Would on that bosom he once lov'd remain,
But all be bright, be pure, be his again!—

These were the wildering dreams, whose curst deceit
Had chain'd her soul beneath the tempter's feet,
And made her think ev'n damning falsehood sweet.
But now that Shape, which had appall'd her view,
That Semblance-oh how terrible, if true!-
Which came across her frenzy's full career
With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, severe,
As when, in northern seas, at midnight dark,
An isle of ice encounters some swift bark,
And, startling all its wretches from their sleep,
By one cold impulse hurls them to the deep;―
So came that shock not frenzy's self could bear,
And waking up each long-lull'd image there,
But check'd her headlong soul, to sink it in despair!

Wan and dejected, through the evening dusk, She now went slowly to that small kiosk, Where, pondering alone his impious schemes, MOKANNA Waited her-too wrapt in dreams Of the fair-ripening future's rich success, To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, That sat upon his victim's downcast brow, Or mark how slow her step, how alter'd now From the quick, ardent Priestess, whose light bound Came like a spirit's o'er th' unechoing ground,— From that wild ZELICA, whose every glance Was thrilling fire, whose every thought a trance!

Upon his couch the Veiled MOKANNA lay, While lamps around-not such as lend their ray, Glimmering and cold, to those who nightly pray, In holy Kooм*, or MECCA's dim arcades,— But brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely maids Look loveliest in, shed their luxurious glow Upon his mystic Veil's white glittering flow. Beside him, 'stead of beads, and books of prayer, Which the world fondly thought he mused on there, Stood vases, filled with KISHMEE'st golden wine, And the red weepings of the SHIRAZ vine; Of which his curtain'd lips full many a draught Took zealously, as if each drop they quaff'd, Like ZEMZEM's Spring of Holiness‡, had power To freshen the soul's virtues into flower! And still he drank and ponder'd-nor could see Th' approaching maid, so deep his reverie;

At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which broke From EBLIS at the Fall of Man, he spoke:"Yes, ye vile race, for hell's amusement given, "Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin with heaven:

The cities of Com (or Koom) and Cashan are full of mosques, mausoleums and sepulchres of the descendants of Ali, the Saints of Persia.-Chardin.

An island in the Persian Gulf, celebrated for its white wine.

The miraculous well at Mecca; so called, says Sale, from the murmuring of its waters.

"God's images, forsooth!-such gods as he
"Whom INDIA serves, the monkey deity;*-
"Ye creatures of a breath, proud things of clay,
"To whom if LUCIFER, as grandams say,
“Refus'd, though at the forfeit of heaven's light,
"To bend in worship, LUCIFER was right!-
"Soon shall I plant this foot upon the neck
"Of your foul race, and without fear or check,

Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame,

My deep-felt, long-nurst loathing of man's name!-
46 Soon, at the head of myriads, blind and fierce
"As hooded falcons, through the universe

"I'll sweep my darkening, desolating way,
"Weak man my instrument, curst man my prey!

"Ye wise, ye learn'd, who grope your dull way on "By the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone, "Like superstitious thieves, who think the light "From dead men's marrow guides them best at nightf→ "Ye shall have honours-wealth,-yes, Sages, yes"I know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothingness; "Undazzled it can track yon starry sphere, "But a gilt stick, a bauble blinds it here.

* The god Hannaman.

† A kind of lantern formerly used by robbers, called the Hand of Glory, the candle for which was made of the fat of a dead malefactor. This, however, was rather a western than an eastern superstition.

"How I shall laugh, when trumpetted along, "In lying speech, and still more lying song,

“By these learn'd slaves, the meanest of the throng; "Their wits bought up, their wisdom shrunk so small "A secptre's puny point can wield it all!

"Ye too, believers of incredible creeds,

"Whose faith inshrines the monsters which it breeds, "Who, bolder ev'n than NEMROD, think to rise, "By nonsense heap'd on nonsense, to the skies; "Ye shall have miracles, aye, sound ones too, "Seen, heard, attested, every thing-but true. "Your preaching zealots, too inspir'd to seek "One grace of meaning for the things they speak; "Your martyrs, ready to shed out their blood, "For truths too heavenly to be understood; "And your State Priests, sole venders of the lore, "That works salvation;-as on Ava's shore, "Where none but priests are privileg❜d to trade "In that best marble of which Gods are made;*

'They shall have mysteries—aye, precious stuff "For knaves to thrive by-mysteries enough;

"Dark, tangled doctrines; dark as fraud can weaves, "Which simple votaries shall on trust receive, "While craftier feign belief, till they believe. "A Heav'n too ye must have, ye lords of dust,"A splendid Paradise,-pure souls, ye must:

Symes's Ava, vol. ii. p. 376.

"That Prophet ill sustains his holy call,

"Who finds not Heav'ns to suit the tastes of all;
"Houris for boys, omniscience for sages,

"And wings and glories for all ranks and ages;
"Vain things!-as lust or vanity inspires,
"The Heav'n of each is but what each desires,
"And, soul or sense, whate'er the object be,
"Man would be man to all eternity!

"So let him-EBLIS! grant this crowning curse,
"But keep him what he is, no Hell were worse."

"Oh my lost soul!" exclaim'd the shuddering maid, Whose ears had drunk like poison all he said;MOKANNA started-not abash'd, afraid;

He knew no more of fear than one who dwells
Beneath the tropics knows of icicles!

But, in those dismal words that reach'd his ear,
"Oh my lost soul!" there was a sound so drear,
So like that voice, among the sinful dead,
In which the legend o'er Hell's Gate is read,
That, new as 'twas from her, whom nought could dim
Or sink till now, it startled even him.

"Ha, my fair Priestess!"—thus, with ready wile, Th' impostor turn'd to greet her—“thou, whose smile "Hath inspiration in its rosy beam

'Beyond th' Enthusiast's hope or Prophet's dream! Light of the Faith! who twin'st religion's zeal

"So close with love's, men know not which they feel,