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It may be our author had imbibed a notion common to many barbarous nations, that woman has no soul, as he here makes no mention of any; but for this opinion I stand no sponsor, for since I have lost the sanguinity of my youth, I seldom support hypotheses of this kind. I am old, and with the storms of threescore years over my now hoary locks, I have no inclination to discourse of my kind. 'I confess I have but little sympathy with the world. I have buried myself in the past, and in the lore of antiquity am fain to forget the present—myself, my toils and sufferings. I wander in unknown climes, and here I love to wander. I love the East. I love its solemn night--for, O! night in the East is beautiful. Often, while traversing those vast, dearest regions, have I loved to steal away alone, at the still hour of midnight, for this is a moment of reflection. Often, as I stretch out my wearied limbs under the open canopy of heaven to rest, after the fatigue of travel, am I carried back by the power of association to olden time. I think of that simple, truth-telling age, when the world was young and man in his infancy—of the wise men of the East, who here watched their flocks by night, rejoicing in the light of the same silent moon and the same twinkling stars.
On these same hills and plains, where I so often roarn, these simple but wise shepherds kept their flocks. In wandering and musing here, I find something elevating and ennobling, and as I indulge my fancy, feel myself growing better. Often, by this same power of association, am I led to think of my own native land. Over its hills, too, have I, in 'the halcyon days of my youth, delighted to roam, and there I have imbibed the soul of romance from nature's sweetest fountain. There have I enjoyed ay! and suffered—all that an ardent nature and a heart made to love, could feel and enjoy. There, upon the shining lake-in woodland dell and the shady grove, have I reveled in a world of ideality—and with a fair form of beauty at my side, I have poured out the deep devotion of a heart, which, alas !
'Tis Past! And the eternity of the past I would not recall. I would live on-dream on and continue still to adore the ideal image I have enshrined on the altar of a true and devoted heart; for she was fairer and purer than the pearl of India; and as young blossoms unfold their petals, when in their freshest bloom, so did she unfold her mind. It was a book of beauties, and every leaf a pure, transparent index of woman's heart. On each page was mirrored out her soul in pictures bright and beautiful-but
I am alone! I stand like the shattered trunk of a solitary oak-alone! A few sands more, and this heart, all torn with grief, ceases to pulsate, and these feelings, the sacred treasures of every bosom, cease
I would love my fellows. I would not hate them but sometimes-Oh! I hate them; and it is the only antidote.
I love to hate!
of one year,
Translation resumed, in which the history thus proceeds
O blest and thrice happy ye! who, with unfettered minds and free hearts, delight to taste the beauties of nature—who love to let the soul go out into her great temple, and there expand in one voluptuous swell, and in that comprehensive view which embraces past, present and future, range on through that wide, wild, boundless ocean of thought, where all is ideal and abstract;who listen in transporting raptures to the melody of the spheres, and catch with ecstasy the harmony of the softly whispering wind or the sadly sighing tempest, and perceive music in the gently flowing rivulet, as well as catch inspiration from the proudly roaring cataract.
And such was the thrice happy and enviable lot of the people of the land of Karsarmar Kerselkolf. After the space they were all assembled again, according to custom, in the beautiful grove of Arbama, there to enjoy the siniles of their fair and lovely queen-feast their minds—regale every sense, and revel amid the beauties and delights of this goodly grove. Above them waved gracefully the tall Arbama, granting a grateful shade, while beneath their feet the luxuriant herbage afforded a soft and green carpeting. Around, grazed harmlessly every tame auimal, without molesting the numerous parterres of flowers and delicate shrubbery; and to complete and embellish the scene, an infinite number of enamelled birds sung in the trees, and filled the air with their harmonious notes—each chirping and singing to its mate, and discoursing such delightful music in their cooing and wooing, as when the bird of the white plumage comes up from the warm south to make love to the chaste turtle-dove, bearing as a token the sweet berries of that enchanted tree which grows by the fairy fount of Ten Zen.
Here, engaged as usual in their various pastimes and amusements, in singing songs, playing on the lute and harp, reciting poetry, and treasuring up the precepts of the wise, were assembled the great Schemarthar and the Magi, with the queen and her beautiful maidens. The people were never more pleased with their lovely queen, for she never appeared to them more beautiful. She shone among her maidens as shines the moon among the stars, and was so far superior to them all, that not one dared to contend for the queendom.
Bright Phæbus was now holding his middle journey through the dephlogisticated ernpyrean, and the quiet of noon seemed to invite all to repose, while the fanning zephyrs kissed gently the waving tops of the tall Arbama; when lo! there was heard at a distance the harmonious notes of that fabulous instrument with which the Giants of Cashdelmere are wont to charm the mountain nymphs of Miraz, when they come to visit the sunny vale of Aizu.
And now a thousand sorts of lesser instruments seemed to unite and complete the harmonious symphony. Far in the distance gleamed brightly the banners of a mighty host—and at length was heard a noise like the hum and murmur of a great multitude, stealing almost imperceptibly on the ear, yet moving on until it sounded like the distant roar of many waters. The waving of many lofty plumes, the streaming of many standards, and the floating of the richest tapestry, were now plainly visible, and afforded altogether a sight so glorious, that astonishment siezed all the people in the grove of the tall Arbama.
They were a friendly people, coming up from the far distant region of Zrochabah, and over many great waters, from the land where the TALL Ahamrah bore rule, whose son, the prince of the dark rich locks, was now bearing greetings and gifts to the beautiful queen. As they drew near, the prince was seen riding on a noble steed of the most beautiful milk whiteness. Next to him came a chosen band of goodly youths, all sitting on beasts of the same lovely hue, and richly decked in purple and gold. When they entered the grove, the prince bent his waving plume in humble and devout respect, and waved his richly embroidered banner towards the lofty pavilion of the queen. He had a noble and haughty bearing. His appearance was bold, graceful, and handsome, and withal he wore such an aspect of dignity, that he appeared to the young imagination of the queen, like one of those fabulous beings of antiquity-flashing forth the soul of poetry and music from his very eyes, and exalting her respect almost to adoration. The astonished queen thought she had never before seen a being half so beautiful. His dress was simple but rich. His large, dark eye had also a soft, mild expression, and his free, raven locks clustered in rich luxuriance on his lofty brow, —but when he spoke his voice resembled the sweet tones of that magic pipe on which the love-sick maids of the enchanted land sing their evening songs, when their lovers are absent.
As was her custom, the fair queen descended from her lofty throne, and extended towards the handsome prince her golden scepter. With youthful bashfulness and bashful modesty, the prince, also, according to custom, received the scepter gracefully from her lily hand, and after pressing it fervently to his lips, returned it again to her, and retiring, stood among his proud and haughty chiefs, excelling all by far, in the beauty and symmetry of his form, and dignified bearing.
Blushes of the deepest crimson hue profusely suffused the fair cheek of the lovely queen, as she again seated herself in state on her lofty throne, and amid the glad shouts and exstatic songs which rung through the grove, looked with maiden modesty upon the surpassing beauty of the youthful prince. But her eyes could not meet his, for they sent forth such thrilling and penetrating glances as seemed to pierce her inmost soul. She felt no longer gay and cheerful, and as she looked upon his manly beauty, a pensive melancholy came stealing over her young spirit, the sure index of the pangs of that illusive passion when it first twines itself around the young maiden's heart.
Scarce had the golden sun, with his broad disk and crimson blushes, bid good night to pale Cynthia, and nestled himself snugly and quietly into bed, behind the blue wave of the western ocean—when the fair and lovely queen retiring, as was her custom, from the scenes of the busy day, went away alone to her own apartment in the royal abode, and there seating herself at her window, gazed silently out upon the pensive countenance of the melancholy queen of night. She was now perfectly conscious of the existence of a feeling in her bosom, altogether new and strange. It appeared to steal upon her young heart like the dew of summer evening, bearing with it an emotion not altogether of pleasure or pain; but more resembling that medium sensation of sadness and delight, which is none the less pleasing because it cannot be described.
While these melancholy thoughts were preying on the perturbed mind of the enamored queen, and she sat musing over the dubious condition of her saddened heart, lo! she beheld beneath the lattice of her solitary chamber, the flitting shadow of some tall form, moving gracefully among the delicate parterres of shrubberry, and delicious flowers of the palace garden—and by that impulsive feeling which tells the love-sick maiden of the approach of her lover, she intuitively knew it to be no other than the shadow of the form of the prince of the dark rich locks, who at the same instant began to chant forth in most mellifluous and rapturous music, accompanying his melodious voice with the sweet, soft strains of the lute, the following wild serenade:
SERENADE OF THE PRINCE OF THE DARK RICH LOCKS.*
From o'er the blue waves of the deep rolling sea. The prince of the dark rich locks, unlike a modern lover, who would have " sighed out his woful ballad to his mistress' eye-brow," or some sweet little sonnet composed all about a dear, nice, little wart seen on her white neck, chooses a different subject for his serenade. - Translator.
I bear to thee greeting, from valley and dell,
I bear to thee greeting, from hearts warmly beating,
I bear to thee love, in a heart ever burning
As dew-drops of morning in summer are seen,
As the night-wind in autumn all mournfully sighing,
Not long had nature's sweet restorer held in quiet repose the drowsy senses of the great Schemarthar, whose relaxed features, as they lay pillowed on the softest down, seemed very like those of other mortals—when old Morpheus, abating somewhat his gentle influence, left the mind of that great man in that medium state in which the present appears as dubious as the past or future. To this succeeded a mild irritation of the nerves, and a slight contraction of the muscles, followed by great mental agitation, and a general tremor of the whole frame; and at length a dim and misty uncertainty took full possession of all his lethean conceptions. As he turned restlessly from side to side—his mind at the same time refusing to revolve thoughts of any kindsounds of an unearthly nature fell discordantly upon the tympanum; and, on opening his eyes, he saw standing near, a venerable form, clad in the habiliments of the sepulcher, which at the same moment began to address him :
“I am the ghost of the great Rehobah! Up! up!! Flee! flee thee unto the royal palace-garden, for, behold! the prince of the dark rich locks is there, making love unto the queen of this land! and even now he is singing unto her a serenade of love; and, lo! the heart of the queen is affected, for she is susceptible of the tender emotion, and hath not restrained her propensities. Howl ye! howl!!!