like the talismanic characters on the scimitar of Solomon. Her consent was therefore most readily granted; and while FADLADEEN sat in unspeakable dismay, expecting treason and abomination in every line, the poet thus began his story of the Fire-worshippers:—

THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.

'Tis moonlight over OMAN'S SEA *;
Her banks of pearl and palmy isles
Bask in the night-beam beauteously,

And her blue waters sleep in smiles.
"Tis moonlight in HARMOZIA'S + walls,
And through her EMIR's porphyry halls,
Where, some hours since, was heard the swell
Of trumpet and the clash of zel‡,

Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell; -
The peaceful sun, whom better suits
The music of the bulbul's nest,
Or the light touch of lovers' lutes,

To sing him to his golden rest.

All hush'd there's not a breeze in motion;
The shore is silent as the ocean.

*The Persian Gulf, sometimes so called, which separates the shores of Persia and Arabia.

The present Gombaroon, a town on the Persian side of the Gulf.

A Moorish instrument of music.

If zephyrs come, so light they come,
Nor leaf is stirr'd nor wave is driven;
The wind-tower on the EMIR's dome
Can hardly win a breath from heaven.

Ev'n he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps
Calm, while a nation round him weeps;
While curses load the air he breathes,
And falchions from unnumber'd sheaths
Are starting to avenge the shame

His race hath brought on IRAN's† name.
Hard, heartless Chief, unmov'd alike

Mid eyes that weep, and swords that strike;-
One of that saintly, murderous brood,

To carnage and the Koran given,
Who think through unbelievers' blood

Lies their directest path to heaven;

One, who will pause and kneel unshod

In the warm blood his hand hath pour'd,

"At Gombaroon and other places in Persia, they have towers for the purpose of catching the wind, and cooling the houses." Le Bruyn.

"Iran is the true general name for the empire of Persia." - Asiat. Res. Disc. 5.

To mutter o'er some text of God

Engraven on his reeking sword *;
Nay, who can coclly note the line,
The letter of those words divine,

To which his blade, with searching art,
Had sunk into its victim's heart!

Just ALLA! what must be thy look,

When such a wretch before thee stands

Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,

Turning the leaves with blood-stain'd hands,

And wresting from its page

sublime

His creed of lust, and hate, and crime;

Ev'n as those bees of TREBIZOND,

Which, from the sunniest flowers that glad With their pure smile the gardens round, Draw venom forth that drives men mad. †

Never did fierce ARABIA send

A satrap forth more direly great;

"On the blades of their scimitars some verse from the Koran is usually inscribed." - Russel.

+ "There is a kind of Rhododendros about Trebizond, whose flowers the bee feeds upon, and the honey thence drives people mad."— Tournefort.

Never was IRAN doom'd to bend

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight.

Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd,

In their own land, - no more their own,

To crouch beneath a stranger's throne.

Her towers, where MITHRA once had burn'd, To Moslem shrines - oh shame!

were turn'd,

Where slaves, converted by the sword,
Their mean, apostate worship pour'd,
And curs'd the faith their sires ador'd.
Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill,
O'er all this wreck high buoyant still

With hope and vengeance; - hearts that yet –

Like gems, in darkness, issuing rays

They've treasur'd from the sun that's set, -
Beam all the light of long-lost days!

And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow
To second all such hearts can dare;
As he shall know, well, dearly know,

Who sleeps in moonlight luxury there,
Tranquil as if his spirit lay

Becalm'd in Heav'n's approving ray.