First of the Prophet's favorites, proudly first

In zeal and charms, too well the' Impostor nursed
Her soul's delirium, in whose active flame,
Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant frame,
He saw more potent sorceries to bind
To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind,
More subtle chains than hell itself e'er twined.
No art as spared, no witchery; -all the skill
His demons taught him was employed to fill
Her mind with gloom and ecstasy by turns-
That gloom, through which Frenzy but fiercer burns;
That ecstasy, which from the depth of sadness
Glares like the maniac's moon, whose light is madness!

'Twas from a brilliant banquet, where the sound Of poesy and music breathed around, Together picturing to her mind and ear

The glories of that heaven, her destined sphere,
Where all was pure, where every stain that lay
Upon the spirit's light should pass away,
And, realizing more than youthful love

E'er wished or dreamed, she should forever rove
Through fields of fragrance by her Azım's side,
His own blessed, purified, eternal bride!
'Twas from a scene, a witching trance like this,
He hurried her away, yet breathing bliss,

To the dim charnel-house; -through all its steams
Of damp and death, led only by those gleams
Which foul Corruption lights, as with design
To show the gay and proud she too can shine
And, passing on through upright ranks of Dead,
Which to the maiden, doubly crazed by dread,

Seemed, through the bluish death-light round them

cast,

To move their lips in mutterings as she passed There, in that awful place, when each had quaffed And pledged in silence such a fearful draught, Such-O! the look and taste of that red bowl Will haunt her till she dies-he bound her soul By a dark oath, in hell's own language framed, Never, while earth his mystic presence claimed, While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both, Never, by that all-imprecating oath,

In joy or sorrow from his side to sever.

She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, "Never, never!"

From that dread hour, entirely, wildly given To him and she believed, lost maid!-to heaven, Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflamed, How proud she stood, when in full Haram named The Priestess of the Faith!-how flashed her eyes With light, alas! that was not of the skies, When round, in trances, only less than hers, She saw the Haram kneel, her prostrate worshippers. Well might MOKANNA think that form alone Had spells enough to make the world his own: Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit's play Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray, When from its stem the small bird wings away; Lips in whose rosy labyrinth, when she smiled, The soul was lost; and blushes, swift and wild As are the momentary meteors sent

Across the' uncalm, but beauteous firmament.

And then her look -O! where's the heart so wise
Could unbewildered meet those matchless eyes?
Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal,
Like those of angels, just before their fall;
Now shadowed with the shames of earth
By glimpses of the heaven her heart had lost;
In every glance there broke, without control,
The flashes of a bright but troubled soul,
Where sensibility still wildly played,

now crossed

Like lightning, round the ruins it had made!

And such was now young ZELICA so changed From her who, some years since, delighted ranged The almond groves that shade BOKHARA's tide, All life and bliss, with AzIM by her side! So altered was she now, this festal day, When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzling array, The vision of that Youth whom she had loved, Had wept as dead, before her breathed and moved; When bright, she thought, as if from Eden's track But half-way trodden, he had wandered back Again to earth, glistening with Eden's lightHer beauteous AZIм shone before her sight.

O Reason! who shall say what spells renew, When least we look for it, thy broken clew! Through what small vistas o'er the darkened brain Thy intellectual day-beam bursts again;

And how, like forts, to which beleaguerers win Unhoped-for entrance through some friend within, One clear idea, wakened in the breast

By memory's magic, lets in all the rest.

Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee!
But though light came, it came but partially;
Enough to show the maze, in which thy sense
Wandered about, but not to guide it thence;
Enough to glimmer o'er the yawning wave,
But not to point the harbor which might save.
Hours of delight and peace, long left behind,
With that dear form came rushing o'er her mind;
But O! to think how deep her soul had gone
In shame and falsehood since those moments shone;
And, then, her oath-there madness lay again,
And, shuddering, back she sunk into her chain
Of mental darkness, as if blessed to flee
From light, whose every glimpse was agony!
Yet, one relief this glance of former years
Brought, mingled with its pain, tears, floods of
tears,

Long frozen at her heart, but now like rills
Let loose in spring-time from the snowy hills,
And gushing warm, after a sleep of frost,
Through valleys where their flow had long been lost.

Sad and subdued, for the first time her frame Trembled with horror, when the summons came (A summons proud and rare, which all but she, And she, till now, had heard with ecstasy) To meet MOKANNA at his place of prayer, A garden oratory, cool and fair,

By the stream's side, where still at close of day The Prophet of the Veil retired to pray; Sometimes alone but, oftener far, with one,

Une chosen nymph to share his orison.

Of late none found such favor in his sight
As the young Priestess; and though, since that night
When the death-caverns echoed every tone

Of the dire oath that made her all his own,
The' Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize,

Had, more than once, thrown off his soul's disguise,
And uttered such unheavenly, monstrous things,
As ev'n across the desperate wanderings
Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out,
Threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt;
Yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow,

The thought, still haunting her, of that bright brow
Whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye concealed,
Would soon, proud triumph! be to her revealed,
To her alone; -—and then the hope, most dear,
Most wild of all, that her transgression here
Was but a passage through earth's grosser fire,
From which the spirit would at last aspire,
Ev'n purer than before, as perfumes rise
Thro' flame and smoke, most welcome to the skies-
And that when Azıм's fond, divine embrace
Should circle her in heaven, no darkening trace
Would on that bosom he once loved remain,
But all be bright, be pure, be his again!—
These were the wildering dreams, whose cursed deceit
Had chained her soul beneath the tempter's feet,
And made her think ev'n damning falsehood sweet.
But now that Shape, which had appalled her view
That Semblance O how terrible, if true!

Which came across her frenzy's full career
With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, severe,
As when, in northern seas, at midnight dark,
An isle of ice encounters some swift bark,