83 There's a bower of roses by BENDEEMER'S stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. That bower and its music I never forget, But oft when alone in the bloom of the year, I think is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER? No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER. "Poor maiden!" thought the youth, "if thou wert sent, "With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment, "To wake unholy wishes in this heart, "Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art. "So gently back to its first innocence, "That I would sooner stop the unchain'd dove, "When swift returning to its home of love, Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when, sparkling through The gently open'd curtains of light blue That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes, Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair Who live in the' air on odours,—and around The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, 84 Around the white necks of the nymphs who danc'd Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet, The ear could track, through all that maze of chords A SPIRIT there is, whose fragrant sigh Is burning now through earth and air : His breath is the soul of flowers like these, Is making the stream around them tremble. Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power! Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. By the fair and brave Who blushing unite, Like the sun and wave, When they meet at night; By the tear that shows As the rain-drop flows From the heat of the sky; By the first love-beat Of the youthful heart, By the bliss to meet, And the pain to part ; By all that thou hast To mortals given, This earth were heaven! We call thee hither, entrancing Power! Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. Impatient of a scene whose luxuries stole, Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, And where, midst all that the young heart loves most- But here again new spells came o'er his sense :- Could call up into life, of soft and fair, Of fond and passionate, was glowing there; Whose orb when half retir'd looks loveliest. 89 There hung the history of the Genii-King, 90 Here fond ZULEIKA 91 woos with open arms The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms, And here MOHAMMED, born for love and guile, 1 |