Then beckons some kind angel from above
With a new text to consecrate their love.

With rapid step, yet pleased and ling❜ring eye, Did the youth pass these pictured stories by, And hasten'd to a casement, where the light Of the calm moon came in, and freshly bright The fields without were seen, sleeping as still As if no life remain'd in breeze or rill. Here paused he, while the music, now less near Breathed with a holier language on his ear, As though the distance, and that heav'nly ray Through which the sounds came floating, took away All that had been too earthly in the lay.

Oh! could he listen to such sounds unmoved, And by that light- nor dream of her he loved? Dream on, unconscious boy! while yet thou may'st "Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste. Clasp yet awnue her image to thy heart,

Ere all the light, that made it dear, depart.

Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last
Clear, beautiful, by naught of earth o'ercast;
Recall her tears, to thee at parting giv'n,
Pure as they weep, if angels weep, in Heav'n.
Think, in her own still bower she waits thee now,
With the same glow of heart and bloom of brow
Yet shrined in solitude-thine all, thine only,
Like the one star above thee, bright and loney.
Oh! that a dream so sweet, so long enjoy'd,
Should be so sadly, cruelly destroy'd!

The song is hush'd, the laughing nymphs are flown,

And he is left, musing of bliss, alone;

That sob of grief, which broke from some one nigh
Whose could it be? alas! is misery found
Here, even here, on this enchanted ground?
He turns, and sees a female form, close veil'd,
Leaning, as if both heart and strength had fail'd,
Against a pillar nea; not glitt'ring o'er
With gems and wreaths, such as the others were
But in that deep-blue, melancholy dress,
Bokhara's maidens wear in mindfulness
Of friends or kindred, dead or far away;
And such as Zelica had on that day

He left her — when, with heart too full to speak,
He took away her last warm tears upon his cheek.

more

A strange emotion stirs within him, Than mere compassion ever waked before; Unconsciously he opes his arms, while she Springs forward, as with life's last energy, But, swooning in that one convulsive bound, Sinks, ere she reach his arms, upon the ground,Her veil falls off— her faint hands clasp his knees "T is she herself!-'tis Zelica he sees!

But ah, so pale, so changed

none but a lover

Could in that wreck of beauty's shrine discover The once-adored divinity - ev'n he

Stood for some moments mute, and doubtingly Put back the ringlets from her brow, and gazed Upon those lids, where once such lustre blazed, Ere he could think she was indeed his own, Own darling maid, whom he so long had known In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both;

Who, ev'n when grief was heaviest -- when loth

He left her for the wars - in that worst hour
Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night-flow'r,
When darkness brings its weeping glories out
And spreads its sighs like frankincense about.

"Look up, my Zelica - one moment show
Those gentle eyes to me, that I may know
Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone,
But there, at least, shines as it ever shone.
Come, look upon thy Azim-one dear glance,
Like those of old, were heav'n! whatever chance
Hath brought thee here, oh, 't was a blessed one!
There—my loved lips-they move-that kiss hath run
Like the first shoot of life through every vein,
And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again.
Oh the delight-now, in this very hour,

When had the whole rich world been in my pc w'r.
I should have singled out thee, only thee,
From the whole world's collected treasury —

To have thee here to hang thus fondly o'er
My own, best, purest Zelica once more! "

It was indeed the touch of those fond lips
Upon her eyes that chased their short eclipse,
And, gradual as the snow, at Heaven's breath,
Melts off and shows the azure flow'rs beneath,
Her lids unclosed, and the bright eyes were seen
Gazing on his not, as they late had been,
Quick, restless, wild, but mournfully serene;
As if to lie, ev'n for that tranced minute,
So near his heart, had consolation in it;
And thus to wake in his beloved caress
Took from her soul one half its wretchedness.

But, when she heard him call her good and pure,
Oh, 't was too much too dreadful to endure!
Shudd'ring she broke away from his embrace,
And, hiding with both hands her guilty face,
Said, in a tone whose anguish would have riv'n
A heart of very marble, "Pure! - oh Heav'n!

That sin and sorrow leave where'er they light;
The dead despondency of those sunk eyes,
Where once, had he thus met her by surprise,
He would have seen himself, too happy boy,
Reflected in a thousand lights of joy;
And then the place, that bright, unholy place,
Where vice lay hid beneath each winning grace
And charm of lux'ry, as the viper weaves
Its wily cov'ring of sweet balsam leaves,
All struck upon his heart, sudden and cold
As dea itself;-it needs not to be told -

No, no he sees it all, plain as the brand

Of burning shame can mark - whate'er the hand

That could from Heav'n and him such brightness sever "T is done to Heav'n and him she's lost for ever!

It was a dreadful moment; not the tears,

The ling'ring lasting misery of years
Could match that minute's anguish

all the worst

Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst
Broke o'er his soul, and, with one crash of fate,
Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate.

"Oh! curse me not," she cried, as wild ne toss'd His desp'rate hand tow'rds Heav'n—“though I am

lost,

Think not that guilt, that falsehood made me fall,
No, no — 't was grief, 't was madness did it all!

Nay, doubt me not

though all thy love hath ceased

I know it hath - yet, yet believe, at least,
That every spark of reason's light must be
Quench'd in this brain, ere I could stray from thee,

They told me thou wert dead

1

- why, Azim, why Did we not both of us that instant die

When we were parted? oh! couldst thou but know
With what a deep devotedness of woe
I wept thy absence -o'er and o'er again

Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,
And mem'ry, like a drop, that night and day,
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away.
Didst thou but know how pale I sat at home,
My eyes still turn'd the way thou wert to come,
And, all the long, long night of hope and fear,
Thy voice and step still sounding in my ear-
Oh God! thou wouldst not wonder that, at last,
When every hope was all at once o'ercast,
When I heard frightful voices round me say
Azim is dead! - this wretched brain gave way,
And I became a wreck, at random driven,
Without, one glimpse of reason or of Heav'n
All wild and even this quenchless love within
Turn'd to foul fires to light me into sin!
Thou pitiest me - I knew thou wouldst
Hath naught beneath it half so lorn as I.
The fiend, who lured me hither-hist! come near,
Or thou too, thou art lost, if he should hear-
Told me such things-oh! with such de-lish art,
As would have ruin'd ev'n a holier heart

-

-

that sky

Of thee and of that ever-radiant sphere,
Where bless'd at length, if I but served him here,