From room to room the ready handmaids hie,
Some skill'd to wreath the turban tastefully,
Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade,
O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid,
Who, if between the folds but one eye shone,
Like SBBA's Queen could vanquish with that one:
While some bring leaves of Henna, to imbue
The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue,
So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem
Like tips of coral branches in the stream;
And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye,

2

3

1

To give that long, dark languish to the eye,
Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to cull
From fair CIRCASSIA'S vales, so beautiful!
All is in motion; rings and plumes and pearls
Are shining every where: some younger girls
Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds,
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads;
Gay creatures! sweet, though mournful 'tis to see
How each prefers a garland from that tree
Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day,
And the dear fields and friendships far away.
The maid of INDIA, blest again to hold
In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold, 4
Thinks of the time when, by the GANGES' flood,
Her little play-mates scatter'd many a bud
Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam
Just dripping from the consecrated stream;
While the young Arab, haunted by the smell
Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell,
The sweet Elcaya, and that courteous tree
Which bows to all who seek its canopy,
Sees, call'd up round her by these magic scents,
The well, the camels, and her father's tents;
Sighs for the home she left with little pain,
And wishes e'n its sorrows back again!

5

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls,
Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls
Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound
From many a jasper fount is heard around,
Young AZIM roams bewilder'd, nor can guess
What means this maze of light and loneliness.
Here, the way leads, o'er tesselated floors
Or mats of CAIRO, through long corridors,
Where, rang'd in cassolets and silver urns,
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns;
And spicy rods, such as illume at night
The bowers of TIBET, send forth odorous light,
Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road
For some pure Spirit to its blest abode!
And here, at once, the glittering saloon
Bursts on his sight boundless and bright as noon;
Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays
In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays
High as th' enamell'd cupola, which towers
All rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers:
And the mosaic floor beneath shines through

7

Sol. Song.

1 Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes. 2 "They tinged the ends of her fingers scarlet with Henna, so that they resemble branches of coral." Story of Prince Futtun in Bahardanush.

3 "The women blacken the inside of their eyelids with a powder named the black K hol." Russel. 4 "The appearance of the blossoms of the gold-coloured Campac on the black hair of th Indian women, has supplied the Sanscrit Poets with many elegant allusions." See Asial Researches, vol. iv.

Niebuhr.

5 A tree famous for its perfume, aud common on the hills of Yemen. 6 Of the genus mimosa, "which droops its branches whenever any person approaches i seeming as i it saluted those who retire under its shade." Niebuhr. 7 Cloves are a principal ingredient in the composition of the perfumed rods, which me of rank keep constantly burning in their presence.” Turner's Tibet.

The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew,
Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye,
That on the margin of the Red Sea lie.

Here too he traces the kind visitings

Of woman's love in those fair, living things

Of land and wave, whose fate, - in bondage thrown
For their weak loveliness is like her own!
On one side gleaming with a sudden grace
Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase
In which it undulates, small fishes shine,
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;
While, on the other, latticed lightly in
With odoriferous woods of COMORIN, 1
Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between
The crimson blossoms of the coral tree 2

In the warm isles of India's sunny sea:

Mecca's blue sacred pigeon,

and the thrush

Of Hindostan, whose holy warblings gush,

At evening, from the tall pagoda's top;

Those golden birds that, in the spice time, drop

About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food

Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood; 5

And those that under Araby's soft sun

Build their high nests of budding cinnamon;
In short, all rare and beauteous things, that fly
Through the pure element, here calmly lie

Sleeping in light, like the green birds that dwell
In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel!

8

So on, through scenes past all imagining,
More like the luxuries of that impious King,
Whom Death's dark Angel, with his lightning torch,
Struck down and blasted e'n in Pleasure's porch,
Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent,

Arm'd with Heav'n's sword, for man's enfranchisement
Young AZIM wander'd, looking sternly round,
His simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound
But ill according with the pomp and grace
And silent lull of that voluptuous place!

"Is this, then," thought the youth, "is this the way
"To free man's spirit from the deadening sway
"Of worldly sloth; to teach him while he lives,
"To know no bliss but that which virtue gives,
"And when he dies, to leave his lofty name
"A light, a land-mark on the cliffs of fame?
"It was not so, land of the generous thought
"And daring deed! thy godlike sages taught;
"It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease,
"Thy Freedom nurs'd her sacred energies;
"Oh! not beneath th' enfeebling, withering glow
"Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow,

"With which she wreath'd her sword, when she would dare
"Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air

"Of toil, — of temperance,

--

- of that high, rare,

kill."

1 C'est d'où vient le bois d'aloès, que les Arabes appellent Oud Comari, et celui du sandal, y trouve en grande quantité. -D'Herbelot. "Thousands of variegated loories visit the coral-trees." Barrow. In Mecca there are quantities of blue pigeons, which none will affright or abuse, much Pitt's Account of the Mahometans. 4 "The Pagoda Thrush is esteemed among the first choristers of India. It sits perched on desarred Pagodas, and from thence delivers its melodious song." Pennant's Hindostan. 5 Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutmeg season, come in flights from the southern isles dia, and "the strength of the nutmeg," says Tavernier, "so intoxicates them that they fall dead drank to the earth."

1

That bird which liveth in Arabia, and buildeth its nest with cinnamon." Brown's Fulgar Errors.

The spirits of the martyrs will be lodged in the crops of green birds." — Gibbon, vol. Lp. $21.

Shedad, who made the delicious gardens of Irim, in imitation of Paradise, and was de troyed by lightning the first time he attempted to enter them.

"Etherial virtue, which alone can breathe
"Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath!
"Who, that surveys this span of earth we press,
"This speck of life in time's great wilderness,
"This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
"The past, the future, two eternities!
"Would sully the bright spot or leave it bare,
"When he might build him a proud temple there,
"A name, that long shall hallow all its space,
"And be each purer soul's high resting-place!
"But no - it cannot be, that one, whom God
"Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod,
"A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws
"Its rights from Heav'n, should thus profane its cause
"With the world's vulgar pomps;
"He thinks me weak this glare of luxury
"Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze

"Of my young soul;

So thought the youth;

no, no

- I see

shine on, 'twill stand the blaze!"

but, e'n while he defied

This witching scene, he felt its witchery glide
Through every sense. The perfume breathing round,
Like a pervading spirit; the still sound

Of falling waters, lulling as the song
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng
Around the fragrant NILICA, and deep

In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep!*
And music too dear music! that can touch
Beyond all else the soul that loves it much
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem
Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream;
All was too much for him, too full of bliss,
The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this;
Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid;
He thought of ZELICA, his own dear maid,
And of the time when, full of blissful sighs,
They sat and look'd into each other's eyes,
Silent and happy as if God had given
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven!

"Oh, my lov'd mistress! whose enchantments still
"Are with me, round me, wander where I will
"It is for thee, for thee alone I seek

"The paths of glory - to light up thy cheek
"With warm approval in that gentle look,
"To read my praise, as in an angel's book,
"And think all toils rewarded, when from thee
"I gain a smile worth immortality!
"How shall I bear the moment, when restor'd
"To that young heart where I alone am Lord,
"Though of such bliss unworthy, since the best

"Alone deserve to be the happiest!

"When from those lips, unbreath'd upon for years,
"I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears,

"And find those tears warm as when last they started,
"Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted!
"Oh my own life! why should a single day,
"A moment keep me from those arms away

?

While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze
Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies,
Each note of which but adds new, downy links
To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks.
He turns him tow'rd the sound, and, far away
Through a long vista, sparkling with the play

Of countless lamps, like the rich track which Day

"My Pandits assure me that the plant before us (the Nilica) is their Sephalica, thus nam

because the bees are supposed to sleep on its blossoms." Sir W. Jones.

--

Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us;
So long the path, its light so tremulous;
He sees a group of female forms advance,
Some chain'd together in the mazy dance
By fetters, forg'd in the green sunny bowers,
As they were captives to the King of Flowers;
And some disporting round, unlink'd and free,
Who seem'd to mock their sisters' slavery.
And round and round them still, in wheeling flight
Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night;
While others wak'd, as gracefully along
Their feet kept time, the very soul of song
From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heav'nly thrill,
Or their own youthful voices, heav'nlier still!
And now they come, now pass before his eye,
Forms such as Nature moulds, when she would vie
With Fancy's pencil, and give birth to things
Lovely beyond its fairest picturings!

Awhile they dance before him, then divide,
Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide
Around the rich pavilion of the sun,
Till silently dispersing, one by one,

Through many a path, that from the chamber leads
To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads,
Their distant laughter comes upon the wind,
And but one trembling nymph remains behind,
Beck'ning them back in vain, for they are gone,
And she is left in all that light alone;
No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brew,
In its young bashfulness more beauteous now;
But a light golden chain-work round her hair,
Such as the maids of YÊZD and SHIRAZ wear,
From which, on either side, gracefully hung
A golden amulet, in the Arab tongue,
Engraven o'er with some immortal line
From holy writ, or bard scarce less divine;
While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood,

Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood,

Which, once or twice, she touch'd with hurried strain,
Then took her trembling fingers off again.

But when at length a timid glance she stole

At Azim, the sweet gravity of soul

She saw through all his features calm'd her fear,

And, like a half-tam'd antelope, more near,
Though shrinking still, she came;

then sat her down

Upon a musaud's edge, and, bolder grown,
In the pathetic mode of ISFAHAN

Touch'd a preluding strain, and thus began:

3

There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER's stream,
And the nightingale sings round it all the day long;
In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream,
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
That bower and its music I never forget,

But oft when alone in the bloom of the year,

I think — is the nightingale singing there yet?
Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER?

No, the roses soon wither that hung o'er the wave,

But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly they shone,
And a dew was distill'd from their flowers,
that gave

All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone.

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,

An essence that breathes of it many a year;

Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,

Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER!

1 Musands are cushioned seats, usually reserved for persons of distinction.

The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call their musical modes or Perdas by the names

of different countries or cities, as the mode of Isfahan, the mode of Irak, &c.

A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar.

"Poor maiden!" thought the youth, "if thou wert sent,
"With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment,
"To wake unholy wishes in this heart,

"Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art.
"For though thy lip should sweetly counsel wrong,
"Those vestal eyes would disavow its song.
"But thou hast breath'd such purity, thy lay
"Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day,
"And leads thy soul if e'er it wander'd thence
"So gently back to its first innocence,
"That I would sooner stop the unchained dove,
"When swift returning to its home of love,
"And round its snowy wing new fetters twine,
"Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine!"

Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when, sparkling through

The gently open'd curtains of light blue

That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes,

Peeping like stars through the blue evening skies,
Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair,
That sat so still and melancholy there
And now the curtains fly apart, and in

From the cool air, 'mid showers of jessamine
Which those without fling after them in play,
Two lightsome maidens spring, lightsome as they
Who live in th' air on odours, and around
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground,
Chase one another, in a varying dance
Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance,
Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit:
While she, who sung so gently to the lute
Her dream of home, steals timidly away,
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,
But takes with her from Azım's heart that sigh
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain,
Creatures of light we never see again!

Around the white necks of the nymphs who danc'd
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd
More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er
The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore;
While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall
Of curls descending, bells as musical

As those that, on the golden-shafted trees

Of EDEN, shake in the Eternal Breeze, 2

1

Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet,
As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their feet!

At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreath'd
Within each other's arms; while soft there breath'd
Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs
Of moonlight flowers, music that seem'd to rise
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose;

And, as it swell'd again at each faint close,

The ear could track through all that maze of chords
And young sweet voices, these impassion'd words: —

A SPIRIT there is, whose fragrant sigh
Is burning now through earth and air;
Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh,
Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there!

His breath is the soul of flowers like these,
And his floating eyes-oh! they resemble

1 "To the north of us, (on the coast of the Caspian, near Badku), was a mountain, which sparkled like diamonds, arising from the sea-glass and crystals, with which it abounds." Journey of the Russian Ambassador to Persia, 1746.

2 To which will be added the sound of the bells, hanging on the trees, which will be pu in motion by the wind proceeding from the throne of God, as often as the blessed wish To music." Sale.