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Like dials, which the wizard, Time,

Had raised to count his ages by!

Yet haply there may lie conceald

Beneath those chambers of the sun,
Some amulet of gems, anneal'd
In upper fires, some tablet seal'd

With the great name of Solomon,
Which, spell’d 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 Balbec winging

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

As rosy and as wild as they ;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel-flies,
That Autter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like winged 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 fling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd

To the fair child, who fearless sat, Though never yet hath daybeam 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 broken, 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 Soften’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 burnt 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

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Of flowers, where he had laid his

head,
And down upon the fragrant sod
Kneels, with his forehead to

the south,
Lisping th' 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!
Oh, 'twas a sight — that heaven

that child
A scene, which might have well be-

guiled E'en haughty Eblis of a sigh For glories lost and peace gone by!

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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
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 e'en 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!”

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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 !

I am,

"Joy, joy for ever ! my task is done, — The Gates are pass’d, and heaven is won ! Oh! am I not happy?

I am To thee, sweet Eden ! how dark and sad Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam,

And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad ! Farewell, ye odours of earth, that die, Passing away like a lover's sigh! My feast is now of the tooba-tree, Whose scent is the breath of eternity!

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