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He raised his veil, the Maid turn'd slowly round, Look'd at him, shriek'd, and sunk upon the ground!

ON their arrival, next night, at the place of encampment, they were surprised and delighted to find the groves all around illuminated; some artists of Yamtcheou having been sent on previously for the purpose. On each side of the green alley which led to the Royal Pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo work were erected, representing arches, minarets, and towers, from which hung thousands of silken lanterns,

painted by the most delicate pencils of Canton. Nothing could be more beautiful than the leaves of the mango-trees and acacias, shining in the fight of the bamboo scenery, which shed a lustre around as soft as that of the nights of Peristan.

Lalla Rookh, however, who was too much occupied by the sad story of Zelica and her lover to give a thought to anything else, except, perhaps, him who related it, hurried on through this scene of splendour to her pavilion, greatly to the mortification of the poor artists of Yamtcheou, and was followed with equal rapidity by the Great Chamberlain, cursing, as he went, the ancient Mandarin whose parental anxiety in lighting up the shores of the lake where his beloved daughter had wandered and been lost was the origin of these fantastic Chinese illuminations.

Without a moment's delay, young Feramorz was introduced; and Fadladeen, who could never make up his mind as to the merits of a poet till he knew the religious sect to which he belonged, was about to ask him whether he was a Shia or a Sooni, when Lalla Rookh impatiently clapped her hands for silence, and the youth, being seated upon the musnud near her, proceeded:

PREPARE thy soul, young Azim! — thou hast braved
The bands of Greece, still mighty, though enslaved ;
Hast faced her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame,
Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame ;

All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow:
But a more perilous trial waits thee now,
Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes
From every land where woman smiles or sighs;
Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise
His black or azure banner in their blaze;
And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash
That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash,
To the sly, stealing splendours, almost hid,
Like swords half-sheathed, beneath the downcast lid.
Such, Azim, is the lovely, luminous host

Now led against thee; and, let conquerors boast
Their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms
A young, warm spirit against beauty's charms,
Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall,
Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all.

Now, through the haram chambers, moving lights And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites; From room to room the ready handmaids hie, Some skill'd to wreathe the turban tastefully, Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade, O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, Who, if between the folds but one eye shone, Like Seba's Queen could vanquish with that one; While some bring leaves of henna to imbue The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue, So bright that in the mirror's depth they seem Like tips of coral branches in the stream; And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye, To give that long, dark languish to the eye,

Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to

cull

From fair Circassia's vales, so beautiful!

All is in motion: rings and plumes and pearls
Are shining everywhere! Some younger girls
Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds,
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads;
Gay creatures! sweet, though mournful, 'tis to see
How each prefers a garland from that tree
Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day,
And the dear fields and friendships far away.
The maid of India, blest again to hold

In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold,
Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood,
Her little playmates scatter'd many a bud
Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam
Just dripping from the consecrated stream;
While the young Arab, haunted by the smell
Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell,
The sweet Elcaya, and that courteous tree
Which bows to all who seek its canopy, -
Sees, call'd up round her by these magic scents,
The well, the camels, and her father's tents;
Sighs for the home she left with little pain,
And wishes even its sorrows back again!

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound From many a jasper fount is heard around,

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