Like a chenar-tree grove*, when winter throws
O'er all its tufted heads his feathering snows.

Between the porphyry pillars, that uphold The rich moresque-work of the roof of gold, Aloft the Haram's curtain'd galleries rise, Where, through the silken net-work, glancing eyes, From time to time, like sudden gleams that glow Through autumn clouds, shine o'er the pomp below. What impious tongue, ye blushing saints, would dare To hint that aught but Heaven hath plac'd you there? Or that the loves of this light world could bind, In their gross chain, your Prophet's soaring mind? No-wrongful thought!-commission'd from above To people Eden's bowers with shapes of love, (Creatures so bright, that the same lips and eyes They wear on earth will serve in Paradise,) There to recline among Heaven's native maids, And crown the' Elect with bliss that never fades

The oriental plane. "The cheñar is a delightful tree; its bole is of a fine white and smooth bark; and its foliage, which grows in a tuft at the summit, is of a bright green."-Morier's Travels.

C

Well hath the Prophet-Chief his bidding done;

And ev'ry beauteous race beneath the sun,

From those who kneel at BRAHMA's burning founts,*
To the fresh nymphs bounding o'er YEMEN's mounts;
From PERSIA's eyes of full and fawn-like ray

To the small, half-shut glances of KATHAY ; †
And GEORGIA's bloom, and AZAB's darker smiles,
And the gold ringlets of the Western Isles;

All, all are there;—each Land its flower hath given,
To form that fair young Nursery for Heaven!

But why this pageant now? this arm'd array?
What triumph crowds the rich Divan to-day
With turban'd heads, of every hue and race,
Bowing before that veil'd and awful face,

Like tulip-beds ‡, of different shape and dyes,
Bending beneath the' invisible West-wind's sighs!

* The burning fountains of Brahma near Chittogong, esteemed Turner.

as holy.

† China.

"The name of tulip is said to be of Turkish extraction, and given to the flower on account of its resembling a turban." — Beckmann's History of Inventions.

What new-made myst'ry now, for Faith to sign,
And blood to seal, as genuine and divine,
What dazzling mimickry of God's own power
Hath the bold Prophet plann'd to grace this hour?

Not such the pageant now, though not less proud;
Yon warrior youth, advancing from the crowd,
With silver bow, with belt of broider'd crape,
And fur-bound bonnet of Bucharian shape,*

So fiercely beautiful in form and eye,
Like war's wild planet in a summer sky;

That youth to-day, a proselyte, worth hordes

Of cooler spirits and less practis'd swords,—

Is come to join, all bravery and belief,

The creed and standard of the heaven-sent Chief.

Though few his years, the West already knows Young AZIM's fame ;- beyond the' Olympian snows,

"The inhabitants of Bucharia wear a round cloth bonnet, shaped much after the Polish fashion, having a large fur border. They tie their kaftans about the middle with a girdle of a kind of silk crape, several times round the body." - Account of Independent Tartary, in Pinkerton's Collection.

Ere manhood darken'd o'er his downy cheek,
O'erwhelm'd in fight and captive to the Greek,*
He linger'd there, till peace dissolv'd his chains;
Oh, who could, even in bondage, tread the plains
Of glorious GREECE, nor feel his spirit rise
Kindling within him? who, with heart and eyes,
Could walk where Liberty had been, nor see
The shining foot-prints of her Deity,

Nor feel those godlike breathings in the air,
Which mutely told her spirit had been there?
Not he, that youthful warrior,-no, too well
For his soul's quiet work'd the' awak'ning spell ;
And now, returning to his own dear land,

Full of those dreams of good that, vainly grand,

Haunt the young heart,― proud views of human-kind,

Of men to Gods exalted and refin'd,

False views, like that horizon's fair deceit,

Where earth and heaven but seem, alas, to meet!

Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was rais'd

To right the nations, and beheld, emblaz'd

* In the war of the Caliph Mahadi against the Empress Irene, for an account of which vide Gibbon, vol. x.

On the white flag MOKANNA's host unfurl'd,
Those words of sunshine, "Freedom to the World,"
At once his faith, his sword, his soul obey'd
The' inspiring summons; every chosen blade
That fought beneath that banner's sacred text
Seem'd doubly edg'd, for this world and the next;
And ne'er did Faith with her smooth bandage bind
Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind,

In virtue's cause;

-

-never was soul inspir'd

With livelier trust in what it most desir'd,

Than his, the' enthusiast there, who kneeling, pale
With pious awe, before that Silver Veil,

Believes the form, to which he bends his knee,
Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to free

This fetter'd world from every bond and stain,
And bring its primal glories back again !

Low as young Azıм knelt, that motley crowd Of all earth's nations sunk the knee and bow'd, With shouts of "ALLA!" echoing long and loud; While high in air, above the Prophet's head, Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam spread,