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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 375 left the fountains above,

And forgot heaven's stars for the eyes we have here. 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 breathed 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,376 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

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

So wondrously they went together :

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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 !

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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.

'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
The’ 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 breathed and shone ;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved 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. 377

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 ;---

Then, fare thee well-I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake

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When thawing suns begin to shine,
Than trust to love so false as thine!

There was a pathos in this lay,

That, e'en without enchantment's art,
Would instantly have found its way

Deep into SELIM's burning heart;
But, breathing, as it did, a tone
To earthly lutes and lips unknown,
With
every

chord fresh from the touch Of Music's Spirit,-'twas too much ! Starting, he dash'd away the cup,-

Which, all the time of this sweet air,
His hand had held, untasted, up,

As if 'twere fix'd by magic there, -
And naming her, so long unnam'd,
So long unseen, wildly exclaim'd,
“ O NOURMAHAL! O NOURMAHAL !

“ Hadst thou but sung this witching strain, “I could forget--forgive thee all,

“ And never leave those eyes again."

The mask is off — the charm is wrought-
And Selim to his heart has caught,
In blushes, more than ever bright,
His NOURMAHAL, his Haram's Light !
And well do vanish'd frowns enhance
The charm of every brighten'd glance ;
And dearer seems each dawning smile
For having lost its light awhile :

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