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With horror from that dear embrace,
Those gentle arms that were to him
Of Eden's infant cherubim f
Shuddering as if the venom lay
All in those proffered lips alone—
Those lips that, then so fearless growny
Never until that instant came
Near his unasked or without shame. 'Oh! let me only breathe the air,
The blessed air, that's breathed by theer And whether on its wings it bear
Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me! There,—drink my tears, while yet they fall,—
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—
Am I not thine—thy own loved bride— The one, the chosen one, whose place
In life or death is by thy side I Think'st thou that she, whose only light
In this dim world from thee hath shone, Could bear the long the cheerless night,
That must be her's, when thou at gone?
That I can live, and let thee go,
Her lover is no longer living!
Long kiss, which she expires in giving!
'Sleep,' said the Peri, as softly she stole
Thus saying, from her lips she spread
Unearthly breathings through the place,
Upon the eve of doomsday taken
While that benevolent Peri beamed
Watch o'er them, till their souls would waken!
But morn is blushing in the sky;
Again the Peri soars above, Bearing to heaven that precious sigh
Of pure, self-sacrificing love. • ,'
High throbbed her heart, with hope elate,
The Elysian palm she soon shall win, For the bright spirit at the gate
Smiled 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 Alia swells; And she can see the starry bowls
That lie around that lucid lake, Upon whose banks admitted souk
Their first sweet draught of glory take!
But ah! even Peri's hopes are vain—
Again the fates forbade, again
The immortal barrier closed—' 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 even this sigh the boon must be
That opes the gates of heaven for thee.'
Now, upon Syria's land of roses
And whitens with eternal sleet,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
To one, who looked from upper air,
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
But nought can charm the luckless Peri;