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They come—the Moslems come !'--he cries, His proud soul mounting to his eyes“Now, Spirits of the Brave, who roam Enfranchis'd through yon starry dome, Rejoice-for souls of kindred fire Are on the wing to join your choir !" He said-and, light as bridegrooms bound

To their young loves, reclimb'd the steep
And gain’d the shrine--his Chiefs stood round-

Their swords, as with instinctive leap,
Together, at that cry accurst,
Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst.
And hark !-again-again it rings ;
Near and more near its echoings
Peal through the chasm-oh! who that then
Had seen those listening warrior-men,
With their swords grasp'd, their eyes of flame
Turn'd on their Chief-could doubt the shame,
Th' indignant shame with which they thrill
To hear those shouts and yet stand still ?
He read their thoughts--they were his own-

“ What! while our arms can wield these blades, Shall we die tamely ? die alone?

Without one victim to our shades,
One Moslem heart where, buried deep,
The sabre from its toil may sleep?
No-God of Iran's burning skies !
Thou scorn'st th' inglorious sacrifice.
No-though of all earth's hope bereft,
Life, swords, and vengeance still are left.
We'll make yon valley's reeking caves

Live in the awe-struck minds of men, 'Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves

Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen.
Follow, brave hearts !-this pile remains
Our refuge still from life and chains ;
But his the best, the holiest bed,
Who sinks entomb'd in Moslem dead!"
Down the precipitous rocks they sprung,
While vigour, more than human, strung
Each arm and heart.—Th' exulting foe
Still through the dark defiles below,
Track'd by his torches' lurid fire,

Wound slow, as through GoLCONDA's vale'
The mighty serpent, in his ire,

Glides on with glittering, deadly trail.
No torch the Ghebers need-s0 well
They know each mystery of the dell,

So oft have, in their wanderings,
Cross'd the wild race that round them dwell,
The very tigers from their delves

Look out, and let them pass, as things
Untam'd and fearless as themselves !
There was a deep ravine, that lay
Yet darkling in the Moslem's way ;-
Fit spot to make invaders rue
The many fall’n before the few.
The torrents from that morning's sky
Had fill d the narrow chasm breast-high,
And, on each side, aloft and wild,
Huge cliffs and toppling crags were pild,
The guards, with which young Freedom lines
The pathways to her mountain shrines.

Here, at this pass, the scanty band
Of Iran's last avengers stand-
Here wait, in silence like the dead,
And listen for the Moslem's tread
So anxiously, the carrion-bird
Above them flaps his wings unheard !
They come—that plunge into the water
Gives signal for the work of slaughter.
Now, Ghebers, nowif ere your blades

Had point or prowess, prove them now-
Woe to the file that foremost wades!

They come—a falchion greets each brow,
And, as they tumble, trunk on trunk,
Beneath the gory waters sunk,
Still o'er their drowning bodies press
New victims quick and numberless;
Till scarce an arm in HAFED's band,

So fierce their toil, hath power to stir,
But listless from each crimson hand

The sword hangs, clogg'd with massacre.
Never was horde of tyrants met
With bloodier welcome-never yet
To patriot vengeance hath the sword
More terrible libations pour'd!
All up the dreary, long ravine,
By the red, murky glimmer seen

Of half-quench'd brands, that o'er the flood
Lie scatter'd round and burn in blood,

What ruin glares! what carnage swims !
Heads, blazing turbans, quivering limbs,
Lost swords that, dropp'd from many a hand,
In that thick pool of slaughter stand ;-
Wretches who wading, half on fire

From the toss'd brands that round them fly, 'Twixt flood and flame in shrieks expire :

And some who, grasp'd by those that die, Sink woundless with them, smother'd o'er

In their dead brethren's gushing gore !
But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed,

Still hundreds, thousands more succeed ;
Countless as tow'rds some flame at night
The North's dark insects wing their flight,
And quench or perish in its light,
To this terrific spot they pour-
Till, bridg’d with Moslem bodies o'er,
It bears aloft their slippery tread,

And o'er the dying and the dead,
Tremendous causeway! on they pass.
Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas,

What hope was left for you? for you,
Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice
Is smoking in their vengeful eyes,

Whose swords how keen, how fierce they knew,

And burn with shame to find how few,
Crush'd down by that vast multitude,

Some found their graves where first they stood;
While some with hardier struggle died,
And still fought on by HAFED's side,
Who, fronting to the foe, trod back
Tow'rds the high towers his gory track ;
And, as a lion, swept away

By sudden swell of Jordan's pride'
1“ In this thicket, upon the banks of the Jordan, several

1 See Hoole upon the Story of Sinbad.

K

1

From the wild covert where he lay,

And grasps his comrade's arm, now grown
Long battles with the o'erwhelming tide, E'en feebler, heavier than his own,
So fought he back with fierce delay,

And faintly up the pathway leads,
And kept both foes and fate at bay.

Death gaining on each step he treads.

Speed them, thou God, who heard'st their vow But whither now? their track is lost,

They mount—they bleed-oh save them nowTheir prey escap'd-guide, torches gone

The crags are red they've clamber'd o'er, By torrent-beds and labyrinths crost,

The rock-weeds dripping with their goreThe scatter'd crowd rush blindly on

Thy blade too, Hafed, false at length, “Curse on those tardy lights that wind,”

Now breaks beneath thy tottering strengthThey panting cry, so far behind

Haste, haste-the voices of the foe Oh for a bloodhound's precious scent,

Come near and nearer from belowTo track the way the Gheber went !"

One effort more-thank Heav'n! 'tis past, Vain wish-confusedly along

They've gain'd the topmost steep at last. They rush, more desperate as more wrong:

And now they touch the temple's walls, Till, wilder'd by the far-off lights,

Now HAFED sees the Fire divine Yet glittering up those gloomy heights,

When, lo!-his weak, worn comrade falls Their footing, maz'd and lost, they miss,

Dead on the threshold of the Shrine. And down the darkling precipice

“ Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled ! Are dash'd into the deep abyss :

And must I leave thee withering here, Or midway hang, impal'd on rocks,

The sport of every ruffian's tread, A banquet, yet alive, for flocks

The mark for every coward's spear? Of ravening vultures-while the dell

No, by yon altar's sacred beams !"
Re-echoes with each horrid yell.

He cries, and with a strength that seems
Those sounds—the last, to vengeance dear, Not of this world, uplifts the frame
That e'er shall ring in HAFED's ear,-

Of the fall'n Chief, and tow'rds the flame
Now reach him, as aloft, alone,

Bears him along;—with death-damp hand Upon the steep way breathless thrown,

The corpse upon the pyre he lays, He lay beside his reeking blade,

Then lights the consecrated brand, Resign'd, as if life's task were o'er,

And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze, Its last blood-offering amply paid,

Like lightning bursts o'er Oman's Sea.And Iran's self could claim no more.

“Now, Freedom's God! I come to Thee," One only thought, one lingering beam

The youth exclaims, and with a smile Now broke across his dizzy dream

Of triumph vaulting on the pile, Of pain and weariness—'twas she

In that last effort, ere the fires
His heart's pure planet, shining yet

Have harm'd one glorious limb, expires !
Above the waste of memory,
When all life's other lights were set.

What shriek was that on OMAN's tide?
And never to his mind before

It came from yonder drifting bark, Her image such enchantment wore.

That just has caught upon her side It seem'd as if each thought that stain'd,

The death-light—and again is dark. Each fear that chill'd their loves was past, It is the boat-ah, why delay'd ?And not one cloud of earth remain'd

That bears the wretched Moslem maid Between him and her glory cast ;

Confided to the watchful care As if to charms, before so bright,

Of a small veteran band, with whom New grace from other worlds was given, Their generous Chieftain would not share And his soul saw her by the light

The secret of his final doom; Now breaking o'er itself from heaven!

But hop'd when HINDA, safe and free,

Was render'd to her father's eyes,
A voice spoke near him—'twas the tone
Of a lov'd friend, the only one

Their pardon, full and prompt, would be

The ransom of so dear a prize. Of all his warriors left with life

Unconscious, thus, of Hafed's fate, From that short night's tremendous strife.

And proud to guard their beauteous freight, “And must we then, my Chief, die here?

Scarce had they clear'd the surfy waves
Foes round us, and the Shrine so near ?"

That foam around those frightful caves,
These words have rous'd the last remains
Of life within him—“what! not yet

When the curst war-whoops, known so well,

Come echoing from the distant dellBeyond the reach of Moslem ehains ?"'

Sudden each oar, upheld and still, The thought could make e'en Death forget

Hung dripping o'er the vessel's side His icy bondage—with a bound

And, driving at the current's will, He springs, all bleeding, from the ground,

They rock'd along the whispering tide, sorts of wild beasts are wont to harbour themselves, whose While every eye, in mute dismay, being washed out of the covert by the overflowings of the Was tow'rd that fatal mountain turn'd, river, gave occasion to that allusion of Jeremiah, he shall Where the dim altar's quivering ray come up like a lion from the swelling of Jordan."-Maundrell's Aloppo.

As yet all lone and tranquil burn'd

| Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire

Shrin'd in its own grand element ! “ 'Tis he !"—the shuddering maid exclaims,

But, while she speaks, he's seen no more; High burst in air the funeral flames,

And Iran's hopes and hers are o'er ! One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave

Then sprung, as if to reach the blaze,

Where still she fix'd her dying gaze, And, gazing, sunk into the wave,Deep, deep,—where never care or pain Shall reach her innocent heart again!

Oh! 'tis not, HINDA, in the power

Of Fancy's most terrific touch,
To paint thy pangs in that dread hour-

Thy silent agony—'twas such
As those who feel could paint too well,
But none e'er felt and liv'd to tell !
'Twas not alone the dreary state
Of a lorn spirit, crush'd by fate,
When, though no more remains to dread,

The panic chill will not depart ;-
When, though the inmate Hope be dead,

Her ghost still haunts the mouldering heart. No—pleasures, hopes, affections gone, The wretch may bear, and yet live on, Like things within the cold rock found Alive, when all 's congeal'd around. But there's a blank repose in this, A calm stagnation, that were bliss To the keen, burning, harrowing pain, Now felt through all thy breast and brainThat spasm of terror, mute, intense, That breathless, agoniz'd suspense, From whose hot throb, whose deadly aching The heart hath no relief but breaking ! Calm is the wave-heav'n's brilliant lights

Reflected dance beneath the prow; T'ime was when, on such lovely nights,

She who is there, so desolate now, Could sit all cheerful, though alone,

And ask no happier joy than seeing That star-light o'er the waters thrownNo joy but that to make her blest,

And the fresh, buoyant sense of Being That bounds in youth's yet careless breast {tself a star, not borrowing light, But in its own glad essence bright. How different now !—but, hark, again The yell of havoc rings—brave men! In vain, with beating hearts, ye stand On the bark's edge—in vain each hand Half draws the falchion from its sheath;

All's o'er-in rust your blades may lie : He, at whose word they've scatter'd death,

E'en now, this night, himself must die ! Well may ye look to yon dim tower,

And ask, and wondering guess what means The battle-cry at this dead hour

Ah ! she could tell you-she, who leans
Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast,
With brow against the dew-cold mast-

Too well she knows-her more than life,
Her soul's first idol and its last,

Lies bleeding in that murderous strife. But see-what moves upon the height? Some signal !-'tis a torch's light.

What bodes its solitary glare ? in gasping silence tow'rd the shrine All eyes are turn'd-thine, Hinda, thine

Fix their last failing life-beam there. 'Twas but a moment-fierce and high The death-pile blaz’d into the sky, And far away o'er rock and flood

Its melancholy radiance sent; While Hared, like a vision, stood Reveal'd before the burning pyre,

Farewell—farewell to thee, ARABY's daughter!

(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea :) No pearl ever lay, under OMAN's green water, More

pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee. Oh! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing,

How light was thy heart 'till Love's witchery came, Like the wind of the south o'era 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-starto light up her tomb. And still, when the merry date-season is burning,

And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old, 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, belov'd 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-wreath'd 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;

1“ This wind (the Samoor) so softens the strings of lutes, that they can never be tuned while it lasts."-Stephen's Persia

2 "One of the greatest curiosities found in the Persiar. 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."- Mirza Abu Taleb.

3 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 autumn with the fruits, see Kempfer, Amænitat, Exot.

4 Some naturalists have imagined that amber is a concrelion of the tears of birds.-See Tredoux, Chambers

/

We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian' are ver,' beyond which no pure Hindoo can pass; and sparkling,

were reposing for a time in the rich valley of Hussun And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. Abdaul, which had always been a favourite resting.

place of the emperors in their annual migrations to Farewell-farewell—until Pity's sweet fountain

Cashmere. Here often had the Light of the Faith, Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that Jehanguire, wandered with bis beloved and beautiful

Nourmahal, and here would Lalla Rookh have mountain, They'll weep forthe Maiden who sleeps in this wave. of Bucharia and the world, for FeraMORZ and love

been happy to remain for ever, giving up the throne in this sweet lonely valley. The time was now fast

approaching when she must see him no longer-or The singular placidity with which FADLADEEN see him with eyes whose every look belonged to had listened, during the latter part of this obnoxious another; and there was a melancholy preciousness in story, surprised the Princess and FERAMORZ exceed- these last moments, which made her heart cling to ingly; and even inclined towards him the hearts of them as it would to life. During the latter part of these unsuspicious young persons, who little knew the journey, indeed, she had sunk into a deep sadness, the source of a complacency so marvellous. The from which nothing but the presence of the young truth was, he had been organizing, for the last few minstrel could awake her. Like those lamps in days, a most notable plan of persecution against the tombs, which only light up when the air is admitted, poet, in consequence of some passages that had fal. it was only at his approach that her eyes became len from him on the second evening of recital, which smiling and animated. But here, in this dear valley, appeared to this worthy Chamberlain to contain lan-jevery moment was an age of pleasure ; she saw him guage and principles, for which nothing short of the all day, and was, therefore, all day happy-resemsummary criticism of the Chabuko would be advisa- bling, she often thought, that people of Zinge, who ble. It was his intention, therefore, immediately on attribute the unfading cheerfulness they enjoy to one their arrival at Cashmere, to give information to the genial star that rises nightly over their heads.2 king of Bucharia of the very dangerous sentiments The whole party, indeed, seemed in their liveliest of his minstrel; and if, unfortunately, that monarch mood during the few days they passed in this delightdid not act with suitable vigour on the occasion, (that ful solitude. The young attendants of the Princess, is, if he did not give the Chabuk to FERAMORZ, and who were here allowed a freer range than they could a place to FADLADEEN,) there would be an end, he safely be indulged with in a less sequestered place, feared, of all legitimate government in Bucharia. He ran wild among the gardens, and bounded through could not help, however, auguring better both for the meadows, lightly as young roes over the aromatic himself and the cause of potentates in general; and plains of Tibet. While FADLADEEN, beside the spi. it was the pleasure arising from these mingled antici- ritual comfort he derived from a pilgrimage to the pations that diffused such unusual satisfaction through tomb of the Saint from whom the valley is named, his features, and made his eyes shine out, like poppies had opportunities of gratifying, in a small way, his of the desert, over the wide and lifeless wilderness taste for victims, by putting to death some hundreds of that countenance.

of those unfortunate little lizards, which all pious Having decided upon the Poet's chastisement in Mussulmans make it a point to kill ;-taking for this manner, he thought it but humanity to spare him granted, that the manner in which the creature hangs the minor tortures of criacism. Accordingly, when its head is meant as a mimicry of the attitude in they assembled next evening in the pavilion, and which the Faithfui say their prayers ! LALLA Rookh expected to see all the beauties of her About two miles from Hussun Abdaul were those ¿bard melt away, one by one, in the acidity of criti- Royal Gardens, which had grown beautiful under the cism, like pearls in the cup of the Egyptian Queen- care of so many lovely eyes, and were beautiful still, he agreeably disappointed her by merely saying, with though those eyes could see them no longer. This an ironical sınile, that the merits of such a poem de place, with its tlowers and its holy silence, interrupted served to be tried at a much higher tribunal ; and then only by the dipping of the wings of birds in its mar. „suddenly passing oif into a panegyr.c upon all Mus- ble basins filled with the pure water of those hills, sulman sovereigns, more particularly his august and was to Lalla Rooku all that her heart could fancy imperial master, Aurungzebe-the wisest and best of of fragrance, coolness, and almost heavenly tran. the descendants of Timur-who, among other great quillity. As the Prophet said of Damascus, “it was things he had done for mankind, had given to him, too delicious ;"—and here, in listening to the sweet FADLADEEN, the very profitable posts of Betel-car- voice of FERAMORZ, or reading in his eyes what yet rier and Taster of Sherbets to the Emperor, Chief he never dared to tell her, the most exquisite moments Holder of the Girdle of Beautiful Forms, and Grand of her whole life were passed. One evening, when Nazir, or Chamberlain of the Haram.

they had been talking of the Sultana Nourmahal- ! They were now not far from that forbidden ri- the Light of the Haram,” who had so often wandered

1 "The bay of Kitselarke, which is otherwise called the limits it was not thought graceful to exceed. If any of Golden Buy, the sand whereof shines as fire."-Struy. them outgrew this standard of shape, they were reduced by

2" The application of whips or rods."-Dubois. abstinence till they came within its bounds. 3 Kempfer mentions such an officer amoug the attendants 1 The Attock. of the King of Persia, and calls him, "formæ corporis esti 2 The star Soheil, or Canopus. mator.” His business was, at stated periods, to measure 3 Nourmahal signities Light of the Haram. She war the ladies of the Haram by a sort of regulation girdle, whose l afterwards called Nourjehan, or the Light of the World.

among these flowers, and fed with her own hands, in | But never yet, by night or day,
those marble basins, the small shining fishes of which In dew of spring or summer's ray,
she was so fond,'—the youth, in order to delay the Did the sweet Valley shine so gay
moment of separation, proposed to recite a short story, As now it shines-all love and light,
or rather rhapsody, of which this adored Sultana was Visions by day and feasts by night!
the heroine. It related, be said, to the reconcilement A happier smile illumes each brow,
of a sort of lovers' quarrel, which took place between With quicker spread each heart uncloses,
her and the Emperor during a Feast of Roses at Cash- And all is ecstasy,--for now
mere; and would remind the Princess of that differ The Valley holds its Feast of Roses.'
ence between Haroun-al-Raschid and his fair mistress That joyous time, when pleasures pour
Marida, which was so happily made up by the soft Profusely round, and in their shower
strains of the musician, Moussali. As the story was Hearts open, like the Season's Rose,-
chiefly to be told in song, and FERAMORZ had un The flowret of a hundred leaves,?
luckily forgotten his own lule in the valley, he bor- Expanding while the dew-fall flows,
rowed the vina of LALLA Rooku's little Persian And every leaf its balm receives !
slave, and thus began

'Twas when the hour of evening came

Upon the Lake, serene and cool, THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. When Day had hid his sultry flame

Behind the palms of BaramOULE."

When maids began to lift their heads, Who has not heard of the Vale of CASHMERE, Refresh'd, from their embroider'd beds,

With its roses, the brightest that earth ever gave, Where they had slept the sun away,
Its temples and grottos, and fountains as clear And wak'd to moonlight and to play.
As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave ? All were abroad—the busiest hive

On BELA's" hills is less alive
Oh! to see it at sunset,—when warm o'er the Lake When saffron beds are full in flower,

Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws, Than look'd the Valley at that hour.
Like a bride full of blushes, when lingering to take A thousand restless torches play'd

A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes - Through every grove and island shade; When the shrines through the foliage are gleaming A thousand sparkling lamps were set half shown,

On every dome and minaret;
And each hallows the hour by some rites of its own. And fields and pathways, far and near,
Here the music of pray'r from a minaret swells, Were lighted by a blaze so clear,

Here the magian his urn full of perfume is swinging, That you could see, in wandering round,
And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells The smallest rose-leaf on the ground.
Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is Yet did the maids and matrons leave
ringing."

Their veils at home, that brilliant eve;
Or to see it by moonlight,—when mellowly shines And there were glancing eyes about,
The light o'er its palaces, gardens and shrines; And cheeks, that would not dare shine out
When the water-fails gleam like a quick fall of stars, In open day, but thought they might
And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of Chenars Look lovely then, because 'twas night!
Is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet And all were free, and wandering,
From the cool, shining walks where the young peo And all exclaim'd to all they met
ple meet :-

That never did the summer bring
Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes So gay a Feast of Roses yet ;-
A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks, The moon had never shed a light
Hills, cupolas, fountains, call’d forth every one So clear as that which bless'd them there;
Out of darkness, as they were just born of the Sun. The roses ne'er shone half so bright,
When the Spirit of Fragrance is up with the day, Nor they themselves look'd half so fair.
From his Haram of night-flowers stealing away ; And what a wilderness of flowers !
And the wind, full of wantonness, woos, like a lover, It seem'd as though from all the bowers
The young aspen-trees till they tremble all over. And fairest fields of all the year,
When the East is as warm as the light of first hopes, The mingled spoil were scatter'd here.

And Day, with his banner of radiance unfurl'd, The Lake, too, like a garden breathes,
Shines in through the mountainous' portal that opes, With the rich buds that o'er it lie,
Sublime, from that valley of bliss to the world! As if a shower of fairy wreaths

Had fall’n upon it from the sky! 1 See note, p. 65.

And then the sounds of joy—the beat 2 " The rose of Kashmire, for its brilliancy and delicacy

Of tabors and of dancing feet ;of colour has long been proverbial in the East.”—Forster.

3 "l'ied round her waist the zone of bells, that sounded 1 "The Feast of Roses continues the whole time of their with ravishing melody."-Song of Jayadeva.

remaining in bloom."-See Pietro de la Valle. 4 " The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire are set with 2 “Gul sad berk, the Rose of a hundred leaves. I believe arbours and large-leaved aspen-trees, slender and tall."-a particular species.”-Ouseley. Bernier.

3 Bernier. 5 "The Turkt Suliman, the name bestowed by the Ma 4 A place mentioned in the Toozek Jebangeery, or Mehometans on this hill, forms one side of a grand portal to moirs of Jehanguire, where there is an account of ihe beds the Lake."-Forster.

of saffron flowers about Cashmere

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