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“ Thro' many a Prophet's breast;1 - in Issa? shone, “And in MOHAMMED burned ; till, hastening on, “(As a bright river that, from fall to fall “In many a maze descending, bright through all, “Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth past, “In one full lake of light it rests at last,) “ That Holy Spirit, settling calm and free “From lapse or shadow, centres all in me!"

Again, throughout the assembly, at these words, Thousands of voices rung: the warriors' swords Were pointed up to heaven: a sudden wind In the open banners played, and from behind Those Persian hangings, that but ill could screen The Haram's loveliness, white hands were seen Waving embroidered scarves, whose motion gave A perfume forth — like those the Houris wave When beckoning to their bowers the’ immortal Brave.

“But these,” pursued the Chief,“ are truths sublime, “ That claim a holier mood and calmer time “Than earth allows us now ;--this sword must first “The darkling prison-house of Mankind burst, "Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in “Her wakening daylight on a world of sin. “But then, - celestial warriors, then, when all “Earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall;

1 This is according to D'Herbelot's account of the doctrines of Mokanna:– “Sa doctrine étoit, que Dieu avoit pris une forme et figure hunaine, depuis qu'il eut commandé aux Anges d'adorer Adam, le premier des hommes. Qu'après la mort d'Adam, Dieu étoit apparu sous la figure de plusieurs Prophètes, et autres grands hommes qu'il avoit choisis, jusqu'à ce qu'il prit celle d'Abu Moslem, Prince de Khorassan, lequel professoit l'erreur de la Tenassukhiah ou Metempschychose ; et qu'après la mort de ce Prince, la Divinité étoit passée, et descendue en sa personne.”

3 Jesus.

“When the glad Slave shall at these feet lay down “His broken chain, the tyrant Lord his crown, “The Priest his book, the Conqueror his wreath, “ And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath “ Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze " That whole dark pile of human mockeries ; — “ Then shall the reign of mind commence on earth, " And starting fresh as from a second birth, “Man, in the sunshine of the world's new spring, “Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing ! “ Then, too, your Prophet from his angel brow “Shall cast the Veil that hides its splendors now, “And gladdened Earth shall, thro' her wide expanse, “ Bask in the glories of this countenance !

“For thee, young warrior, welcome ! -- thou hast yet “Some tasks to learn, some frailties to forget, "Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can wave;“But, once my own, mine all till in the grave !"

The pomp is at an end - the crowds are gone — Each ear and heart still haunted by the tone Of that deep voice, which thrilled like ALLA's own! The Young all dazzled by the plumes and lances, The glittering throne, and Haram's half-caught glances; The Old deep pondering on the promised reign Of peace and truth ; and all the female train Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze !

But there was one, among the chosen maids, Who blushed behind the gallery's silken shades,

One, to whose soul the pageant of to-day
Has been like death ! — you saw her pale dismay,
Ye wondering sisterhood, and heard the burst
Of exclamation from her lips, when first
She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known,
Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne.

Ah ZELICA! there was a time, when bliss Shone o'er thy heart from every look of his ; When but to see him, hear him, breathe the air In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer; When round him hung such a perpetual spell, Whate'er he did, none ever did so well. Too happy days! when, if he touched a flower Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour; When thou didst study him till every tone And gesture and dear look became thy own, Thy voice like his, the changes of his face In thine reflected with still lovelier grace, Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught With twice the aëriál sweetness it had brought ! Yet now he comes, - brighter than even he E’er beamed before, - but, ah! not bright for thee, No — dread, unlooked for, like a visitant From the other world, he comes as if to haunt Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight, Long lost to all but memory's aching *sight;Sad dreams! as when the Spirit of our Youth Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth And innocence once ours, and leads us back, In mournful mockery, o'er the shining track Of our young life, and points out every ray Of hope and peace we've lost upon the way!

Once happy pair!- In proud BOKHARA's groves, Who had not heard of their first youthful loves? Born by that ancient flood,' which from its spring In the dark Mountains swiftly wandering, Enriched by every pilgrim brook that shines With relics from BUCHARIA's ruby mines, And, lending to the Caspian half its strength, In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length;There, on the banks of that bright river born, The flowers, that hung above its wave at morn, Blessed not the waters, as they murmured by, With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh And virgin-glance of first affection cast Upon their youth's smooth current, as it passed ! But war disturbed this vision, — far away From her fond eyes summoned to join the array Of PERSIA's warriors on the hills of THRACE, The youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling-place For the rude tent and war-field's deathful clash; His ZELICA's sweet glances for the flash Of Grecian wild-fire, and Love's gentle chains For bleeding bondage on BYZANTIUM's plains.

Month after month, in widowhood of soul Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll Their suns away — but, ah, how cold and dim Ev'n summer suns, when not beheld with him! From time to time ill-omened rumors came, Like spirit-tongues, muttering the sick man's name,

1 The Amoo, which rises in the Belur Tag, or Dark Mountains, and running nearly from east to west, splits into two branches; one of which falls into the Caspian Sea, and the other into Aral Nahr, or the Lake of Eagles,

Just ere he dies ; — at length those sounds of dread
Fell withering on her soul, “Azim is dead!”
O Grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate
First leaves the young heart lone and desolate
In the wide world, without that only tie
For which it loved to live or feared to die; -
Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken
Since the sad day its master-chord was broken!

Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such,
Ev'n reason sunk, - blighted beneath its touch;
And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose
Above the first dead pressure of its woes,
Though health and bloom returned, the delicate chain
Of thought, once tangled, never cleared again.
Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day,
The mind was still all there, but turned astray; -
A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone
All stars of heaven, except the guiding one!
Again she smiled, nay, much and brightly smiled,
But 'twas a lustre, strange, unreal, wild;
And when she sung to her lute's touching strain,
'Twas like the notes, half ecstasy, half pain,

The bulbul? utters, ere her soul depart,
When, vanquished by some minstrel's powerful art,
She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her heart !

Such was the mood in which that mission found Young ZELICA, — that mission, which around The Eastern world, in every region blessed With woman's smile, sought out its loveliest,

The nightingale.

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