While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both,
Never, by that all-imprecating oath,

In joy or sorrow from his side to sever.

She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, "Never, never!"

From that dread hour, entirely, wildly giv'n
To him and she believ'd, lost maid!-to heav'n;
Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflam'd,
How proud she stood, when in full Haram nam'd
The Priestess of the Faith!-how flash'd her eyes
With light, alas! that was not of the skies,
When round, in trances only less than hers,
She saw the Haram kneel, her prostrate worshippers.
Well might MOKANNA think that form alone
Had spells enough to make the world his own:—
Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit's play
Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray,
When from its stem the small bird wings away!
Lips in whose rosy labyrint, when she smil'd
The soul was lost; and blushes, swift and wild
As are the momentary meteors sent

Across th' uncalm, but beauteous firmament.

And then her look!-oh! where's the heart so wise
Could unbewilder'd meet those matchless eyes?
Quick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal,
Like those of angels, just before their fall;

Now shadow'd with the shames of earth-now crost
By glimpses of the Heav'n her heart had lost;
In every glance there broke, without control,

The flashes of a bright but troubled soul,
Where sensibility still wildly play'd,
Like lightning, round the ruins it had made!

And such was now young ZELICA-so chang'd
From her who, some years since, delighted rang'd
The almond groves, that shade BOKHARA'S tide,
All life and bliss, with Azıм by her side!
So alter'd was she now, this festal day,
When, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzling array,
The visions of that Youth whom she had lov'd,
Had wept as dead, before her breath'd and mov'd;
When-bright, she thought, as if from Eden's track
But half-way trodden, he had wander'd back

Again to earth, glist'ning with Eden's light-
Her beauteous AZIM shone before her sight.

O Reason who shall say what spells renew,
When least we look for it, thy broken clew!
Through what small vistas o'er the darken'd brain
Thy intellectual day-beam bursts again;

And how, like forts, to which beleaguerers win
Unhop'd-for entrance through some friend within,
One clear idea, waken'd in the breast
By mem'ry's magic, lets in all the rest.
Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee!
But though light came, it came but partially;
Enough to show the maze, in which thy sense
Wander'd about,-but not to guide it thence;
Enough to glimmer o'er the yawning wave,
But not to point the harbour which might save.
Hours of delight and peace, long left behind,
With that dear form came rushing o'er her mind;
But, oh! to think how deep her soul had gone
In shame and falsehood since those moments shone;
And, then, her oath--there madness lay again;
And, shudd'ring, back she sunk into her chain
Of mental darkness, as if blest to flee
From light, whose every glimpse was agony!
Yet, one relief this glance. of former years

Brought, mingled with its pain,-tears, floods of tears,
Long frozen at her heart, but now like rills
Let loose in spring-time from the snowy hills,
And gushing warm, after a sleep of frost,

Through valleys where their flow had long been lost.

Sad and subdued, for the first time her frame
Trembled with horror, when the summons came
(A summons proud and rare, which all but she,
And she, till now, had heard with ecstasy)
To meet MOKANNA at his place of prayer,
A garden oratory, cool and fair,

By the stream's side, where still at close of day
The Prophet of the Veil retir'd to pray;
Sometimes alone-but, oft'ner far, with one,
One chosen nymph, to share his orison.

Of late none found such favour in his sight

As the young Priestess; and though, since that night When the death-caverns echo'd every tone

Of the dire oath that made her all his own,

Th' Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize,

Had, more than once, thrown off his soul's disguise

And utter'd such unheavenly, monstrous things,

As even across the desp'rate wanderings
Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out,
Threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt;
Yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow,

The thought, still haunting her, of that bright brow
Whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye conceal'd,
Would soon, proud triumph! be to her reveal'd,
To her alone;-and then the hope, most dear,
Most wild of all, that her transgression here
Was but a passage through earth's grosser fire
From which the spirit would at last aspire,
Even purer than before--as perfumes rise
Through flame and smoke, most welcome to the
And that when AZIM's fond, divine embrace
Should circle her in heav'n, no dark'ning trace
Would on that bosom he once lov'd remain,
But all be bright, be pure, be his again!-
These were the 'wild'ring dreams, whose curst decei
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 despai

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 rip'ning 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 boun
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 Veil'd MOKANNA lay,
While lamps around-not such as lend their ray,
Glimm'ring 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 glitt'ring flow.
Beside him, 'stead of beads and books of pray'r,
Which the world fondly thought he mus'd on there,
Stood Vases, fill'd with KISHMEE'S 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 pow'r
To freshen the soul's virtues into flow'r!
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 brokɔ
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 heav'n;
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!)
Soon at the head of myriads, blind and fierce
As hooded falcons, through the universe

I'll sweep my dark'ning, desolating way.

Weak man my instrument, curst man my prey!

"Ye wise, ye learn'd, who grope your dull way or
By the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone,
Like superstitious thieves, who think the light
From dead men's marrow guides them best at night-
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.
How I shall laugh, when trumpeted 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 sceptre's puny point can wield it all!

"Ye too, believers of incredible creeds,

Whose faith enshrines 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, ay, sound ones too,
Scen, heard, attested, ev'rything-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 heav'nly to be understood;
And your State Priests, sole vendors 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-ay, precious stuff,
For knaves to thrive by-mysteries enough;
Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can weave,
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:
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.