He linger'd there, till peace dissolved his chains;
Oh, who could, e'en in bondage, tread the plains
Of glorious Greece, nor feel his spirit rise
Kindling within him? who, with heart and eyes,
Could walk where liberty had been, nor see
The shining footprints of her Deity,

Nor feel those godlike breathings in the air,
Which mutely told her spirit had been there?
Not he, that youthful warrior,

no, too well For his soul's quiet work'd th' awak'ning spell; And now, returning to his own dear land,

Full of those dreams of good that, vainly grand, Haunt the young heart, proud views of human kind Of men to Gods exalted and refined,

False views, like that horizon's fair deceit,

Where earth and heav'n but seem, alas, to meet!-
Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was raised
To right the nations, and beheld, emblazed
On the white flag, Mokanna's host unfuri'd,

Those words of sunshine, "Freedom to the World,"
At once his faith, his sword, his soul obey'd
Th' inspiring summons; every chosen blade
That fought beneath that banner's sacred text
Seem'd doubly edged, for this world and the next;
And ne'er did Faith with her smooth bandage bind
Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind,
In virtue's cause ; — never was soul inspired
With livelier trust in what it most desired,
Tl an his, th' enthusiast there, who kneeling, pale
With pious awe, before that Silver Veil,
Believes the form, to which he bends his knee,
Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to free
This fetter'd world from every bond and stain.
And bring its primal glories back again!

Low as young Azim knelt, that motley crowd Of all earth's nations sunk the knee and bow'd, With shouts of "Alla!" echoing long and loud; While high in air, above the Prophet's head, Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam spread, Waved, like the wings of the white birds that fan The flying throne of star-taught Soliman.

Then thus he spoke:-"Stranger, though new the frame
Thy soul inhabits now, I've track'd its flame
For many an age, in ev'ry chance and change
Of that existence, through whose varied range,
As through a torch-race, where, from hand to hand
The flying youths transmit their shining brand,
From frame to frame the unextinguish'd soul
Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal!

"Nor think 'tis only the gross Spirits, warm'd With duskier fire and for earth's medium form'd, That run this course: Beings, the most divine, Thus deign through dark mortality to shine. Such was the Essence that in Adam dwelt, To which all Heav'n, except the Proud One, knelt. Such the refined Intelligence that glow'd

In Moussa's frame, and, thence descending, flow'd Through many a Prophet's breast; — in Issa shone, And in Mohammed burn'd; till, hast'ning on,

(As a bright river that, from fall to fall

In many a maze descending, bright through all,
Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth pass'd,
In one full lake of light it rests at last,)
That Holy Spirit, settling calm and free
From lapse or shadow, centres all in me!"

Again, throughout th' assembly at these words,
Thousands of voices rung: the warriors' swords
Were pointed up to heaven; a sudden wind
In th' open banners play'd, and from behind
Those Persian hangings, that but ill could screen
The Haram's loveliness, white hands were seen
Waving embroidered scarfs, whose motion gave
A perfume forth-like those the Houris wave
When beck'ning to their bow'rs th' immortal Brave.

"But these," pursued the Chief, "are truths sublime, That claim a holier mood and calmer time

Than earth allows us now; this sword must first,
The darkling prison-house of Mankind burst,
Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in

Her wakening daylight on a world of sin.

But then, celestial warriors, then, when all

-

Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall;
When the glad Slave shall at these feet lay down
His broken chain, the tyrant Lord his crown,
The Priest his book, the Conqueror his wreath,
And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath
Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze
That whole dark pile of human mockeries;
Then shall the reign of mind commence on earth,
And starting fresh as from a second birth,
Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring,
Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing!
Then, too, your Prophet from his angel brow
Shall cast the Veil that hides its splendors now,
And gladden'd 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 glitt'ring throne, and Haram's half-caught glances The Old deep pond'ring 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 blush'd 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 wond'ring 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

Ah Zelica! there was a time, when bliss
Shone o'er thy heart from every look of his;
When but to see him, hear him, breathe the air
In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer
When round him hung such a perpetual spell,
Whate'er he did, none ever did so well.
Too happy days! when, if he touch'd a flow'r
Or gem of thine, 't was sacred froin that hour;
When thou didst study him till every tone
And gesture and dear look became thy own,--

Thy voice like his, the changes of his face
In thine reflected with still lovelier grace,
Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught
With twice th' aërial sweetness it had brought.
Yet now he comes,
- brighter than even he
E'er beam'd before, but, ah! not bright for thee
No- dread, unlook'd for, like a visitant

From th' other world, he comes as if to haunt
Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight,
Long lost to all but mem'ry's aching sight;-
Sad dreams! as when the Spirit of our Youth
Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth
And innocence once ours, and leads us back,
In mournful mockery, o'er the shining track
Of our young life, and points out every ray
Of hope and peace we 've lost upon the way!

Once happy pair! - In proud Bokhara's groves Who has not heard of their first youthful loves? Born by that ancient flood, which from its spring In the dark Mountains swiftly wandering, Enrich'd by ev'ry pilgrim brook that shines With relics from Bucharia's ruby mines, And, lending to the Caspian half its strength, In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length; There, on the banks of that bright river born, The flow'rs that hung above its wave at morn, Bless'd not the waters, as they murmur'd by, With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh And virgin-glance of first affection cast Upon their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd! But war disturb'd this vision, — far away

From her fond eyes summon'd to join th' arrav