THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM.

WHO has not heard of the vale of CASHMERE, With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave,* Its temples, and grottos, 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 splendor 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,

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

Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is ringing.†

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

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

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 peo-
ple 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,

Sublime, from that Valley of bliss to the world!

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 ;‡
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,§
Expanding while the dew-fall flows,

And every leaf its balm receives.

"The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire are set with arbors and large-leaved 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. "The Feast of Roses continues the whole time of their remaining in bloom."-See Pietro de la Valle.

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