And see her priests, her warriors driven Before a sensual bigot's nod, A wretch, who takes his lusts to heaven, And makes a pander of his God! Men, in whose veins-oh last disgrace! Why, let them-till the land's despair Too vile for e'en the vile to bear! And, though but few-though fast the wave Rush from the roots of LEBANON And e'en Despair can prompt no more, His Chiefs stood round-each shining blade And though so wild and desolate |Nor hymn, nor censer's fragrant air, Nor symbol of their worshipp'd planet ;' Yet the same God that heard their sires Heard them; while on that altar's fires They swore the latest, holiest deed Of the few hearts, still left to bleed, Should be, in IRAN's injur'd name, To die upon that Mount of FlameThe last of all her patriot line, Before her last untrampled Shrine! Brave, suffering souls! they little knew How many a tear their injuries drew From one meek maid, one gentle foe, Whom Love first touch'd with others' woeWhose life, as free from thought as sin, Slept like a lake, till Love threw in His talisman, and woke the tide, And spread its trembling circles wide. Once, EMIR! thy unheeding child, Mid all this havoc, bloom'd and smil'd,Tranquil as on some battle-plain The Persian lily shines and towers, Hath fall'n upon her golden flowers. Thy Haram halls with furious heat, That came across thee, calm and sweet, Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near Hell's confines, that the damn'd can hear Far other feelings Love hath brought Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness She now has but the one dear thought, And thinks that o'er, almost to madness! Oft doth her sinking heart recall His words-" for my sake weep for all;" And bitterly, as day on day Of rebel carnage fast succeeds, She weeps a lover snatch'd away In every Gheber wretch that bleeds. There's not a sabre meets her eye, But with his life-blood seems to swim; But fancy turns its point to him. He would have mark'd her shuddering frame, described by Lord, "the Daroo," he says, giveth them water to drink, and a pomegranate leaf to chew in the mouth, to cleanse them from inward uncleanness." 1 "Early in the morning, they (the Parses or Ghebers at Oulam) go in crowds to pay their devotions to the Sun, to whom upon all the altars there are spheres consecrated, made by magic, resembling the circles of the sun; and when the sun rises, these orbs seem to be inflamed, and to turn round with a great noise. They have every one a censer in their hands, and offer incense to the sun."-Rabbi Benj min. The faltering speech-the look estrang'd— Ah! not the love, that should have bless'd In friendship's smile and home's caress, It lies, like some ill-gotten treasure,- Seven nights have darken'd OMAN's Sea, Hurry her Gheber's bark away,- For him whose smiles first made her weep. But watching, weeping, all was vain, The owlet's solitary cry, And oft the hateful carrion bird, 'Tis the eighth morn--AL HASSAN's brow Who never smiles but to destroy? His head, heart, limbs-will all be mine, 1 "It is observed with respect to the Sea of Herkend, that when it is tossed by tempestuous winds it sparkles like fire."-Travels of two Mohammedans. 2 A kind of trumpet;--" it was that used by Tamerlane, the sound of which is described as uncommonly dreadful, and so loud as to be heard at the distance of several miles." -Richardson. "Yes-spite of his ravines and towers, HAFED, my child, this night is ours. Thanks to all-conquering treachery, Without whose aid the links accurst, I swear, for every sob that parts Ne'er had I risk'd thy timid sex Would be on prostrate Persian necks— His bloody boast was all too true- Oh for a tongue to curse the slave, Whose treason, like a deadly blight, And blasts them in their hour of might! 1 "Mohammed had two helmets, an interior and exterior one; the latter of which, called Al Mawashah, the fillet, or wreathed garland, he wore at the battle of Ohod."-Uni versal History. With hopes, that but allure to fly, With joys that vanish while he sips, Beholding Heaven and feeling Hell! The sea-birds, with portentous screech, With that keen, second-scent of death, LALLA ROOKH had had a dream the night before, which, in spite of the impending fate of poor HAFED, made her heart more than usually cheerful during the morning, and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a flower that the Bidmusk has just passed over. She fancied that she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the sea-gipsies who live for ever on the water, enjoy a perpetual summer in wandering from isle to isle, when she saw a small In the still warm and living breath!3 gilded bark approaching her. It was like one of While o'er the wave his weeping daughter those boats which the Maldivian islanders annually | Is wafted from the scenes of slaughter, send adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, loaded As a young bird of BABYLON,* with perfumes, flowers, and odoriferous wood, as an Let loose to tell of victory won, offering to the Spirit whom they call King of the Flies home, with wing, ah! not unstain'd Sea. At first, this little bark appeared to be empty, By the red hands that held her chain'd. but on coming nearerAnd does the long-left home she seeks Light up no gladness on her cheeks ? The flowers she nurs'd-the well-known groves, Where oft in dreams her spirit rovesOnce more to see her dear gazelles Come bounding with their silver bells; Her birds' new plumage to behold, She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream to her Ladies, when FERAMORZ appeared at the door of the pavilion. In his presence, of course, every thing else was forgotten, and the continuance of the story was instantly requested by all. Fresh wood of aloes was set to burn in the cassolets;-the violet sherbets were hastily handed round, and, after a short prelude on his lute, in the pathetic measure of Nava, which is always used to express the lamentations of absent lovers, the Poet thus continued : THE day is lowering-stilly black But tells of storm to come or past;- Of a young war-horse in the blast ;There, roll'd in masses dark and swelling, As proud to be the thunder's dwelling! While some, already burst and riven, Seem melting down the verge of heaven; As though the infant storm had rent The mighty womb that gave him birth, Was now in fierce career for earth. And the gay, gleaming fishes count, Shooting around their jasper fount."- In her own sweet acacia bower. 1 "The Easterns used to set out on their longer voyages with music."-Harmer. 2" The Gate of Tears, the straits or passage into the Red Sea, commonly called Babelmandel. It received this name from the old Arabians, on account of the danger of the navigation, and the number of shipwrecks by which it was distinguished; which induced them to consider as dead, and to wear mourning for, all who had the boldness to hazard the passage through it into the Ethiopic ocean."-Richard son. 3 "I have been told that whensoever an animal falls down dead, one or more vultures, unseen before, instantly appear."-Pennant. 4 "They fasten some writing to the wings of a Bagdat, or Babylonian pigeon."-Travels of certain Englishmen. 5 "The Empress of Jehan-Guire used to divert herself with feeding tame fish in her canals, some of which were many years afterwards known by fillets of gold, which she caused to be put round them."-Harris. The chill of her approaching doom - Still fighting on--and some that call She sits, all lovely in her gloom, “For God and Iran !" as they fall! As a pale Angel of the Grave; Whose was the hand that turn'd away And o'er the wide, tempestuous wave, The perils of th' infuriate fray, Looks, with a shudder, to those towers, And snatch'd her, breathless, from beneath Where, in a few short awful hours, This wilderment of wreck and death? Blood, blood, in steaming tides shall run, She knew not-for a faintness came Foul incense for to-morrow's sun! Chill o'er her, and her sinking frame, “Where art thou, glorious stranger! thou, Amid the ruins of that hour, Lay, like a pale and scorched flower, Beneath the red volcano's shower! Th' unhallow'd name thou'rt doom'd to bear, But oh! the sights and sounds of dread That shock'd her, ere her senses fled ! The yawning deck—the crowd that strove Upon the tottering planks aboveIf there be wrong, be crime in this, The sail, whose fragments, shivering o'er Let the black waves that round us roll, The strugglers' heads, all dash'd with gore, Whelm me this instant, ere my soul, Flutter'd like bloody flags—the clash Forgetting faith, home, father, all Of sabres, and the lightning's flash Before its earthly idol fall, Upon their blades, high toss'd about Nor worship e'en Thyself above him Like meteor brands'-as if throughout For oh! so wildly do I love him, The elements one fury ran, Thy Paradise itself were dim One general rage, that left a doubt And joyless, if not shar'd with him !" Which was the fiercer, Heav'n or Man ! Her hands were clasp'd-her eyes upturn'd, Once too—but no-it could not be Dropping their tears like moonlight rain ; 'Twas fancy all—yet once she thought, And, though her lip, fond raver! burn'd While yet her fading eyes could see, With words of passion, bold, profane, High on the ruin'd deck she caught Yet was there light around her brow, A glimpse of that unearthly form, A holiness in those dark eyes, That glory of her soul-e'en then, Which show'd--though wandering earthward now,- Amid the whirl of wreck and storm, Her spirit's home was in the skies. Shining above his fellow men, Yes—for a spirit, pure as hers, As, on some black and troublous night, Is always pure, e'en while it errs; The Star of Egypt, whose proud light As sunshine, broken in the rill, Never hath beam'd on those who rest Though turn'd astray, is sunshine still ! In the White Islands of the West, So wholly had her mind forgot Burns through the storm with looks of flame All thoughts but one, she heeded not That put heaven's cloudier eyes to shame! But no-'twas but the minute's dream- A fantasy-and ere the scream Had half-way pass’d her pallid lips, A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse Of soul and sense its darkness spread Around her, and she sunk, as dead! But hark !—that war-whoop on the deck- How calm, how beautiful comes on That crash, as if each engine there, The stilly hour, when storms are gone; Mast, sails, and all, were gone to wreck, When warring winds have died away, 'Mid yells and stampings of despair! And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, Merciful heav'n! what can it be? Melt off, and leave the land and sea 'Tis not the storm, though fearfully Sleeping in bright tranquillity, The ship has shuddered as she rode Fresh as if Day again were born, O'er mountain waves“Forgive me, God! Again upon the lap of Morn! Forgive me" --shriek'd the maid and knelt, When the light blossoms, rudely torn Trembling all over-for she felt, And scatter'd at the whirlwind's will, As if her judgment hour was near; Hang floating in the pure air still, While crouching round, half dead with fear, Filling all with precious balm, Her handmaids clung, nor breath'd, nor stirr'd In gratitude for this sweet calm; When, hark !-a second crash-a third And every drop the thunder-showers Have left upon the grass and flowers 1 The meteors that Pliny calls “faces.” Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and men 2“The brilliant Canopus, unseen ia European climates." -Brown. Come mix'd together through the chasm ; 3 See Wilford's learned Essays on the Sacred Isles in Some wretches in their dying spasm the West. 1 Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem1 When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze, As if the loveliest plants and trees Had vassal breezes of their own To watch and wait on them alone, And waft no other breath than theirs! When the blue waters rise and fall, In sleepy sunshine mantling all; And e'en that swell the tempest leaves Is like the full and silent heaves Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest, Too newly to be quite at rest! Such was the golden hour that broke Upon the world when HINDA woke From her long trance, and heard around No motion but the water's sound Rippling against the vessel's side, As slow it mounted o'er the tide.But where is she?-her eyes are dark, Are wilder'd still-is this the bark, The same, that from HARMOZIA's bay Bore her at morn-whose bloody way The sea-dog track'd?-no-strange and new Is all that meets her wondering view. Upon a galliot's deck she lies, Beneath no rich pavilion's shade, Nor jasmine on her pillow laid. Their ministry of death were done. And some, who seem'd but ill to brook Yes-yes-her fears are all too true, | HAFED, the Gheber!--at the thought To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin, She darted through that armed crowd That e'en the sternest warrior bow'd, Abash'd, when he her glances caught, As if he guess'd whose form they sought, But no-she sees him not-'tis gone,The vision, that before her shone Through all the maze of blood and storm, Is fled 'twas but a phantom formOne of those passing, rainbow dreams, Half light, half shade, which Fancy's beams Paint on the fleeting mists that roll In trance or slumber round the soul! But now the bark, with livelier bound, Break the bright mirror of the ocean, Their course is tow'rd that mountain hold,Those towers, that make her life-blood freeze, Where MECCA's godless enemies Lie, like beleaguer'd scorpions, roll'd Amid th' illumin'd land and flood, Hung out to mark where death would be! Of thought in this terrific hour, Man's foot could scale that mountain's brow, Through which departed spirits go;- |