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The dream of the injured, patient mind,
That smiles at the wrongs of men,
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
No sooner was the flowery crown
Like the first air of morning creeping
Where Love himself, of old, lay sleeping ;-+
* The myrrh country.
+ “ This idea (of deities living in shells) was not unknown to the Greeks, who represent the young Nerites, one of the Cupids, as living in shells on the shores of the Red Sea.”WILFORD.
And now a Spirit form’d, 'twould seem,
Of music and of light, so fair,
And such a sound is in the air
From Chindara's * warbling fount I come,
Call’d by that moonlight garland's spell; From Chindara's fount, my fairy home,
Where in music, morn and night, I dwell ;Where lutes in the air are heard about,
And voices are singing the whole day long, And every sigh the heart breathes out Is turn'd, as it leaves the lips, to song!
Hither I come
. From my fairy home, And if there's a magic in Music's strain,
I swear by the breath
Of that moonlight wreath, Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again.
* “ A fabulous fountain, where instruments are said to be constantly playing."-RICHARDSON.
For mine is the lay that lightly floats,
Refines the bosom it trembles through, As the musk-wind, over the water blowing,
Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too!
Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway
From soul to soul, the wishes of love,
The cinnamon seed from grove to grove. *
'Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure The past, the present, and future of pleasure ; When Memory links the tone that is gone
With the blissful tone that's still in the ear;
* “ The Pompadour pigeon is the species, which, by carrying the fruit of the cinnamon to different places, is a great disseminator of this valuable tree.”-See Brown's Illustr.
And Hope from a heavenly note flies on
To a note more heavenly still that is near!
The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me,
When Music has reach'd her inward soul,
So, hither I come
From my fairy home,
I swear by the breath
Of that moonlight wreath,
'Tis dawn-at least that earlier dawn, Whose glimpses are again withdrawn, *
*“ They have two mornings, the Soobhi Kazim, and the Soobhi Sadig, the false and the real day-break."-Waring,
As if the morn had waked, and then
The wonders of her lute, whose strings-
From that ambrosial Spirit's wings! And then, her voice—’tis more than human
Never, till now, had it been given To lips of any mortal woman
To utter notes so fresh from Heaven ; Sweet as the breath of angel sighs,
When angel sighs are most divine.“ Oh ! let it last till night,” she cries,
" And he is more than ever mine.” And hourly she renews the lay,
So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness Should, ere the evening, fade away,–
For things so heavenly have such fleetness! But, far from fading, it but grows Richer, diviner as it flows; Till rapt she dwells on every string,
And pours again each sound along, Like Echo, lost and languishing
In love with her own wondrous song.