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As they were all alive with light;
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks,
With their rich restless wings, that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam
Of the warm west,

as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine, or made
Of tearless rainbows, such as span
Th' unclouded skies of Peristan!
And then, the mingling sounds that come,
Of shepherd's ancient reed, with hum
Of the wild bees ef Palestine,

Banqueting through the flowery vales; And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine,

And woods, so full of nightingales.

But nought can charm the luckless Peri;
Her soul is sad —her wings are weary
Joyless she sees the sun look down
On that great temple, once his own,
Whose lonely columns stand sublime,

Flinging their shadows from on high,
Like dials, which the wizard, Time,

Had raised to count his ages by! Yet haply there may lie conceal'd

Beneath those chambers of the Sun, Some amulet of gems,

anneal'a In upper fires, some tablet seal’d

With the great name of Solomon,

Which, spellid by her illumined eyes, May teach her where, beneath the moon, In earth or ocean lies the boon, The charm, that can restore so soon,

An erring spirit to the skies!

Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither;

Still laughs the radiant eye of heaven,

Nor have the golden bowers of Even
In the rich west begun to wither;
When, o'er the vale of Baalbec winging

Slowly, she sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild-flowers singing,

As rosy and as vild as they ;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes ,

The beautiful blue damsel-flies,
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems
Like wing'd flowers or flying gems:
And, near the boy, who tired with play,
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount

From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small imaret's rustic fount

Impatient Aling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd

To the fair child, who fearless sat, Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd

Upon a brow more fierce than that, Sullenly fierce a mixture dire, Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire! In which the Peri's eye could read Dark tales of many a ruthless deed; The ruin'd maid the shrine profaned Oaths broke and the threshold stain'd With blood of guests! - there written, all, Black as the damning drops that fall From the denouncing Angel's pen, Ere Mercy weeps them out again!

Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening time
Softend'd his spirit) look'd and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play:
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze
As torches, that have burn'd all night
Through some impure and godless rite,

Encounter morning's glorious rays.

But hark! the vesper call to prayer,

As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air,

From Syria's thousand minarets !
The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers, where ho had laid his head,
And down npon the fragrant sod

Kneels, with his forehead to the south,
Lisping the eternal name of God

From purity's own cherub mouth,
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of Paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,
And seeking for its home again!
Ob 'twas a sight that heaven that child
A scene which might have well beguiled
Even haughty Eblis of a sigh
For glories lost and peace gone by!

And how felt he, the wretched man
Reclining there

while memory ran
O'er many a year of guilt and strife,
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting-place,
Nor brought him back one branch of grace!
“There was a time,” he said, in mild,
Heart-humbled tones "thou blessed child !
When young, and haply pure as thou,
I look'd and pray'd like thee

but now
He hung his head each nobler aim

And hope and feeling, which had slept HOEKZEMA, Poetry. 4th Ed.


From boyhood's hour, that instant came

Fresh o'er him, and he wept – he wept ! Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!

In whose benign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. “There's a drop," said the Peri, "that down from the moon Falls through the withering airs of June Upon Egypt's land, of so healing a power, So balmy a virtue, that even in the hour That drop descends, contagion dies, And health reanimates earth and skies! Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin,

The precious tears of repentance fall ?
Though foul thy fiery plagues within,

One heavenly drop hath dispell’d them all!"
And now behold him kneeling there
By the child's side, in humble prayer,
While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,
And hymns of joy proclaim through heaven
The triumph of a Soul Forgiven!

'Twas when the golden orb had set,
While on their knees they linger'd yet,
There fell a light, more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star,
Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek:
To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam
But well th' enraptured Peri knew
'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw
From heaven's gate, to hail that tear
Her harbinger of glory near!


Fallen is thy throne, O Israel !

Silence is o'er thy plains; Thy dwellings all lie desolate,

Thy children weep in chains !
Where are the dews that fed thee

On Etham's barren shore !
That fire from heaven which led thee,

Nows lights thy path no more.

Lord! thou didst love Jerusalem

Once she was all Thy own; Her love Thy fairest heritage

Her power Thy glory's throne,
Till evil came and blighted

Thy long-loved olive-tree;
And Salem's shrines were lighted

For other gods than Thee.

Then sunk the star of Solyma

Then pass'd her glory's day, Like heath that in the wilderness

The wild wind whirls away. Silent and waste her bowers,

Where once the mighty trod , And sunk those guilty towers,

Where Baal reign'd as God.

“ "Go" - said the Lord – “Ye conquerors!

Steep in her blood your swords, And raze to earth her battlements,

For they are not the Lord's. Till Zion's mournful daughter

O’er kindred bones shall tread, And Hinnom's vale of slaughter

Shall hide but half her dead!"

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