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“ Hold, hold thy words are death, The stranger cried, as wild he flung His mantle back, and show'd beneath

The Gheber belt that round him clung “Here, maiden, look


blush to see All that thy sire abhors in me! Yes - I am of that impious race,

Those Slaves of Fire, who, morn and even, Hail their Creator's dwelling-place

Among the living lights of heaven!
Yes - I am of that outcast few,
To Iran and to vengeance true,
Who curse the hour your Arabs came
To desolate our shrines of flame,
And swear, before God's burning eye,
To break our country's chains, or die !
Thy bigot sire nay, tremble not

He who gave birth to those dear eyes
With me is sacred as the spot

From which our fires of worship rise ! But know — 'twas he I sought that night,

When, from my watch-boat on the sea, I caught this turret's glimmering light,

And up the rude rocks desperately Rush'd to my prey

thou know'st the rest I climb’d the gory vulture's nest, And found a trembling dove within Thine, thine the victory — thine the sin If Love hath made one thought his own, That vengeance claims first - - last - alone! Oh! had we never, never met,

Or could this heart e'en now forget
How link’d, how bless'd, we might have been,
Had fate not frown'd so dark between !
Hadst thou been born a Persian maid,

In neighbouring valleys had we dwelt,
Through the same fields in childhood play'd,

At the same kindling altar knelt,
Then, then, while all those nameless ties,
In which the charm of country lies,
Had round our hearts been hourly spun,
Till Iran's cause and thine were one;
While in thy lute's awakening sigh
I heard the voice of days gone by,
And saw in


smile of thine Returning hours of glory shine ! While the wrong'd Spirit of our Land Lived, look'd, and spoke her wrongs through

thee, --God! who could then this sword withstand ?

Its every flash were victory! But now

estranged, divorced for ever, Far as the grasp of Fate can sever, Our only ties what love has wove,

Faith, friends, and country, sunder'd wide; And then, then only, true to love,

When false to all that's dear beside ! Thy father, Iran's deadliest foe — Thyself, perhaps, e'en now — but no Hate never look'd so lovely yet !

No sacred to thy soul will be The land of him who could forget


When other eyes shall see, unmoved,

Her widows mourn, her warriors fall, Thou'lt think how well one Gheber loved,

And for his sake thou'lt weep for all ! But look

With sudden start he turn'd And pointed to the distant wave, Where lights, like charnel meteors, burn'd

Bluely, as o'er some seaman's grave; And fiery darts, at intervals,

Flew up all sparkling from the main, As if each star that nightly falls,

Were shooting back to heaven again. “My signal lights! - I must away Both, both are ruin'd, if I stay. Farewell — sweet life! thou cling'st in vain Now — Vengeance ! I am thine again.” Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp'd Nor look'd — but from the lattice dropp'd Down 'mid the pointed crags beneath, As if he fled from love to death. While pale and mute young Hinda stood, Nor moved, till in the silent flood A momentary plunge below Startled her from her trance of woe; Shrieking she to the lattice flew, 6. I come

I come if in that tide Thou sleep'st to-night — I'll sleep there too,

In death's cold wedlock by thy side. Oh! I would ask no happier bed


Than the chill wave my love lies under; Sweeter to rest together dead, Far sweeter than to live asunder!”

their hour is not yet come, Again she sees his pinnace fly, Wafting him fleetly to his home,

Where'er that ill-starr'd home may lie;

But no,

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