"And gladdened Earth shall, through her wide expanse, 'Bask in the glories of this countenance!
"For thee, young warrior, welcome!-thou hast yet "Some tasks 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-
Each ear and heart still haunted by the tone
Of that deep voice, which thrilled like ALLA's own!
The Young all dazzled by the plumes and lances,
The glittering throne, and Haram's half-caught glances;
The Old deep pondering on the promised reign
Of peace and truth; and all the female train
Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze
A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze!
But there was one, among the chosen maids,
Who blushed 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.