And oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.

Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh
As the flower of the Amra just op'd by a bee;*
And precious their tears as that rain from the sky,f
Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea.
Oh! think what the kiss and the smile must be
worth,

When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss; And own if there be an Elysium on earth,

It is this, it is this.

Here sparkles the nectar that hallow'd by love, Could draw down those angels of old from their

sphere,

Who for wine of this earth left the fountains above And forgot heaven's stars for the eyes we have

here.

And, bless'd with the odour our goblets gives forth,
What Spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss?
For ah! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this..

The Georgian's song was scarcely mute,
When the same measure, sound for sound,

"Delightful are the flowers of the Arma trees on the mountain tops, while the murmurming bees pursue their voluptuous toil." Song of Jayadeva.

The Nisan or drops of spring rain, which they believe to produce pearls if they fall into shells." Richardson.

For an account of the share which wine had in the fall of the angels. v. Mariti.

Was caught up by another lute,

And so divinely breath'd around,
That all stood hush'd and wondering,

And turn'd and look'd into the air,
As if they thought to see the wing
Of ISRAFIL.* the Angel, there ;-
So powerfully on every soul
That new, enchanted measure stole.
While now a voice, sweet as the note
Of the charm'd lute, was heard to float
Along its chords, and so entwine

Its sound with theirs, that none knew whether The voice or lute was most divine,

So wond'rously they went together;

There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told,

When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing and brow never cold, Love on through all ills, and love on till they die One hour of a passion so sacred is worth

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss ; And oh if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this.

'Twas not the air, 'twas not the words,
But that deep magic in the chords
And in the lips, that gave such power
As music knew not till that hour.

*The Angel of Music, v. note, p. 250.

At once a hundred voices said,
It is the mask'd Arabian maid !"
While SELIM, who had felt the strain
Deepest of any, and had lain
Some minutes rapt, as in a trance,
After the fairy sounds wers o'er,
Too inly touch'd for utterance,.

Now motion'd with his hand for more :

Fly to the desert, fly with me,
Our Arab tents are rude for thee;

But oh! the choice what heart can doubt
Of tents with love, or thrones without?

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor lov'd the less
For flowering in a wilderness.

Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silvery-footed antelope

As gracefully and gaily springs
As o'er the marble courts of Kings.

Then come-thy Arab maid will be
The lov'd and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.

Oh! there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,—
As if the soul that minute caught

Some treasure it through life had sought;

As if the very lips and eyes
/Predestin'd to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before us then!

So came thy every glance and tone,
When first on me they breath'd and shone;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if lov'd for years!

Then fly with me,-if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn,

Come, if the love thou hast for me
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,
Fresh as the fountain under ground
When first 'tis by the lapwing found.*

But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipp'd image from its base,
To give to me the ruin'd place ;—

Then fare thee well-I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake
When thawing suns begin to shine,

Than trust to love so false as thine!

There was a pathos in this lay,

That, ev'n without enchantment's art,

* The Hudhud or Laping, is supposed to have the power of discovering water under ground.

Would instantly have found its way
Deep into SELIM's burning heart;
But breathing, as it did, a tone
To earthly lutes and lips unknown;
With every chord fresh from the touch
Of Music's Spirit,-'twas too much!
Starting, he dash'd away the cup,-
Which, all the time of this sweet air,
His hand had held, untasted, up,

As if 'twas held by magic there,→→
And naming her, so long unnam'd,
So long unseen, wildy exclaim'd,
"Oh NOURMAHAL! oh NoURMAHAL !

"Had'st thou but sung this witching strain, "I could forget-forgive thee all,

"And never leave those eyes again.

The mask is off-the charm is wrought-
And SELIM to his heart has caught,
In blushes, more than ever bright,
His NOURMAHAL, his Haram's Light!
And well do vanish'd frowns enhance
The charm of every brighten'd glance;
And dearer seems each dawning smile
For having lost its light awhile;
And, happier now for all her sighs,
As on her arm her head reposes,
She whispers him, with laughing eyes,

Remember, love, the Feast of Roses ""