And forgot Heaven's stars for the eyes we have

here.

And, bless'd with the odour our goblet gives forth,

What Spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss ? For oh! if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this.

The Georgian's song was scarcely mute,
When the same measure, sound for sound,
Was caught up by another lute,

And so divinely breathed around,
That all stood hush'd and wondering,
And turn'd and look'd into the air,
As if they thought to see the wing
Of ISRAFIL, the Angel, there ;-
So powerfully on every soul

That new,

enchanted measure stole.

While now a voice, sweet as the note

Of the charm'd lute, was heard to float

Along its chords, and so entwine

Its sound with theirs, that none knew whether The voice or lute was most divine,

So wondrously they went together

* The Angel of Music.—See note, p. 269.

There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has

told,

When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing and brow never cold, Love on through all ills, and love on till they die!

One hour of a passion so sacred is worth

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss ; And oh if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this.

'Twas not the air, 'twas not the words,
But that deep magic in the chords
And in the lips, that gave such power
As Music knew not till that hour.
At once a hundred voices said,

"It is the mask'd Arabian maid !"
While SELIM, who had felt the strain
Deepest of any, and had lain

Some minutes rapt, as in a trance,

After the fairy sounds were o'er,

Too inly touch'd for utterance,

Now motion'd with his hand for more :

Fly to the desert, fly with me,

Our Arab tents are rude for thee;

But oh! the choice what heart can doubt Of tents with love, or thrones without?

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.

Our sands are bare, but down their slope The silvery-footed antelope

As gracefully and gaily springs

As o'er the marble courts of Kings.

Then come-thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.

Oh! there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine through the heart,— As if the soul that minute caught

Some treasure it through life had sought;

As if the very lips and eyes
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before us then!

So came thy every glance and tone,
When first on me they breathed and shone;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved for years!

Then fly with me,—if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.

Come, if the love thou hast for me

Is and fresh as mine for thee,-
pure

Fresh as the fountain under ground

When first 'tis by the lapwing found. *

But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipp'd image from its base,

To give to me the ruin'd place ;

* The Hudhud, or Lapwing, is supposed to have the power of discovering water under ground.

Then, fare thee well-I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake

When thawing suns begin to shine,

Than trust to love so false as thine!

There was a pathos in this lay,

That, even without enchantment's art,
Would instantly have found its way
Deep into SELIM's burning heart;

But breathing, as it did, a tone
To earthly lutes and lips unknown,
With every
chord fresh from the touch
Of Music's Spirit,-'twas too much!
Starting, he dash'd away the cup,-
Which, all the time of this sweet air,
His hand had held, untasted, up,

As if 'twere fix'd by magic there,-
And naming her, so long unnamed,
So long unseen, wildly exclaim'd,
"Oh, NOURMAHAL! oh, NOURMAHAL !

"Hadst thou but sung this witching strain,

"I could forget-forgive thee all,

“And never leave those eyes again. "