With duskier fire and for earth's medium form'd, To which all Heaven, except the Proud One, knelt : In Moussa's frame, and, thence descending, flow'd In many a maze descending, bright through all, Again, throughout the assembly, at these words, Thousands of voices rung: the warriors' swords Were pointed up to heaven; a sudden wind In the open banners play'd, and from behind Those Persian hangings that but ill could screen The Haram's loveliness, white hands were seen Waving embroider'd scarves, whose motion gave A perfume forth; —like those the Houris wave When beckoning to their bowers the immortal Brave. 'But these,' pursued the Chief, ‘are truths sublime, That claim a holier mood and calmer time Than earth allows us now; - this sword must first The darkling prison-house of Mankind burst, Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in The pomp is at an end -the crowds are goneEach ear and heart still haunted by the tone Of that deep voice, which thrill'd like Alla's own! The Young all dazzled by the plumes and lances, The glittering throne, and Haram's half-caught glances: The Old deep pondering on the promised reign Of peace and truth; and all the female train But there was one, among the chosen maids, Who blush'd behind the gallery's silken shades, One, to whose soul the pageant of to-day Has been like death;-you saw her pale dismay, Ye wondering sisterhood, and heard the burst Of exclamation from her lips, when first She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne. Ah, Zelica! there was a time, when bliss Shone o'er thine heart from every look of his; When but to see him, hear him, breathe the air In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer; When round him hung such a perpetual spell, Whate'er he did none ever did so well. Too happy days! when, if he touch'd a flower From the other world, he comes as if to haunt Once happy pair!-in proud Bokhara's groves, Who had not heard of their first youthful loves? Born by that ancient flood, which from its spring In the Dark Mountains swiftly wandering, Enrich'd by every pilgrim brook that shines With relics from Bucharia's ruby mines, And lending to the Caspian half its strength, In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length; There, on the banks of that bright river born, The flowers that hung above its wave at morn Bless'd not the waters, as they murmur'd by, With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh And virgin-glance of first affection cast Upon their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd! But war disturb'd this vision,—— far away From her fond eyes summon'd to join the array Of Persia's warriors on the hills of Thrace, The youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling-place For the rude tent and war-field's deathful clash; His Zelica's sweet glances for the flash Of Grecian wild-fire, and Love's gentle chains 6 Month after month, in widowhood of soul Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll Their suns away-but ah! how cold and dim Even summer suns, when not beheld with him! From time to time ill-omen'd rumours came, Like spirit-tongues muttering the sick man's name, Just ere he dies: at length those sounds of dread Fell withering on her soul, Azim is dead!' O Grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate First leaves the young heart lone and desolate In the wide world, without that only tie For which it loved to live or fear'd to die ;Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken Since the sad day its master-chord was broken! Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, Even reason sunk,- blighted beneath its touch: And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose Above the first dead pressure of its woes, Though health and bloom return'd, the delicate chain Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again. Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray;A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone All stars of heaven, except the guiding one! Again she smiled, nay, much and brightly smiled, But 't was a lustre, strange, unreal, wild; And when she sung to her lute's touching strain, |