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And by such sounds of horror fed,
Could frame more dreadful of her own.
But does she dream ? has Fear again
ear, She drinks the words, " Thy Gheber's here.” 'Twas his own voice she could not err
Throughout the breathing world's extent There was but one such voice for her,
So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! Oh! sooner shall the rose of May
Mistake her own sweet nightingale, And to some meaner minstrel's lay
Open her bosom's glowing veil, * Than Love shall ever doubt a tone, A breath of the beloved one !
4 A frequent image among the oriental poets.
“ The nightingales warbled their enchanting notes, and rent the thin veils of the rose-bud and the rose - Jami.
Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think
She has that one beloved near,
Hath power to make ev'n ruin dear,
Whose bloody banner's dire success
And their fair land a wilderness !
Which comes so fast oh! who shall stay The sword, that once hath tasted food
Of Persian hearts, or turn its way? What arm shall then the victim cover, Or from her father shield her lover ?
“ Save him, my God!" she inly cries
“ Have ever welcom'd with delight « The sinner's tears, the sacrifice
66 Of sinners' hearts — guard him this night, “ And here, before thy throne, I swear 66 From
heart's inmost core to tear Love, hope, remembrance, though they be “ Link'd with each quivering life-string there,
“ And give it bleeding all to Thee ! 6. Let him but live, the burning tear, “ The sighs, so sinful yet so dear, 66 Which have been all too much his own, 66 Shall from this hour be Heaven's alone. “ Youth pass'd in penitence, and age “ In long and painful pilgrimage, 66 Shall leave no traces of the flame 66 That wastes me now
nor shall his name « E'er bless my lips, but when I pray “ For his dear spirit, that away “ Casting from its angelic ray “ Th' eclipse of earth, he too may shine “ Redeem'd, all glorious and all Thine ! “ Think — think what victory to win 66 One radiant soul like his from sin;
66 One wandering star of virtue back 66 To its own native, heaven-ward track ! 66 Let him but live, and both are Thine,
“ Together Thine — for, blest or crost, “ Living or dead, his doom is mine,
6 And if he perish, both are lost !"
The next evening Lalla Rookh was entreated by her Ladies to continue the relation of her wonderful dream; but the fearful interest that hung round the fate of Hinda and her lover had completely removed every trace of it from her mind; much to the disappointment of a fair seer or two in her train, who prided themselves on their skill in interpreting visions, and who had already remarked, as an unlucky omen, that the Princess, on the very morning after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms of the sorrowful tree, Nilica.
FADLADEEN, whose wrath' had more than broken out during the recital of some parts of this most heterodox poem, seemed at length to have made up his mind to the infliction; and took his seat the evening with all the patience of a martyr, while the Poet continued his profane and seditious story thus: