Where they had slept the sun away,
And waked to moonlight and to play.
All were abroad-the busiest hive
On Bela's' hills is less alive
When saffron beds are full in flower,
Than look'd the Valley in that hour.
A thousand restless torches play'd
Through every grove and island shade;
A thousand sparkling lamps were set
On every dome and minaret;

And fields and pathways, far and near,
Were lighted by a blaze so clear,

That you could see, in wandering round,
The smallest rose-leaf on the ground.
Yet did the maids and matrons leave
Their veils at home, that brilliant eve;
And there were glancing eyes about,
And checks, that would not dare shine out
In open day, but thought they might
Look lovely then, because 't was night!
And all were free, and wandering,

And all exclaim'd to all they met,
That never did the summer bring
So gay a Feast of Roses yet:-
The moon had never shed a light

So clear as that which bless'd them there;
The roses ne'er shone half so bright,

Nor they themselves look'd half so fair.
And what a wilderness of flowers!
It seem'd as though from all the bowers
And fairest fields of all the year,
The mingled spoil were scatter'd here.
The Lake, too, like a garden breathes

With the rich buds that o'er it lie,-
As if a shower of fairy wreaths

Had fallen upon it from the sky!
And then the sounds of joy,-the beat
Of tabors and of dancing feet;-
The minaret-cryer's chaunt of glee
Sung from his lighted gallery,2
And answered by a ziraleet

From neighbouring Haram, wild and sweet;-
The merry laughter, echoing

From gardens, where the silken swing (123)
Wafts some delighted girl above
The top leaves of the orange grove;
Or, from those infant groups at play
Among the tents3 that line the way,
Flinging, unawed by slave or mother,
Handfuls of roses at each other!-

And the sounds from the Lake,-the low whispering in boats,

As they shoot through the moonlight;-the dipping

of oars,

And the wild, airy warbling that every where floats Through the groves, round the islands as if all the shores

A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehangeery or Memoirs of Jehanguire, where there is an account of the beds of saffron flowers about Cashmere.

It is the custom among the women to employ the Maazeen to chaunt from the gallery of the nearest minaret, which on that occasion is illuminated, and the women assembled at the house respond at intervals with a ziraleet or joyous chorus. » — RUSSELL,

At the keeping of the Feast of Roses, we beheld an infinite number of tents pitched, with such a crowd of men, women, boys, and girls, with music, dances, etc. etc.—HERBERT.

Like those of Kathay utter'd music, and gave

An answer in song to the kiss of each wave! (124)
But the gentlest of all are those sounds, full of feeling,
That soft from the lute of some lover are stealing,-
Some lover, who knows all the heart-touching power
Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour.
Oh! best of delights, as it every where is,

To be near the loved One,-what a rapture is his,
Who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may glide
O'er the Lake of Cashmere, with that One by his side!
If woman can make the worst wilderness dear,
Think, think what a heaven she must make of Cashmere!

So felt the magnificent son of Acbar,"

When from power and pomp and the trophies of war
He flew to that Valley, forgetting them all
With the Light of the Haram, his young Nourmahal.
When free and uncrown'd as the conqueror roved
By the banks of that Lake, with his only beloved,
He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully snatch
From the hedges, a glory his crown could not match,
And preferr'd in his heart the least ringlet that curl'd
Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the world!

There's a beauty for ever unchangingly bright,
Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer day's light,
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender,
Till love falls asleep in its sameness of splendour.
This was not the beauty-oh! nothing like this
That to young Nourmahal gave such magic of bliss;
But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days,
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies
From the lips to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes,
Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams,
Like the glimpses a saint hath of heaven in his dreams'
When pensive, it seem'd as if that very grace,
That charm of all others, was born with her face,
And when angry,-for even in the tranquillest climes
Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometimes-
The short, passing anger but seem'd to awaken
New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when shaken.
If tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye
At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye,

From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings,
From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings'
Then her mirth-oh! 't was sportive as ever took wing
From the heart with a burst, like the wild-bird in spring;-
Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages,
Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages.3
While her laugh, full of life, without any control
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul;
And where it most sparkled no glance could discover,
In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brighten'd all over,—
Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon,
When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun.

An old commentator of the Chou-King says, the ancients having remarked that a current of water made some of the stones near its banks send forth a sound, they detached some of them, and, being charmed with the delightful sound they emitted, constructed King or musical instruments of them.-GROSTER.

* Jehanguire was the son of the Great Acbar.

In the wars of the Dives with the Peris, whenever the former took the latter prisoners, they shut them up in iron cages, and hung them on the highest trees. Here they were visited by their companions, who brought them the choicest odours.»-RICHARDSON.

Such, such were the peerless enchantments that gave
Nourmahal the proud Lord of the East for her slave;
And though bright was his Haram,-a living parterre
Of the flowers' of this planet-though treasures were
there,

For which Soliman's self might have given all the store
That the navy from Ophir e'er wing'd to his shore,
Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all,
And the Light of his Haram was young Nourmahal!

But where is she now, this night of joy,
When bliss is every heart's employ?-
When all around her is so bright,

So like the visions of a trance,

That one might think, who came by chance Into the vale this happy night,

He saw that City of Delight

In Fairy-land, whose streets and towers
Are made of gems and light and flowers!--
Where is the loved Sultana? where,

When mirth brings out the young and fair,
Does she, the fairest, hide her brow,
In melancholy stillness now?

Alas-how light a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love!
Hearts that the world in vain had tried,
And sorrow but more closely tied;

That stood the storm when waves were rough,
Yet in a sunny hour fall off,

Like ships, that have gone down at sea,
When heaven was all tranquillity!
A something, light as air—a look,

A word unkind or wrongly taken-
Oh! love, that tempests never shook,

A breath, a touch like this hath shaken.
And ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin:
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship's smiling day:
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said;
Till fast declining, one by one,
The sweetnesses of love are gone,
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem
Like broken clouds,-or like the stream,
That smiling left the mountain's brow,
As though its waters ne'er could sever,
Yet, ere it reach the plain below,

Breaks into floods, that part for ever.

Oh you, that have the charge of Love,
Keep him in rosy bondage bound,
As in the Fields of Bliss above

He sits, with flowrets fetter'd round;-3
Loose not a tie that round him clings,
Nor ever let him use his wings;
For even an hour, a minute's flight
Will rob the plumes of half their light.
Like that celestial bird,-whose nest

Is found beneath far Eastern skies,—

* In the Malay language the same word signifies women and flowers. The capital of Shadukiam. See note, p. 18.

* See the representation of the Eastern Cupid, pinioned closely round with wreaths of flowers, in PICART's Cérémonies Religieuses.

Whose wings, though radiant when at rest Lose all their glory when he flies!1

Some difference, of this dangerous kind,-
By which, though light, the links that bind
The fondest hearts may soon be riven;
Some shadow in love's summer heaven,
Which, though a fleecy speck at first,
May yet in awful thunder burst;-
Such cloud it is, that now hangs over
The heart of the Imperial Lover,
And far hath banish'd from his sight
His Nourmahal, his Haram's Light!
Hence is it, on this happy night,
When Pleasure through the fields and groves
Has let loose all her world of loves,
And every heart has found its own,-
He wanders, joyless and alone,
And weary as that bird of Thrace,
Whose pinion knows no resting-place.
In vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes
This Eden of the earth supplies

Come crowding round-the cheeks are pale,
The eyes are dim-though rich the spot
With every flower this earth has got,

What is it to the nightingale,

If there his darling rose is not?3
In vain the Valley's smiling throng
Worship him as he moves along;
He heeds them not-one smile of hers
Is worth a world of worshippers.
They but the Star's adorers are,
She is the Heaven that lights the star!

Hence is it too that Nourmahal,

. Amid the luxuries of this hour, Far from the joyous festival,

Sits in her own sequester'd bower, With no one near, to soothe or aid, But that inspired and wondrous maid, Namouna, the enchantress;-one, O'er whom his race the golden Sun For unremember'd years has run, Yet never saw her blooming brow Younger or fairer than 't is now. Nay, rather, as the west-wind's sigh Freshens the flower it passes by, Time's wing but seem'd, in stealing o'er, To leave her lovelier than before. Yet on her smiles a sadness hung, And when, as oft, she spoke or sung Of other worlds, there came a light From her dark eyes so strangely bright, That all believed nor man nor earth Were conscious of Namouna's birth!

Among the birds of Tonquin is a species of goldfinch, which sings so melodiously that it is called the Celestial Bird. Its wings, when it is perched, appear variegated with beautiful colours, but when it flies, they lose all their splendour.-GROSIER.

As these birds on the Bosphorus are never known to rest, they are called by the French 'les âmes damnées.'»—Dalloway.

3. You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the nightingale, yet he wishes not, in his constant beart, for more than the sweet breath of his beloved rose.»-JAMI.

"T was midnight-through the lattice, wreathed
With woodbine, many a perfume breathed
From plants that wake when others sleep,
From timid jasmine buds, that keep
Their odour to themselves all day,
But, when the sun-light dies away,
Let the delicious secret out

To every breeze that roams about ;-
When thus Namouna:-'T is the hour
That scatters spells on herb and flower,
And garlands might be gather'd now,
That, twined around the sleeper's brow,
Would make him dream of such delights,
Such miracles and dazzling sights
As Genii of the sun behold,
At evening, from their tents of gold
Upon the horizon-where they play
Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray,
Their sunny mansions melt away!
Now, too, a chaplet might be wreathed
Of buds o'er which the moon has breathed,
Which worn by her, whose love has stray'd,
Might bring some Peri from the skies,
Some sprite, whose very soul is made

Of flowrets, breaths, and lovers' sighs,
And who might tell-

Is call'd the Mistress of the Night, '
So like a bride, scented and bright,

She comes out when the sun 's away.
Amaranths, such as crown the maids
That wander through Zamara's shades ; 2
And the white moon-flower, as it shows
On Serendib's high crags to those
Who near the isle at evening sail,
Scenting her clove-trees in the gale;
In short, all flowrets and all plants,
From the divine Amrita tree, 3
That blesses Heaven's inhabitants
With fruits of immortality,
Down to the basil 4 tuft, that waves
Its fragrant blossom over graves, (125)
And to the humble rosemary,
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed
To scent the desert5 and the dead,
All in that garden bloom, and all
Are gather'd by young Nourmahal,
Who heaps her baskets with the flowers
And leaves, till they can hold no more,
Then to Namouna flies, and showers
Upon her lap the shining store.

With what delight the Enchantress views
So many buds, bathed with the dews
And beams of that bless'd hour!-her glance
Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures,
As, in a kind of holy trance,

She hung above those fragrant treasures,
Bending to drink their balmy airs,
As if she mix'd her soul with theirs.
And 't was, indeed, the perfume shed
From flowers and scented flame that fed
Her charmed life-for none had e'er
Beheld her taste of mortal fare,
Nor ever in aught earthly dip,
But the morn's dew, her roseate lip.
Fill'd with the cool inspiring smell,
The Enchantress now begins her spell,
Thus singing, as she winds and weaves
In mystic form the glittering leaves :

I know where the winged visions dwell That around the night-bed play;

I know each herb and flowret's bell, Where they hide their wings by day, Then hasten we, maid,

To twine our braid,

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

The Malayans style the tube-rose (Polianthes tuberosa) Sandal Malam or the Mistress of the Night.»-PENNANT.

The people of the Batta country in Sumatra (of which Zamara is one of the ancient names), when not engaged in war, lead an idle inactive life, passing the day in playing on a kind of flute, crowned with garlands of flowers, among which the globe-amaranthus, a native of the country, mostly prevails.-MARSDEN.

3 The largest and richest sort (of the Jambu or rose-apple) is called Amrita or immortal, and the mythologists of Tibet apply the same word to a celestial tree, bearing ambrosial fruit.-SIR W. JONES. Sweet Basil, called Rayhan in Persia, and generally found in churchyards.

In the Great Desertfare found many stalks of lavender and rosemary.-Asiat. Res.