The poetical works of Thomas Moore

Like the wind of the south' o'er a summer lute blowing, And hush'd all its music and wither'd its frame!

But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands,

Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom Of her, who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, With nought but the sea-star to light up her tomb.

And still, when the merry date-season is burning,
And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old,3
The happiest there, from their pastime returning,
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told.

The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses
Her dark flowing hair for some festival day,
Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her tresses,
She mournfully turns from the mirror away.

Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero! forget thee,Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start, Close, close by the side of that hero she 'll set thee, Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart.

Farewell-be it ours to embellish thy pillow

With every thing beauteous that grows in the deep; Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep.

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber,

That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept;4 With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed chamber, We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have slept.

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling,
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head;
We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian3 are sparkling,
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed.

Farewell-farewell-until Pity's sweet fountain
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave,
They 'll weep
for the Chieftain who died on that moun-

tain, They'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this wave.

The singular placidity with which Fadladeen had listened, during the latter part of this obnoxious story, surprised the Princess and Feramorz exceedingly; and even inclined towards him the hearts of these unsuspicious young persons, who little knew the source of a complacency so marvellous. The truth was, he had been organizing, for the last few days, a most notable plan of persecution against the poet, in consequence of some passages that had fallen from him on the second

This wind (the Samoor) so softens the strings of lutes, that they can never be tuned while it lasts.-STEPHEN'S Persia.

One of the greatest curiosities found in the Persian Gulf is a fish which the English call Star-Fish. It is circular, and at night very luminous, resembling the full moon surrounded by rays..MIRZE ABU TALES.

For a description of the merriment of the date-time, of their work, their dances, and their return home from the palm-groves at the end of automo with the fruits, see KMPPER, Amauit. Exot.

evening of recital,-which appeared to this worthy Chamberlain to contain language and principles, for which nothing short of the summary criticism of the Chabuk would be advisable. It was his intention, therefore, immediately on their arrival at Cashmere, to give information to the King of Bucharia of the very dangerous sentiments of his minstrel; and if, unfortunately, that monarch did not act with suitable vigour on the occasion (that is, if he did not give the Chabuk to Feramorz, and a place to Fadladeen), there would be an end, he feared, of all legitimate government in Bucharia. He could not help, however, auguring better both for himself and the cause of potentates in general; and it was the pleasure arising from these mingled anticipations that diffused such unusual satisfaction through his features, and made his eyes shine out, like poppies of the desert, over the wide and lifeless wilderness of that countenance.

Having decided upon the poet's chastisement in this manner, he thought it but humanity to spare him the minor tortures of criticism. Accordingly, when they assembled next evening in the pavilion, and Lalla Rookh expected to see all the beauties of her bard melt away, one by one, in the acidity of criticism, like pearls in the cup of the Egyptian Queen,—he agreeably disappointed her by merely saying, with an ironical smile, that the merits of such a poem deserved to be tried at a much higher tribunal; and then suddenly passing off into a panegyric upon all Mussulman sovereigns, more particularly his august and imperial master, Aurungzebe,—the wisest and best of the descendants of Timur, -who, among other great things he had done for mankind, had given to him, Fadladeen, the very profitable posts of Betel-Carrier and Taster of Sherbets to the Emperor, Chief Holder of the Girdle of Beautiful Forms, and Grand Nazir, or Chamberlain of the Haram.

They were now not far from that forbidden river, 3(117) beyond which no pure Hindoo can pass; and were reposing for a time in the rich valley of Hussun Abdaul, which had always been a favourite resting-place of the emperors in their annual migrations to Cashmere. Here often had the Light of the Faith, Jehanguire, wandered with his beloved and beautiful Nourmahal; and here would Lalla Rookh have been happy to remain for ever, giving up the throne of Bucharia and the world, for Feramorz and love in this sweet lonely valley. The time was now fast approaching when she must see him no longer,-or see him with eyes whose every look belonged to another; and there was a melancholy preciousness in these last moments, which made her heart cling to them as it would to life. During the latter part of the journey, indeed, she had sunk into a deep sadness, from which nothing but the presence of the young minstrel could awake her. Like those lamps in tombs, which only light up when the air is admitted, it was only at his approach that her eyes became smiling and animated. But here, in this dear valley, every mo

The application of whips or rods. -DEBOT.

* KEMPFER mentions such an officer among the attendants of the King of Persia, and calls him formæ corporis estimator. His business was, at stated periods, to measure the ladies of the Haram by a

4 Some naturalists have imagined that amber is a concretion of sort of regulation-girdle, whose limits it was not thought graceful to the tears of birds. See Taevocx, CHAMBERS.

exceed. If any of them outgrew this standard of shape, they were 4. The bay kieselarke, which is otherwise called the Golden Bay, reduced by abstinence till they came within its bounds.

ment was an age of pleasure; she saw him all day, and was, therefore, all day happy,-resembling, she often thought, that people of Zinge, (118) who attribute the unfading cheerfulness they enjoy to one genial star that rises nightly over their heads.1

The whole party, indeed, seemed in their liveliest mood during the few days they passed in this delightful solitude. The young attendants of the Princess, who were here allowed a freer range than they could safely be indulged with in a less sequestered place, ran wild among the gardens, and bounded through the meadows, lightly as young roes over the aromatic plains of Tibet. While Fadladeen, besides the spiritual comfort he derived from a pilgrimage to the tomb of the saint from whom the valley is named, had opportunities of gratifying, in a small way, his taste for victims, by putting to death some hundreds of those unfortunate little lizards, (119) which all pious Mussulmans make it a point to kill;— taking for granted, that the manner in which the creature hangs its head is meant as a mimicry of the attitude in which the faithful say their prayers.

About two miles from Hussun Abdaul were those royal gardens, (120) which had grown beautiful under the care of so many lovely eyes, and were beautiful still, though those eyes could see them no longer. This place, with its flowers and its holy silence, interrupted only by the dipping of the wings of birds in its marble basins filled with the pure water of those hills, was to Lalla Rookh all that her heart could fancy of fragrance, coolness, and almost heavenly tranquillity. As the Prophet said of Damascus, it was too delicious;» (121) -and here, in listening to the sweet voice of Feramorz, or reading in his eyes what yet he never dared to tell her, the most exquisite moments of her whole life were passed. One evening, when they had been talking of the Sultana Nourmahal,-the Light of the Haram, who had so often wandered among these flowers, and fed with her own hands, in those marble basins, the small shining fishes of which she was so fond,3-the youth, in order to delay the moment of separation, proposed to recite a short story, or rather rhapsody, of which this adored Sultana was the heroine. It related, he said, to the reconcilement of a sort of lovers' quarrel, which took place between her and the Emperor during a Feast of Roses at Cashmere; and would remind the Princess of that difference (122) between Haroun-al-Raschid and his fair mistress Marida, which was so happily made up by the soft strains of the musician, Moussali. As the story was chiefly to be told in song, and Feramorz had unluckily forgotten his own lute in the valley, he borrowed the vina of Lalla Rook's little Persian slave, and thus began:

THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM.

Its temples, and grottos, 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 prayer 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.' Or to see it by moonlight,-when mellowly shines The light o'er its palaces, gardens and shrines; When the water-falls 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 they were 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? 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 mountainous3 portal 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 ecstacy,-for now

The Valley holds its Feast of Roses.4
That joyous time, when pleasures pour
Profusely round, and in their shower
Hearts open, like the Season's Rose,—

The flowret of a hundred leaves,5
Expanding while the dew-fall flows,
And every leaf its balm receives!
'T was when the hour of evening came
Upon the Lake, serene and cool,
When Day had hid his sultry flame

Behind the palms of Baramoule :6
When maids began to lift their heads,
Refresh'd, from their embroider'd beds,

WHO has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere,
With its roses, the brightest that earth ever gave,4

The star Soheil, or Canopus.

* Nourmahal signifies Light of the Haram. She was afterwards called Nourjeban, or the Light of the World.

See note, p. 40.

The rose of Kashmere, for its brilliancy and delicacy of odour, has long been proverbial in the East.-FORSTER.

Tied round her waist the zone of bells, that sounded with ravishing melody.»-Song of Jayadeva.

The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire are set with arbours and large-leaved aspen-trees, slender and tall.-Bernier. 3 The Tuct Suliman, the name bestowed by the Mahometans on this hill, forms one side of a grand portal to the Lake.-FORSTER. The Feast of Roses continues the whole time of their remaining in bloom.-See PIETRO DE LA VALLE

Gul sad berk, the Rose of a hundred leaves. I believe a particular species."-OCSELEY.

• Bernier.

Where they had slept the sun away,
And waked to moonlight and to play.
All were abroad-the busiest hive
On Bela's bills is less alive

When saffron beds are full in flower,
Than look'd the Valley in that hour.
A thousand restless torches plav'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 't was 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 fallen upon it from the sky!
And then the sounds of joy,-the beat
Of tabors and of dancing feet;-
The minaret-cryer's chaunt of glee
Sung from his lighted gallery,"
And answered by a ziralect

From neighbouring Haram, wild and sweet;—
The merry laughter, echoing

From gardens, where the silken swing (123)
Wafts some delighted girl above
The top leaves of the orange grove;
Or, from those infant groups at play
Among the tents3 that line the way,
Flinging, unawed by slave or mother,
Handfuls of roses at each other!-

Like those of Kathay utter'd music, and gave
An answer in song to the kiss of each wave:" "124
But the gentiest of all are those sounds, full of feeling,
That soft from the late of some lover are straling.—
Some lover, who knows all the heart-touching power
Of a lute and a sigh in this magical bour.
On. best of delights, as it every where is,

To be near the loved One,—what a rapture is his,
Who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may glide
Ofer 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!

Į So felt the magnificent son of Acbar,
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 roved
By the banks of that Lake, with his only beloved,
He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully snatch
From the hedges, a glory his crown could not match,
And preferr❜d in his heart the least ringlet that curl'd
Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the world!

There's a beauty for ever unchangingly bright,
Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer day's light,
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender,
Till love falls asleep in its sameness of splendour.
This was not the beauty-oh! nothing like this
That to young Nourmahal gave such magic of bliss;
But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days,
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies
From the lips to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes,
Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams,
Like the glimpses a saint hath of heaven in his dreams'
When pensive, it seem'd as if that very grace,
That charm of all others, was born with her face,
And when angry,—for even in the tranquillest climes
Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometimes—
The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken
New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when shaken.
If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye
At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye,
From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings,
From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings'
Then her mirth-oh! 't was sportive as ever took wing
From the heart with a burst, like the wild-bird in spring;-
Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages,

And the sounds from the Lake,-the low whispering Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages.3
in boats,

While her laugh, full of life, without any control

As they shoot through the moonlight;-the dipping But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul;

of oars,

And the wild, airy warbling that every where floats Through the groves, round the islands as if all the shores

A place mentioned in the Tootel Jchangeery or Memoirs of Jehanguire, where there is an account of the beds of saffron flowers about Cashmere.

It is the custom among the women to employ the Maazeen to chaunt from the gallery of the nearest minaret, which on that occa- | sion is illuminated, and the women assembled at the house respond at intervals with a ziraleet or joyous chorus.-RUSSELL.

At the keeping of the Feast of Roses, we bebeld an infinite number of tents pitched, with such a crowd of men, women, boys, and girls, with music, dances, etc. etc.-HERBERT.

And where it most sparkled no glance could discover,
In lip, check, or eyes, for she brighten'd all over,—
Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon,
When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun.

An old commentator of the Chon-King says, the ancients having remarked that a current of water made some of the stones near its banks send forth a sound, they detached some of them, and, being charmed with the delightful sound they emitted, constructed King or musical instruments of them,-GROSIER.

Jebanguire was the son of the Great Acbar,

3 In the wars of the Dives with the Peris, whenever the former took the latter prisoners, they shut them up in iron cages, and hung them on the highest trees. Here they were visited by their companions, who brought them the choicest odours.—RICHARDSON,

Such, such were the peerless enchantments that gave Nourmahal the proud Lord of the East for her slave; And though bright was his Haram,—a living parterre Of the flowers of this planet-though treasures were there,

For which Soliman's self might have given all the store
That the navy from Ophir e'er wing'd to his shore,
Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all,
And the Light of his Haram was young Nourmahal!

But where is she now, this night of joy,
When bliss is every heart's employ?—
When all around her is so bright,

So like the visions of a trance,

That one might think, who came by chance

Into the vale this happy night,

He saw that City of Delight

In Fairy-land, whose streets and towers
Are made of gems and light and flowers!-
Where is the loved Sultana? where,

When mirth brings out the young and fair,
Does she, the fairest, hide her brow,
In melancholy stillness now?

Alas-how light a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love!
Hearts that the world in vain had tried,
And sorrow but more closely tied;

That stood the storm when waves were rough,
Yet in a sunny hour fall off,

Like ships, that have gone down at sea,
When heaven was all tranquillity!

A something, light as air-a look,

A word unkind or wrongly taken—
Oh! love, that tempests never shook,

A breath, a touch like this hath shaken.
And ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin:
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship's smiling day:
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said;
Till fast declining, one by one,
The sweetnesses of love are gone,
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem
Like broken clouds,-or like the stream,
That smiling left the mountain's brow,
As though its waters ne'er could sever,
Yet, ere it reach the plain below,

Breaks into floods, that part for ever.

Oh you, that have the charge of Love,
Keep him in rosy bondage bound,
As in the Fields of Bliss above

He sits, with flowrets fetter'd round;-3
Loose not a tie that round him clings,
Nor ever let him use his wings;
For even an hour, a minute's flight
Will rob the plumes of half their light.
Like that celestial bird,-whose nest

Is found beneath far Eastern skies,—

In the Malay language the same word signifies women and flowers. * The capital of Shadukiam. See note, p. 28.

3 See the representation of the Eastern Cupid, pinioned closely round with wreaths of flowers, in PICART'S Cérémonies Religieuses.

Whose wings, though radiant when at rest Lose all their glory when he flies!

Some difference, of this dangerous kind,-
By which, though light, the links that bind
The fondest hearts may soon be riven;
Some shadow in love's summer heaven,
Which, though a fleecy speck at first,
May yet in awful thunder burst;-
Such cloud it is, that now hangs over
The heart of the Imperial Lover,
And far hath banish'd from his sight
His Nourmahal, his Haram's Light!
Hence is it, on this happy night,
When Pleasure through the fields and groves
Has let loose all her world of loves,
And every heart has found its own,-
He wanders, joyless and alone,
And weary as that bird of Thrace,
Whose pinion knows no resting-place.2
In vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes
This Eden of the earth supplies

Come crowding round-the cheeks are pale,
The eyes are dim-though rich the spot
With every flower this earth has got,

What is it to the nightingale,

If there his darling rose is not?3

In vain the Valley's smiling throng
Worship him as he moves along;
He heeds them not-one smile of hers
Is worth a world of worshippers.
They but the Star's adorers are,
She is the Heaven that lights the star!

Hence is it too that Nourmahal,

Amid the luxuries of this hour, Far from the joyous festival,

Sits in her own sequester'd bower, With no one near, to soothe or aid, But that inspired and wondrous maid, Namouna, the enchantress;-one, O'er whom his race the golden Sun For unremember'd years has run, Yet never saw her blooming brow Younger or fairer than 't is now. Nay, rather, as the west-wind's sigh Freshens the flower it passes by, Time's wing but seem'd, in stealing o'er, To leave her lovelier than before. Yet on her smiles a sadness hung, And when, as oft, she spoke or sung Of other worlds, there came a light From her dark eyes so strangely bright, That all believed nor man nor earth Were conscious of Namouna's birth!

Among the birds of Tonquin is a species of goldfinch, which sings so melodiously that it is called the Celestial Bird. Its wings, when it is perched, appear variegated with beautiful colours, but when it flies, they lose all their splendour.»-GROSIER.

2. As these birds on the Bosphorus are never known to rest, they are called by the French les àmes damnées.'-DALLOWAY.

3. You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the nightingale, yet he wishes not, in his constant heart, for more than the sweet breath of his beloved rose.-JAMI.

All spells and talismans she knew,

From the great Mantra,' which around

The Air's sublimer Spirits drew,

To the gold gems, of Afric, bound Upon the wandering Arab's arm, To keep him from the Siltim's3 harm. And she had pledged her powerful art, Pledged it with all the zeal and heart Of one who knew, though high her sphere, What 't was to lose a love so dear, To find some spell that should recal Her Selim's smile to Nourmahal!

T was midnight-through the lattice, wreathed
With woodbine, many a perfume breathed
From plants that wake when others sleep,
From timid jasmine buds, that keep
Their odour to themselves all day,
But, when the sun-light dies away,
Let the delicious secret out

To every breeze that roams about ;-
When thus Namouna:-'T is the hour
That scatters spells on herb and flower,
And garlands might be gather'd now,
That, twined around the sleeper's brow,
Would make him dream of such delights,
Such miracles and dazzling sights
As Genii of the sun behold,
At evening, from their tents of gold
Upon the horizon-where they play
Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray,
Their sunny mansions melt away!
Now, too, a chaplet might be wreathed
Of buds o'er which the moon has breathed,
Which worn by her, whose love has stray'd,
Might bring some Peri from the skies,
Some sprite, whose very soul is made

Of flowrets, breaths, and lovers' sighs,
And who might tell-

For me, for me,"

Cried Nourmahal, impatiently,

Oh! twine that wreath for me to-night.. Then, rapidly, with foot as light

As the young musk-roc's, out she flew
To cull each shining leaf that grew
Beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams.
Anemones and Seas of Gold, 5

And new-blown lilies of the river,
And those sweet flowrets, that unfold
Their buds on Camadeva's quiver; 6
The tube-rose, with her silvery light,
That in the Gardens of Malay

He is said to have found the great Mantra, spell or talisman, through which he ruled over the elements and spirits of all denomiBations-WILFORD.

Is call'd the Mistress of the Night,'
So like a bride, scented and bright,

She comes out when the sun 's away.
Amaranths, such as crown the maids
That wander through Zamara's shades ; "
And the white moon-flower, as it shows
On Serendib's high crags to those
Who near the isle at evening sail,
Scenting her clove-trees in the gale;
In short, all flowrets and all plants,
From the divine Amrita tree, 3
That blesses Heaven's inhabitants
With fruits of immortality,
Down to the basil 4 tuft, that waves
Its fragrant blossom over graves, (125)
And to the humble rosemary,
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed
To scent the desert5 and the dead,
All in that garden bloom, and all
Are gather'd by young Nourmahal,
Who heaps her baskets with the flowers
And leaves, till they can hold no more,
Then to Namouna flies, and showers
Upon her lap the shining store.

With what delight the Enchantress views
So many buds, bathed with the dews
And beams of that bless'd hour!-her glance
Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures,
As, in a kind of holy trance,

She hung above those fragrant treasures,
Bending to drink their balmy airs,
As if she mix'd her soul with theirs.
And 't was, indeed, the perfume shed
From flowers and scented flame that fed
Her charmed life-for none had e'er
Beheld her taste of mortal fare,
Nor ever in aught earthly dip,
But the morn's dew, her roseate lip.
Fill'd with the cool inspiring smell,
The Enchantress now begins her spell,
Thus singing, as she winds and weaves
In mystic form the glittering leaves :

I know where the winged visions dwell That around the night-bed play;

I know each herb and flowret's bell, Where they hide their wings by day. Then hasten we, maid,

To twine our braid,

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

The Malayans style the tube-rose (Poliauthes tuberosa) Sandal Malam or the Mistress of the Night.-Pennant.

The people of the Batta country in Sumatra (of which Zamara The gold jewels of Jinnie, which are called by the Arabs El is one of the ancient names), when not engaged in war, lead an idle Herrez, from the supposed charm they contain.-JACKSON. 3. A demon, supposed to haunt woods, etc. in a human shape.. RICHARDSON.

The name of Jehanguire before his accession to the throne. 3. Hemasagara, or the Sea of Gold, with flowers of the brightest gold colour.SIR W. JONES.

This tree (the Nagacesara) is one of the most delightful on earth, and the delicious odour of its blossoms justly gives them a place in the quiver of Camadeva, or the God of Love.--Id.

inactive life, passing the day in playing on a kind of flute, crowned with garlands of flowers, among which the glo! e-amaranthus, a native of the country, mostly prevails.-MARSDEN.

The largest and richest sort (of the Jambu or rose-apple) is called Amrita or immortal, and the mythologists of Tibet apply the same word to a celestial tree, bearing ambrosial fruit.-Sin W. JONES. Sweet Basil, called Rayhan in Persia, and generally found in churchyards.

In the Great Desert are found many stalks of lavender and rosemary.Asiat. Res.

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