Than be the sleekest slave at home

THE morn hath risen clear and calm,
And o'er the Green Sea palely shines,
Revealing Bahrein's groves of palm,

And lighting Kishma's amber vines.
Fresh smell the shores of Araby,
While breezes from the Indian sea
Blow round Selama's 3 sainted cape,

And curl the shining flood beneath,-
Whose waves are rich with many a grape,
And cocoa-nut and flowery wreath,
Which pious seamen, as they pass'd,
Had toward that holy headland cast-
Oblations to the Genii there

For gentle skies and breezes fair!

The nightingale now bends her flight (100)
From the high trees, where all the night

She sung so sweet, with none to listen;
And hides her from the morning -star

Where thickets of pomegranate glisten In the clear dawn,-bespangled o'er

With dew, whose night-drops would not stain The best and brightest scimitar 4 That ever youthful Sultan wore

On the first morning of his reign!

And see-the Sun himself!-on wings
Of glory up the East he springs.
Angel of Light! who, from the time
Those heavens began their march sublime,
Hath first of all the starry choir
Trod in his Maker's steps of fire!

Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere,
When Iran, like a sun-flower, turn'd
To meet that eye where'er it burn'd?—
When, from the banks of Bendemeer
To the nut-groves of Samarcand,
Thy temples flamed o'er all the land?
Where are they? ask the shades of them
Who, on Cadessia's 5 bloody plains,
Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem
From Iran's broken diadem,

And bind her ancient faith in chains:-
Ask the poor exile, cast alone

On foreign shores, unloved, unknown,
Beyond the Caspian's Iron Gates, 6

Or on the snowy Mossian mountains,
Far from his beauteous land of dates,

Her jasmine bowers and sunny fountains! Yet happier so than if he trod

His own beloved but blighted sod,
Beneath a despot stranger's nod!-
Oh! he would rather houseless roam
Where Freedom and his God may lead,

The Persian Gulf. To dive for pearls in the Green Sea, or Persian Gulf.-Sia W. JONES.

a Islands in the Gulf.

3 Or Selemeh, the genuine Dame of the headland at the entrance of the Gulf, commonly called Cape Musseldom. The Indians, when they pass the promontory, throw cocoa-nuts, fruits, or flowers into the sea to secure a propitious voyage.-MORTER.

4 In speaking of the climate of Shiraz, FRANCKLIN says, the dew is of such a pure nature, that, if the brightest scimitar should be exposed to it all night, it would not receive the least rust.»

The place where the Persians were finally defeated by the Arabs, and their ancient monarchy destroyed.

* Derbend.—« Les Turcs appellent cette ville Demir Capi, Porte de Fer; ce sont les Caspiæ Portæ des anciens.»-D'HERBELOT.

That crouches to the conqueror's creed ! Is Iran's pride then gone for ever,

Quench'd with the flame in Mithra's caves?— No-she has sons that never-never

Will stoop to be the Moslem's slaves, While Heaven has light or earth has graves. Spirits of fire, that brood not long, But flash resentment back for wrong; And hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds Of vengeance ripen into deeds, Till, in some treacherous hour of calm, They burst, like Zeilan's giant palm, ' Whose buds fly open with a sound That shakes the pigmy forests round!

Yes, Emir! he, who scaled that tower,-
And, had he reach'd thy slumbering breast,
Had taught thee, in a Gheber's power

How safe even tyrant heads may rest—
Is one of many, brave as he,

Who loathe thy haughty race and thee;
Who, though they know the strife is vain,
Who, though they know the riven chain
Snaps but to enter in the heart
Of him who rends its links apart,
Yet dare the issue,-blest to be
Even for one bleeding moment free,
And die in pangs of liberty!

Thou know'st them well-'t is some moons since
Thy turban'd troops and blood-red flags,

Thou satrap of a bigot prince!

Have swarm'd among these Green Sea crags; Yet here, even here, a sacred band, Ay, in the portal of that land

Thou, Arab, darest to call thy own,

Their spears across thy path have thrown;
Here-ere the winds half wing'd thee o'er-
Rebellion braved thee from the shore.

Rebellion! foul, dishonouring word, Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain'd The holiest cause that tongue or sword

Of mortal ever lost or gain'dHow many a spirit, born to bless,

Hath sunk beneath that withering name, Whom but a day's, an hour's success

Had wafted to eternal fame!

As exhalations, when they burst
From the warm earth, if chill'd at first,
If check'd in soaring from the plain,
Darken to fogs and sink again;-
But, if they once triumphant spread
Their wings above the mountain-head,
Become enthroned in upper air,
And turn to sun-bright glories there!

And who is he, that wields the might Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink,

The Talpot or Talipot tree. This beautiful palm-tree, which grows in the heart of the forests, may be classed among the lofties trees, and becomes still higher when on the point of bursting forth from its leafy summit. The sheath which then envelopes the flower is very large, and, when it bursts, makes an explosion like the report of a cannon.-TRUNBERG.

Before whose sabre's dazzling light (101)
The eyes of Yemen's warriors wink?
Who comes embowered in the spears
Of Kerman's hardy mountaineers?---
Those mountaineers that truest, last,
Cling to their country's ancient rites,
As if that God, whose eyelids cast

Their closing gleam on Iran's heights,
Among her snowy mountains threw
The last light of his worship too!

'T is Hafed-name of fear, whose sound Chills like the muttering of a charm;Shout but that awful name around,

And palsy shakes the manliest arm.
'T is Hafed, most accurst and dire
(So rank'd by Moslem hate and ire)
Of all the rebel Sons of Fire!

Of whose malign, tremendous power,
The Arabs, at their mid-watch hour,
Such tales of fearful wonder tell,
That each affrighted sentinel
Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes,
Lest Hafed in the midst should rise!
A man they say, of monstrous birth,
A mingled race of flame and earth,
Sprung from those old enchanted kings, '
Who in their fairy helms, of yore,
A feather from the mystic wings
Of the Simoorgh resistless wore;
And gifted by the Fiends of Fire,

Who groan'd to see their shrines expire,
With charms that, all in vain withstood,
Would drown the Koran's light in blood!

Such were the tales that won belief,

And such the colouring Fancy gave
To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief,-
One who, no more than mortal brave,
Fought for the land his soul adored,
For happy homes, and altars free,-
His only talisman, the sword,

His only spell-word, Liberty!
One of that ancient hero line,
Along whose glorious current shine
Names, that have sanctified their blood;
As Lebanon's small mountain flood
Is render'd holy by the ranks

Of sainted cedars on its banks! 2 (102)
'T was not for him to crouch the knee
Tamely to Moslem tyranny;-

'T was not for him, whose soul was cast
In the bright mould of ages past,
Whose melancholy spirit, fed
With all the glories of the dead,
Though framed for Iran's happiest years,
Was born among her chains and tears!--
"T was not for him to swell the crowd
Of slavish heads that shrinking bow'd

Tahmuras, and other ancient Kings of Persia; whose adventures in Fairy-Land among the Peris and Dives may be found in RICHARDSox's curious Dissertation. The griffin Simourgh, they say, took some feathers from her breast for Tabmuras, with which he adorned his belmet, and transmitted them afterwards to his descendants.

This rivulet, says DANDINI, is called the Holy River, from the « cedar-saints among which it rises.

Before the Mosłem, as he pass'd,
Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast-
No-far he fled-indignant fled

The pageant of his country's shame; While every tear her children shed

Fell on his soul, like drops of flame; And, as a lover hails the dawn

Of a first smile, so welcomed he The sparkle of the first sword drawn For vengeance and for liberty!

But vain was valour-vain the flower
Of Kerman, in that deathful hour,
Against Al Hassan's whelming power.-
In vain they met him, helm to helm,
Upon the threshold of that realm
He came in bigot pomp to sway,
And with their corpses block'd his way-
In vain-for every lance they raised,
Thousands around the conqueror blazed,
For every arm that lined their shore,
Myriads of slaves were wafted o'er-
A bloody, bold, and countless crowd,
Before whose swarm as fast they bow'd,
As dates beneath the locust-cloud!

There stood-but one short league away
From old Harmozia's sultry bay-

A rocky mountain, o'er the sea
Of Oman beetling awfully: (103)
A last and solitary link

Of those stupendous chains that reach
From the broad Caspian's reedy brink
Down winding to the Green Sea beach.
Around its base the bare rocks stood,
Like naked giants, in the flood,

As if to guard the gulf across;
While, on its peak, that braved the sky,
A ruin'd temple tower'd, so high

That oft the sleeping albatross'
Struck the wild ruins with her wing,
And from her cloud-rock'd slumbering
Started-to find man's dwelling there
In her own silent fields of air!
Beneath, terrific caverns gave
Dark welcome to each stormy wave
That dash'd, like midnight revellers, in;-
And such the strange mysterious din
At times throughout those caverns roll'd,-
And such the fearful wonders told
Of restless sprites imprison'd there,
That bold were Moslem, who would dare,
At twilight hour, to steer his skiff
Beneath the Gheber's lonely cliff. (104)

On the land side, those towers sublime,
That seem'd above the grasp of Time,
Were sever'd from the haunts of men
By a wide, deep, and wizard glen,
So fathomless, so full of gloom,

:

No eye could pierce the void between; It seem'd a place where Gholes might come With their foul banquets from the tomb,

These birds sleep in the air. They are most common about the Cape of Good Hope.

And in its caverns feed unseen. Like distant thunder, from below, The sound of many torrents came; Too deep for eye or ear to know If 't were the sea's imprison'd flow, Or floods of ever-restless flame. For each ravine, each rocky spire

Of that vast mountain stood on fire;' And, though for ever past the days When God was worshipp'd in the blaze That from its lofty altar shone,

Though fled the priests, the votaries gone,
Still did the mighty flame burn on (105)

Through chance and change, through good and ill,

Like its own God's eternal will,

Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable!

Thither the vanquish'd Hafed led

His little army's last remains:

Welcome, terrific glen! he said,

Thy gloom, that Eblis' self might dread,

Is Heaven to him who flies from chains!»
O'er a dark narrow bridge-way, known
To him and to his chiefs alone,

They cross'd the chasm and gain'd the towers;-
This home, he cried, at least is ours-
Here we may bleed, unmock'd by hymns
Of Moslem triumph o'er our head;
Here we may fall, nor leave our limbs

To quiver to the Moslem's tread,
Stretch'd on this rock, while vultures' beaks
Are whetted on our yet warm cheeks,
Here,-happy that no tyrant's eye
Gloats on our torments-we may die!.

"T was night when to those towers they came,
And gloomily the fitful flame,
That from the ruin'd altar broke,
Glared on his features, as he spoke :-

'Tis o'er-what men could do, we've doneIf Iran will look tamely on,

And see her priests, her warriors driven
Before a sensual bigot's nod,

A wretch, who takes his lusts to heaven,
And makes a pander of his God!
her high-born souls,

If her proud sons,

Men, in whose veins-oh, last disgrace!
The blood of Zal, and Rustam 2 rolls,-
If they will court this upstart race,
And turn from Mithra's ancient ray,
To kneel at shrines of yesterday!
If they will crouch to Iran's foes,

Why let them till the land's despair
Cries out to Heaven, and bondage grows
Too vile for even the vile to bear!
Till shame at last, long hidden burns
Their inmost core, and conscience turns
Each coward tear the slave lets fall
Back on his heart in drops of gall!
But here, at least, are arms unchain'd,
And souls that thraldom never stain'd;-
This spot, at least, no foot of slave

The Ghebers generally built their temples over subterraneous fires.

2 Ancient heroes of Persia. Among the Guebres there are some who boast their descent from Rustam.-STEPRENS' Persia.

Or satrap ever yet profaned;

And, though but few-though fast the wave
Of life is ebbing from our veins,
Enough for vengeance still remains.

As panthers, after set of sun,
Rush from the roots of Lebanon
Across the dark sea-robber's way,'
We'll bound upon our startled prey;-
And when some hearts that proudest swell
Have felt our falchion's last farewell-

When Hope's expiring throb is o'er,
And even Despair can prompt no more,
This spot shall be the sacred grave

Of the last few who, vainly brave,

Die for the land they cannot save!»
His chiefs stood round-each shining blade
Upon the broken altar laid-

And though so wild and desolate
Those courts, where once the Mighty sate;
Nor longer on those mouldering towers
Was seen the feast of fruits and flowers,
With which of old the Magi fed
The wandering spirits of their dead;1
Though neither priest nor rites were there,

Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate;3
Nor hymn, nor censer's fragrant air,

Nor symbol of their worshipp'd planet; 4
Yet the same God that heard their sires
Heard them; while on that altar's fires
They swore (106) the latest, holiest deed
Of the few hearts, still left to bleed,
Should be, in Iran's injured name,
To die upon that Mount of Flame-
The last of all her patriot line,
Before her last untrampled shrine!

Brave suffering souls! they little knew
How many a tear their injuries drew
From one meek maid, one gentle foe,
Whom Love first touch'd with others' woe-
Whose life, as free from thought as sin,
Slept like a lake, till Love threw in
His talisman, and woke the tide,
And spread its trembling circles wide.
Once, Emir! thy unheeding child,
'Mid all this havoc, bloom'd and smiled,—
Tranquil as on some battle-plain

The Persian lily shines and towers, (107)
Before the combat's reddening stain

Hath fallen upon her golden flowers. Light-hearted maid, unawed, unmoved, While Heaven but spared the sire she loved,

1 See RUSSEL's account of the panthers attacking travellers in the night on the sea-shore about the roots of Lebanon.

2. Among other ceremonies, the Magi used to place upon the tops of high towers various kinds of rich viands, upon which it was supposed the Peris and the spirits of their departed heroes regaled themselves.-RICHARDSON.

In the ceremonies of the Ghebers round their Fire, as described by LORD, the Daroo, he says, giveth them water to drink, and a pomegranate leaf to chew in the mouth, to cleanse them from inward uncleanness,"

4. Early in the morning, they (the Parsees or Ghebers at Oulam) go in crowds to pay their devotions to the Sun, to whom upon all the altars there are spheres consecrated, made by magic, resembling the circles of the sun, and when the sun rises, these orbs seem to be inflamed, and to turn round with a great noise. They have every one a censer in their bands, and offer incense to the sun.-RABBI BEN

JAMIN.

Once at thy evening tales of blood
Unlistening and aloof she stood-
And oft, when thou hast paced along
Thy Haram halls with furious heat,
Hast thou not cursed her cheerful song,

That came across thee calm and sweet,
Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near
Hell's confines, that the damn'd can hear?
Far other feelings Love hath brought-

Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness,
She now has but the one dear thought,

And thinks that o'er, almost to madness!
Oft doth her sinking heart recal
His words-for my sake weep for all;.
And bitterly, as day on day

Of rebel carnage fast succeeds,
She weeps a lover snatch'd away

In every Gheber wretch that bleeds. There's not a sabre meets her eye,

But with his life-blood seems to swim; There's not an arrow wings the sky,

But fancy turns its point to him.
No more she brings with footstep light
Al Hassan's falchion for the fight;
And, had he look'd with clearer sight-
Had not the mists, that ever rise
From a foul spirit, dimm'd his eyes,-
He would have mark'd her shuddering frame,
When from the field of blood he came,
The faltering speech-the look estranged-
Voice, step, and life, and beauty changed-
He would have mark'd all this, and known
Such change is wrought by Love alone!
Ah! not the love, that should have bless'd
So young, so innocent a breast;
Not the pure, open, prosperous love,
That, pledged on earth and seal'd above,
Grows in the world's approving eyes,

In friendship's smile and home's caress,
Collecting all the heart's sweet ties
Into one knot of happiness!
No, Hinda, no-thy fatal flame
Is nursed in silence, sorrow, shame.-

A passion, without hope or pleasure,
In thy soul's darkness buried deep,

It lies, like some ill-gotten treasure,—
Some idol, without shrine or name,
O'er which its pale-eyed votaries keep
Unholy watch, while others sleep!

Seven nights have darken'd Oman's Sea,
Since last, beneath the moonlight ray,
She saw his light oar rapidly

Hurry her Gheber's bark away,-
And still she goes, at midnight hour,
To weep alone in that high bower,

And watch, and look along the deep

For him whose smiles first made her weep,

But watching, weeping, all was vain,
She never saw his bark again,
The owlet's solitary cry,
The night-hawk, flitting darkly by,

And oft the hateful carrion-bird,
Heavily flapping his clogg'd wing,
Which reek'd with that day's banqueting—
Was all she saw, was all she heard.

'Tis the eighth morn-Al Hassan's brow Is brighten'd with unusual joyWhat mighty mischief glads him now,

Who never smiles but to destroy? The sparkle upon Herkend's Sea, When tost at midnight furiously,' Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh,

More surely than that smiling eye!

Up, daughter, up-the Kerna's breath
Has blown a blast would waken death,
And yet thou sleep'st-up, child, and see
This blessed day for Heaven and me,
A day more rich in Pagan blood
Than ever flash'd o'er Oman's flood.
Before another dawn shall shine,

His head-heart-limbs-will all be mine;
This very night his blood shall steep
These hands all over e'er I sleep!"-

. His blood! she faintly scream'd-her mind Still singling one from all mankind

Yes-spite of his ravines and towers,

Hafed, my child, this night is ours.
Thanks to all-conquering treachery,

Without whose aid the links accurst,
That bind these impious slaves, would be
Too strong for Alla's self to burst!
That rebel fiend, whose blade has spread
My path with piles of Moslem dead,
Whose baffling spells had almost driven
Back from their course the Swords of Heaven,
This night, with all his band, shall know
How deep an Arab's steel can go,
When God and vengeance speed the blow.
And-Prophet!-by that holy wreath
Thou worest on Ohod's field of death,3
I swear, for every sob that parts
In anguish from these heathen hearts,
A gem from Persia's plunder'd mines
Shall glitter on thy Shrine of Shrines.
But ha!-she sinks-that look so wild-
Those livid lips-my child, my child,
This life of blood befits not thee,
And thou must back to Araby.

Ne'er had I risk'd thy timid sex

In scenes that man himself might dread,
Had I not hoped our every tread

Would be on prostrate Persian necks-
Curst race, they offer swords instead!
But cheer thee, maid-the wind that now
Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow,
To-day shall waft thee from the shore;
And, ere a drop of this night's gore
Have time to chill in yonder towers,
Thou 'lt see thy own sweet Arab bowers!»
His bloody boast was all too true-
There lurk'd one wretch among the few
Whom Hafed's eagle eye could count
Around him on that Fiery Mount-

It is observed, with respect to the Sea of Herkend, that when

it is tossed by tempestuous winds it sparkles like fire.-Travels of two Mohammedans.

2 A kind of trumpet ;-it was that used by Tamerlane, the sound of which is described as uncommonly dreadful, and so loud as to be heard at the distance of several miles."-RICHARDSON.

Mohammed had two helmets, an interior and exterior one; the latter of which, called Al Mawashab, the fillet wreath, or wreathed garland, he wore at the battle of Ohod."- Universal History.

One miscreant, who for gold betray'd
The path-way through the valley's shade
To those high towers where Freedom stood
In her last hold of flame and blood.
Left on the field last dreadful night,
When, sallying from their Sacred Height,
The Ghebers fought Hope's farewell fight,
He lay-but died not with the brave;
That sun, which should have gilt his grave,
Saw him a traitor and a slave;-

And, while the few, who thence return'd
To their high rocky fortress, mourn'd
For him among the matchless dead
They left behind on Glory's bed,

He lived, and, in the face of morn,
Laugh'd them and Faith and Heaven to scorn!

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave,

Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the councils of the brave,
And blasts them in their hour of might!
May Life's unblessed cup for him
Be drugg'd with treacheries to the brim,—
With hopes that but allure to fly-

With joys that vanish while he sips,
Like Dead-Sea fruits, that tempt the eye,
But turn to ashes on the lips! (108)
His country's curse, his children's shame,
Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame,
May he, at last, with lips of flame

On the parch'd desert thirsting die,-
While lakes that shone in mockery nigh (109)
Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted,
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted!
And, when from earth his spirit flies,

Just Prophet, let the damn'd-one dwell
Full in the sight of Paradise,

Beholding Heaven, and feeling Hell!

LALLA ROOKH had had a dream the night before, which, in spite of the impending fate of poor Hafed, made her heart more than usually cheerful during the morn ing, and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a flower that the Bidmusk has just passed over. (110) She fancied that she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the sea-gipseys, who live for ever on the water, (111) enjoy a perpetual summer in wandering from isle to isle, when she saw a small gilded bark approaching her. It was like one of those boats which the Maldivian islanders annually send adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odoriferous wood, as an offering to the Spirit whom they call King of the Sea. At first this little bark appeared to be empty, but on coming nearer-

She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream to her ladies, when Feramorz appeared at the door of the pavilion. In his presence, of course, every thing else was forgotten, and the continuance of the story was instantly requested by all. Fresh wood of aloes was set to burn in the cassolets; the violet sherbets (112) were hastily handed round, and, after a short prelude on his lute in the pathetic measure of Nava, (113) which is always used to express the lamentations of absent lovers, the poet thus continued:

THE day is lowering-stilly black

Sleeps the grim wave, while Heaven's rack,
Dispersed and wild, 'twixt earth and sky
Hangs like a shatter'd canopy!

There's not a cloud in that blue plain
But tells of storm to come or past;-
Here, flying loosely as the mane

Of a young war-horse in the blast; There, roll'd in masses dark and swelling, As proud to be the thunder's dwelling! While some, already burst and riven, Seem melting down the verge of heaven; As though the infant storm had rent

The mighty womb that gave him birth, And, having swept the firmament,

Was now in fierce career for earth.
On earth 't was yet all calm around,
A pulseless silence, dread, profound,
More awful than the tempest's sound.
The diver steer'd for Ormus' bowers,
And moor'd his skiff till calmer hours;
The sea-birds, with portentous screech,
Flew fast to land;-upon the beach
The pilot oft had paused, with glance
Turn'd upward to that wild expanse;
And all was boding, drear and dark
As her own soul, when Hinda's bark
Went slowly from the Persian shore-
No music timed her parting oar,'
Nor friends upon the lessening strand
Linger'd, to wave the unseen hand,

Or speak the farewell, heard no more;-
But lone, unheeded, from the bay
The vessel takes its mournful way,
Like some ill-destined bark that steers
In silence through the Gate of Tears. 2
And where was stern Al Hassan then?
Could not that saintly scourge of men
From bloodshed and devotion spare
One minute for a farewell there?
No-close within, in changeful fits
Of cursing and of prayer, he sits
In savage loneliness to brood
Upon the coming night of blood,

With that keen, second-scent of death, By which the vulture snuffs his food

In the still warm and living breath! 3 While o'er the wave his weeping daughter Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter,As a young bird of Babylon,4

Let loose to tell of victory won,
Flies home, with wing, ah! not unstain'd
By the red hands that held her chain'd.

The Easterns used to set out on their longer voyages with music.-HARMER.

The Gate of Tears, the straits or passage into the Red Sea, commonly called Babelmandel. It received this name from the old Arabians, on account of the danger of the navigation, and the number of shipwrecks by which it was distinguished; which induced them to consider as dead, and to wear mourning for, all who bad the boldness to hazard the passage through it into the Ethiopic Ocean..RICHARDSON.

3.I have been told that wbensoever an animal falls down dead, one or more vultures, unseen before, instantly appear.-PENNANT. 4. They fasten some writing to the wings of a Bagdat, or Babylonian pigeon.-Travels of certain Englishmen.