I've had within those arms, and that shall lie,
Shrined in my soul's deep memory till I die;
The last of joy's last relics here below,
The one sweet drop, in all this waste of woe,
My heart has treasured from affection's spring,
To soothe and cool its deadly withering!
But thou-yes, thou must go-for ever go;
This place is not for thee-for thee! oh no:
Did I but tell thee half, thy tortured brain
Would burn like mine, and mine go wild again!
Enough, that Guilt reigns here-that hearts, once good,
Now tainted, chilled, and broken, are his food.-
Enough, that we are parted-that there rolls
A flood of headlong fate between our souls,
Whose darkness severs me as wide from thee
As hell from heaven, to all eternity!"

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'Zelica, Zelica!" the youth exclaimed,

In all the tortures of a mind inflamed

Almost to madness-"by that sacred Heaven
Where yet, if prayers can move, thou'lt be forgiven.
As thou art here-here, in this writhing heart,
All sinful, wild, and ruined as thou art!
By the remembrance of our once pure love,
Which like a church-yard light still burns above
The grave of our lost souls-which guilt in thee
Cannot extinguish, nor despair in me!

I do conjure, implore thee to fly hence-
If thou hast yet one spark of innocence,
Fly with me from this place—"

"With thee! oh bliss!
'Tis worth whole years of torment to hear this.
What! take the lost one with thee?-let her rove
By thy dear side, as in those days of love,
When we were both so happy, both so pure—
Too heavenly dream! if there's on earth a cure
For the sunk heart, 'tis this—day after day
To be the blest companion of thy way;
To hear thy angel eloquence-to see
Those virtuous eyes for ever turned on me;
And, in their light re-chastened silently,
Like the stained web that whitens in the sun,
Grow pure by being purely shone upon!
And thou wilt pray for me-I know thou wilt-
At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt
Come heaviest o'er the heart, thou'lt lift thine eyes,
Full of sweet tears, unto the darkening skies,
And plead for me with Heaven, till I can dare
To fix my own weak, sinful glances there;
Till the good angels, when they see me cling
For ever near thee, pale and sorrowing,
Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven,

Page 35.

And bid thee take thy weeping slave to Heaven!
Oh yes, I'll fly with thee

Scarce had she said

These breathless words, when a voice deep and dread
As that of Monker, waking up the dead

From their first sleep-so startling 'twas to both-
Rung through the casement near, "Thy oath! thy oath !'
Oh Heaven, the ghastliness of that Maid's look!—
"Tis he," faintly she cried, while terror shook
Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her eyes,

Though through the casement, now, nought but the skie
And moonlight fields were seen, calm as before-
"'Tis he, and I am his-all, all is o'er-
Go-fly this instant, or thou'rt ruined too-
My oath, my oath, oh God! 'tis all too true,
True as the worm in this cold heart it is-
I am Mokanna's bride-his, Azim, his—
The Dead stood round us, while I spoke that vow,
Their blue lips echoed it-I hear them now!

Their eyes glared on me, while I pledged that bowl,
'Twas burning blood-I feel it in my soul!

And the Veiled Bridegroom--hist! I've seen to-night
What angels know not of-so foul a sight,
So horrible-oh! never mayst thou see
What there lies hid from all but hell and me!
But I must hence-off, off-I am not thine,
Nor Heaven's, nor Love's, nor aught that is divine-
Hold me not-ha! think'st thou the fiends that sever
Hearts cannot sunder hands?—thus, then-for ever!"

With all that strength which madness lends the weak,
She flung away his arm; and, with a shriek,
Whose sound, though he should linger out more years
Than wretch e'er told, can never leave his ears—
Flew up through that long avenue of light,

Fleetly as some dark ominous bird of night
Across the sun, and soon was out of sight!

Lalla Rookh could think of nothing all day but the misery of these two young lovers. Her gaiety was gone, and she looked pensively even upon Fadladeen. She felt, too, without knowing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure in imagining that Azim must have been just such a youth as Feramorz; just as worthy to enjoy all the blessings, without any of the pangs, of that illusive passion which too often, like the sunny apples of Istkahar,* is all sweetness on one side, and all bitterness on the other.

As they passed along a sequestered river after sunset, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank, whose employment seemed to them so strange that they stopped their palankeens to observe

* "In the territory of Istkahar there is a kind of apple, half of which is sweet and half sour."-Ebn Haukal.

her. She had lighted a small lamp, filled with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthen dish, adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand to the stream; and was now anxiously watching its progress down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. Lalla Rookh was all curiosity;-when one of her attendants, who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges, (where this ceremony is so frequent that often, in the dusk of the evening, the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like the Oton-Tala, or Sea of Stars,) formed the Princess that it was th usual way in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe return. If the lamp sank immediately, the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream, and continued to burn till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain.

in

Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than once looked back, to observe how the young Hindoo ́s lamp proceeded; and, while she saw with pleasure that it was still unextinguished, she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river. The remainder of the journey was passed in silence. She now, for the first time, felt that shade of melancholy which comes over the youthful maiden's heart, as sweet and transient as her own breath upon a mirror; nor was it till she heard the lute of Feramorz, touched lightly at the door of her pavilion, that she waked from the reverie in which she had been wandering. Instantly her eyes were lighted up with pleasure · and, after a few unheard remarks from Fadladeen upon the indecorum of a poet seating himself in presence of a Princess, everything was arranged as on the preceding evening, and all listened with eagerness, while the story was thus continued :

WHOSE are the gilded tents that crowd the way,
Where all was waste and silent yesterday?
This City of War which, in a few short hours,
Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers
Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star,
Built the high pillared halls of Chilminar,t
Had conjured up, far as the eye can see,

This world of tents, and domes, and sun-bright armoury :----
Princely pavilions, screened by many a fold

Of crimson cloth, and topped with balls of gold
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun,
Their chains and poitrels glittering in the sun;
And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's shells,
Shaking in every breeze their light-toned bells!

* The place where the Whango, a river of Thibet, rises, and where there are more than a hundred springs, which sparkle like stars; whence it is called Hotun-nor, that is, the Sea of Stars." - Description of Thibet of Pinkerton.

+ The edifices of Chilminar and Balbec are supposed to have been built by the Genii, acting under the orders of Jan ben Jan, who governed the world long before the time of Adam.