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 All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow: Now led against thee; and, let conquerors boast 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 In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold, 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, |