Like dials, which the wizard, Time, Yet haply there may lie conceal'd With the great name of Solomon, In earth or ocean, lies the boon, The charm that can restore so soon Cheer'd by this hope, she bends her thither: 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, From Syria's thousand minarets! Nor brought him back one branch of grace? I look'd and pray'd like thee; but now 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 The precious tears of repentance fall? One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all!" And now - behold him kneeling there And hymns of joy proclaim through heaven 'Twas when the golden orb had set, "Joy, joy for ever! my task is done, The Gates are pass'd, and heaven is won! Oh! am I not happy? I am, 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! |