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Those lanterns, countless as the winged lights
That spangle INDIA's fields on showery nights,'-
Far as their formidable gleams they shed,
The mighty tents of the beleagu'rer spread,
Glimmering along th' horizon's dusky line,
And thence in nearer circles, till they shine
Among the founts and groves, o'er which the town
In all its arm'd magnificence looks down.
Yet, fearless, from his lofty battlements
MOKANNA Views that multitude of tents;
Nay, smiles to think that, though entoil'd, beset,
Not less than myriads dare to front him yet:-
That, friendless, throneless, he thus stands at bay,
E'en thus a match for myriads such as they!
"Oh! for a sweep of that dark angel's wing,
Who brush'd the thousands of th' Assyrian King2
To darkness in a moment, that I might
People Hell's chambers with yon host to-night!
But come what may, let who will grasp
the throne,
Caliph or Prophet, Man alike shall groan;
Let who will torture him, Priest-Caliph-King-
Alike this loathsome world of his shall ring
With victims' shrieks and howlings of the slave,—
Sounds, that shall glad me ev'n within my grave."
Thus to himself-but to the scanty train
Still left around him, a far different strain :-
"Glorious defenders of the sacred Crown

I bear from Heav'n, whose light, nor blood shall drown
Nor shadow of earth eclipse ;-before whose gems
The paly pomp of this world's diadems,
The crown of GERASHID, the pillar'd throne
Of PARVIZ, and the heron crest that shone,*
Magnificent, o'er ALI's beauteous eyes,"
Fade like the stars when morn is in the skies:
Warriors, rejoice-the port, to which we've pass'd
O'er destiny's dark wave, beams out at last!
Victory's our own-'tis written in that Book
Upon whose leaves none but the angels look,
That ISLAM's sceptre shall beneath the power
Of her great foe fall broken in that hour,
When the moon's mighty orb, before all eyes,
From NEKSHEB's Holy Well portentously shall rise!

Now turn and see!"

They turn'd, and, as he spoke, A sudden splendour all around them broke, And they beheld an orb, ample and bright, Rise from the Holy Well, and cast its light Round the rich city and the plain for miles,Flinging such radiance o'er the gilded tiles

1 Carreri mentions the fire-flies in India during the rainy season. See his Travels.

2 "Sennacherib, called by the orientals King of Mous

sal."-L'Herbelot.

3 Chosroes. For the description of his Throne or Palace, see Gibbon and D'Herbelot.

4" The crown of Gerashid is cloudy and tarnished before the heron tuft of thy turban."-From one of the elegies or songs in praise of Ali, written in characters of gold round the gallery of Abbas's tomb.-See Chardin.

3 "The beauty of Ali's eyes was so remarkable, that whenever the Persians would describe any thing as very lovely, they say it is Ayn Hali, or the Eyes of Ali."-Chardin.

6 "Il amusa pendant deux mois le peuple de la ville de Nekhscheb en faisant sortir toutes les nuits du fond d'un puits un corps lumineux semblable à la Lune, qui portait sa lumière jusqu'à la distance de plusieurs milles."-D' Herbelot. Hence he was called Sazendehmah, or the Moonmaker.

Of many a dome and fair-roof'd minaret,
As autumn suns shed round them when they set!
Instant from all who saw th' illusive sign
A murmur broke-"Miraculous! divine!"
The Gheber bow'd, thinking his idol Star
Had wak'd, and burst impatient through the bar
Of midnight, to inflame him to the war!
While he of Moussa's creed, saw, in that ray
The glorious Light which, in his freedom's day
Had rested on the Ark,' and now again
Shone out to bless the breaking of his chain!

"To victory!" is at once the cry of all-
Nor stands MOKANNA loitering at that call;
But instant the huge gates are flung aside,
And forth, like a diminutive mountain-tide
Into the boundless sea, they speed their course
Right on into the MOSLEM's mighty force.
The watchmen of the camp,-who, in their rounds,
Had paus d and een forgot the punctual sounds
Of the small drum with which they count the night,
To gaze upon that supernatural light,-
Now sink beneath an unexpected arm,
And in a death-groan give their last alarm.
"On for the lamps, that light yon lofty screen,3
Nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean;
There rests the CALIPH-speed-one lucky lance
May now achieve mankind's deliverance!"
Desperate the die--such as they only cast,
Who venture for a world, and stake their last.
But Fate's no longer with him-blade for blade
Springs up to meet them through the glimmering shade.
And, as the clash is heard, new legions soon
Pour to the spot,-like bees of KAUZEROON
To the shrill timbrel s summons,-till, at length,
The mighty camp swarms out in all its strength,
And back to NEKSHEB's gates, covering the plain
With random slaughter, drives the adventurous train,
Among the last of whom, the Silver Veil
Is seen glittering at times, like the white sail
Of some toss'd vessel, on a stormy night,

Catching the tempest s momentary light!

And hath not this brought the proud spirit low? Nor dash'd his brow, nor check'd his daring? No. Though half the wretches, whom at night he led To thrones and victory, lie disgrac'd and dead, Yet morning hears him, with unshrinking crest, Still vaunt of thrones, and victory to the rest. And they believed him!-oh, the lover may Distrust that look which steals his soul away;The babe may cease to think that it can play With heaven's rainbow;-alchymists may doubt The shining gold their crucible gives out; But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last.

1 The Shechinah, called Sakinat in the Koran.-See Sale's Note, chap. ii.

2 The parts of the night are made known as well by instruments of music, as by the rounds of the watchmen with cries and small drums.-See Burder's Oriental Customs, vol. ii. p. 119.

3 "The Serrapurda, high screens of red cloth, stiffened with cane, used to inclose a considerable space roused the royal tents."-Notes on the Bahardanush.

4 "From the groves of Orange trees at Kanzeroon, the bees cull a celebrated honey.”—Morier's Travels

And well th' Impostor knew all lures and arts,
That LUCIFER e'er taught to tangle hearts;
Nor, 'mid these last bold workings of his plot
Against men's souls, is ZELICA forgot.
Il-fated ZELICA! had reason been

Awake, through half the horrors thou hast seen,
Thou never could st have borne it-Death had come
At once and taken thy wrung spirit home.
But 'twas not so-a torpor, a suspense

Of thought, almost of life, came o'er th' intense
And passionate struggles of that fearful night,
When her last hope of peace and heav'n took flight:
And though, at times, a gleam of frenzy broke,-
As through some dull volcano's veil of smoke
Ominous flashings now and then will start,
Which show the fire 's still busy at its heart;
Yet was she mostly wrapp'd in sullen gloom,-
Not such as AzIM's, brooding o'er its doom,
And calm without, as is the brow of death,
While busy worms are gnawing underneath!—
But in a blank and pulseless torpor, free
From thought or pain, a seal'd up apathy,
Which left her oft, with scarce one living thrill,
The cold, pale victim of her torturer's will.

Again, as in MEROU, he had her deck'd
Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect;
And led her glittering forth before the eyes
Of his rude train, as to a sacrifice;
Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride

Of the fierce NILE, when, deck'd in all the pride
Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide!!

Like those wild birds' that by the Magians, oft,
At festivals of fire, were sent aloft
Into the air, with blazing faggots tied

To their huge wings, scattering combustion wide!
All night, the groans of wretches who expire,
In agony, beneath these darts of fire,
Ring through the city-while, descending o'er
Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore--
Its lone bazaars, with their bright cloths of gold,
Since the last peaceful pageant left unroll'd;—
Its beauteous marble baths, whose idle jets
Now gush with blood;--and its tall minarets,
That late have stood up in the evening glare
Of the red sun, unhallow'd by a prayer;—
O'er each, in turn, the dreadful flame-bolts fall,
And death and conflagration throughout all
The desolate city hold high festival!

MOKANNA sees the world is his no more ;-
One sting at parting, and his grasp is o'er.
"What! drooping now?"-thus, with unblushing
cheek,

He hails the few, who yet can hear him speak,
Of all those famish'd slaves, around him lying,
And by the light of blazing temples dying;-
"What! drooping now ?-now, when at length we

press

Home o'er the very threshold of success;
When ALLA from our ranks hath thinn'd away
Those grosser branches, that kept out his ray
Of favour from us, and we stand at length
Heirs of his light and children of his strength,

And while the wretched maid hung down her head, The chosen few who shall survive the fall

And stood, as one just risen from the dead,
Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would tell
His credulous slaves it was some charm or spell
Possess'd her now,-and from that darken'd trance
Should dawn ere long their Faith's deliverance.
Or if, at times, goaded by guilty shame,

Her soul was rous'd, and words of wildness came,
Instant the bold blasphemer would translate
Her ravings into oracles of fate,

Would hail Heav'n's signals in her flashing eyes,
And call her shrieks the language of the skies!
But vain at length his arts-despair is seen
Gathering around; and famine comes to glean
All that the sword had left unreap'd:-in vain
At morn and eve across the northern plain
He looks impatient for the promis'd spears
Of the wild hordes and TARTAR mountaineers.
They come not-while his fierce beleaguerers pour
Engines of havoc in, unknown before,
And horrible as new ;2-javelins, that fly
Enwreath'd with smoky flames through the dark sky,
And red-hot globes, that, opening as they mount,
Discharge, as from a kindled Naptha fount,
Showers of a consuming fire o'er all below;
Looking, as through th' illumin'd night they go,

1 "A custom still subsisting at this day, seems to me to prove that the Egyptians formerly sacrificed a young virgin to the god of the Nile; for they now make a statue of earth in shape of a girl, to which they give the name of the Betrothed Bride, and throw it into the river."-Savary.

2 The Greek fire, which was occasionally lent by the Emperors to their allies. "It was," says Gibbon, "either launched in red-hot balls of stone and iron, or darted in arrows and javelins, twisted round with flax and tow, which had deeply imbibed the inflammable oil."

Of kings and thrones, triumphant over all!
Have you then lost, weak murmurers as you are,
All faith in him, who was your Light, your Star?
Have you forgot the eye of glory, hid

Beneath this Veil, the flashing of whose lid:
Could, like a sun-stroke of the desert, wither
Millions of such as yonder Chief brings hither?
Long have its lightnings slept-too long-but now
All earth shall feel th' unveiling of this brow!
To-night-yes, sainted men! This very night,
I bid you all to a fair festal rite,

Where, having deep refresh'd each weary limb
With viands such as feast Heaven's cherubim,
And kindled up your souls, now sunk and dim,
With that pure wine the dark-ey'd maids above
Keep, seal'd with precious musk, for those they
love,2-

I will myself uncurtain in your sight
The wonders of this brow's ineffable light;
Then lead you forth, and with a wink disperse
Yon myriads, howling through the universe!"

Eager they listen-while each accent darts
New life into their chill'd and hope-sick hearts;-
Such treacherous life as the cool draught supplies
To him upon the stake, who drinks and dies!

1 "At the great festival of fire, called the Sheb Seze, they used to set fire to large bunches of dry combustibles, fastened round wild beasts and birds, which being then let loose, the air and earth appeared one great illumination; and as these terrified creatures naturally fled to the wood for shelter, it is easy to conceive the conflagrations they produced."-Richardson's Dissertation.

2 "The righteous shall be given to drink of pure wine, sealed; the seal whereof shall be musk."-Koran, chap lxxxiii.

Wildly they point their lances to the light
Of the fast-sinking sun, and shout "to-night!"-
"To-night," their Chief re-echoes, in a voice
Of fiend-like mockery that bids hell rejoice!
Deluded victims-never hath this earth

Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth!
Here, to the few, whose iron frames had stood
This racking waste of famine and of blood,
Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout
Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out;—
There, others, lighted by the smouldering fire,
Danc'd, like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre,
Among the dead and dying, strew'd around;-
While some pale wretch look'd on, and from his wound
Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled,
In ghastly transport wav'd it o'er his head!

"Twas more than midnight now-a fearful pause
Had follow'd the long shouts, the wild applause,
That lately from those royal gardens burst,
Where the Veil'd demon held his feast accurst,
When ZELICA-alas, poor ruin'd heart,
In every horror doom'd to bear its part!--
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave,
Who, while his quivering lip the summons gave,
Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave
Compass'd him round, and, ere he could repeat
His message through, feil lifeless at her feet!
Shuddering she went-a soul-felt pang of fear,
A presage that her own dark doom was near,
Rous'd every feeling, and brought Reason back
Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack.
All round seem'd tranquil-e'en the foe had ceas'd,
As if aware of that demoniac feast,

His fiery bolts; and though the heavens look'd red,
'Twas but some distant conflagration's spread
But hark!--she stops-she listens-dreadful tone!
"Tis her tormentor's laugh-and now, a groan,
A long death-groan comes with it—can this be
The place of mirth, the bower of revelry?
She enters. Holy ALLA, what a sight
Was there before her! By the glimmering light
Of the pale dawn, mix'd with the flare of brands
That round lay burning, dropp'd from lifeless hands,
She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread,
Rich censers breathing-garlands overhead,-
The urns, the cups, from which they late had quaff'd,
All gold and gems, but—what had been the draught?
Oh! who need ask, that saw those livid guests,
With their swoll'n heads sunk, blackening, on their
breasts,

Or looking pale to Heaven with glassy glare,
As if they sought but saw no mercy there;
As if they felt, though poison rack'd them through,
Remorse the deadlier torment of the two!
While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train
Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plain
Would have met death with transport by his side,
Here mute and helpless gasp'd ;-but as they died,
Look'd horrible vengeance with their eyes' last strain,
And clench'd the slackening hand at him in vain.

Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare,
The stony look of horror and despair,
Which some of these expiring victims cast
Upon their soul's tormentor to the last ;-

Upon that mocking Fiend, whose Veil, now rais'd,
Show'd them, as in death's agony they gaz'd,
Not the long promis'd light, the brow, whose beaming
Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming ;
But features horribler than Hell e'er trac'd
On its own brood;-no Demon of the Waste,'
No church-yard Ghole, caught lingering in the light
Of the bless'd sun, e'er blasted human sight
With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those
Th' Impostor now, in grinning mockery, shows.-
"There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your
Star,-

Ye would be dupes and victims, and ye are.
Is it enough? or must I, while a thrill
Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still?
Swear that the burning death ye feel within,
Is but the trance with which Heav'n's joys begin;
That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgrac'd
E'en monstrous man, is-after God's own taste;
And that-but see!-ere I have half-way said
My greetings through, th' uncourteous souls are fled.
Farewell, sweet spirits! not in vain ye die,

If EBLIS loves you half so well as I.-
Ha, my young bride!—`tis well-take thou thy seat;
Nay come-no shuddering-didst thou never meet
The dead before?-they grac'd our wedding, sweet;
And these, my guests to-night, have brimm'd so true
Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge one too.
But-how is this ?-all empty? all drunk up?
Hot lips have been before thee in the cup,
Young bride,-yet stay-one precious drop remains,
Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins ;-
Here, drink-and should thy lover's conquering arms
Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charms,
Give him but half this venom in thy kiss,
And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss!

"For me-I too must die-but not like these
Vile, rankling things, to fester in the breeze;
To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown,
With all death's grimness added to its own,
And rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes,
Of slaves, exclaiming 'There his Godship lies!
No-cursed race-since first my soul drew breath,
They've been my dupes, and shall be, even in death.
Thou see'st yon cistern in the shade-'tis fill'd
With burning drugs, for this last hour distill'd;
There will I plunge me, in that liquid flame--
Fit bath to lave a dying Prophet's frame!
There perish, all-ere pulse of thine shall fail-
Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale.
So shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave,
Proclaim that Heav'n took back the Saint it gave ;-
That I've but vanish'd from this earth awhile,
To come again, with bright, unshrouded smile!
So shall they build me altars in their zeal,
Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel;
Where Faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell,
Written in blood-and Bigotry may swell
The sail he spreads for Heaven with blasts from Hell!

1"The Afghauns believe each of the numerous solitudes and deserts of their country, to be inhabited by a lonely demon, whom they call the Ghoolee Beeabau, or Spirit of the Waste. They often illustrate the wildness of any se questered tribe, by saying, they are wild as the Demon o the Waste."-Elphinstone's Caubul.

So shall my banner, through long ages, be
The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy;—
Kings yet unborn shall rue MOKANNA's name,
And, though I die, my spirit, still the same,
Shall walk abroad in all the stormy strife,
And guilt, and blood, that were its bliss in life!
But hark! their battering engine shakes the wall-
Why, let it shake-thus I can brave them all :
No trace of me shall greet them, when they come,
And I can trust thy faith, for--thou'lt be dumb.
Now mark how readily a wretch like me,
In one bold plunge, commences Deity!"

He sprung and sunk, as the last words were said-
Quick clos'd the burning waters o er his head,
And ZELICA was left-within the ring

Of those wide walls the only living thing;

The only wretched one, still curst with breath,

In all that frightful wilderness of death!

|MOKANNA, and alone!" they shout around;

Young AZIM from his steed springs to the ground-
"Mine, Holy Caliph! mine," he cries, "the task
To crush yon daring wretch--'tis all I ask."
Eager he darts to meet the demon foe,
Who still across wide heaps of ruin slow
And falteringly comes, till they are near;
Then, with a bound, rushes on AZIM's spear;
And, casting off the Veil in falling, shows-
Oh!-'tis his ZELICA's life-blood that flows!

"I meant not, AZIM," soothingly she said,
As on his trembling arm she lean'd her head,
And, looking in his face, saw anguish there
Beyond all wounds the quivering flesh can bear--
"I meant not thou should'st have the pain of this;-
Though death, with thee thus tasted, is a bliss
Thou would'st not rob me of, didst thou but know
How oft I've pray'd to God I might die so!

More like some bloodless ghost,-such as, they tell, But the Fiend's venom was too scant and slow ;

In the lone Cities of the Silent' dwell,
And there, unseen of all but ALLA, sit
Each by its own pale carcass, watching it.

But morn is up, and a fresh warfare stirs
Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers.
Their globes of fire, (the dread artillery, lent
By GREECE to conquering MAHADI,) are spent ;
And now the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent
From high balistas, and the shielded throng
Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along,-
All speak th' impatient Islamite's intent
To try, at length, if tower and battlement
And bastion'd wall be not less hard to win,
Less tough to break down than the hearts within.
First in impatience and in toil is he,
The burning AZIM-oh! could he but see
Th' Impostor once alive within his grasp,
Not the gaunt lion's hug, nor Boa's clasp,
Could match the gripe of vengeance, or keep pace
With the fell heartiness of Hate's embrace!

To linger on were maddening--and I thought
If once that Veil-nay, look not on it--caught
The eyes of your fierce soldiery, I should be
Struck by a thousand death-darts instantly.
But this is sweeter-oh! believe me, yes-
I would not change this sad, but dear caress,
This death within thy arms I would not give
For the most smiling life the happiest live!
All, that stood dark and drear before the eye
Of my stray'd soul, is passing swiftly by;
A light comes o'er me, from those looks of love,
Like the first dawn of mercy from above;
And if thy lips but tell me I'm forgiv'n,
Angels will echo the blest words in heaven!
But live, my AZIм;-oh! to call thee mine
Thus once again! my AzIM-dream divine!
Live, if thou ever lov'dst me, if to meet
Thy ZELICA hereafter would be sweet,
Oh live to pray for her-to bend the knee
Morning and night before that Deity,
To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain,
As thine are, AzIM, never breath'd in vain,
And pray that he may pardon her,—may take
Compassion on her soul for thy dear sake,
And, nought remembering but her love to thee,
exult-Make her all thine, all His, eternally!

Loud rings the pond'rous ram against the walls;
Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls;
But still no breach-" once more, one mighty swing
Of all your beams, together thundering!"
There the wall shakes-the shouting troops
"Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult
Right on that spot, and NEKSHEB is our own!".
"Tis done-the battlements come crashing down,
And the huge wall, by that stroke riv'n in two,
Yawning, like some old crater, rent anew,
Shows the dim, desolate city smoking through!
But strange! no signs of life-nought living seen
Above, below what can this stillness mean?
A minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes--
"In through the breach," impetuous AZIM cries;
But the cool CALIPH, fearful of some wile
In this blank stillness, checks the troops awhile.-
Just then, a figure, with slow step, advanc'd
Forth from the ruin'd walls; and, as there glanc'd
A sunbeam over it, all eyes could see
The well-known Silver Veil!" "Tis He, 'tis He,

Go to those happy fields where first we twin'd
Our youthful hearts together-every wind,
That meets thee there, fresh from the well-known

flowers,

Will bring the sweetness of those inrocent hours
Back to thy soul, and thou may'st feel again
For thy poor ZELICA as thou did'st then.
So shall thy orisons, like dew that flies
To heav'n upon the morning's sunshine, rise
With all love's earliest ardour to the skies!
And should they-but alas! my senses fail-
Oh for one minute!-should thy prayers prevail-
If pardon'd souls may from that World of Bliss
Reveal their joy to those they love in this,-
I'll come to thee-in some sweet dream-and tell-
Oh heaven-I die-dear love! farewell, farewell."
Time fleeted-years on years had pass'd away,
And few of those who, on that mournful day,

1"They have all a great reverence for burial-grounds,
which they sometimes call by the poetical name of Cities
of the Silent, and which they people with the ghosts of the
departed, who sit each at the head of his own grave, invisi-Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see
ble to mortal eyes."-Elphinstone.
The maiden's death, and the youth's agony,

Were living still-when, by a rustic grave
Beside the swift Amoo's transparent wave,
An aged man, wno nad grown aged there
By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer,
For the last time knelt down-and, though the shade
Of death hung darkening over him, there play'd
A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek,
That brighten'd even Death-like the last streak
Of intense glory on th' horizon's brim,
When night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim.
His soul had seen a vision, while he slept;
She, for whose spirit he had pray'd and wept
So many years, had come to him, all drest
In angel's smiles, and told him she was blest!
For this the old man breath'd his thanks, and
And there, upon the banks of that lov'd tide,
He and his ZELICA sleep side by side.

patched." He then proceeded to analyze the poem, in that strain, (so well known to the unfortunate bards of Delhi,) whose censures were an infliction from which few recovered, and whose very praises were like the honey extracted from the bitter flowers of the aloe. The chief personages of the story were, if he rightly understood them, an ill-favoured gentleman, with a veil over his face;-a young lady, whose rea son went and came according as it suited the poet's convenience to be sensible or otherwise;-and a youth in one of those hideous Bucharian bonnets, who took the aforesaid gentleman in a veil for a Divinity. "From such materials," said he, "what can be expected?-after rivalling each other in long died,-speeches and absurdities, through some thousands of lines, as indigestible as the filberds of Berdaa, our friend in the veil jumps into a tub of aquafortis; the young lady dies in a set speech, whose only recommendation is that it is her last; and the lover lives on to a good old age, for the laudable purpose of seeing her ghost, which he at last happily accomplishes and expires.

THE story of the Veiled Prophet of Khorassan This, you will allow, is a fair summary of the story; being ended, they were now doomed to hear FADLA- and if Nasser, the Arabian merchant, told no better, DEEN's criticisms upon it. A series of disappoint-our Holy Prophet (to whom be all honour and glory!) ments and accidents had occurred to this learned had no need to be jealous of his abilities for story Chamberlain during the journey. In the first place, telling."

those couriers stationed, as in the reign of Shah

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mean in themselves, like the blacksmith's2 apron converted into a banner, are so easily gilt and embroidered into consequence. Then, as to the versification, it was, to say no worse of it, execrable: it had neither the copious flow of Ferdosi, the sweetness of Hafez, nor the sententious march of Sadi but appeared to him, in the uneasy heaviness of its movements, to have been modelled upon the gait of a very tired dromedary. The licenses too in which it indulged were unpardonable;-for instance this line, and the poem abounded with such ;

With respect to the style, it was worthy of the mat Jehan, between Delhi and the Western coast of ter;-it had not even those politic contrivances of India, to secure a constant supply of mangoes for the structure, which make up for the commonness of the royal table, had, by some cruel irregularity, failed thoughts by the peculiarity of the manner, nor that in their duty; and to eat any mangoes but those of stately poetical phraseology by which sentiments, Mazagong was, of course, impossible. In the next place, the elephant, laden with his fine antique porcelain, had, in an unusual fit of liveliness, shattered the whole set to pieces :-an irreparable loss, as many of the vessels were so exquisitely old as to have been used under the Emperors Yan and Chun, who reigned many ages before the dynasty of Tang. His Koran too, supposed to be the identical copy between the leaves of which Mahomet's favourite pigeon used to nestle, had been mislaid by his Koran-bearer three whole days; not without much spiritual alarm to FADLADEEN, who, though professing to hold, with other loyal and orthodox Mussulmans, that salvation could only be found in the Koran, was strongly suspected of believing in his heart, that it could only be found in his own particular copy of it. When to all these grievances is added the obstinacy of the cooks, in putting the pepper of Canara into his dishes instead of the cinnamon of Serendib, we may easily suppose that he came to the task of criticism with, at least, a sufficient degree of irritability for the purpose. "In order," said he, importantly swinging about his chaplet of pearls, "to convey with clearness my opinion of the story this young man has related, it is necessary to take a review of all the stories that have ever-"My good FADLADEEN!" exclaimed the Princess, interrupting him, we really do not deserve that you should give yourself so much trouble. Your opinion of the poem we have just heard, will, I have 1 La lecture de ces Fables plaisait si fort aux Arabes, no doubt, be abundantly edifying, without any further waste of your valuable erudition." "If that be all," replied the critic,-evidently mortified at not being allowed to show how much he knew about every thing but the subject immediately before him-"If that be all that is required, the matter is easily des

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Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream. "What critic that can count," said FADLADEEN, "and has his full complement of fingers to count withal, would tolerate for an instant such syllabic superfluities ?"-He here looked round and discovered that most of his audience were asleep; while the glimmering lamps seemed inclined to follow their example. It became necessary, therefore, however painful to himself, to put an end to his valuable ani madversions for the present, and he accordingly concluded, with an air of dignified candour, thus: "Notwithstanding the observations which I have thought it my duty to make, it is by no means my wish to discourage the young man: so far from it, indeed, that if he will but totally alter his style of writing and

que, quand Mahomet les entretenait de l'Histoire de l'Ancien Testament, ils les méprisaient, lui disant que celles que Nasser leur racontait étaient beaucoup plus belles. Cette préférence attira à Nasser la malédiction de Mahomet et de tous ses disciples.-D'Herbelot.

2 The blacksmith Gao, who successfully resisted the tyrant Zohak, and whose apron became the Royal S'andard of Persia.

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