The song then returns to Hinda

Whose life, as free from thought as sin,
Slept like a lake, till Love threw in
His talisman, and woke the tide,
And spread its trembling circles wide.
Once, EMIR! thy unheeding child,
Mid all this havoc, bloom'd and smil'd,
Tranquil as on some battle-plain

The Persian lily shines and towers,
Before the combat's reddening stain

-

Has fall'n upon her golden flowers.
Light-hearted maid, unaw'd, unmov'd,
While Heav'n but spar'd the sire she lov'd,
Once at thy evening tales of blood
Unlistening and aloof she stood-
And oft, when thou hast pac'd along
Thy Haram halls with furious heat,
Hast thou not curs'd her cheerful song,

That came across thee, calm and sweet,
Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near
Hell's confines, that the damn'd can hear!
Far other feelings Love has brought-

Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness,' &c.
Ah! not the Love, that should have bless'd
So young, so innocent a breast;

Not the pure, open, prosperous Love,
That, pledg'd on earth and seal'd above,
Grows in the world's approving eyes,

In friendship's smile and home's caress,
Collecting all the heart's sweet ties
Into one knot of happiness!
No, HINDA, no-thy fatal flame
Is nurs'd in silence, sorrow, shame.-

A passion, without hope or pleasure,

In thy soul's darkness buried deep,' &c. p. 215-217.

The Emir now learns, from a recreant prisoner, the secret of the pass to the Gheber's retreat; and when he sees his daughter faint with horror at his eager anticipation of their final extirpation, sends her, in a solitary galley, away from the scene of vengeance, to the quiet of her own Arabian home.

And does the long-left home she seeks
Light up no gladness on her cheeks?

The flowers she nurs'd-the well-known groves,
Where oft in dreams her spirit roves—
Once more to see her dear gazelles

Come bounding with their silver bells;

Her birds' new plumage to behold,
And the gay, gleaming fishes count,
She left, all filleted with gold,

Shooting around their jasper fount.
Her little garden mosque to see,
And once again, at evening hour,
To tell her ruby rosary,

In her own sweet acacia bower.
Can these delights, that wait her now,
Call up no sunshine on her brow?
No-silent, from her train apart,—
As if ev'n now she felt at heart
The chill of her approaching doom,→→→
She sits, all lovely in her gloom

As a pale Angel of the Grave. p. 227, 228.

Her vessel is first assailed by a violent tempest, and, in the height of its fury, by a hostile bark; and her senses are extinguished with terror in the midst of the double conflict. At last, both are appeased-and her recollection is slowly restored. The following passage appears to us extremely beautiful and characteristic.

How calm, how beautiful comes on

The stilly hour, when storms are gone;
When warring winds have died away,
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray,
Melt off, and leave the land and sea
Sleeping in bright tranquillity,-
Fresh as if Day again were born,
Again upon the lap of Morn!
When the light blossoms, rudely torn
And scatter'd at the whirlwind's will,
Hang floating in the pure air still,
Filling it all with precious balm,
In gratitude for this sweet calm;-
And every drop the thunder-showers
Have left upon the grass and flowers
Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem
Whose liquid flame is born of them!

When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze,
There blow a thousand gentle airs,
And each a different perfume bears,-
As if the loveliest plants and trees
Had vassal breezes of their own
To watch and wait on them alone,
And waft no other breath than theirs!
When the blue waters rise and fall,
In sleepy sunshine mantling all;

And ev❜n that swell the tempest leaves
Is like the full and silent heaves

Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest,
Too newly to be quite at rest!-

Such was the golden hour, that broke
Upon the world, when HINDA woke
From her long trance, and heard around
No motion but the water's sound
Rippling against the vessel's side,
As slow it mounted o'er the tide.-
But where is she?-her eyes are dark,
Are wilder'd still-is this the bark,
The same, that from HARMOZIA's bay
Bore her at morn-whose bloody way
The sea-dog tracks ?-no-strange and new
Is all that meets her wondering view.
Upon a galliot's deck she lies,

Beneath no rich pavilion's shade,
No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes,
Nor jasmin on her pillow laid.
But the rude litter, roughly spread
With war-cloaks, is her homely bed,

And shawl and sash, on javelins hung,

For awning o'er her head are flung. p. 233-36.

She soon discovers that she is a captive in the hands of the Ghebers; and shrinks with horror, when she finds that she is to be carried to their rocky citadel, and to the presence of the terrible Hafed. The galley is rowed by torch-light through frightful rocks and foaming tides, into a black abyss of the promontory, where her eyes are bandaged, and she is borne up a long and rugged ascent, till at last she is desired to look up and receive her doom from the formidable chieftain. Before she has raised her eyes, the well known voice of her lover pronounces her name; and she finds herself alone in the arms of her adoring Hafed. The first emotion is ecstasy, but the recollection of her father's vow and means of vengeance, comes like a thundercloud on her joy ;-she tells her lover of the treachery by which he has been sacrificed, and urges him, with passionate eagerness, to fly with her to some place of safety.

"HAFED, my own beloved Lord,

She kneeling cries-" first, last ador'd!
"If in that soul thou'st ever felt

"Half what thy lips impassion'd swore,
"Here, on my knees that never knelt
"To any but their God before,
"I pray thee, as thou lov'st me, fly-
"Now, now-ere yet their blades are nigh.

"Oh haste-the bark that bore me hither
"Can waft us o'er yon darkening sea
"East-west-alas, I care not whither,
"So thou art safe, and I with thee!
"Go where we will, this hand in thine,
"Those eyes before me smiling thus,
"Through good and ill, through storm and shine,
"The world's a world of love for us!
"On some calm, blessed shore we'll dwell,
"Where 'tis no crime to love too well;-
"Where thus to worship tenderly
"An erring child of light like thee
"Will not be sin-or, if it be,
"Where we may weep our faults away,
"Together kneeling, night and day,
"Thou, for my sake, at ALLA's shrine,
"And I-at any God's, for thine!"
Wildly these passionate words she spoke-
Then hung her head, and wept for shame;
Sobbing, as if a heart-string broke

With every deep-heav'd sob that came.' p. 261-2.

Hafed is more shocked with the treachery to which he is sacrificed than with the fate to which it consigns him :-One moment he gives up to softness and pity-assures Hinda, with compassionate equivocation, that they shall soon meet on some more peaceful shore-places her sadly in a litter, and sees her borne down the steep to the galley she had lately quitted, and to which she still expects that he is to follow her. He then assembles his brave and devoted companions-warns them of the fate that is approaching-and exhorts them to meet the host of the invaders in the ravine, and sell their lives dearly to their steel. After a fierce, and somewhat too sanguinary combat, the Ghebers are at last borne down by numbers; and Hafed finds himself left alone, with one brave associate, mortally wounded like himself. They make a desperate effort to reach and die beside the consecrated fire which burns for ever on the summit of the cliff.

Now HAFED sees the Fire divine—
When, lo!-his weak, worn comrade falls
Dead on the threshold of the Shrine.
"Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled!
"And must I leave thee withering here,
"The sport of every ruffian's tread,

"The mark for every coward's spear?
"No, by yon altar's sacred beams ! "
He cries, and, with a strength that seems
Not of this world, uplifts the frame
Of the fall'n Chief, and tow'rds the flame
Bears him along ;-with death-damp hand
The corpse upon the pyre he lays,
Then lights the consecrated brand,

And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze
Like lightning bursts o'er OMAN's Sea.-
"Now, Freedom's God! I come to Thee, "

The youth exclaims, and with a smile

Of triumph vaulting on the pile,

In that last effort, ere the fires

Have harm'd one glorious limb, expires!' p. 278, 279.

The unfortunate Hinda, whose galley had been detained close under the cliff by the noise of the first onset, had heard with agony the sounds which marked the progress and catastrophe of the fight, and is at last a spectatress of the lofty fate of her lover.

But see-what moves upon the height?
Some signal!-'tis a torch's light.
What bodes its solitary glare?

In gasping silence tow'rd the shrine
All eyes are turn'd-thine, HINDA, thine
Fix their last failing life-beams there.
'Twas but a moment-fierce and high
The death-pile blaz'd into the sky,
And far away o'er rock and flood
Its melancholy radiance sent;
While HAFED, like a vision, stood
Reveal'd before the burning pyre,
Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire
Shrin'd in its own grand element !

""Tis he!"-the shuddering maid exclaims,-
But, while she speaks, he's seen no more;

High burst in air the funeral flames,

And IRAN's hopes and hers are o'er!

One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave—
Then sprung, as if to reach that blaze,
Where still she fix'd her dying gaze,