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But does she dream ? has Fear again
Perplex'd the workings of her brain,
Or did a voice, all music, then
Come from the gloom, low whispering near —
“Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here?
She does not dream — all



She drinks the words, “Thy Gheber's here."
'Twas his own voice she could not err

Throughout the breathing world's extent
There was but one such voice for her,

So kind, so soft, so eloquent!
Oh, sooner shall the rose of May

Mistake her own sweet nightingale,
And to some meaner minstrel's lay

Open her bosom's glowing veil,*
Than Love shall ever doubt a tone,
A breath of the beloved one!

Though blest, ’mid all her ills, to think

She has that one beloved near,
Whose smile, though met on ruin's brink,

Hath power to make ev'n ruin dear,
Yet soon this gleam of rapture, crost
By fears for him, is chill'd and lost.
How shall the ruthless HAFED brook
That one of Gheber blood should look,
With aught but curses in his eye,
On her a maid of ARABY -

* A frequent image annong the oriental poets. “ The nightingales warbled their enchanting notes, and rent the thin veils of the rose-bud and the rose." - JAMI.

A Moslem maid — the child of him,

Whose bloody banner's dire success
Hath left their altars cold and dim,

And their fair land a wilderness!
And, worse than all, that night of blood

Which comes so fast — Oh! who shall stay The sword, that once hath tasted food

Of Persian hearts, or turn its way? What arm shall then the victim cover, Or from her father shield her lover?

“ Save him, my God!” she inly cries —
“ Save him this night — and if thine eyes

“ Have ever welcom'd with delight “ The sinner's tears, the sacrifice

“Of sinners' hearts - guard him this night, “ And here, before thy throne, I swear “ From my heart's inmost core to tear

“Love, hope, remembrance, though they be “ Link'd with each quivering life-string there,

“ And give it bleeding all to Thee! “ Let him but live, — the burning tear, “ The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear,

Which have been all too much his own, “ Shall from this hour be Heaven's alone. “ Youth pass’d in penitence, and age “In long and painful pilgrimage, “ Shall leave no traces of the flame “ That wastes me now

nor shall his name “ Ere bless my lips, but when I pray « For his dear spirit, that away

“ Casting from its angelic ray “ The' eclipse of earth, he, too, may shine

Redeem'd, all glorious and all Thine! “ Think think what victory to win “One radiant soul like his from sin, “One wandering star of virtue back To its own native, heaven-ward track! “ Let him but live, and both are Thine,

“Together thine --- for, blest or crost, “ Living or dead, his doom is mine,

“ And, if he perish, both are lost!"

The next evening LALLA Rookh was entreated by her Ladies to continue the relation of her wonderful dream; but the fearful interest that hung round the fate of HINDA and her lover had completely removed every trace of it from her mind;- much to the disappointment of a fair seer or two in her train, who prided themselves on their skill in interpreting visions, and who had already remarked, as an unlucky omen, that the Princess, on the very morning after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms of the sorrowful tree, Nilica.*

FADLADEEN, whose indignation had more than once broken out during the recital of some parts of this heterodox poem, seemed at length to have made up his mind to the infliction; and took his seat this evening with all the patience of a martyr, while the Poet resumed his profane and seditious story as follows.

* “Blossoms of the sorrowful Nyctanthes give a durable colour to silk."Remarks on the Husbandry of Bengal, p. 200. “Nilica is one of the Indian names of this flower."-SIR W. JONES. “The Persians call it Gul.”_CARRERI.

To tearless eyes and hearts at ease
The leafy shores and sun-bright seas,
That lay beneath that mountain's height,
Had been a fair enchanting sight.
'Twas one of those ambrosial eves
A day of storm so often leaves
At its calm setting — when the West
Opens her golden bowers of rest,
And a moist radiance from the skies
Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes
Of some meek penitent, whose last,
Bright hours atone for dark ones past,
And whose sweet tears, o'er wrong forgiven,
Shine, as they fall, with light from heaven!

'Twas stillness all - the winds that late

Had rush'd through KERMAN's almond groves,
And shaken from her bowers of date

That cooling feast the traveller loves,*
Now, luild to languor, scarcely curl

The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam
Limpid, as if her mines of pearl

Were melted all to form the stream:

* “In parts of Kerman, whatever dates are shaken from the trees by the wind they do nct touch, but leave them for those who have not any, or for travellers." - EBHAUKAL.

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