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?' p.58-63. This pensive strain is quickly broken off by a troop of dancing nymphs, whose graceful and expressive movements are described in verses of equal beauty.

While she, who sung so gently to the lute
Her dream of home, steals timidly away,
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,-
But takes with her from AZIM's heart that sigh
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain,
Creatures of light we never see again!

• 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;
While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall
Of curls descending, bells as musical
As those that, on the golden-shafted trees
Of EDEN, shake in the Eternal Breeze,

Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet,
As 'twere th' extatic language of their feet!

At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreath'd
Within each other's arms; while soft there breath'd
Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs
Of moonlight flowers, music that seemed to rise
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose,

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

Is burning now through earth and air,
Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh,
Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there!
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!
Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss!

Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,

And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.' p.65-67. The tragical meeting with Zelica, is described with the same redundance of bright images.-But we can only make room for her rapture of gratitude and humility, when Azim, after he knows all, presses her to fly with him from that false prophet's

power.

"What! take the lost one with thee? let her rove
"By thy dear side, as in those days of love,
"When we were both so happy, both so pure-
"Too heavenly dream! if there's on earth a cure
"For the sunk heart, 'tis this-day after day
"To be the blest companion of thy way;-'
"To hear thy angel eloquence-to see
"Those virtuous eyes for ever turn'd on me;
"And in their light re-chasten'd silently,
"Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun,
"Grow pure by being purely shone upon!
"And thou wilt pray for me--I know thou wilt-
"At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt
"Come heaviest o'er the heart, thou'lt lift thine eyes,
"Full of sweet tears unto the darkening skies,
"And plead for me with Heav'n, till I can dare
"To fix my own weak, sinful glances there;—
"Till the good angels, when they see me cling
"For ever near thee, pale and sorrowing,

"Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven,

"And bid thee take thy weeping slave to heaven!"' p. 79–80. The following picture of the grand armament of the Caliph, shows the same luxuriance of diction and imagination, directed to different objects.

Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way,
Where all was waste and silent yesterday?
This City of War which, in a few short hours,
Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers
Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star,
Built the high pillar'd halls of CHILMINAR,
Had conjur'd up, far as the eye can see,

This world of tents and domes and sun-bright armory!-
Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a fold

Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold;-
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun,
Their chains and poitrels glittering in the sun;
And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's shells,
Shaking in every breeze their light-ton'd bells!
But yester-eve, so motionless around,

So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound

But the far torrent, or the locust-bird

Hunting among the thickets, could be heard ;-
Yet hark! what discords now, of every kind,
Shouts, laughs, and screams are revelling in the wind!
The neigh of cavalry;-the tinkling throngs
Of laden camels and their drivers' songs ;—
Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze
Of streamers from ten thousand canopies ;-
War-music, bursting out from time to time
With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime ;-
Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds are mute,
The mellow breathings of some horn or flute,
That far off, broken by the eagle note
Of the' Abyssinian trumpet, swell and float!'-
Ne'er did the march of MAHADI display
Such pomp before ;-not ev'n when on his way
TO MECCA'S Temple, when both land and sea
Were spoil'd to feed the Pilgrim's luxury;
When round him, mid the burning sands, he saw
Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw,
And cool'd his thirsty lip, beneath the glow
Of MECCA'S sun, with urns of Persian snow :-
Nor e'er did armament more grand than that
Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat.
First, in the van, the People of the Rock,
On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock;
Then, Chieftains of DAMASCUs, proud to see

The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry,' &c. p. 86-89. We can afford room now only for the conclusion--the last words of the dying Zelica; which remind us of those of Campbell's Gertrude--and the catastrophe of Azim, which is imaged in that of Southey's Roderick.

"But live, my AZIм;-oh! to call thee mine
"Thus once again!-my AZIM-dream divine!
"Live, if thou ever lov'dst me, if to meet

Thy ZELICA hereafter would be sweet,

"Oh live to pray for her-to bend the knee

66

Morning and night before that Deity,

"To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain,
"As thine are, AzIм, never breath'd in vain,—
"And pray that He may pardon her,—may take
"Compassion on her soul for thy dear sake,
"And, nought remembering but her love to thee,
"Make her all thine, all His, eternally!

"Go to those happy fields where first we twin'd

"Our youthful hearts together-every wind

"That meets thee there, fresh from the well-known flowers, "Will bring the sweetness of those innocent hours

"Back to thy soul, and thou may'st feel again
"For thy poor ZELICA as thou did'st then.
"So shall thy orisons, like dew that flies
"To heav'n upon the morning's sunshine, rise
"With all love's carliest ardour to the skies!
Time fleeted-years on years had pass'd away,
And few of those who, on that mournful day,
Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see
The maiden's death, and the youth's agony,
Were living still-when, by a rustic grave
Beside the swift Amoo's transparent wave,
An aged man, who had grown aged there
By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer,
For the last time knelt down-and, though the shade
Of death hung darkening over him, there play'd
A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek,
That brighten'd even Death-like the last streak
Of intense glory on the' horizon's brim,

When night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim,—
His soul had seen a Vision, while he slept;
She, for whose spirit he had pray'd and wept
So many years, had come to him, all drest
In angel smiles, and told him she was blest!
For this the old man breath'd his thanks, and died.—
And there, upon the banks of that lov'd tide,

He and his ZELICA sleep side by side.' p. 121, 123.

After these large and beautiful extracts, we may be permitted, without any imputation of unfairness, to observe, that there are here and there in this poem-and we think in this only-some traces of misplaced levity and familiarity of tone-of that poor commonplace smartness which sometimes passes for wit and gallantry with men of the world, but is absolutely offensive in a poem of tragic interest. Did Mr Moore, for example, forget that he was not writing a song for a Burletta, when he described the beauties of Mokanna's court as

'Creatures so bright that the same lips and

eyes

They wear on earth will serve in Paradise. '?

Or when, in absurd allusion to a phrase in the Song of Solomon, he speaks of some other fair one,

Who if between the folds but one eye shone,

Like Sheba's queen could vanquish with that one.' ? In another place, he speaks of a garden rich with every flower this Earth has got; '-and we have already seen his apostrophe to • Dear Music!'-and its power over those who love it much.' But this slip-slop becomes still more intolerable, when the heroic Azim is made to say, as he bends over the closed eyes of the fainting Zelica, There!—my sweet lids!-they move!' These,

however, and a few others of the same cast, are blemishes of haste and extreme facility; and detract less from the merit of the poem than the pleasure of its readers.

The next piece, which is entitled Paradise and the Peri,' has none of these faults. It is full of spirit, elegance, and beauty; and, though slight enough in its structure, breathes throughout a most pure and engaging morality. It is, in truth, little more than a moral apologue, expanded and adorned by the exuberant fancy of the poet who recites it. The Peris are a sort of halffallen female angels, who dwell in air, and live on perfumes; and, though banished for a time from Paradise, go about in this lower world doing good. One of these-But it is as short, and much more agreeable, to give the author's own introduction. 'One morn a Peri at the gate

Of Eden stood, disconsolate;
And as she listen'd to the Springs

Of Life within, like music flowing;
And caught the light upon her wings
Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race

Should e'er have lost that glorious place!' p. 133. The Angel of the Gate secs her weeping, and says"Nymph of a fair, but erring line!"

Gently he said " One hope is thine.
'Tis written in the Book of Fate,
"The Peri yet may be forgiven

"Who brings to this Eternal Gate

"The Gift that is most dear to Heaven!

"Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin;

""Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in!"' p. 135.

Full of hope and gratitude, she goes eagerly in search of this precious gift. Her first quest is on the plains of Indiathe luxuriant beauty of which is put in fine contrast with the havoc and carnage which the march of a bloody conqueror had then spread over them. The Peri comes to witness the heroic death of a youthful patriot, who disdains to survive the overthrow of his country's independence. She catches the last drop which flows from his breaking heart, and bears that to heaven's gate, as the acceptable propitiation that was required. For

"Oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere,
"A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear,
""Tis the last libation Liberty draws

"From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!' p.140. The angel accepts the tribute with respect; but the crystal bar of the fortal does not move! and she is told that something