd 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 Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there! 3" To which will be added, the sound of the bells, hanging on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind proceeding from the throne of God, as often as the blessed wish for music." - Sale. His breath is the soul of flowers like these, And his floating eyes-oh! they resemble Blue water-lilies, when the breeze Is making the stream around them tremble! Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power! 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, 4 The blue lotos, which grows in Cashmere and in Persia. |