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THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM.

WHO has not heard of the vale of CASHMERE,

With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave,a
Its temples, and grottoes, and fountains as clear
As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave?

O! to see it at sunset,-when warm o'er the Lake
Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws,
Like a bride, full of blushes, when lingering to take
A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes!—
When the shrines through the foliage are gleaming half
shown,

And each hallows the hour by some rites of its own.

Here the music of prayer from a minaret swells,

Here the Magian his urn, full of perfume, is swinging,

a «The rose of Kashmire, for its brilliancy and delicacy of odour, has long been proverbial in the East."-Forster.

209

And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells

Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is ringing. Or to see it by moonlight,-when mellowly shines The light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines; When the waterfalls gleam, like a quick fall of stars, And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet From the cool shining walks where the young people

meet.

Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes
A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks,
Hills, cupolas, fountains, called forth every one
Out of darkness, as if but just born of the Sun.
When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with the day,
From his Haram of night-flowers stealing away;
And the wind, full of wantonness, wooes like a lover
The young aspen-trees, till they tremble all over.
When the East is as warm as the light of first hopes,
And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurled,
Shines in through the mountainous portal that opes,

b

C

Sublime, from that Valley of bliss to the world!

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a «Tied round her waist the zone of bells, that sounded with ravishing melody."-Song of Jayadeva.

b«The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire are set with arbours and largeleaved aspen-trees, slender and tall.”—Bernier.

"The Tuckt Suliman, the name bestowed by the Mahometans on this hill, forms one side of a grand portal to the Lake."-Forster.

But never yet, by night or day,
In dew of spring or summer's ray,
Did the sweet Valley shine so gay
As now it shines-all love and light,
Visions by day and feasts by night!
A happier smile illumes each brow,

With quicker spread each heart uncloses,
And all is ecstasy,―for now

The Valley holds its Feast of Roses; a
The joyous time, when pleasures pour
Profusely round, and, in their shower,
Hearts open, like the Season's Rose,-

The Floweret of a hundred leaves,b
Expanding while the dew-fall flows,
And every leaf its balm receives.

"Twas when the hour of evening came
Upon the Lake, serene and cool,
When Day had hid his sultry flame

C

Behind the palms of BARAMOULE,
When maids began to lift their heads,

Refreshed, from their embroidered beds,

a «The Feast of Roses continues the whole time of their remaining in bloom."-See Pietro de la Valle.

b❝Gul sad berk, the Rose of a hundred leaves. I believe a particular species." Ouseley.

c Bernier.

Where they had slept the sun away,
And waked to moonlight and to play.
All were abroad-the busiest hive
On BELA's a hills is less alive,
When saffron-beds are full in flower,
Than looked the Valley in that hour.
A thousand restless torches played
Through every grove and island shade;
A thousand sparkling lamps were set
On every dome and minaret;

And fields and pathways, far and near,

Were lighted by a blaze so clear,

could see,

in wandering round,

That you
The smallest rose-leaf on the ground.
Yet did the maids and matrons leave
Their veils at home, that brilliant eve;
And there were glancing eyes about,
And cheeks, that would not dare shine out
In open day, but thought they might
Look lovely then, because 'twas night.
And all were free, and wandering,
And all exclaimed to all they met,
That never did the summer bring

So gay a Feast of Roses yet;

a A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehangeery, or Memoirs of Jehanguire, where there is an account of the beds of saffron-flowers about Cashmere.

The moon had never shed a light

So clear as that which blessed them there;
The roses ne'er shone half so bright,

Nor they themselves looked half so fair.

And what a wilderness of flowers!

It seemed as though from all the bowers
And fairest fields of all the year,
The mingled spoil were scattered here.
The Lake, too, like a garden breathes,
With the rich buds that o'er it lie,-

As if a shower of fairy wreaths

Had fallen upon it from the sky!
And then the sounds of joy,—the beat

Of tabors and of dancing feet;

The minaret-crier's chant of glee

Sung from his lighted gallery,a

And answered by a ziraleet

From neighbouring Haram, wild and sweet ;—

The merry laughter, echoing

From gardens, where the silken swing

b

a. "It is the custom among the women to employ the Maazeen to chant from the gallery of the nearest minaret, which on that occasion is illuminated, and the women assembled at the house respond at intervals with a ziraleet or joyous chorus."-Russell.

b 66 The swing is a favourite pastime in the East, as promoting a circulation of air, extremely refreshing in those sultry climates."-Richardson.

"The swings are adorned with festoons. This pastime is accompanied

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