So quickly do his baleful sighs, Quench all the sweet light of her eyes. One struggle-and his pain is past

Her lover is no longer living! One kiss the maiden gives, one last,

Long kiss, which she expires in giving!

"Sleep," said the PERI, as softly she stole The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast"Sleep on, in visions of odor rest, "In balmier airs then ever yet stirr'd "Th' enchanted pile of that lonely bird, "Who sings at the last his own death-lay," "And in music and perfume dies away!" Thus saying, from her lips she spread

Unearthly breathings through the place, And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed Such lustre o'er each paly face, That like two lovely saints they seem'd, Upon the eve of doomsday taken From their dim graves, in odor sleeping; While that benevolent PERI beam'd Like their good angel, calmly keeping

184

Watch o'er them till their souls would waken.

But morn is blushing in the sky;

Again the PERI soars above,
Bearing to Heav'n that precious sigh
Of pure, self-sacrificing love.
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate,
Th' Elysian palm she soon shall win,
For the bright Spirit at the gate

Smiled as she gave that off'ring in;
And she already hears the trees

Of Eden, with their crystal bells Ringing in that ambrosial breeze

That from the throne of ALLA swells; And she can see the starry bowls

That lie around that lucid lake, Upon whose banks admitted Souls

Their first sweet draught of glory take !185

But, ah! ev'n PERIS' hopes are vain-
Again the Fates forbade, again
Th' immortal barrier closed-" Not yet,"
The Angel said, as, with regret,

He shut from her that glimpse of glory-
"True was the maiden, and her story,
"Written in light o'er ALLA's head,
"By seraph eyes shall long be read.
"But, PERI, see-the crystal bar
"Of Eden moves not-holier far
"Than ev'n this sigh the boon must be
"That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee."

To one, who look'd from upper air
O'er all th' enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melons on their banks,
More golden where the sun-light falls;-
Gay lizards, glitt'ring on the walls 187
Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright
As they were all alive with light;
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks,
With their rich restless wings, that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam

Of the warm West,-as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine, or made
Of tearless rainbows, such as span
Th' unclouded skies of PERISTAN.
And then the mingling sounds that come,
Of shepherd's ancient reed,188 with hum
Of the wild bees of PALESTINE,"

189

Banqueting through the flow'ry vales; And, JORDAN, those sweet banks of thine, And woods, so full of nightingales.199

But naught can charm the luckless PERI;
Her soul is sad-her wings are weary-
Joyless she sees the Sun look down
On that great Temple, once his own,191
Whose lonely columns stand sublime,
Flinging their shadows from on high,
Like dials, which the wizard, Time,

Had raised to count his ages by!
Yet haply there may lie conceal'd
Beneath those Chambers of the Sun,
Some amulet of gems, anneal'd
In upper fires, some tablet seal'd
With the great name of SOLOMON,
Which, spell'd by her illumined eyes,
May teach her where, beneath the moon,
In earth or ocean, lies the boon,
The charm, that can restore so soon
An erring Spirit to the skies.

Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither ;Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven,

192

Nor have the golden bowers of Even In the rich West begun to wither;When, o'er the vale of BALBEC winging Slowly, she sees a child at play, Among the rosy wild-flow'rs singing, As rosy and as wild as they; Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, The beautiful blue damsel-flies," That flutter'd round the jasmine stems, Like winged flow'rs or flying gems :— And, near the boy, who tired with play Now nestling 'mid the roses lay, She saw a wearied man dismount From his hot steed, and on the brink Of a small imaret's rustic fount193

Impatient fling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd To the fair child, who fearless sat, Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd Upon a brow more fierce than that,— Sullenly fierce-a mixture dire, Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire; In which the PERI's eye could read Dark tales of many a ruthless deed; The ruin'd maid-the shrine profaned— Oaths broken-and the threshold stain'd With blood of guests!—there written, all, Black as the damning drops that fall From the denouncing Angel's pen, Ere Mercy weeps them out again.

Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening time
Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play:
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches, that have burn'd all night
Through some impure and godless rite,
Encounter morning's glorious rays.

But, hark! the vesper calls to pray'r,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air,

From SYRIA's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flow'rs, where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod
Kneels194 with his forehead to the south,
Lisping th' eternal name of God

From Purity's own cherub mouth,
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of Paradise,

Just lighted on that flow'ry plain,

And seeking for its home again.
Oh! 'twas a sight-that Heav'n-that child-
A scene, which might have well beguiled
Ev'n haughty EBLIS of a sigh

For glories lost and peace gone by!

And how felt he, the wretched Man Reclining there-while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace. "There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones-" thou blessed child! "When, young and haply pure as thou, "I look'd and pray'd like thee-but now”— He hung his head—each nobler aim,

And hope, and feeling, which had slept From boyhood's hour, that instant came Fresh o'er him, and he wept-he wept' Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!

In whose benign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.