PARADISE AND THE PERI. ONE morn a Peri at the gate Of Life within, like music flowing, Through the half-open portal glowing, She wept to think her recreant race Should e'er have lost that glorious place! "How happy," exclaim'd this child of air, "Are the holy Spirits who wander there, 'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall; Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, And the stars themselves have flowers for me, One blossom of Heaven outblooms them all! "Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashmere, With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear, And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall; Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hay, And the golden floods that thitherward stray, Yet oh, 'tis only the Blest can say How the waters of Heaven outshine them all! 123 "Go, wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world, as far As the universe spreads its flaming wall: Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years, One minute of Heaven is worth them all!" The glorious Angel who was keeping From Eden's fountain, when it lies "Nymph of a fair but erring line," Gently he said, "one hope is thine: 'Tis written in the Book of Fate, The Peri pet may be forgiven Who brings to this Eternal Gate The Gift that is most dear to Heaven! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin 'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in." Rapidly as comets run To the embraces of the Sun, -- Down the blue vault the Peri flies, "I know But whither shall the Spirit go I know where the Isles of Perfume are, But gifts like these are not for the sky. While thus she mused, her pinions fann'd The air of that sweet Indian land Whose air is balm, whose ocean spreads Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice But crimson now her rivers ran With human blood: the smell of death Came reeking from those spicy bowers, And man, the sacrifice of man, Mingled his taint with every breath Upwafted from the innocent flowers. Land of the Sun, what foot invades Thy Pagods and thy pillar'd shades, Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones, Thy Monarchs and their thousand Thrones? 'Tis he of Gazna, - fierce in wrath He comes, and India's diadems Lie scatter'd in his ruinous path. His bloodhounds he adorns with gems, Of many a young and loved Sultana; Priests in the very fane, he slaughters, Alone, beside his native river, The red blade broken in his hand, And the last arrow in his quiver. “Live,” said the Conqueror, "live to share The trophies and the crowns I bear!" Silent that youthful warrior stood, False flew the shaft, though pointed well: Yet mark'd the Peri where he lay, Of morning light, she caught the last, "Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, 66 My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. Though foul are the drops that oft distil It would not stain the purest rill That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss! Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!" 66 Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave The gift into his radiant hand, |