But keep him what he is, no hell were worse.'

At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which broke | So let him-EBLIS! grant this crowning curse,
From EBLIS at the Fall of Man, he spoke :-
"Yes, ye vile race, for hell's amusement given,
Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin with heaven;
God's images, forsooth!-such gods as he
Whom INDIA serves, the monkey deity ;'-
Ye creatures of a breath, proud things of clay,
To whom, if LUCIFER, as grandams say,
Refus'd, though at the forfeit of Heaven's light,
To bend in worship, LUCIFER was right!-
Soon shall I plant this foot upon the neck
Of your foul race, and without fear or check,
Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame,
My deep-felt, long-nurst loathing of man's name!
Soon, at the head of myriads, blind and fierce
As hooded falcons, through the universe
I'll sweep my darkening, desolating way,
Weak man my instrument, curst man my prey!
"Ye wise, ye learn'd, who grope your dull way on
By the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone,
Like superstitious thieves, who think the light
From dead men's marrow guides them best at night2-
Ye shall have honours-wealth,-yes, sages, yes-
I know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothingness;
Undazzled it can track yon starry sphere,
But a gilt stick, a bauble blinds it here.
How I shall laugh when trumpeted along,
In lying speech, and still more lying song,
By these learn'd slaves, the meanest of the throng;
Their wits bought up, their wisdom shrunk so small,
A sceptre's puny point can wield it all!

"Oh my lost soul!" exclaim'd the shuddering maid, Whose ears had drunk like poison all he said,MOKANNA started-not abash'd, afraid,—

He knew no more of fear than one who dwells
Beneath the tropics knows of icicles!

But, in those dismal words that reach'd his ear,
"Oh
my lost soul!" there was a sound so drear,
So like that voice, among the sinful dead,
In which the legend o'er Hell's gate is read,
That, new as 'twas from her, whom nought could dim
Or sink till now, it startled even him.

"Ha, my fair Priestess!"-thus, with ready wile, Th' impostor turn'd to greet her-"thou, whose smile Hath inspiration in its rosy beam

"Ye too, believers of incredible creeds,
Whose faith enshrines the monsters which it breeds;
Who, bolder ev'n than NEMROD, think to rise
By nonsense heap'd on nonsense to the skies;
Ye shall have miracles, aye, sound ones too,
Seen, heard, attested, every thing-but true.
Your preaching zealots, too inspired to seek
One grace of meaning for the things they speak;
Your martyrs, ready to shed out their blood
For truths too heavenly to be understood;
And your state priests, sole venders of the lore
That works salvation;-as on Ava's shore,
Where none but priests are privileg'd to trade
In that best marble of which gods are made;3-
They shall have mysteries-aye, precious stuff
For knaves to thrive by-mysteries enough;
Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can weave,
Which simple votaries shall on trust receive,
While craftier feign belief, till they believe.
A Heav'n too ye must have, ye lords of dust,-
A splendid Paradise-pure souls, ye must:
That Prophet ill sustains his holy call,
Who finds not heav'ns to suit the tastes of all;
Houris for boys, omniscience for sages,
And wings and glories for all ranks and ages.
Vain things!-as lust or vanity inspires,
The heav'n of each is but what each desires,
And, soul or sense, whate'er the object be,
Man would be man to all eternity!

Beyond th' enthusiast's hope or prophet's dream!
Light of the Faith! who twin'st religion's zeal
So close with love's, men know not which they feel,
Nor which to sigh for in their trance of heart,
The Heav'n thou preachest, or the Heav'n thou art!
What should I be without thee? without thee
How dull were power, how joyless victory!
Though borne by angels, if that smile of thine
Bless'd not my banner, 'twere but half divine.
But-why so mournful, child? those eyes, that shone
All life, last night-what!-is their glory gone?
Come, come-this morn's fatigue hath made them pale,
They want rekindling--suns themselves would fail,
Did not their comets bring, as I to thee,

From Light's own fount, supplies of brilliancy!
Thou seest this cup--no juice of earth is here,
But the pure waters of that upper sphere,
Whose rills o'er ruby beds and topaz flow,
Catching the gem's bright colour, as they go.
Nightly my Genii come and fill these urns-
Nay, drink-in every drop life's essence burns;
"Twill make that soul all fire, those eyes all light-
Come, come, I want thy loveliest smiles to-night :
There is a youth-why start?-thou saw'st him then;
Look'd he not nobly? such the god-like men
Thou'lt have to woo thee in the bowers above;-
Though he, I fear, hath thoughts too stern for love,
Too rul'd by that cold enemy of bliss
The world calls Virtue-we must conquer this
Nay, shrink not, pretty sage; 'tis not for thee
To scan the mazes of Heav'n's mystery.
The steel must pass through fire, ere it can yield
Fit instruments for mighty hands to wield.
This very night I mean to try the art
Of powerful beauty on that warrior's heart.
All that my Haram boasts of bloom and wit,
Of skill and charms, most rare and exquisite,
Shall tempt the boy;-young MIRZALA's blue eyes,
Whose sleepy lid like snow on violets lies;
AROUYA'S cheeks, warm as a spring-day sun,
And lips, that, like the seal of SOLOMON,
Have magic in their pressure; ZEBA's lute,
And LILLA's dancing feet, that gleam and shoot
Rapid and white as sea-birds o'er the deep!-
All shall combine their witching powers to steep
My convert's spirit in that softening trance,
From which to Heav'n is but the next advance ;-
That glowing, yielding fusion of the breast,
On which Religion stamps her image best.

34

But hear me, Priestess !-thougn each nymph of these | Must he too, glorious as he is, be driven

Hath some peculiar practised power to please,
Some glance or step, which, at the mirror tried,
First charms herself, then all the world beside;
There still wants one to make the victory sure,
One, who in every look joins every lure;
Through whom all beauty's beams concenter'd pass,
Dazzling and warm, as through love's burning-glass;
Whose gentle lips persuade without a word,
Whose words, ev'n when unmeaning, are ador'd,
Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine,
Which our faith takes for granted are divine!
Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and light,
To crown the rich temptations of to-night;
Such the refined enchantress that must be
This Hero's vanquisher, and thou art she!"
With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart and pale,
The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil
From whence these words, like south-winds through

a fence

Of Kerzrah flow'rs, came filled with pestilence:1
So boldly utter'd too! as if all dread

of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled,
And the wretch felt assur'd, that once plung'd in,
Her woman's soul would know no pause in sin!

At first, though mute she listen'd, like a dream
Seem'd all he said;"nor could her mind, whose beam
As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme.
But when, at length, he utter'd "Thou art she!"
All flash'd at once, and, shrieking piteously,

A renegade like me from Love and Heaven?
Like me?-weak wretch, I wrong him-not like me;
No-he's all truth, and strength, and purity!
Fill up your madd'ning hell-cup to the brim,
Its witchery, fiends, will have no charm for him.
Let loose your glowing wantons from their bowers.
He loves, he loves, and can defy their powers!
Wretch as I am, in his heart still I reign
Pure as when first we met, without a stain!
Though ruin'd-lost-my memory, like a charm
Left by the dead, still keeps his soul from harm.
Oh! never let him know how deep the brow
He kiss'd at parting is dishonour'd now-
Ne'er tell him how debas'd, how sunk is she,
Whom once he lov'd-once!-still loves dotingly.
Thou laugh'st, tormentor,-what!—thoul't brand my
name?

Do, do-in vain-he'll not believe my shame—
He thinks me true, that nought beneath God's sky
Could tempt or change me, and-so once thought I.
But this is past-though worse than death my lot,
Than hell-'tis nothing, while he knows it not.
Far off to some benighted land I'll fly,
Where sunbeam ne'er shall enter till I die;
Where none will ask the lost one whence she came
But I may fade and fall without a name!
And thou-curst man or fiend, whate'er thou art,
Who found'st this burning plague-spot in my heart,
And spread'st it-oh, so quick!—thro' soul and frame
With more than demon's art, till I became

"Oh not for worlds!" she cried-"Great God! to A loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame!

whom

I once knelt innocent, is this my doom?

Are all my dreams, my hopes of heavenly bliss,
My purity, my pride, then come to this,-

To live, the wanton of a fiend! to be

The pander of his guilt-oh, infamy!
And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep
In its hot flood, drag others down as deep!
Others ?-ha! yes-that youth who came to-day-
Not him I lov'd-not him-oh! do but say,
But swear to me this moment 'tis not he,

If when I'm gone

"Hold, fearless maniac, hold,
Nor tempt my rage-by Heav'n, not half so bold
The puny bird that dares with teazing hum
Within the crocodile's stretch'd jaws to come."
And so thou'lt fly, forsooth ?-what, give up all
Thy chaste dominions in the Haram hall,
Where now to Love, and now to ALLA given,
Half mistress and half saint, thou hang'st as even
As doth MEDINA's tomb, 'twixt hell and heaven!
Thou'lt fly ?-as easily may reptiles run,
The gaunt snake once hath fix'd his eyes upon;
As easily, when caught, the prey may be
Pluck'd from his loving folds, as thou from me.
No, no, 'tis fix'd-let good or ill betide,
Thou'rt mine till death, till death MOKANNA's bride!
Hast thou forgot thy oath?"—
At this dread word

(Immortal spirits in their time, no doubt,)

| introduced, and FADLADEEN, who could never make From reeking shrouds, upon the rite look'd out ! up his mind as to the merits of a poet, till he knew That oath thou heardst more lips than thine repeat the religious sect to which he belonged, was about That cup—thou shudderest, lady-was it sweet? to ask him whether he was a Shia or a Sooni, when That cup we pledg'd, the charnel's choicest wine, LALLA Rookh impatiently clapped her hands for Hath bound thee--aye—body and soul all mine; silence, and the youth, being seated upon the musnud Bound thee by chains, that, whether blest or curst near her, proceeded :No matter now, not hell itself shall burst !Hence, woman, to the Haram, and look gay,

PREPARE thy soul, young Azim! thou hast brav'd Look wild, look-any thing but sad ;-yet stay

The bands of GREECE, still mighty, though enslav'd; One moment more--from what this night hath pass’d, Hast fac'd her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame, I see that thou know'st me, know'st me well at last. Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame ; Ha! ha! and so, fond thing, thou thought'st all true, All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow, And that I love mankind !-I do, I do

But a more perilous trial waits thee now,As victims, love them; as the sea-dog doats

Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes Upon the small sweet fry that round him floats ; From every land where woman smiles or sighs ; Or as the Nile-bird loves the slime that gives Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise That rank and venomous food on which she lives !! His black or azure banner in their blaze; And, now thou see'st my soul's angelic hue, And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash 'Tis time those features were uncurtain'd too;- That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash, This brow, whose light--oh, rare celestial light! To the sly, stealing splendours, almost hid, Hath been reserv'd to bless thy favour'd sight!

Like swords half-sheath d, beneath the downcast lid These dazzling eyes, before whose shrouded might Such, Azim, is the lovely, luminous host Thou'st seen immortal man kneel down and quake-Now led against thee; and, let conquerors boast Would that they were Heaven's lightnings for his sake! Their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms But turn and look—then wonder, if thou wilt, A young, warm spirit against beauty's charms, That I should hate, should take revenge, by guilt,

Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall, Upon the hand, whose mischief or whose mirth Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all. Sent me thus maim'd and monstrous upon earth; Now, through the Harem chambers, moving lights And on that race who, though more vile they be And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites Than mowing apes, are demi-gods to me!

From room to room the ready handmaids hie, Here, judge, if Hell with all its power to damn, Some skill'd to wreathe the turban tastefully, Can add one curse to the foul thing I am!”— Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade,

He rais’d his veil--the Maid turn'd slowly round, O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, Look'd at him-shriek’d—and sunk upon the ground. Who, if between the folds but one eye shone,

Like SEBA's Queen could vanquish with that one :'

While some bring leaves of Henna to imbue On their arrival, next night, at the place of encamp- The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue,? ment, they were surprised and delighted to find the So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem groves all round illuminated; some artists of Yam- Like tips of coral branches in the stream; tcheou having been sent on previously for the pur- And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye, pose. On each side of the green alley, which led to To give that long, dark languish to the eye,) the Royal Pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo. Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to cull work were erected, representing arches, minarets, From fair Circassia's vales, so beautiful. and towers, from which hung thousands of silken

All is in motion; rings, and plumes, and pearls lanterns, painted by the most delicate pencils of Can- Are shining every where ;—some younger girls ton. Nothing could be more beautiful than the leaves Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds, of the mango-trees and acacias, shining in the light To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads ; of the bamboo scenery, which shed a lustre round as Gay creatures ! sweet, though mournful 'tis to see soft as that of the nights of Peristan.

How each prefers a garland from that tree Lalla Rookh, however, who was too much occu- Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day, pied by the sad story of Zelica and her lover, to And the dear fields and friendships far away. give a thought to any thing else, except, perhaps, him The maid of India, blest again to hold who related it, hurried on through this scene of splen- In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold, dour to her pavilion,--greatly to the mortification of Thinks of the time, when, by the Ganges' food, the poor artists of Yamtcheou,—and was followed Her little play-mates scatter'd many a bud with equal rapidity by the great Chamberlain, cursing, as he went, that ancient Mandarin, whose parental 1 “Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes." anxiety in lighting up the shores of the lake, where -Sol. Song: his beloved daughter had wandered and been lost, na, so that they resembled branches of coral.”-Story of

2 “They tinged the ends of her fingers scarlet with Henwas the origin of these fantastic Chinese illuminations. Prince Futtun in Bahardanush. Without a moment's delay young FERAMORZ was

3 “ The women blacken the inside of their eyelids with a powder named the black Cohol.”-Russel.

4. "The appearance of the blossoms of the gold-coloured 1 Circum easdem ripas (Nili, viz.) ales est Ibis. Ea ser-Campac on the black hair of the Indian women, has suppentium populatur ova, gratissimamque ex his nidis escam plied the Sanscrit Poets with many elegant allusions.-See suis refert. --Solinus.

Asiatic Researches, vol. iv.

ment

3

Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam At evening, from the tall pagoda's top ;-
Just dripping from the consecrated stream; Those golden birds, that, in the spice-time, drop
While the young Arab, haunted by the smell About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food
Of her own mountain-flowers, as by a spell,- Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood;
The sweet Elcaya,' and that courteous tree And those that under Araby's soft sun
Which bows to all who seek its canopy — Build their high nests of budding cinnamon;?-
Sees call'd up round her by these magic scents, In short, all rare and beauteous things that fly
The well, the camels, and her father's tents; Through the pure element, here calmly lie
Sighs for the home she left with little pain, Sleeping in light, like the green birds) that dwell
And wishes e'en its sorrows back again!

In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel !
Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls,

So on through scenes past all imagining, Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls

More like the luxuries of that impious King, * Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound

Whom Death's dark Angel, with his lightning torch From many a jasper fount, is heard around,

Struck down and blasted even in Pleasure's porch, Young Azim roams bewilder'd,—nor can guess

Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent, What means this maze of light and loneliness.

Arm’d with Heaven's sword, for man's enfranchise Here the way leads, o'er tesselated floors, Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors,

Young Azim wander'd, looking sternly round; Where, rang'd in cassolets and silver urns,

His simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound, Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns ;

But ill according with the pomp

and

grace And spicy rods, such as illume at night

And silent lull of that voluptuous place! The bowers of Tibet,» send forth odorous light, Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road "Is this, then,” thought the youth, “is this the way For some pure Spirit to its blest abode !

To free man's spirit from the deadening sway
And here, at once, the glittering saloon

Of worldly sloth ;-to teach him, while he lives,
Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon; To know no bliss but that which virtue gives;
Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays And when he dies, to leave his lofty name
In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays

A light, a land-mark on the cliffs of fame?
High as th' enamelld cupola which towers It was not so, land of the generous thought
All rich with arabesques of gold and flowers ; And daring deed! thy godlike sages taught;
And the inosaic floor beneath shines through It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease,
The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew, Thy Freedom nurs’d her sacred energies ;
Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye,

Oh! not beneath th' enfeebling, withering glow That on the margin of the Red Sea lie.

Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow, Here too he traces the kind visitings

With which she wreath'd her sword, when she would Of woman's love in those fair, living things

dare Of land and wave, whose fate,—in bondage thrown Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air For their weak loveliness is like her own!

Of toil,—of temperance,-of that high, rare, On one side, gleaming with a sudden grace

Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase

Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath! In which it undulates, small fishes shine,

Who, that surveys this span of earth we press, Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;

This speck of life in time's great wilderness, While, on the other, lattic'd lightly in

This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, With odoriferous woods of CAMORIN,

The past, the future, two eternities ! Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen ;

Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between

When he might build him a proud temple there, The crimson blossoms of the coral tree,

A name, that long shall hallow all its space, In the warm isles of India's sunny sea :

And be each purer soul's high resting-place? Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, and the thrush

But no-it cannot be that one, whom God Of Indostan,' whose holy warblings gush,

Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod,

A Prophet of the truth, whose mission draws 1 “A tree famous for its perfume, and common on the Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane his cause hills of Yemen."-Nicbuhr.

2 Of the genus mimosa, " which droops its branches With the world's vulgar pomps ;--no, no—I see
whenever any person approaches it, seeming as if it saluted He thinks me weak--this glare of luxury
those who retire under its shade."-Niebuhr.
3 “Cloves are a principal ingredient in the composition

Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze of the perfumed rods, which men of rank keep constantly

Of

my young soul ;-shine on, 'twill stand the blaze!” burning in their presence.”—Turner's 7'ibet.

4" C'est d'où vient le bois d'aloes, que les Arabes appellent Oud Comari, et celui du sandal, qui s'y trouve en 1 Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutmeg season, come grande quantité."-D'Herbelot.

in flights from the southern Isles to India, and "the strength 5 "Thousands of variegated loories visit the coral trees.” of the nutmeg," says Tavernier," so intoxicates them, that

Barrow. they fall dead drunk to the earth." 6“In Mecca, there are quantities of blue pigeons, which 2 “That bird which liveth in Arabia, and buildeth its none will affright or abuse, much less kill."— Pilt's Account nest with cinnamon."-- Brown's Vulgar Erro-8. of the Mahometans.

3 “ The spirits of the martyrs will be lodged in the crops 7 "The Pagoda Thrush is esteemed among the first cho- of green birds.”—Gibbon, vol. ix. p. 421. risters of India. It sits perched on the sacred Pagodas, and 4 Shedad, who made the delicious gardens of Irim, in from thence delivers its melodious song."-Pennant's Hin- imitation of Paradise, and was destroyed by lightning the dostan.

first time he attempted to enter then.

4

5

So thought the youth ;-but, ev'n while he defied And now they come, now pass before his eye, The witching scene, he felt its witchery glide Forms such as Nature moulds, when she would vie Through every sense. The perfume, breathing round, With Fancy's pencil, and gave birth to things Like a pervading spirit ;--the still sound

Lovely beyond its fairest picturings! Of falling waters, lulling as the

song

Awhile they dance before him, then divide, Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep

Around the rich pavilion of the sun, In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep!" Till silently dispersing, one by one, And music too-dear music! that can touch Through many a path that from the chamber leads Beyond all else the soul that loves it much- To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads, Now heard far off, so far as but to seem

Their distant laughter comes upon the wind, Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream ;

And but one trembling nymph remains behindAll was too much for him, too full of bliss : Beck’ning them back in vain, for they are gone, The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this. And she is left in all that light alone; Soften'd, he sunk upon a couch, and gave

No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow, His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave In its young bashfulness more beauteous now; Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid ;-But a light, golden chain-work round her hair, He thought of ZELICA, his own dear maid,

Such as the maids of YEZD and SHIRAZ wear And of the time, when, full of blissful sighs, From which, on either side, gracefully hung They sat and look'd into each other's eyes,

A golden amulet, in th’ Arab tongue, Silent and happy-as if God had given

Engraven o'er with some immortal line Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven! From holy writ, or bard scarce less divine; “O my lov'd mistress! whose enchantments still

While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood,

Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood,
Are with me, round me, wander where I will-
It is for thee, for thee alone I seek

Which once or twice, she touch'd with hurried strain,

Then took her trembling fingers off again.
The paths of glory—to light up thy cheek

But when at length a timid glance she stole
With warm approval—in that gentle look,
To read my praise, as in an angel's book,

At Azim, the sweet gravity of soul

She saw through all his features calm'd her fear, And think all toils rewarded, when from thee

And, like a half-tam'd antelope, more near, I gain a smile, worth immortality!

Though shrinking still, she came ;—then sat her down How shall I bear the moment, when restor'd

Upon a musnud's' edge; and, bolder grown, To that young heart where I alone am lord,

In the pathetic mode of ISFAHAN? Though of such bliss unworthy,—since the best

Touch'd a preluding strain, and thus began :Alone deserve to be the happiest ! When from those lips, unbreath'd upon for years, There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER’gstream, I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears,

And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; And find those tears warm as when last they started, In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted!

To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
Oh my own life!—why should a single day,
A moment, keep me from those arms away ?"

That bower and its music I never forget,

But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze

I think—is the nightingale singing there yet ? Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies,

Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER? Each note of which but adds new, downy links To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks.

No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, He turns him tow'rd the sound, and, far away

But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly Through a long vista, sparkling with the play

they shone, Of countless lamps, like the rich track which Day And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us; All the fragrance of summer, when summer was So long the path, its light so tremulous ;

gone. He sees a group of female forms advance, Some chain'd together in the mazy dance

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,

An essence that breathes of it many a year; By fetters, forg'd in the green sunny bowers,

Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, As they were captives to the King of Flowers ;

Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER! And some disporting round, unlink'd and free, Who seem'd to mock their sister's slavery,

“Poor maiden !" thought the youth, “if thou wert And round and round them still, in wheeling flight

sent, Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night; With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment, While others walk'd as gracefully along,

To wake unholy wishes in this heart, Their feet kept time, the very soul of song

Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art. From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill, Or their own youthful voices, heavenlier still! 1 Musnuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for per

sons of distinction.

2 The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call their musical 1. "My Pundits assure me that the plant before us (the modes or Perdas by the names of different countries or Nilica) is their Sephalica, thus named because the bees are cities; as, the mode of Isfahan, the mode of Irak, etc supposed to sleep on its blossoms.”-Sir W. Jones. 3 A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar