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But in those dismal words that reach'd his ear,

"Oh, my lost soul !" there was a sound so drear, So like that voice among the sinful dead,

In which the legend o'er hell's gate is read,

That, new as 'twas from her, whom nought could dim Or sink till now, it startled even him.

"Ha, my fair Priestess!" thus, with ready wile, Th' impostor turn'd to greet her, "thou, whose smile

Hath inspiration in its rosy beam

-

Beyond the enthusiast's hope or prophet's dream!
Light of the Faith! who twin'st religion's zeal

So close with love's, men know not which they feel,
Nor which to sigh for, in their trance of heart, —
The heaven thou preachest or the heaven thou art!
What should I be without thee? without thee
How dull were power, how joyless victory!
Though borne by angels, if that smile of thine
Bless'd not my banner, 'twere but half divine.
But why so mournful, child? those eyes, that shone
All life last night what! is their glory gone?
Come, come,

pale,

this morn's fatigue hath made them

They want rekindling, · suns themselves would fail,
Did not their comets bring, as I to thee,

From Light's own fount supplies of brilliancy!
Thou seest this cup, no juice of earth is here,
But the pure waters of that upper sphere,
Whose rills o'er ruby beds and topaz flow,

Catching the gem's bright colour, as they go.

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'Twill make that soul

all fire, those eyes all light.

Come, come, I want thy loveliest smiles to-night:

There is a youth

why start? thou

saw'st him then ; Look'd he not nobly?

such the godlike men

Thou'lt have to woo

thee in the bowers

above;

Though he, I fear, hath

thoughts too stern for love,

Too ruled by that cold enemy of bliss

The world calls virtue,

we must conquer this;

Nay, shrink not, pretty sage; 'tis not for thee
To scan the maze of heaven's mystery.

The steel must pass through fire, ere it can yield
Fit instruments for mighty hands to wield.
This very night I mean to try the art

Of powerful beauty on that warrior's heart.
All that my haram boasts of bloom and wit,
Of skill and charms, most rare and exquisite,
Shall tempt the boy, young Mirzala's blue eyes,
Whose sleepy lid like snow on violet lies;
Arouya's cheeks, warm as a spring-day sun,
And lips that, like the seal of Solomon,
Have magic in their pressure; Zeba's lute,
And Lilla's dancing feet, that gleam and shoot
Rapid and white as sea-birds o'er the deep!-
All shall combine their witching powers to steep
My convert's spirit in that softening trance,
From which to heaven is but the next advance,
That glowing, yielding fusion of the breast,
On which Religion stamps her image best.

But hear me, Priestess! though each nymph of these
Hath some peculiar, practised power to please,
Some glance or step, which, at the mirror tried,

First charms herself, then all the world beside,

There still wants one to make the victory sure,
One who in every look joins every lure;
Through whom all beauty's beams concentred pass,
Dazzling and warm, as through love's burning-glass,
Whose gentle lips persuade without a word,

Whose words, even when unmeaning, are adored,
Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine,

Which our faith takes for granted are divine!
Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and light,
To crown the rich temptations of to-night;
Such the refined enchantress that must be
This hero's vanquisher, — and thou art she!"

With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart and pale,

The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil

From which these words, like south winds through a fence

Of Kerzrah flowers, came filled with pestilence :

So boldly utter'd too! as if all dread

Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled,
And the wretch felt assured that, once plunged in,
Her woman's soul would know no pause in sin!

At first, though mute she listen'd, like a dream Seem'd all he said; nor could her mind, whose beam As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme.

But when, at length, he uttered, “Thou art she!"

All flash'd at once, and, shrieking piteously,

66

Oh, not for worlds!" she cried

whom

"Great God! to

I once knelt innocent, is this my doom?

Are all my dreams, my hopes of heavenly bliss,

My purity, my pride, then come to this?

To live, the wanton of a fiend! to be
The pander of his guilt oh, infamy! -
And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep

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