The image of love, that nightly flies

To visit the bashful maid, Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs Its soul, like her, in the shade. The hope, in dreams, of a happier hour That alights on misery's brow, Springs out of the silvery almond-flower, That blooms on a leafless bough.'

Then, hasten we, maid,

To twine our braid,

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

The visions, that oft to worldly eyes
The glitter of mines unfold,
Inhabit the mountain-herb, that dyes

The tooth of the fawn like gold.

The phantom shapes-oh touch not them

That appal the murderer's sight, Lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem, That shrieks, when torn at night! Then hasten we, maid,

To twine our braid,

To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

The dream of the injured patient mind,
That smiles at the wrongs of men,

Is found in the bruised and wounded rind
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then!
Then hasten we, maid,

To twine our braid,

To morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

No sooner was the flowery crown

Placed on her head, than sleep came down,
Gently as nights of summer fall,
Upon the lids of Nourmahal;
And, suddenly, a tuneful breeze,
As full of small rich harmonies
As ever wind, that o'er the tents
Of Azab3 blew, was full of scents,
Steals on her ear and floats and swells,
Like the first air of morning creeping
Into those wreathy, red-sea shells,

Where Love himself, of old, lay sleeping;-4
And now a spirit form'd, 't would seem,
Of music and of light, so fair,
So brilliantly his features beam,

And such a sound is in the air
Of sweetness, when he waves his wings,
Hovers around her, and thus sings:

From Chindara's5 warbling fount I come, Call'd by that moonlight garland's spell; From Chindara's fount, my fairy home,

Where in music, morn and night, I dwell;

The almond-tree, with white flowers, blossoms on the bare branches-HASSELQUIST.

2 An herb on Mount Libanus, which is said to communicate a ow golden hue to the teeth of the goats and other animals that graze upon it.

The myrrh country.

4. This idea (of deities living in shells) was not unknown to the Greeks, who represent the young Nerites, one of the Cupids, as living in shells on the shores of the Red Sea..-WILFORD.

5. A fabulous fountain, where instruments are said to be constantly playing.-RICHARDSON.

Where lutes in the air are heard about,

And voices are singing the whole day long, And every sigh the heart breathes out Is turn'd, as it leaves the lips, to song! Hither I come

From my fairy home,

And if there's a magic in music's strain,
I swear by the breath

Of that moonlight wreath,
Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again.

For mine is the lay that lightly floats,
And mine are the murmuring dying notes,
That fall as soft as snow on the sea,
And melt in the heart as instantly!
And the passionate strain, that deeply going,
Refines the bosom it trembles through,
As the musk-wind, over the water blowing,
Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too!

Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway
The spirits of past delight obey;-
Let but the tuneful talisman sound,
And they come, like Genii, hovering round.
And mine is the gentle song, that bears
From soul to soul, the wishes of love,
As a bird, that wafts through genial airs
The cinnamon seed from grove to grove.'

Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure
The past, the present, and future of pleasure;
When Memory links the tone that is gone

With the blissful tone that 's still in the ear; And hope from a heavenly note flies on

To a note more heavenly still that is near!

The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me,
Can as downy soft and as yielding be

As his own white plume, that high amid death Through the field has shone-yet moves with a breath.

And, oh how the eyes of beauty glisten,

When music has reach'd her inward soul, Like the silent stars, that wink and listen While heaven's eternal melodies roll!

So, hither I come

From my fairy home,

And if there's a magic in music's strain,
I swear by the breath

Of that moonlight wreath,
Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again.

Tis dawn-at least that earlier dawn,
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn,”
As if the morn had waked, and then
Shut close her lids of light again.
And Nourmahal is up, and trying

The wonders of her lute, whose stringsOh bliss-now murmur like the sighing From that ambrosial Spirit's wings!

1. The Pompadour pigeon is the species which, by carrying the frait of the cinnamon to different places, is a great disseminator of this valuable tree.-See Baows's Illustr. Tab. 19.

1. They have two mornings, the Soobhi Kazim, and the Soobbi Sadig, the false and the real day-break.-WARING.

And then, her voice-'tis more than humanNever, till now, had it been given

To lips of any mortal woman

To utter notes so fresh from heaven; Sweet as the breath of angel sighs,

When angel sighs are most divine.-Oh! let it last till night,» she cries,

« And he is more than ever mine.»>

And hourly she renews the lay,

So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness Should, ere the evening, fade away,

For things so heavenly have such fleetness! But, far from fading, it but grows

Richer, diviner as it flows;

Till rapt she dwells on every string, And pours again each sound along, Like echo, lost and languishing

In love with her own wondrous song.
That evening (trusting that his soul

Might be from haunting love released
By mirth, by music, and the bowl)
The Imperial Selim held a feast
In his magnificent Shalimar;-

In whose saloons, when the first star
Of evening o'er the waters trembled,
The valley's loveliest all assembled:
All the bright creatures that, like dreams,
Glide through its foliage, and drink beams
Of beauty from its founts and streams,'
And all those wandering minstrel-maids,
Who leave-how can they leave?—the shades
Of that dear valley, and are found
Singing in gardens of the south
Those songs, that ne'er so sweetly sound

As from a young Cashmerian's mouth.
There too the Haram's inmates smile;-

Maids from the west, with sun-bright hair, And from the garden of the Nile,

Delicate as the roses there;-3
Daughters of Love from Cyprus' rocks,
With Paphian diamonds in their locks;-4
Light Peri forms, such as there are
On the gold meads of Candahar;5
And they, before whose sleepy eyes,
In their own bright Kathaian bowers,
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies,

That they might fancy the rich flowers,

1. The waters of Cachemir are the more renowned from its being supposed that the Cachemirians are indebted for their beauty to them." ALI YEZDI.

2. From him I received the following little Gazzel, or Love Song, the notes of which he committed to paper from the voice of one of those singing girls of Cachmere, who wander from that delightful valley over the various parts of India.-Persian Miscellanies.

3 The roses of the Jinan Nile, or Garden of the Nile (attached to the Emperor of Morocco's palace) are unequalled, and matrasses are made of their leaves for the men of rank to recline upon..-JACK

That round them in the sun lay sighing,
Had been by magic all set flying!
Every thing young, every thing fair,
From east and west is blushing there:
Except-except-oh Nourmahal!
Thou loveliest, dearest of them all,
The
one, whose smile shone out alone,
Amidst a world the only one!
Whose light, among so many lights,
Was like that star, on starry nights,
The seaman singles from the sky,
To steer his bark for ever by!

Thou wert not there-so Selim thought,

And every thing seem'd drear without thee: But ah! thou wert, thou wert-and brought Thy charm of song all fresh about thee; Mingling unnoticed with a band

Of lutanists from many a land,
And veil'd by such a mask as shades
The features of young Arab maids,-'
A mask that leaves but one eye free,
To do its best in witchery,-
She roved, with beating heart, around,
And waited, trembling, for the minute
When she might try if still the sound

Of her loved lute had magic in it.

The board was spread with fruits and wine;
With grapes of gold, like those that shine
On Casbin's hills;2-pomegranates full

Of melting sweetness, and the pears
And sunniest apples 3 that Caubul

In all its thousand gardens bears; Plantains, the golden and the green, Malaya's nectar'd mangusteen ;5 Prunes of Bokara, and sweet nuts

From the far groves of Samarcand, And Basra dates, and apricots,

Seed of the Sun,6 from Iran's land ;With rich conserve of Visna cherries,7 Of orange flowers, and of those berries That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles Feed on in Erac's rocky dells.8

All these in richest vases smile,

In baskets of pure sandal-wood, And urns of porcelain from that isle9 Sunk underneath the Indian flood,

1 The Arabian women wear black masks with little clasps, prettily ordered.-CARRERI NIEUR mentions their showing but one eye in conversation.

2 The golden grapes of Casbin.-Description of Persia.

3. The fruits exported from Caubul are apples, pears, pomegranates, etc.-ELPRINSTONE.

4. We sat down under a tree, listened to the birds, and talked with! the son of our Mehmaundar about our country and Caubul, of which he gave an enchanting account that city and its hundred thousand gardens, etc.—Id.

The Mangusteen, the most delicate fruit in the world; the pride of the Malay Islands.- MARSDEN.

6. A delicious kind of apricot, called by the Persians tokm-ekshems, signifying sun's seed..-Descript. of Persia.

7. Sweetmeats in a crystal cup, consisting of rose-leaves in conserve, with lemon or Visna cherry, orange flowers, etc.-Reun. Antelopes cropping the fresh berries of Erac.—The Meallakat, a poem of TARAVA.

* Mauri-ga-Sima, an island near Formosa, supposed to have been sunk in the sea for the crimes of its inhabitants. The vessels which the fishermen and divers bring up from it are sold at an immense price in China and Japan.-Sec KEMPFER,

Whence oft the lucky diver brings
Vases to grace the halls of kings.
Wines too, of every clime and hue,
Around their liquid lustre threw;

Amber Rosolli,'-—the bright dew
From vineyards of the Green-Sea gushing;2
And Shiraz wine, that richly ran

As if that jewel, large and rare, The ruby, for which Kublai-Khan Offer'd a city's wealth,3 was blushing, Melted within the goblets there!

And amply Selim quaffs of each,
And seems resolved the floods shall reach
His inward heart,—shedding around

A genial deluge, as they run,

That soon shall leave no spot undrown'd, For Love to rest his wings upon.

He little knew how well the boy,

Can float upon a goblet's streams, Lighting them with his smile of joy ;—

As bards have seen him, in their dreams, Down the blue Ganges laughing glide Upon a rosy lotus wreath,4 Catching new lustre from the tide

That with his image shone beneath.

But what are cups, without the aid

Of song to speed them as they flow? And see-a lovely Georgian maid,

With all the bloom, the freshen'd glow Of her own country maidens' looks, When warm they rise from Teflis brooks; 5 And with an eye, whose restless ray,

Full, floating, dark-oh he, who knows His heart is weak, of Heaven should pray, To guard him from such eyes as those! With a voluptuous wildness flings Her snowy hand across the strings Of a syrinda, and thus sings:

Come hither, come hither-by night and by day,
We linger in pleasures that never are gone;
Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away,
Another as sweet and as shining comes on.
And the love that is o'er, in expiring gives birth
To a new one as warm, as unequall'd in bliss;
And oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.

Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh As the flower of the Amra just oped by a bee ;7

1 Persian Tales.

2. The white wine of Kishma.

And precious their tears as that rain from the sky,'
Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea.
Oh! think what the kiss and the smile must be worth,
When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss;
And own, if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.

Here sparkles the nectar that, hallow'd by love,
Could draw down those angels of old from their sphere,
Who for wine of this earth left the fountains above,
And forgot Heaven's stars for the eyes we have here.
And, bless'd with the odour our goblet gives forth,
What spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss?
For oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.

The Georgian's song was scarcely mute,

When the same measure, sound for sound, Was caught up by another lute,

And so divinely breathed around,

That all stood hush'd and wondering,

And turn'd and look'd into the air,

As if they thought to see the wing,
Of Israfil, the angel, there;
So powerfully on every soul
That new, enchanted measure stole.
While now a voice, sweet as the note
Of the charm'd lute, was heard to float

Along its chords, and so entwine

Its sound with theirs, that none knew whether The voice or lute was most divine,

So wondrously they went together:

There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing and brow never cold,

Love on through all ills, and love on till they die! One hour of a passion so sacred is worth

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss ;
And oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.

'T was not the air, 't was not the words,
But that deep magic in the chords
And in the lips, that gave such power
As music knew not till that hour.
At once a hundred voices said,

« It is the mask'd Arabian maid!»
While Selim, who had felt the strain
Deepest of any, and had lain
Some minutes wrapt, as in a trance,

After the fairy sounds were o'er,
Too inly touch'd for utterance,

Now motion'd with his hand for more:

Fly to the desert, fly with me,

Our Arab tents are rude for thee;

But oh! the choice what heart can doubt Of tents with love, or thrones without?

The Nisan, or drops of spring rain, which they believe to produce pearls if they fall into shells, RICHARDSON. For an account of the share which wine had in the fall of the an

The Angel of Music.-See note, p. 46

As if 't were fix'd by magic there,—
And naming her, so long unnamed,
So long unseen, wildly exclaim'd,
«Oh, Nourmahal! oh, Nourmahal!
Hadst thou but sung this witching strain,

I could forget-forgive thee all,
And never leave those eyes again.»
The mask is off-the charm is wrought-
And Selim to his heart has caught,
In blushes, more than ever bright,
His Nourmahal, his Haram's Light!
And well do vanish'd frowns enhance
The charm of every brighten'd glance;
And dearer seems each dawning smile
For having lost its light awhile;
And, happier now for all her sighs,

As on his arm her head reposes,
She whispers him, with laughing eyes,

« Remember, love, the Feast of Roses!»

The

FADLADEEN, at the conclusion of this light rhapsody, took occasion to sum up his opinion of the young Cashmerian's poetry,-of which, he trusted, they had that evening heard the last. Having recapitulated the epithets, «frivolous » — «inharmonious»> -nonsensical,» he proceeded to say that, viewing it in the most favourable light, it resembled one of those Maldivian boats, to which the Princess had alluded in the relation of her dream,'-a slight, gilded thing, sent adrift without rudder or ballast, and with nothing but vapid sweets and faded flowers on board. The profusion, indeed, of flowers and birds, which this poet had ready on all occasions-not to mention dews, gems, etc.was a most oppressive kind of opulence to his hearers; and had the unlucky effect of giving to his style all the glitter of the flower-garden without its method, and all the flutter of the aviary without its song. In addition to this, he chose his subjects badly, and was always most inspired by the worst parts of them. charms of paganism, the merits of rebellion,-these were the themes honoured with his particular enthusiasm; and in the poem just recited, one of his most palatable passages was in praise of that beverage of the ! Unfaithful, wine; « being, perhaps,» said he, relaxing into a smile, as conscious of his own character in the Haram on this point, «one of those bards whose fancy owes all its illumination to the grape, like that painted porcelain, so curious and so rare, whose images are only visible when liquor is poured into it.» Upon the whole, it was his opinion, from the specimens which they had heard, and which, he begged to say, were the most tiresome part of the journey, that-whatever ¦ other merits this well-dressed young gentleman might possess-poetry was by no means his proper avocation; << and indeed,» concluded the critic, « from his fondness for flowers and for birds, I would venture to suggest that a florist or a bird-catcher is a much more suitable calling for him than a poet.»

They had now begun to ascend those barren mountains, which separate Cashmere from the rest of India; and, as the heats were intolerable, and the time of their encamp meuts limited to the few hours necessary for refresh

• See page 39.