Deserted youth! one thought alone

Shed joy around his soul in death

That she, whom he for many years had known.
And lov'd, and might have call'd his own,
Was safe from this foul midnight's breath;
Safe in her father's princely halls,

Where the cool airs from fountain falls,
Freshly perfum'd by many a brand

Of the sweet wood from India's land,
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd..
But see, who yonder comes by stealth,
This melancholy bower to seek,
Like a young envoy sent by Health,
With rosy gifts upon her cheek?
'Tis she,far off, through moonlight dim,
He knew his own betrothed bride,
She, who would rather die with him,
Than live to gain the world beside!--
Her arms are round her lover now,
His livid cheek to hers she presses,
And dips, to bind his burning brow,
In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses.
Ah! once, how little did he think

An hour would come, when he should shrink
With horror from that dear embrace,

Those gentle arms, that were to him
Holy as is the cradling place

Of Edin's infant cherubim!
And now he yields-now turns away,
Shuddering as if the venom lay
All in those proffer'd lips alone--
Those lips that, then so fearless grown,
Never until that instant came

Near his unask'd or without shame. "Oh! let me only breathe the air,

"The blessed air that's breath'd by thee, "And, whether on its wings it bear

"Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me!

There, drink my tears, while yet they fall,"Would that my bosom's blood were balm, "And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all,

"To give thy brow one minute's calm. "Nay, turn not from me that dear face→→

"Am I not thine-thy own lov'd bride"The one, the chosen one, whose place "In life or death is by thy side? "Think'st thou that she, whose only light, "In this dim world, from thee hath shone, "Could bear the long, the cheerless night, "That must be hers, when thou art gone? "That I can live, and let thee go, "Who art my life itself ?-No, no,"When the stem dies, the leaf that grew "Out of its heart must perish too! "Then turn to me, my own love, turn, "Before like thee I fade and burn; "Cling to these yet cool lips, and chare "The last pure life that lingers there!" She falls-she sinks-as dies the lamp In charnal airs or cavern-damp, So quickly do his baleful sighs Quench all the sweet light of her eyes; One struggle and his pain is pastHer lover is no longer living! One kiss the maiden gives, one last, Long kiss, which she expires in giving?

"Sleep," said the PERI, as softly she stole
The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul,
As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast-
"Sleep on, in visions of odour rest,
"In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd
"Th' enchanted pile of that lonely bird,
"Who sings at the last his own death-lay,*
"And in music and perfume dies away!"
Thus saying, from her lips she spread
Unearthly breathings through the place,
And shook her sparkling wreath and shed
Such lustre o'er each paly face,
That like two lovely saints they seem'd
Upon the eve of dooms-day taken
From their dim graves, in odour sleeping :-
While that benevolent PERI beam'd
Like their good angel, calmly keeping

Watch o'er them till their souls would waken!

But morn is blushing in the sky;

Again the PERI soars above, Bearing to heav'n that precious sigh

Of pure, self-sacrificing love.

High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate,
The Elysian palm she soon shall win,

For the bright spirit at the gate

Smil'd as she gave that offering in;

"In the east, they suppose the Phoenix to have fifty orifices in his bill, which are continued to his tail; and that, after living one thousand years, he builds himself a funeral pile, sings a melodious air of different harmonies through his fifty organ pipes, flaps his wings with a velocity which sets fire to the wood, and consumes himself.---Richardson.

And she already hears the trees
Of Eden, with their crystal bells
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze

That from the throne of ALLA swells;
And she can see the starry bowls

That lie around that lucid lake,
Upon whose banks admitted souls
Their first sweet draught of glory take !*
But ah! ev'n Peri's hopes are vain-
Again the Fates forbade, again

Th' immortal barrier clos'd-" not yet,"
The angel said as, with regret,

He shut from her that glimpse of glory-
"True was the maiden, and her story,
"Written in light o'er ALLA's head,
"By seraph eyes shall long be read.
"But PERI, see-the crystal bar
"Of Eden moves not-holier far
"Than ev'n this sigh the boon must be
"That opes the gates of Heav'n for thee."

Now, upon SYRIA's land of rosest

Softly the light of eve reposes,
And, like a glory, the broad sun
Hangs over sainted LEBANON ;

"On the shores of a quadrangular lake stand a thousand goblets, made of stars, out of which souls predestined to enjoy felicity drink the crystal wave."-From Chateaubriand's Description of the Mahometan Paradise, in his Beauties of Christianity.

Richardson thinks that Syria had its name from Suri, a beautiful and delicate species of rose for which that country has been always famous ;---hence, Suristan, the land of roses.

Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer, in a vale of flowers,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.

To one, who look'd from upper air
O'er all th' enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melons on their banks,

More golden where the sun light falls;--
Gay lizards glittering on the walls*
Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright
As they were all alive with light,-
And yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks,
With their rich restless wings, that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam

Of the warm West,-as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine, or made
Of tearless rainbows, such as span
Th' unclouded skies of PERISTAN!
And then, the mingling sounds that come,
Of shepherd's ancient reed,t with hum
Of the wild bees of Palestine,

Banquetting through the flowery vales;

*"The number of lizards I saw one day in the great court of the temple of the sun at Balbec, amounted to many thousands; the ground, the walls, and stones of the ruined buildings were covered with them, Bruce.

†The syrinx or Pan's pipe is still a pastoral instrument in Syria. Russel.