That blesses heaven's inhabitants

With fruits of immortality,

Down to the basil tuft,a that waves

Its fragrant blossom over graves,
And to the humble rosemary,
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed
To scent the desert" and the dead-
All in that garden bloom, and all
Are gathered by young NOURMAHAL,
Who heaps her baskets with the flowers

And leaves, till they can hold no more;
Then to NAMOUNA flies, and showers

Upon her lap the shining store.
With what delight th' Enchantress views

So

many buds, bathed with the dews

And beams of that blessed hour!—her glance
Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures,

As, in a kind of holy trance,

She hung above those fragrant treasures,

rita, or immortal, and the mythologists of Tibet apply the same word to a celestial tree, bearing ambrosial fruit."-Sir W. Jones.

a Sweet basil, called Rayhan in Persia, and generally found in churchyards. "The women in Egypt go, at least two days in the week, to pray and weep at the sepulchres of the dead; and the custom then is to throw upon the tombs a sort of herb, which the Arabs call riahn, and which is our sweet basil."Maillet, Lett. 10.

b❝In the Great Desert are found many stalks of lavender and rosemary."Asiat. Res.

Bending to drink their balmy airs,
As if she mixed her soul with theirs.
And 'twas, indeed, the perfume shed
From flowers and scented flame, that fed
Her charmed life-for none had e'er
Beheld her taste of mortal fare,
Nor ever in aught earthly dip,

But the morn's dew, her roseate lip.
Filled with the cool, inspiring smell,
Th' Enchantress now begins her spell,
Thus singing as she winds and weaves,
In mystic form the glittering leaves :-

I know where the winged visions dwell
That around the night-bed play;

I know each herb and floweret's bell,

Where they hide their wings by day.
Then hasten we, maid,

To twine our braid;

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

The image of love, that nightly flies

To visit the bashful maid,

Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs

Its soul, like her, in the shade.

The dream of a future, happier hour,

That alights on misery's brow,

Springs out of the silvery almond flower,
That blooms on a leafless bough."

Then hasten we, maid,

To twine our braid;

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

The visions, that oft to worldly eyes

The glitter of mines unfold,
Inhabit the mountain-herb," that dyes

The tooth of the fawn like gold.

The phantom shapes-O touch not them—
That appal the murderer's sight,
Lurk in the fleshy mandrake's stem,

That shrieks, when plucked at night!

a "The almond-tree, with white flowers, blossoms on the bare branches."Hasselquist.

b An herb on Mount Libanus, which is said to communicate a yellow, golden hue to the teeth of the goats and other animals that graze upon it.

Niebuhr thinks this may be the herb which the Eastern alchymists look to as a means of making gold. "Most of those alchymical enthusiasts think themselves sure of success, if they could but find out the herb, which gilds the teeth and gives a yellow colour to the flesh of the sheep that eat it. Even the oil of this plant must be of a golden colour. It is called Haschischat ed dab."

Father Jerom Dandini. however, asserts that the teeth of the goats at Mount Libanus are of a silver colour; and adds, "this confirms to me that which I observed in Candia; to wit, that the animals that live on Mount Ida eat a certain herb, which renders their teeth of a golden colour; which, according to my judgment, cannot otherwise proceed than from the mines which are under ground."-Dandini, Voyage to Mount Libanus.

Then hasten we, maid,

To twine our braid;

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

The dream of the injured, patient mind,
That smiles at the wrongs of men,
Is found in the bruised and wounded rind
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then.

Then hasten we, maid,

To twine our braid;

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

No sooner was the flowery crown

Placed on her head, than sleep came down,

Gently as nights of summer fall,

Upon the lids of NOURMAHAL ;—
And, suddenly, a tuneful breeze,
As full of small, rich harmonies
As ever wind, that o'er the tents
Of AZAB a blew, was full of scents,

Steals on her ear, and floats and swells,
Like the first air of morning creeping

a The myrrh country. `