“ Be this," she cried, as she winged her flight,
“ My welcome gift at the gates of light ;
“ Though foul are the drops that oft distil
- On the field of warfare, blood like this,

For liberty shed, so holy is, • It would not stain the purest rill, 6. That sparkles among the bowers of bliss! 66 Oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere, 66 A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 6 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws 6 From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause ! 6 Sweet," said the angel, as she gave

The gift into his radiant hand, “ Sweet is our welcome of the Brave,

66 Who die thus for their native land.
66 But see-alas !-the crystal bar
66 Of Eden moves not-holier far
6 Than even this drop the boon must be,
“ That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee !”
Her first fond hope of Eden blighted,

Now among AFRIC's Lunar Mountains, *
Far to the South, the PERI lighted ;
And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains
Of that Egyptian tide,—whose birth
Is hidden from the sons of earth,
Deep in those solitary woods
Whereof the Genii of the Floods
Dance round the cradle of their Nile,
And hail the new-born Giant's smile!
Thence over EGYPT's palmy groves,
Her grots and sepulchres of Kings,
The exiled Spirit sighing roves ;
And now hangs listening to the doves
In warm ROSETTA's valet-now loves
To watch the moonlight on the wings
Of the white pelicans that break
The azure calm of MERIS' Lake.
'Twas a fair scene-a land more bright,

Never did mortal eye behold !
Who could have thought that saw this night,

Those valleys and their fruits of gold
Basking in heav'ns serenest light ;-
Those groups of lovely date-trees bending

Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads,
Like youthful maids, when sleep descending,

* " Tho Mountains of the Moon, or the Montes Lunæ of antiquity, at the foot of which the Nile is supposed to ar so." —Bruce.

“The orchards of Rosetta are filled with turtle doves." -Sonnini. Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lake Moris.

Warns them to their silken beds ;
Those virgin lilies all the night

Bathing their beauties in the lake,
That they may rise more fresh and bright,

When their beloved Sun's awake,
Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem
The relics of a splendid dream;

Amid whose fairy loneliness
Nought but the lap-wing's cry is heard,
Nought seen but (when the shadows flitting,
Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam)
Some purple-wing'd Sultana* sitting

Upon a column motionless,
And glittering like an idol bird !
Who could have thought, that there, ev'n there,
Amid those scenes so still and fair,
The Demon of the Plague hath cast
From his hot wing a deadlier blast,
More mortal far than ever came
From the red desert's sands of flame !
So quick, that every living thing
Of human shape touch'd by his wing,
Like plants, where the Simoom hath past,
At once falls black and withering !
The sun went down on many a brow,

Which, full of bloom and freshness then,
Is rankling in the pest-house now,

And ne'er will feel that sun again !
And oh! to see the unburied heaps
On which the lonely moonlight sleep
The very vultures turn away,
And sicken at so foul a prey !
Only the fierce hyæna stalkst
Throughout the city's desolate walks
At midnight, and his carnage plies

Woe to the half-dead wretch, who meets
The glaring of those large blue eyes

Amid the darkness of the streets !
“ Poor race of Men !" said the pitying Spirit,

“Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall;
“ Some flow'rets of Eden ye still inherit,

“ But the trail of the Serpent is over them all!"
She wept the air grew pure and clear

Around her, as the bright drops ran,
For there's a magic in each tear,

Such kindly spirits weep for man !

Sonnini describes this beautiful bird.

This circumstance has been introduced into poetry ;-by Vincentius Fabricius, by Darwin, and lately, with very powerful effect, by Mr Wilson.

Just then beneath some orange trees,
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze
Were wantoning together, free,
Like age at play with infancy-
Beneath that fresh and springing bower,

Close by the Lake she heard the moan
Of one who at this silent hour,

Had thither stolen to die alone One who in life where'er he mov'd,

Drew after him the hearts of many ; Yet, now, as though he ne'er were lov'd,

Dies here unseen, unwept by any ! None to watch near him-none to slake

T'he fire that in his bosom lies,
With ev’n a sprinkle from that Lake

Which shines so cool before his eyes.
No voice, well known through many a day,

To speak the last the parting word,
Which, when all other sounds decay,

Is still like distant music heard.
That tender farewell on the shore
Of this rude world when all is o'er,
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark
Puts off into the unknown dark.
Deserted youth ! one thought alone

Shed joy around his soul in death
That she, whom he for years had known,
And lov'd, and might have call’d his own,

Was safe from this foul midnight's breath ;
Safe in her father's princely halls,
Where the cool airs from fountain-falls,
Freshly perfumed by many a brand
Of the sweet wood from India's land,
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd.
But see,— who yonder comes by stealth,

This melancholy bower to seek, Like a young envoy, sent by Health,

With rosy gifts upon her cheek ? 'Tis she_far off through moonlight dim,

He knew his own betrothed bride, She, who would rather die with him,

Than live to gain the world beside ! Her arms are round her lover now,

His livid cheek to hers she presses, And dips, to bind his burning brow,

In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses. Ah! once how little did he think An hour would come, when he should shrink

With horror from that dear embrace,

Those gentle arms that were to him
Holy as is the cradling place

Of Eden's infant cherubim !
And now he yieldsnow turns away,

Shuddering as if the venom lay
All in those proffer'd lips alone
Those lips that, then so fearless grown,
Never until that instant came

Near his unask'd or without shame. « Oh ! let me only breathe the air,

• The blessed air that's breathed by thec, " And whither on its wings it bear

“ Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me! “ There,—drink my tears, while yet they fall,

66 Would that my bosom's blood were balm, " And well thou know'st, I'd shed it all, “ To give thy brow one minute's calm : Nay, turn not from me that dear face

66 Am I not thinethy own lov'd bride • The one, the chosen one, whose place

" In life or death is by thy side ! * Think'st thou that she, whose only light

66 In this dim world from thee hath shone, 6 Could bear the long the cheerless night,

66 That must be her's, when thou art gone ?
“ That I can live, and let thee go,
6. Who art my life itself ?-No, nom
" When the stem dies, the leaf that grew
“ Out of its heart must perish too !
“ Then turn to me my own love, turn,
“ Before like thee I fade and burn;
66 Cling to these yet cool lips, and share
“ The last pure life that lingers there."
She fails

she sinksmas dies the lamp
In charnel airs or cavern-damp,
So quickly do his baleful sighs
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes :
One struggle,—and his pain is pasty

Her lover is no longer living !
One kiss the maiden gives, one last,

Long kiss, which she expires in giving “ Sleep !” said the PERI, as softly she stole The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast “ Sleep on, in visions of odour rest, “ In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd * Th'enchanted pile of that lonely bird,

“ Who sings at the last his own death lay,"
“ And in music and perfume dies away!"
Thus saying, from her lips she spread

Unearthly breathings through the place,
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed
Such lustre o'er each påly face,
That like too lovely saints they seem'a

Upon the eve of doomsday taken
From their dim graves, in odour sleeping:

While that benevolent Pekt beama
Like their good angel, calmly keeping

Watch o'er them, till their souls would waken! But morn is blushing in the sky;

Again the PERI soars above,
Bearing to Heav'n that precious sigh

Of pure, self-sacrificing love.
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate,

The Elysian palm she soon shall win,
For the bright Spirit at the gate

Smil'd as she gave that offering in, And she already hears the trees

Of Eden with their crystal bells, Ringing in that ambrosial breeze

That from the throne of ALLA swells ; And she can see the starry bowls

That lie around that lucid lake, Upon whose banks admitted souls

Their first sweet draught of glory take ! But ah! ev'n Peri's hopes are vainAgain the fates forbade, again The immortal barrier clos'd not yet,” The Angel said, as with regret, He shut from her that glimpse of glory“ True was the maiden, and her story, “ Written in light o'er ALLA's head, “ By seraph eyes shall long be read. « But, PERI, see-the crystal bar " Of Eden moves not holier far “ Than ev’n this sigh the boon must be “ That opes the gates of Heav'n for thee." Now, upon Syria's land of roses Softly the light of eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted LEBANON ;

*“ In the East, they suppose the Phoenix to have fifty orifices in his bill, which are continued to his tail; and that, after living one thousand years, he builds himself a funeral pile, sings a melodious air of different

harmonies through his fifty organ pipes, flaps his wings with a velocity which sets fire to the wood, and consumes himself,'


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