"Could, like a sun-stroke of the desert, wither

"Millions of such as yonder Chief brings hither?

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Long have its lightnings slept too long but now "All earth shall feel the' unveiling of this brow!

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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

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Keep, seal'd with precious musk, for those they love,*"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!

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

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 smould'ring 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,

K

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, fell 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-even 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