"But these," pursued the Chief, "are truths sub. lime, "That claim a holier mood and calmer time "Than earth allows us now;-this sword must first "The darkling prison-house of Mankind burst, "Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in "Her wakening day-light on a world of sin. "But then,-celestial warriors, then, when all "Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall, "When the glad Slave shall at these feet lay down "His broken chain, the tyrant Lord his crown, "The Priest his book, the Conqueror his wreath, "And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath "Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze "That whole dark pile of human mockeries;"Then shall the reign of Mind commence on earth, "And starting fresh as from a second birth, Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring, "Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing! Then, too, your Prophet from his angel brow "Shall cast the Veil that hides its splendours now, "And gladden'd Earth shall, through her wide expanse "Bask in the glories of this countenance ! "For thee, young warrior, welcome!-thou hast yet "Some task to learn, some frailties to forget, "Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can wave;"But, once my own, mine all till in the grave!" The Pomp is at an end-the crowds are gone- The Old deep pondering on the promis'd reign Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze But there was one, among the chosen maids, Who blush'd behind the gallery's silken shades, One, to whose soul the pageant of to-day Has been like death;-you saw her pale dismay, Ye wondering sisterhood, and heard the burst Of exclamation from her lips, when first She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne Ah ZELICA! there was a time, when bliss From th' other world, he comes as if to haunt Once happy pair!-In proud BOKHARA's groves, Who had not heard of their first youthful loves? Born by that ancient flood, which from its spring In the dark Mountains swiftly wandering, Enrich'd by every pilgrim brook that shines With relics from BUCHARIA's ruby mines, And, lending to the CASPIAN half its strength, In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length;There, on the banks of that bright river born, The flowers, that hung above its wave at morn, Bless'd not the waters, as they murmur'd by, With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh And virgin-glance of first affection cast Upon their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd! But war disturb'd this vision,-far away From her fond eyes summon'd to join th' array Of PERSIA'S warriors on the hills of THRACE, The youth exchang'd his sylvan dwelling-place For the rude tent and war-field's deathful clash; His ZELICA's Sweet glances for the flash Of Grecian wild-fire, and Love's gentle chains, For bleeding bondage on BYZANTIUM's plains. Month after month, in widowhood of soul Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll Their suns away-but, ah! how cold and dim Ev'n summer suns, when not beheld with him! From time to time ill-omen'd rumours came, (Like spirit-tongues, mutt'ring the sick man's name, Just ere he dies,-) at length those sounds of dread Fell withering on her soul, "AZIM is dead!" Oh grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate First leaves the young heart lone and desolate In the wide world, without that only tie For which it lov'd to live or fear'd to die; The Amoo, which rises in the Belur Tag, or Dark Mountains, and running nearly from east to west, splits into two branches; one of which falls into the Caspian sea, and the other into Aral Nahr, or the Lake of Eagles. Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, When, vanquish'd by some minstrel's powerful art, She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her heart! Such was the mood in which that mission found Young ZELICA,-that mission, which around The Eastern world, in every region blest With woman's smile, sought out its loveliest, Το grace that galaxy of lips and eyes, Which the Veil'd Prophet destin'd for the skies!- In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind. * The nightingale. The one whose memory, fresh as life, is twin'd Whose image lives, though reason's self be wreck'd, Safe 'mid the ruins of her intellect! Alas, poor ZELICA! it needed all The fantasy, which held thy mind in thrall, 'Twas from a brilliant banquet, where the sound Of poesy and music breath'd around, Together picturing to her mind and ear The glories of that heav'n, her destin'd sphere, |