WHO has not heard of the Vale of CASHMERE,
With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave,3
Its temples, and grottoes, and fountains as clear
As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave?
Oh! to see it at sunset,-when warm o'er the Lake
Its splendour 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 pray'r 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, 312
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 people meet.-
Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes
A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks,
Hills, cupolas, fountains, call'd 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, woos like a lover
The young aspen-trees,313 till they tremble all over.
When the East is as warm as the light of first hopes,
And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurl'd,
Shines in through the mountainous portal 314 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; 315
The joyous Time, when pleasures pour
Profusely round, and, in their shower,
Hearts open, like the Season's Rose,—
The Flow'ret of a hundred leaves,316
Expanding while the dew-fall flows,
And every leaf its balm receives.
'Twas when the hour of evening came
Upon the Lake, serene and cool,
When Day had hid his sultry flame
Behind the palms of BARAMOULE,317
When maids began to lift their heads,
Refresh'd from their embroider'd beds,
Where they had slept the sun away,
And wak'd to moonlight and to play.
All were abroad-the busiest hive
On BELA'S 318 hills is less alive,
When saffron-beds are full in flower,
Than look'd the Valley in that hour.
A thousand restless torches play'd
Through every grove and island shade;
A thousand sparkling lamps were set
On every dome and minaret ;
And fields and pathways, far and near,
Were lighted by a blaze so clear,
That you could see, in wandering round,
The smallest rose-leaf on the ground.
Yet did the maids and matrons leave
Their veils at home, that brilliant eve;
And there were glancing eyes about,
And cheeks, that would not dare shine out
In open day, but thought they might
Look lovely then, because 'twas night.
And all were free, and wandering,
And all exclaim'd to all they met,
That never did the summer bring
So gay a Feast of Roses yet ;— The moon had never shed a light
So clear as that which bless'd them there;
The roses ne'er shone half so bright,
Nor they themselves look'd half so fair.
And what a wilderness of flowers!
It seem'd as though from all the bowers
And fairest fields of all the year,
The mingled spoil were scatter'd here.
The Lake, too, like a garden breathes,
With the rich buds that o'er it lie,-
As if a shower of fairy wreaths
Had fall'n upon it from the sky!
And then the sounds of joy,-the beat
Of tabors and of dancing feet ;
The minaret-crier's chaunt of glee
Sung from his lighted gallery,319
And answer'd by a ziraleet
From neighbouring Haram, wild and sweet ;-
The merry laughter, echoing
From gardens, where the silken swing 320
Wafts some delighted girl above
The top leaves of the orange grove ;
Or, from those infant groups at play
Among the tents 321 that line the way,
Flinging, unaw'd by slave or mother,
Handfuls of roses at each other.
Then, the sounds from the Lake, the low whispering in boats,
As they shoot through the moonlight ;-the dipping of
And the wild, airy warbling that everywhere floats,
Through the groves, round the islands, as if all the shores, Like those of KATHAY, utter'd music, and gave
An answer in song to the kiss of each wave.
But the gentlest of all are those sounds, full of feeling,
That soft from the lute of some lover are stealing,-
Some lover, who knows all the heart-touching power
Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour.
Oh! best of delights as it everywhere is
To be near the lov'd One,-what a rapture is his
Who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may glide
O'er the Lake of CASHMERE, with that One by his side!
If woman can make the worst wilderness dear,
Think, think what a Heaven she must make of CASHMERE!
So felt the magnificent Son of ACBAR,323
When from power and pomp and the trophies of war
He flew to that Valley, forgetting them all
With the Light of the Haram, his young NoURMAHAL.
When free and uncrown'd as the Conqueror rov'd
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