Of her own country maidens' looks,
When warm they rise from Teflis' brooks ;*
And with an eye, whose restless ray,

Full, floating, dark-oh! he, who knows His heart is weak, of Heav'n should pray To guard him from such eyes as those!—

With a voluptuous wildness flings
Her snowy hand across the strings
Of a syrinda,* and thus sings:-

Come hither, come hither-by night and by day,
We linger in pleasures that never are gone;
Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away,
Another as sweet and as shining comes on.
And the love that is o'er, in expiring, gives birth
To a new one as warm, as unequall'd in bliss;
And oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.

Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh
As the flower of the Amra just op'd by a bee; †
And precious their tears as that rain from the sky,‡
Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea.
Oh! think what the kiss and the smile must be worth,
When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss;
And own if there be an Elysium on earth,

It is this, it is this.

Here sparkles the nectar that, hallow'd by love,
Could draw down those angels of old from their sphere,
Who for wine of this earth § left the fountains above,
And forgot heaven's stars for the eyes we have here.

* "The Indian syrinda or guitar."-Symes.

"Delightful are the flowers of the Amra trees on the mountain-tops, while the murmuring bees pursue their voluptuous toil."-Song of Jayadeva.

"The Nisan, or drops of spring rain, which they believe to produce pearls if they fall into shells."-Richardson.

§ For an account of the share which wine had in the fall of the angels, vide Mariti.

And, bless'd with the odour our goblet gives forth, What spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss ? For oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,

It is this, it is this.

The Georgian's song was scarcely mute,

When the same measure, sound for sound, Was caught up by another lute,

And so divinely breath'd around,

That all stood hush'd and wondering,

And turn'd and look'd into the air,

As if they thought to see the wing
Of Israfil, the angel, there;

So powerfully on every soul

That new,

enchanted measure stole.

While now a voice, sweet as the note

Of the charm'd lute, was heard to float

Along its chords, and so entwine

Its sounds with theirs, that none knew whether The voice or lute was most divine,

So wondrously they went together:

There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing and brow never cold, Love on through all ills, and love on till they die!

One hour of a passion so sacred is worth

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss;
And oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.

* The Angel of Music.-Vide note, p. 215.

'Twas not the air, 'twas not the words,
But that deep magic in the chords
And in the lips, that gave such power
As music knew not till that hour.

At once a hundred voices said,
"It is the mask'd Arabian maid!”
While SELIM, who had felt the strain
Deepest of any, and had lain

Some minutes rapt, as in a trance,

After the fairy sounds were o'er,

Too inly touch'd for utterance,

Now motion'd with his hand for more :

Fly to the desert, fly with me;

Our Arab tents are rude for thee,

But oh! the choice what heart can doubt, Of tents with love, or thrones without?

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor lov'd the less
For flowering in a wilderness.

Our sands are bare, but down their slope

The silvery-footed antelope

As gracefully and gaily springs

As o'er the marble courts of kings.

Then come-thy Arab maid will be
The lov'd and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.

Oh! there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,-
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought ;-

As if the very lips and eyes
Predestin'd to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before us then!

So came thy every glance and tone,
When first on me they breath'd and shone;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if lov'd for years!

Then fly with me,-if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.

Come, if the love thou hast for me
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,-
Fresh as the fountain under ground,
When first 'tis by the lapwing found.*

But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipp'd image from its base,
To give to me the ruin'd place ;-

* The Hudhud, or Lapwing, is supposed to have the power of discovering water under ground.