Tell me not of joys above,

If that world can give no bliss, Truer, happier than the Love Which enslaves our souls in this!

Tell me not of Houris' eyes:

Far from me their dangerous glow. If those looks that light the skies

Wound like some that bura below!

Who that feels what Love is here,

All its falsehood-all its painWould, for even Elysium's sphere, Risk the fatal dream again?

Who, that 'inidst a desert's heat Sces the waters fade away, Would not rather die than meet

Streams again as false as they?

The tone of melancholy defiance in which these words were uttered went to Lalla Rookh's heart;-and as she reluctantly rode on, she could not help feeling it as a sad but sweet certainty, that Feramorz was to the full as enamoured and miserable as herself.

The place where they encamped that evening was the first delightful spot they had come to since they left Lahore. On one side of them was a grove full of small Hindoo temples, and planted with the most graceful trees of the East; where the tamarind, the cassia, and the silken plantains of Ceylon were mingled in rich | contrast with the high fan-like foliage of the Palmyra, -that favourite tree of the luxurious bird that lights up the chambers of its nest with fire-flies.' In the middle of the lawn where the pavilion stood there was a bank surrounded by small mangoe-trees, ou the clear cold waters of which floated multitudes of the beautiful red

lotus; while at a distance stood the ruins of a strange and awful-looking tower, which seemed old enough to have been the temple of some religion no longer known, and which spoke the voice of desolation in the midst of all that bloom and loveliness. This singular ruin excited the wonder and conjectures of all. I dla Rookh guessed in vain, and the all-pretending FadJadeen, who had never till this journey been beyond the precincts of Delhi, was proceeding most learnedly to show that he knew nothing whatever about the matter, when one of the ladies suggested, that perhaps Feramorz could satisfy their curiosity. They were now approaching his native mountains, and this tower might be a relic of some of those dark superstitions, which had prevailed in that country before the light of Islam dawned upon it. The Chamberlain, who usually preferred his own ignorance to the best knowledge that any one else could give him, was by no means pleased with this officious reference; and the Princess, too, was about to interpose a faint word of objection, but, before either of them could speak, a slave was dispatched for Feramorz, who, in a very few minutes, appeared before them,-looking so pale and unhappy in Lall Rookh's eyes, that she already repented of her cruelty in a wing SO long excluded him.

That venerable tower, he told them, was the remains

alternative of apostacy or persecution in their own. It was impossible, he added, not to feel interested in the many glorious but unsuccessful struggles, which had been made by these original natives of Persia to cast off the yoke of their bigoted conquerors. Like their own Fire in the Burning Field at Bakou,' when suppressed in one place, they had but broken out with fresh flame in another; and, as a native of Cashmere, of that fair and Holy Valley, which had in the same manner become the prey of strangers, and seen her ancient shrines and native princes swept away before the march of her intolerant invaders, he felt a sympathy, he owned, with the sufferings of the persecuted Ghebers, which every monument like this before them but tended more powerfully to awaken.

It was the first time that Feramorz had ever ventured upon so much prose before Fadladeen, and it may easily be conceived what effect such prose as this must have produced on that most orthodox and most paganhating personage. He sat for some minutes aghast, cjaculating only at intervals « Bigoted conquerors!—sympathy with Fire-worshippers!»-while Feramorz, happy to take advantage of this almost speechless horror of the Chamberlain, proceeded to say that he knew a melancholy story, connected with the events of one of those brave struggles of the Fire-worshippers of Persia against their Arab masters, which, if the evening was not too far advanced, he should have much pleasure in being allowed to relate to the Princess. It was impossible for Lalla Rookh to refuse;—he had never before looked half so animated, and when he spoke of the Holy Valley, his eyes had sparkled, she thought, like the tali»-manic characters on the scimitar of Solomon. Her consent was therefore most readily granted, and while Fadladeen sat in unspeakable dismay, expecting treason and abomination in every line, the poet thus began his story of the Fire-worshippers:

THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.

'Tis moonlight over Oman's sea;3 Her banks of pearl and palmy isles Bask in the night-beam beauteously,

And her blue waters sleep in smiles. Tis moonlight in Harmozia's walls, And through her Emir's porphyry halls, Where, some hours since, was heard the swell Of trumpet and the clash of zelf Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell ;— The peaceful sun, whom better suits The music of the bulbul's nest, Or the light touch of lovers lutes,

To sing him to his golden rest!

All hush d-there's not a breeze in motion, The shore is silent as the ocean.

The Agar ideas, described by Kesers, Aminitat. Ext. 2 The Persian feulf, sometimes so calle 1, which separates the shores of Persia and Arabia.

The present Gombate on town on the Persians de of the Gull
A Moorisht i strument et mit

If zephyrs come, so light they come,

Nor leaf is stirr'd nor wave is driven; The wind-tower on the Emir's dome1

Can hardly win a breath from heaven.

Even he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps
Calm, while a nation round him weeps;
While curses load the air he breathes,
And falchions from unnumber'd sheaths
Are starting to avenge the shame
His race hath brought on Iran's name.
Hard, heartless Chief, unmoved alike
'Mid eyes that weep and swords that strike;-
One of that saintly, murderous brood,

To carnage and the Koran given,
Who think through unbelievers blood
Lies their directest path to heaven.
One, who will pause and kneel unshod

In the warm blood his hand hath pour'd, To mutter o'er some text of God

Engraven on his reeking sword;-3
Nay, who can coolly note the line,
The letter of those words divine,

To which his blade, with searching art,
Had sunk into its victim's heart!

Just Alla! what must be thy look,

When such a wretch before thee stands Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,

Turning the leaves with blood-stain'd hands, And wresting from its page sublime His creed of lust and hate and crime? Even as those bees of Trebizond,—

Which from the sunniest flowers that glad With their pure smile the gardens round, Draw venom forth that drives men mad! 4 Never did fierce Arabia send

A satrap forth more direly great; Never was Iran doom'd to bend

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight.

Her throne had fall'n-her pride was crush'dHer sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd, In their own land,-no more their own,To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. Her towers, where Mithra once had burn'd To Moslem shrines-oh shame!-were turn'd, Where slaves, converted by the sword, Their mean apostate worship pour'd, And cursed the faith their sires adored. Yet has she hearts, 'mid all this ill, O'er all this wreck high buoyant still With hope and vengeance!--hearts that yet,— Like gems, in darkness issuing rays They've treasured from the sun that 's set,— Beam all the light of long-lost days! And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow To second all such hearts can dare;

3. Iran is the true general name for the empire of Persia. Asiat. Bes. Disc. 5.

As he shall know, well, dearly know,

Who sleeps in moonlight luxury there,
Tranquil as if his spirit lay
Becalm'd in Heaven's approving ray!

Sleep on-for purer eyes than thine
Those waves are hush'd, those planets shine.
Sleep on, and be thy rest unmoved

By the white moon-beam's dazzling pow'r ;None but the loving and the loved

Should be awake at this sweet hour.

And see-where, high above those rocks
That o'er the deep their shadows thing,
Yon turret stands;-where ebon locks,
As glossy as a heron's wing
Upon the turban of a king, '

Hang from the lattice, long and wild,—
- Tis she, that Emir's blooming child,
All truth and tenderness and grace,
Though born of such ungentle race ;—
An image of Youth's radiant Fountain
Springing in a desolate mountain! *
Oh! what a pure and sacred thing

Is Beauty, curtain'd from the sight
Of the gross world, illumining

One only mansion with her light! Unseen by man's disturbing eye,—

The flower, that blooms beneath the sea Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie

Hid in more chaste obscurity!
So, Hinda, have thy face and mind,
Like holy mysteries, lain enshrined.
And oh what transport for a lover

To lift the veil that shades them o'er!Like those, who all at once, discover

In the lone deep some fairy shore, Where mortal never trod before, And sleep and wake in scented airs No lip had ever breathed but theirs!

Beautiful are the maids that glide,

On summer-eves, through Yemen's3 dales, And bright the glancing looks they hide Behind their litters' roseate veils ;And brides, as delicate and fair As the white jasmine flowers they wear, Hath Yemen in her blissful clime,

Who, lull'd in cool kiosk or bower, Before their mirrors count the time, And grow still lovelier every hour. But never yet hath bride or maid In Araby's gay Harams smiled, Whose boasted brightness would not fade Before Al Hassan's blooming child.

Light as the angel shapes that bless
An infant's dream, yet not the less
Rich in all woman's loveliness;-
With eyes so pure, that from their ray
Dark Vice would turn abash'd away,

3. The Fountain of Youth by a Mahometan tradition, is situated

in some dark region of the East.-RICHARDSON.

Arabia Felts.

Blinded, like serpents when they gaze
Upon the emerald's virgin blaze !—
Yet, fill'd with all youth's sweet desires,
Mingling the meek and vestal fires
Of other worlds with all the bliss,
The fond, weak tenderness of this!
A soul, too, more than half divine,

Where, through some shades of earthly feeling, Religion's soften'd glories shine,

Like light through summer foliage stealing,
Shedding a glow of such mild hue,
So warm, and yet so shadowy too,
As makes the very darkness there
More beautiful than light elsewhere!

Such is the maid who, at this hour,

Hath risen from her restless sleep, And sits alone in that high bower, Watching the still and shining deep. Ah!t was not thus,-with tearful eyes And beating heart,-she used to gaze On the magnificent earth and skies,

In her own land, in happier days. Why looks she now so anxious down Among those rocks, whose rugged frown Blackens the mirror of the deep? Whom waits she all this lonely night?

Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep, For man to scale that turret's height!—

So deem'd at least her thoughtful sire, When high to catch the cool night-air, After the day-beam's withering fire,

He built her bower of freshness there, And had it deck'd with costliest skill,

And fondly thought it safe as fair :Think, reverend dreamer! think so still,

Nor wake to learn what Love can dareLove, all-defying Love, who sees No charm in trophies won with ease;— Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss Are pluck'd on Danger's precipice! Bolder than they, who dare not dive

For pearls, but when the sea 's at rest, Love, in the tempest most alive,

Hath ever held that pearl the best He finds beneath the stormiest water! Yes-Araby's unrivall'd daughter, Though high that tower, that rock-way rude, There's one who, but to kiss thy cheek, Would climb the untrodden solitude

Of Ararat's tremendous peak,3

And think its steeps, though dark and dread,
Heaven's path-ways, if to thee they led!
Even now thou seest the flashing spray,
That lights his oar's impatient way;
Even now thou hear'st the sudden shock
Of his swift bark against the rock,
And stretchest down thy arms of snow,
As if to lift him from below!

She loves-but knows not whom she loves,
Nor what his race, nor whence he came ;-
Like one who meets, in Indian groves.

Some beauteous bird, without a name,
Brought by the last ambrosial breeze,
From isles in the undiscover'd seas,
To show his plumage for a day
To wondering eyes, and wing away!
Will he thus fly-her nameless lover?
Alla forbid! 't was by a moon
As fair as this, while singing over

Some ditty to her soft Kanoon, 3
Alone, at this same witching hour,
She first beheld his radiant eyes
Gleam through the lattice of the bower,
Where nightly now they mix their sighs;
And thought some spirit of the air
(For what could waft a mortal there?)
Was pausing on his moonlight way

To listen to her lonely lay!

This fancy ne'er hath left her mind:
And-though, when terror's swoon had past,
She saw a youth, of mortal kind,

Before her in obeisance cast,

Yet often since, when he hath spoken
Strange, awful words,-and gleams have broken
From his dark eyes, too bright to bear,
Oh! she hath fear'd her soul was given
To some unhallow'd child of air,

Some erring Spirit, cast from heaven,
Like those angelic youths of old,
Who burn'd for maids of mortal mould,
Bewilder'd left the glorious skies,
And lost their Heaven for woman's eyes!

Fond girl! nor fiend nor angel he, Who woos thy young simplicity; But one of earth's impassion'd sons,

As warm in love, as fierce in ire,

In one of the books of the Shah Nahmeh, when Zal (a celebrated hero of Persia, remarkable for his white bair) comes to the terrace of his mistress, Rodaliver, at night, she lets down her long tresses to assist him in his ascent;-be, however, manages it in a less romantic way, by fixing his crook in a projecting beam.-Sec CHAMPION & Fer |

these stones

On the lofty huls of Araba Petry are rock-goats.

3 Cauan, espèce de psalterion, avec des cordes de boyaux, les dames en touchent dans le serrail, av des désailles, armées de pointes d comm, TopTANI, translated by Dr COURNAND.

As the best heart whose current runs Full of the Day-God's living fire!

But quench'd to-night that ardour seems, And pale his cheek, and sunk his brow ;Never before, but in her dreams,

Had she beheld him pale as now: And those were dreams of troubled sleep, From which it was joy to wake and weep; Visions, that will not be forgot,

But sadden every waking scene, Like warning ghosts, that leave the spot All wither'd where they once have been!

How sweetly,» said the trembling maid, Of her own gentle voice afraid, So long had they in silence stood, Looking upon that tranquil floodHow sweetly does the moon-beam smile To-night upon you leafy isle! Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, I've wish'd that little isle had wings, And we, within its fairy bowers,

Were wafted off to seas unknown, Where not a pulse should beat but ours, And we might live, love, die alone! Far from the cruel and the cold,

Where the bright eyes of angels only
Should come around us, to behold

A paradise so pure and lonely!
Would this be world enough for thee?-
Playful she turn'd that he might see

The passing smile her cheek put on;
But when she mark'd how mournfully

His eyes met hers, that smile was gone; And, bursting into heart-felt tears,

Yes, yes,» she cried, « my hourly fears,
My dreams have boded all too right-
We part-for ever part-to-night!
I knew, I knew it could not last-

T was bright, 't was heavenly, but 't is past!
Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour,
I've seen my fondest hopes decay,

I never loved a tree or flower,
But it was the first to fade away.

eye,

I never nursed a dear gazelle,
To glad me with its soft black
But when it came to know me well,
And love me, it was sure to die'
Now 100-the joy most like divine
Of all I ever dreamt or knew,
To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,
Oh, misery! must I lose that too!
Yet go-on peril's brink we meet;

Those frightful rocks-that treacherous sea-
No, never come again-though sweet,
Though Heaven, it may be death to thee.
Farewell-and blessings on thy way,
Where'er thou goest, beloved stranger!
Better to sit and watch that ray,
And think thee safe, though far away,

Than have thee near me, and in danger!»
<< Danger!--Oh, tempt me not to boast--»
The youth exclaim'd-« thou little know'st
What he can brave, who, born and nurst
In Danger's paths, has dared her worst!

Upon whose ear the signal-word
Of strife and death is hourly breaking;
Who sleeps with head upon the sword
His fever'd hand must grasp in waking!
Danger!->

« Say on-thou fear'st not then, And we may meet-oft meet again?»

«Oh! look not so,-beneath the skies I now fear nothing but those eyes. If aught on earth could charm or force My spirit from its destined course,— If aught could make this soul forget The bond to which its seal is set, Twould be those eyes;—they, only they, Could melt that sacred seal away! But no-t is fix'd-my awful doom Is fixed-on this side of the tomb We meet no more-why, why did Heaven Mingle two souls that earth has riven, Has rent asunder wide as ours? Oh, Arab maid! as soon the Powers Of Light and Darkness may combine, As I be link'd with thee or thine! Thy Father-}}}

« Holy Alla save

His grey head from that lightning glance'
Thou know'st him not-he loves the brave;
Nor lives there under heaven's expanse
One who would prize, would worship thee,
And thy bold spirit, more than he.
Oft when, in childhood, I have play'd

With the bright falchion by his side,
I've heard him swear his lisping maid

In time should be a warrior's bride.
And still, whene er, at Haram hours,
I take him cool sherbets and flowers,
He tells me, when in playful mood,
A hero shall my bridegroom be,
Since maids are best in battle woo'd,

And won with shouts of victory!
Nay, turn not from me-thou alone
Art form'd to make both hearts thy own
Go-join his sacred ranks-thou know'st

The unholy strife these Persians wage :—
Good Heaven, that frown!-even now thou glow'st
With more than mortal warrior's rage.
Haste to the camp by morning's light.
And, when that sword is raised in fight,
Oh still remember Love and I
Beneath its shadow trembling lie!
One victory o'er those Slaves of Fire,
Those impious Ghebers, whom my sire
Abhors--

«Hold, hold-thy words are death-» The stranger cried, as wild he flung His mantle back, and show'd beneath The Gheber belt that round him clung. — Here, maiden, look-weep-blush to see All that thy sire abhors in me!

They (the Ghebers) lay so much stress on their cushee, or gir dle, as not to dare to be an instant without it..-Grost's Foyage. Le jeune homme nia d'abord la chose; mais, ayant été dépouillé de sa robe, et la large ceinture qu'il portait comme Ghebr, etc etc.D'HERBELOT, art. Agduani.

Yes-I am of that impious race,

Those Slaves of Fire who, morn and even, Hail their Creator's dwelling-place

Among the living lights of heaven! ' Yes-I am of that outcast few,

swear,

To Iran and to vengeance true,
Who curse the hour your Arabs came
To desolate our shrines of flame,
And
before God's burning eye,
To break our country's chains, or die!
Thy bigot sire-nay, tremble not-
He, who gave birth to those dear eyes,
With me is sacred as the spot

From which our fires of worship rise!
But know-t was he I sought that night,
When, from my watch-boat on the sea,
I caught this turret 's glimmering light,
And up the rude rocks desperately
Rush'd to my prey :-thou know'st the rest-
I climb'd the gory vulture's nest,
And found a trembling dove within;-
Thine, thine the victory-thine the sin—
If Love hath made one thought his own,
That Vengeance claims first-last-alone!
Oh! had we never, never met,

Or could this heart even now forget
How link'd, how bless'd we might have been,
Had Fate not frown'd so dark between!
Hadst thou been born a Persian maid,

In neighbouring valleys had we dwelt,
Through the same fields in childhood play'd,
At the same kindling altar knelt,-
Then, then, while all those nameless ties,
In which the charm of Country lies,
Had round our hearts been hourly spun,
Till Iran's cause and thine were one;—
While in thy lute's awakening sigh
I heard the voice of days gone by,
And saw in every smile of thine

Returning hours of glory shine!—

While the wrong'd Spirit of our Land

Where lights, like charnel meteors, burn'd

Bluely, as o'er some seaman's grave; And fiery darts, at intervals,'

Flew up all sparkling from the main,

As if each star that nightly falls,

Were shooting back to heaven again.

My signal-lights!-I must away-
Both, both are ruin'd, if I stay.

Farewell-sweet life! thou cling'st in vain-
Now Vengeance!—I am thine again.»
Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp'd,
Nor look'd-but from the lattice dropp'd
Down 'mid the pointed crags beneath,
As if he fled from love to death.

While pale and mute young Ilinda stood,
Nor moved, till in the silent flood

A momentary plunge below

Startled her from her trance of woe ;-
Shrieking she to the lattice flew,

« I come-I come-if in that tide
Thou sleep'st to-night-I'll sleep there too,
In death's cold wedlock by thy side.
Oh! I would ask no happier bed

Than the chill wave my love lies under ;— Sweeter to rest together dead,

Far sweeter, than to live asunder!»
But no-their hour is not yet come-
Again she sees his pinnace fly,
Wafting him fleetly to his home,

Where'er that ill-starr'd home may lie;
And calm and smooth it seem'd to win
Its moonlight way before the wind,
As if it bore all peace within,

Nor left one breaking heart behind!

God who could then this sword withstand?

Its very flash were victory!

But now-estranged, divorced for ever,
Far as the grasp of Fate can sever;

Our only ties what Love has wove,

Faith, friends, and country, sunder'd wide;And then, then only, true to love,

When false to all that's dear beside!
Thy father Iran's deadliest foc-
Thyself, perhaps, even now-but no-
Hate never look'd so lovely yet!

No-sacred to thy soul will be
The land of him who could forget
All but that bleeding; land for thee!
When other eyes shall see, unmoved,

Her widows mourn, her warriors fall,
Thou it think how well one Gheber loved,
And for his sake thou It weep for all!
But look-

((-

With sudden start he turn'd And pointed to the distant wave,

They suppose the Throne of the Almighty is seated in the sun. and hence then worship of that luminary-HASWAY.

as if he had chewed the leaves of that enchanted tree, which

grows over the tomb of the musician, Tan-Sein. Their road all the morning had lain through a very dreary country;-through valleys, covered with a low bushy jungle, where, in more than one place, the awful signal of the bamboo-staff, with the white flag at its top. reminded the traveller that in that very spot the tiger had made some human creature his victim. It was therefore with much pleasure that they arrived at sunset in a safe and lovely glen, and encamped under one of those holy trees, whose smooth columns and spreading 1oofs seem to destine them for natural temples of religion. Beneath the shade, some pious hands had erected pillars ornamented with the most beautiful porcelain, which now supplied the use of mirrors to the young maidens. as they adjusted their hair in descending from the palankeens. Here while, as usual, the Princess sat listening anxiously, with Fadladeen in one of his loftiest moods of criticism by her side, the young Poct, leaning against a branch of the tree, thus continued his story :—

The Mameluks that were in the other boat, when it was dark used to shoot up a sort of hery arrows into the aut, which in some tarasure resembled ligbining of talling stats.-BADGARTEN.