Behind their litters' roseate veils ; Who lull'd in cool kiosk or bower Light as the angel shapes that bless Where, through some shades of earthly feeling, Religion's soften'd glories shine, Like light through summer foliage stealing, Shedding a glow of such mild hue, Such is the maid who at this hour Watching the still and shining deep. In her own land, in happier days. Why looks she now so anxious down Among those rocks, whose rugged frown Blackens the mirror of the deep? Whom waits she all this lonely night? Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep, For man to scale that turret's height ! So deem'd at least her thoughtful sire, He built her bower of freshness there, Nor wake to learn what love can dare, Love, all-defying Love, who sees. No charm in trophies won with ease; Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss Are pluck'd on danger's precipice ! Bolder than they who dare not dive For pearls but when the sea's at rest, Love, in the tempest most alive, Hath ever held that pearl the best He finds beneath the stormiest water! Though high that tower, that rock-way rude, Of Ararat's tremendous peak, And think its steeps, though dark and Heaven's pathways, if to thee they led! Like her to whom, at dead of night, She flung him down her long black hair, The hero Zal in that fond hour, Than wings the youth who, fleet and bold, See light as up their granite steeps And now is in the maiden's chamber. She loves, but knows not whom she loves, She first beheld his radiant eyes Gleam through the lattice of the bower, Where nightly now they mix their sighs; And thought some spirit of the air Was pausing on his moonlight way This fancy ne'er hath left her mind; And though, when terror's swoon had past, She saw a youth, of mortal kind, Before her in obeisance cast, Yet often since, when he hath spoken Strange, awful words, and gleams have broken From his dark eyes, too bright to bear, Oh! she hath fear'd her soul was given To some unhallow'd child of air, Some erring spirit cast from heaven, Like those angelic youths of old, And lost their heaven for woman's eyes! But quench'd to-night that ardour seems, And pale his cheek, and sunk his brow; Never before, but in her dreams, Had she beheld him pale as now; And those were dreams of troubled sleep, From which 'twas joy to wake and weep, Visions, that will not be forgot, But sadden every waking scene, Like warning ghosts, that leave the spot All wither'd where they once have been! "How sweetly," said the trembling maid, Of her own gentle voice afraid, So long had they in silence stood, "How sweetly does the moonbeam smile To-night upon yon leafy isle! Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, I've wish'd that little isle had wings, |