"From frame to frame the unextinguished soul "Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal!

"Nor think 'tis only the gross spirits, warm'd "With duskier fire and for earth's medium form'd, "That run this course;-Beings, the most divine, "Thus deign through dark mortality to shine. "Such was the essence that in ADAM dwelt,

"To which all Heaven, except the proud one, knelt:* "Such the refin'd intelligence that glow'd

"In Moussa's frame; and, thence descending, flowed “Through many a prophet's breast;-in Issa shone, "And in MOHAMMED burn'd; till, hastening on,

(As a bright river that, from fall to fall

"In many a maze descending, bright through all, "Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth past, "In one full lake of light it rests at last!) "That holy spirit, settling calm and free "From lapse or shadow, centres all in me!”

Again, throughout th' assembly at these words,
Thousands of voices rung; the warriors' swords
Were pointed up to heaven; a sudden wind
In th' 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

* "And when we said unto the angels, Worship Adam, they all worshipped him except Eblis, (Lucifer,) who refused."-The Koran, Chap. ii.

A perfume forth;-like those the Houris wave,
When beckoning to their bowers th' 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 "Her wakening day-light on a world of sin! "But then, celestial warriors, then, when all "Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall, "When the glad slave shall at these feet lay down "His broken chain, the tyrant lord his crown, "The priest his book, the conqueror his wreath, "And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath "Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze "That whole dark pile of human mockeries;"Then shall the reign of Mind commence on earth, "And starting fresh, as from a second birth, "Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring, "Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing! "Then too, your prophet from his angel brow "Shall cast the veil that hides its splendours now, "And gladden'd Earth shall, through her wide expanse, "Bask in the glories of this countenance!

"For thee, young warrior, welcome!-thou hast yet "Some tasks to learn, some frailties to forget,

"Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can wave;— “But, once my own, mine all till in the grave!”

The pomp is at an end,-the crowds are goneEach ear and heart still haunted by the tone

Of that deep voice, which thrilled like ALLA's own!
The young all dazzled by the plumes and lances,
The glittering throne, and harem's half caught glances;
The old deep pondering on the promis'd reign

Of peace and truth; and all the female train
Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze
A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze!

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 thy 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
Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour;
When thou didst study him, till every tone
And gesture and dear look became thy own,

Thy voice like his, the changes of his face
In thine reflected with still lovelier grace,
Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught
With twice th' aerial sweetness it had brought!
Yet now he comes-brighter than even he
E'er beam'd before, but ah! not bright for thee;
No-dread, unlook'd for, like a visitant
From th' other world, he comes, as if to haunt
Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight,
Long lost to all but memory's aching sight:—
Sad dreams! as when the spirit of our youth
Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth
And innocence once ours, and leads us back,
In mournful mockery, o'er the shining track
Of our young life, and points out every ray
Of hope and peace we've lost upon the way!
Once happy pair!-in proud BoкHARA'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;-

* The Amoo, which rises in the Belur Tag, or Dark Mountains, and running nearly from east to west, splits into two branches, one of which falls into the Caspian sea, and the other into Aral Nahr, or the Lake of Eagles.

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 th' array
Of PERSIA's warriors on the hills of THRACE,
The youth exchang'd 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
For bleeding bondage on BYZANTIUM's plains.

Month after month, in widowhood of soul Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll Their suns away-but, ah! how cold and dim Ev'n 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!"— Oh 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 lov'd 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!