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None but the loving and the lov'd
Should be awake at this sweet hour.
where, high above those rocks That o'er the deep their shadows fling, Yon turret stands; where ebon locks,
As glossy as a heron's wing
Upon the turban of a king,
Oh what a pure and sacred thing
Is Beauty, curtain’d from the sight Of the gross world, illumining
One only mansion with her light !
8“ Their kings wear plumes of black herons' feathers
the right side, as a badge of sovereignty.” - Hanway.
9 « The Fountain of Youth, by a Mahometan tradition, is situated in some dark region of the east.”. Richardson.
Unseen by man's disturbing eye,
The flower, that blooms beneath the sea Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie
Hid in more chaste obscurity !
To lift the veil that shades them o'er !
In the lone deep some fairy shore,
Where mortal never trod before, And sleep and wake in scented airs No lip had ever breath'd but theirs !
Beautiful are the maids that glide,
On summer-eves, through YEMEN's' dales, And bright the glancing looks they hide
Behind their litters' roseate veils;
Who, lull'd in cool kiosk or bower,
Before their mirrors count the time,
hour. But never yet hath bride or maid In ARABY'S
Before Al Hassan's blooming child.
Light as the angel shapes that bless
Where, through some shades of earthly feeling,
They say that if a snake or serpent fix his eyes on the lustre of those stones (emeralds), he immediately becomes blind.". Ahmed ben Abdalaziz, Treatise on Jewels.
Religion's soften'd glories shine,
Like light through summer foliage stealing, Shedding a glow of such mild hue, So warm, and yet so shadowy too, As makes the very darkness there More beautiful than light elsewhere!
Such is the maid who, at this hour,
Hath risen from her restless sleep, And sits alone in that high bower,
Watching the still and shining deep. Ah ! 'twas not thus, with tearful eyes
And beating heart, - she us’d to gaze On the magnificent earth and skies,
In her own land, in happier days. Why looks she now so anxious down Among those rocks, whose rugged frown
Blackens the mirror of the deep ? Whom waits she all this lonely night?
Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep, For man to scale that turret's height !.
So deem'd at least her thoughtful sire,
When high, to catch the cool night-air,
After the day-beam's withering fire,
He built her bower of freshness there, And had it deck'd with costliest skill,
And fondly thought it safe as fair :-
Nor wake to learn what Love dare -
For pearls, but when the sea's at rest,
Hath ever held that pearl the best
There's one who, but to kiss thy cheek,
Of ARARAT'S tremendous peak, *
3 At Gombaroon and the Isle of Ormus it is sometimes so hot, that the people are obliged to lie all day in the water. — Marco Polo.
4 This mountain is generally supposed to be inaccessible.