WHO has not heard of the Vale of CASHMERE, With its roses the brightest that earth ever gave*, Its temples, and grottos, and fountains as clear As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave? Oh! to see it at sunset,-when warm o'er the Lake Its splendour at parting a summer eve throws, Like a bride, full of blushes, when ling'ring to take A last look of her mirror at night ere she goes! When the shrines through the foliage are gleaming half shown, And each hallows the hour by some rites of its own. Here the music of pray'r from a minaret swells, Here the Magian his urn, full of perfume, is swinging, And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is ringing.† "The rose of Kashmire for its brilliancy and delicacy of odour has long been proverbial in the East." Forster. "Tied round her waist the zone of bells, that sounded with ravishing melody."— Song of Jayadeva. Or to see it by moonlight,—when mellowly shines Or at morn, when the magic of daylight awakes "The little isles in the Lake of Cachemire are set with arbours and large-leaved aspen-trees, slender and tall.". - Bernier. + "The Tuckt Suliman, the name bestowed by the Mahommetans on this hill, forms one side of a grand portal to the Lake." - Forster. But never yet, by night or day, With quicker spread each heart uncloses, The Valley holds its Feast of Roses* The Flow'ret of a hundred leaves†, 'Twas when the hour of evening came Behind the palms of BARAMOULET, ; *The Feast of Roses continues the whole time of their remaining in bloom." See Pietro de la Valle. "Gul sad berk, the Rose of a hundred leaves. I believe When maids began to lift their heads, When saffron-beds are full in flower, On And fields and pathways, far and near, That you could see, in wandering round, And there were glancing eyes about, And cheeks, that would not dare shine out Look lovely then, because 'twas night. * A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehangeery, or Memoirs of Jehanguire, where there is an account of the beds of saffron-flowers about Cashmere. And all were free, and wandering, 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 As if a shower of fairy wreaths Had fall'n upon it from the sky! Sung from his lighted gallery*, "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 assem |