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From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings! Then her mirth — oh! 'twas sportive as ever took
wing From the heart with a burst, like the wild bird in
spring ; Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages, Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages. While her laugh, full of life, without any control But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul; And where it most sparkled no glance could discover, In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brighten’d all over, – Like any
fair lake that the breeze is upon, When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun. Such, such were the peerless enchantments that gave Nourmahal the proud Lord of the East for her slave; And though bright was his haram, – a living parterre Of the flowers of this planet, though treasures were
there, For which Soliman's self might have given all the
store That the navy from Ophir e'er wing'd to his shore, Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all, And the Light of his Haram was young Nourmahal !
But where is she now, this night of joy,
When all around her is so bright,
Into the Vale this happy night,
Hearts that the world in vain had tied,
A word unkind or wrongly taken,
A breath, a touch, like this hath shaken.
As though its waters ne'er could sever,
Breaks into floods that part for ever.
O you that have the charge of Love,
Keep him in rosy bondage bound, As in the fields of Bliss above
He sits, with flowerets fetter'd round: Loose not a tie that round him clings, Nor ever let him use his wings;
The fondest hearts may soon be riven;
Come crowding round, — the cheeks are pale,
What is it to the nightingale,
Hence is it too that Nourmahal,
Amid the luxuries of this hour,