Relief to her imaginings! Since never yet was shape so dread, But fancy, thus in darkness thrown, And by such sounds of horror fed, Could frame more dreadful of her own. But does she dream? Has fear again Come from the gloom, low whispering near, Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think That one of Gheber blood should look, On her, a maid of Araby, A Moslem maid, - the child of him Whose bloody banner's dire success Hath left their altars cold and dim, And their fair land a wilderness! The sword that once hath tasted food The sinner's tears, the sacrifice - Of sinners' hearts, guard him this night, And here, before thy throne, I swear From my heart's inmost core to tear Love, hope, remembrance, though they be Which have been all too much his own, That wastes me now, nor shall his name E'er bless my lips, but when I pray Casting from its angelic ray Th' eclipse of earth, he too may shine And if he perish, both are lost!" THE next evening Lalla Rookh was entreated by her ladies to continue the relation of her wonderful dream; but the fearful interest that hung round the fate of Hinda and her lover had completely removed every trace of it from her mind; - much to the disappointment of a fair seer or two in her train, who prided themselves on their skill in interpreting visions, and who had already remarked, as an unlucky omen, that the Princess, on the very morning after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms of the sorrowful tree, Nilica. Fadladeen, whose wrath had more than once broken out during the recital of some parts of this most heterodox poem, seemed at length to have made up his mind to the infliction; and took his seat this evening with all the patience of a martyr, while the Poet continued his profane and seditious story thus: To tearless eyes and hearts at ease At its calm setting, — when the west 'Twas stillness all, - the winds that late That cooling feast the traveller loves, Now, lull'd to languor, scarcely curl The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam Limpid, as if her mines of pearl Were melted all to form the stream; And her fair islets, small and bright, With their green shores reflected there, Look like those Peri isles of light, That hang by spell-work in the air. |