And her fair islets, small and bright,

With their green shores reflected there,
Look like those PERI isles of light,

That hang by spell-work in the air.

But vainly did those glories burst
On HINDA's dazzled eyes, when first
The bandage from her brow was taken,
And, pale and aw'd as those who waken
In their dark tombs - when, scowling near,
The Searchers of the Grave* appear,
She shuddering turn'd to read her fate
In the fierce eyes that flash'd around;
And saw those towers all desolate,

That o'er her head terrific frown'd,
As if defying ev'n the smile
Of that soft heaven to gild their pile.
In vain with mingled hope and fear,
She looks for him whose voice so dear
Had come, like music, to her ear
Strange, mocking dream! again 'tis fled.
And oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread
That through her inmost bosom run,
When voices from without proclaim
"HAFED the Chief" - and, one by one,

The warriors shout that fearful name!
He comes the rock resounds his tread -
How shall she dare to lift her head,

* "The two terrible angels, Monkir and Nakir, who are called "the Searchers of the Grave" in the "Creed of the orthodox Mahometans" given by Ockley, vol. ii.

Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare
Not YEMEN's boldest sons can bear?
In whose red beam, the Moslem tells,
Such rank and deadly lustre dwells,
As in those hellish fires that light
The mandrake's charnel leaves at night.
How shall she bear that voice's tone,
At whose loud battle-cry alone
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran,
Scatter'd like some vast caravan,

*

When, stretch'd at evening round the well,
They hear the thirsting tiger's yell!

Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down,
Shrinking beneath the fiery frown,
Which, fancy tells her, from that brow
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now:
And shuddering as she hears the tread

Of his retiring warrior band.
Never was pause so full of dread;

Till HAFED with a trembling hand
Took hers, and, leaning o'er her, said,
"HINDA;"— that word was all he spoke,
And 'twas enough the shriek that broke
From her full bosom told the rest.

Panting with terror, joy, surprise,
The maid but lifts her wondering eyes,

To hide them on her Gheber's breast!

*

"The Arabians call the mandrake the Devil's candle,' on account of its shining appearance in the night."-RICHARDSON.

The fellest of the Fire-fiend's brood,

HAFED, the demon of the fight,

Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight, –

Is her own loved Gheber, mild

And glorious as when first he smil'd

In her lone bower, and left such beams
Of his pure eye to light her dreams,
That she believ'd her bower had given
Rest to some wanderer from heaven!

Moments there are, and this was one,
Snatch'd like a minute's gleam of sun
Amid the black Simoom's eclipse -

Or, like those verdant spots that bloom Around the crater's burning lips,

Sweetening the very edge of doom! The past the future. all that Fate

Can bring of dark or desperate

Around such hours, but makes them cast

Intenser radiance while they last!

Ev'n he, this youth-though dimm'd and gone

Each star of Hope that cheer'd him on

His glories lost his cause betray'd-
IRAN, his dear-lov'd country, made
A land of carcasses and slaves,

One dreary waste of chains and graves! -
Himself but lingering, dead at heart,
To see the last, long struggling breath

Of Liberty's great soul depart,

Then lay him down and share her deathEv'n he, so sunk in wretchedness,

With doom still darker gathering o'er him Yet, in this moment's pure caress,

In the mild eyes that shone before him,
Beaming that blest assurance, worth
All other transports known on earth,
That he was lov'd well, warmly lov'd-
Oh! in this precious hour he prov'd
How deep, how thorough-felt the glow
Of rapture, kindling out of woe;-
How exquisite one single drop

Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top
Of misery's cup-how keenly quaff'd,
Though death must follow on the draught!

She, too, while gazing on those eyes

That sink into her soul so deep, Forgets all fears, all miseries,

Or feels them like the wretch in sleep,

Whom fancy cheats into a smile,
Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while!
The mighty Ruins where they stood,
Upon the mount's high, rocky verge,
Lay open tow'rds the ocean flood,
Where lightly o'er the illumin'd surge
Many a fair bark that, all the day,
Had lurk'd in sheltering creek or bay
Now bounded on, and gave their sails,
Yet dripping, to the evening gales;

Like eagles, when the storm is done,
Spreading their wet wings in the sun.

The beauteous clouds, though daylight's Star
Had sunk behind the hills of Lar,

Where still with lingering glories bright,
As if to grace the gorgeous West,

The Spirit of departing Light

That eve had left his sunny vest

Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight. Never was scene so form'd for love! Beneath them waves of crystal move In silent swell Heav'n glows above,

And their pure hearts, to transport given,
Swell like the wave, and glow like Heav'n.

But ah! too soon that dream is past
Again, again her fear returns;

Night, dreadful night, is gathering fast,
More faintly the horizon burns,

And every rosy tint that lay

On the smooth sea hath died away.
Hastily to the darkening skies

A glance she casts

- then wildly cries “At night, he said - and, look, 'tis near

"Fly, fly—if yet thou lov'st me, fly"Soon will his murderous band be here,

"And I shall see thee bleed and die. "Hush! heard'st thou not the tramp of men

"Sounding from yonder fearful glen? —

66

'Perhaps ev'n now they climb the wood

“Fly, fly — though still the West is bright,