His bloody boast was all too true-
There lurk'd one wretch among the few
Whom HAFED's eagle eye could count.
Around him on that Fiery Mount,
One miscreant, who for gold betray'd
The path-way through the valley's shade
To those high towers, where Freedom stood
In her last hold of flame and blood.

Left on the field last dreadful night,
When, sallying from their Sacred Height,
The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight,
He lay-but died not with the brave;
That sun, which should have gilt his grave,
Saw him a traitor and a slave;

And, while the few, who thence return'd
To their high rocky fortress, mourn'd
For him among the matchless dead
They left behind on glory's bed,
He liv'd, and, in the face of morn,
Laugh'd them and Faith and Heaven to scorn!

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave,
Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the councils of the brave,
And blasts them in their hour of might!
May Life's unblessed cup for him
Be drugg'd with treacheries to the brim,
With hopes, that but allure to fly,

With joys, that vanish while he sips, Like Dead-Sea fruits, that tempt the eye But turn to ashes on the lips!

His country's curse, his children's shame,
Outcast of virtue, peace and fame,
May he, at last, with lips of flame
On the parch'd desert thirsting die,-
While lakes that shone in mockery nigh
Are fading off untouch'd, untasted,
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted!
And, when from earth his spirit flies,
Just Prophet, let the damn'd-one dwell
Full in the sight of Paradise,

Beholding heaven, and feeling hell!

LALLA ROOKH had had a dream the night before, which, in spite of the impending fate of poor HAFED, made her heart more than usually cheerful during the morning, and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a flower that the Bid-musk has just passed over. She fancied that she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the sea-gipsies, who live for ever on the water, enjoy a perpetual summer in wandering from isle to ilse, when she saw a small gilded bark approaching her. It was like one of those boats which the Maldivian islanders annually send adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odoriferous wood, as an offering to the Spirit whom they call King of the Sea. At first, this little bark appeared to be empty, but, on coming nearer

She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream to her Ladies, when FERAMORZ appeared at the door of the pavilion. In his presence, of course, every thing else was forgotten, and the continuance of the story was instantly requested by all. Fresh wood of aloes was set to burn in the cassolets; the violet sherbets were hastily handed round, and, after a short prelude on his lute, in the pathetic measure of Nava, which is always used to express the lamentations of absent lovers, the Poet thus continued:

THE day is lowering-stilly black

Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack,
Dispers'd and wild, 'twixt earth and sky
Hangs like a shatter'd canopy!

There's not a cloud in that blue plain
But tells of storm to come or past;
Here, flying loosely as the mane

Of a young war-horse in the blast; There, roll❜d in masses dark and swelling, As proud to be the thunder's dwelling! Whilst some, already burst and riven, Seem melting down the verge of heaven; As though the infant storm had rent

The mighty womb that gave him birth, And, having swept the firmament,

Was now in fierce career for earth.
On earth 'twas yet all calm around,
A pulseless silence, dread, profound,
More awful than the tempest's sound.
The diver steer'd for ORMUs' bowers,
And moor'd his skiff till calmer hours;
The sea-birds, with portentous screech,
Flew fast to land; upon the beach
The pilot oft had paus'd, with glance
Turn'd upward to that wild expanse;

And all was boding, drear and dark
As her own soul, when HINDA's bark
Went slowly from the Persian shore-
No music timed her parting oar,*

Nor friends upon the lessening strand
Linger'd, to wave the unseen hand,
Or speak the farewell, heard no more;
But lone, unheeded, from the bay
The vessel takes its mournful way,
Like some ill-destin'd bark that steers
In silence through the Gate of Tears.†

And where was stern AL HASSAN then?
Could not that saintly scourge of men
From bloodshed and devotion spare
One minute for a farewell there?
No-close within, in changeful fits
Of cursing and of prayer, he sits

"The Easterns used to set out on their longer voyages with music."-Harmer.

The Gate of Tears, the straits or passage into the Red Sea, commonly called Babelmandel. It received this name from the old Arabians, on account of the danger of the navigation, and the number of shipwrecks by which it was distinguished; which induced them to consider as dead, and to wear mourning for all who had the boldness to hazard the passage through it into the Ethiopic ocean."-Richardson.