And, as he nearer drew, and listen'd From Eden's fountain, when it lies 'Nymph of a fair, but erring line!" 'Tis written in the Book of Fate, The Gift that is most dear to Heaven! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin ; 'Tis sweet to let the pardon'd in !" Rapidly as comets run To th' embraces of the sun ;- And, lighted earthward by a glance But whither shall the Spirit go To find this gift for heav'n?—“ I know * "The Mahometans suppose that falling stars are the firebrands wherewith the good angels drive away the bad, when they approach too near the empyreum, or verge of the heavens."-Fryer. In which unnumber'd rubies burn, I know where the Isles of Perfume are, The jewell'd cup of their king Jamshid, ‡ But gifts like these are not for the sky. While thus she mus'd, her pinions fann'd The air of that sweet Indian land *The Forty Pillars; so the Persians call the ruins of Persepolis. It is imagined by them that this palace, and the edifices at Balbec, were built by Genii, for the purpose of hiding in their subterraneous caverns immense treasures, which still remain there.-D'Herbelot, Volney. The Isles of Panchaia. + The cup of Jamshid, discovered, they say, when digging for the foundations of Persepolis."--Richardson. But crimson now her rivers ran With human blood-the smell of death Mingled his taint with every breath Thy monarchs and their thousand thrones? He comes, and India's diadems His bloodhounds he adorns with gems, Of many a young and lov'd Sultana; † Downward the Peri turns her gaze, Alone, beside his native river,— * Mahmood of Gazna, or Ghizni, who conquered India in the beginning of the eleventh century.-Vide his History, in Dow and Sir J. Malcolm. "It is reported that the hunting equipage of the Sultan Mahmoud was so magnificent, that he kept four hundred greyhounds and bloodhounds, each of which wore a collar set with jewels, and a covering edged with gold and pearls."- Universal History, vol. iii. The red blade broken in his hand, 66 And the last arrow in his quiver. Live," said the conqueror, "live to share False flew the shaft, though pointed well; Yet mark'd the Peri where he lay, And when the rush of war was past, Swiftly descending on a ray Of morning light, she caught the lastLast glorious drop his heart had shed, Before its free-born spirit fled! "Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, On the field of warfare, blood like this, It would not stain the purest rill, That sparkles among the bowers of bliss! Oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere, A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, "Tis the last libation Liberty draws From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!” |