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Is rankling in the pest-house now,
And ne'er will feel that sun again.
And, oh! to see the unburied heaps
On which the lonely moonlight sleeps –
The very vultures turn away,
And sicken at so foul a prey!
Only the fierce hyæna stalks
Throughout the city's desolate walks
At midnight, and his carnage plies :--
Woe to the half-dead wretch who meets
The glaring of those large blue eyes
Amid the darkness of the streets!

'Poor race of men!' said the pitying Spirit, 'Dearly ye pay for your primal FallSome flowerets of Eden ye still inherit,

She wept

But the trail of the Serpent is over them all!'
the air grew pure and clear
Around her, as the bright drops ran:
For there's a magic in each tear

Such kindly Spirits weep for man!
Just then beneath some orange trees,
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze
Were wantoning together, free,
Like age at play with infancy,-

Beneath that fresh and springing bower,
Close by the Lake, she heard the moan

Of one who, at this silent hour,

Had thither stolen to die alone:

One who in life, where'er he moved,

Drew after him the hearts of many,
Yet now, as though he ne'er were loved,
Dies here unseen, unwept by any!
None to watch near him. none to slake
The fire that in his bosom lies,
With even a sprinkle from that lake
Which shines so cool before his eyes!
No voice, well-known through many a day,
To speak the last, the parting word,
Which, when all other sounds decay,
Is still like distant music heard;
That tender farewell on the shore
Of this rude world, when all is o'er,
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark
Puts off into the unknown Dark.

Deserted youth! one thought alone

Shed joy around his soul in death:
That she, whom he for years had known,
And loved, and might have call'd his own,
Was safe from this foul midnight's breath,-
Safe in her father's princely halls,

Where the cool airs from fountain falls,
Freshly perfumed by many a brand

Of the sweet wood from India's land,
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd.

But see! who yonder comes by stealth,
This melancholy bower to seek,

Like a young envoy, sent by Health,
With rosy gifts upon her cheek?
'Tis she! — far off, through moonlight dim,
He knew his own betrothed bride,
She, who would rather die with him,

Than live to gain the world beside!
Her arms are round her lover now,

His livid cheek to hers she presses, And dips, to bind his burning brow,

In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses. Ah! once, how little did he think

An hour would come, when he should shrink With horror from that dear embrace,

Those gentle arms, that were to him
Holy as is the cradling place

Of Eden's infant cherubim!
And now he yields —now turns away,
Shuddering as if the venom lay
All in those proffer'd lips alone,-
Those lips that, then so fearless grown,
Never until that instant came

Near his unask'd or without shame.

'Oh, let me only breathe the air,

That blessed air, that's breathed by thee,

And whether on its wings it bear

Healing or death, 't is sweet to me! There-drink my tears, while yet they fall Would that my bosom's blood were balm, And well thou know'st, I'd shed it all, To give thy brow one minute's calm.



Nay, turn not from me that dear face

Am I not thine? - thine own loved bride?— The one, the chosen one, whose place

In life or death is by thy side?
Think'st thou that she, whose only light
In this dim world from thee hath shone,
Could bear the long, the cheerless night,
That must be hers when thou art gone?
That I can live, and let thee go,
Who art my life itself?—No, no!-
When the stem dies, the leaf that grew
Out of its heart must perish too!
Then turn to me, mine own love, turn,
Before, like thee, I fade and burn;
Cling to these yet cool lips, and share
The last pure life that lingers there!'
She fails- she sinks- as dies the lamp
In charnel airs or cavern-damp,

So quickly do his baleful sighs

Quench all the sweet light of her eyes.
One struggle, and his pain is past!
Her lover is no longer living!

One kiss the maiden gives, one last

Long kiss, which she expires in giving!

Sleep,' said the Peri, as softly she stole

The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul

As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast;

Sleep on, in visions of odour rest,

In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd

The enchanted pile of that lonely bird,
Who sings at the last his own death-lay,
And in music and perfume dies away!'

Thus saying, from her lips she spread

Unearthly breathings through the place,
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed
Such lustre o'er each paly face,

That like two lovely saints they seem'd,
Upon the eve of doomsday taken

From their dim graves, in odour sleeping,-
While that benevolent Peri beam'd

Like their good angel, calmly keeping

Watch o'er them till their souls would waken.

But morn is blushing in the sky:

Again the Peri soars above,
Bearing to Heaven that precious sigh
Of pure self-sacrificing love.

High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate;
The Elysian palm she soon shall win,
For the bright Spirit at the gate
Smiled as she gave that offering in ;
And she already hears the trees
Of Eden, with their crystal bells
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze

That from the throne of Alla swells;
And she can see the starry bowls

That lie around that lucid lake,

Upon whose banks admitted Souls

Their first sweet draught of glory take!

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