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“And when he dies, to leave his lofty name “A light, a landmark on the cliffs of fame? “It was not so, Land of the generous thought " And daring deed, thy godlike sages taught; “It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease, “Thy Freedom nursed her sacred energies; “O! not beneath the enfeebling, withering glow "Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow, “ With which she wreathed her sword, when she

would dare “ Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air “Of toil, — of temperance, — of that high, rare, “ Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe “Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath. “Who, that surveys this span of earth we press, —. " This speck of life in time's great wilderness, “ This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, “ The past, the future, two eternities ! “Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, “When he might build him a proud temple there, “A name, that long shall hallow all its space, “And be each purer soul's high resting-place ? “But no- it cannot be, that one, whom God “Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod, A Prophet of the truth, whose mission draws “Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane its cause “With the world's vulgar pomps;— no, no, - I see“He thinks me weak — this glare of luxury “Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze “Of my young soul — shine on, 'twill stand the blaze !"

So thought the youth :- but, ev’n while he defied This witching scene, he felt its witchery glide

Thro' every sense. The perfume breathing round,
Like a pervading spirit; — the still sound
Of falling waters, lulling as the song
Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng
Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep
In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep;1
And music, too — dear music! that can touch
Beyond all else the soul that loves it much —
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem
Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream ; —
All was too much for him, too full of bliss;
The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this ;
Softened, he sunk upon a couch, and gave
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid ;
He thought of ZELICA, his own dear maid,
And of the time when, full of blissful sighs,
They sat and looked into each other's eyes,
Silent and happy — as if God had given
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven.

“O my loved mistress, thou, whose spirit still “Is with me, round me, wander where I will — "It is for thee, for thee alone I seek “ The paths of glory; to light up thy cheek “ With warm approval — in that gentle look, " To read my praise, as in an angel's book, " And think all toils rewarded, when from thee “I gain a smile worth immortality!

1 “My Pandits assure me that the plant before us (the Nilica) is their Sephalica, thus named because the bees are supposed to sleep on its blossoms" — Sir W. Jones.

"How shall I bear the moment, when restored “To that young heart where I alone am Lord, “Though of such bliss unworthy, — since the best “Alone deserve to be the happiest ; — “When from those lips, unbreathed upon for years, “I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears, “ And find those tears warm as when last they started, “Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted ! “O my own life! — why should a single day, A moment keep me from those arms away ?

While thus he thinks, still nearer, on the breeze, Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, Each note of which but adds new, downy links To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. He turns him toward the sound, and far away Through a long vista, sparkling with the play Of countless lamps, — like the rich track which Day Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us, So long the path, its light so tremulous, – He sees a group of female forms advance, Some chained together in the mazy dance By fetters, forged in the green sunny bowers, As they were captives to the King of Flowers ; 1 And some disporting round, unlinked and free, Who seemed to mock their sisters' slavery; And round and round them still, in wheeling flight Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night; While others waked, as gracefully along Their feet kept time, the very soul of song

1 “They deferred it till the King of Flowers should ascend his throne of enamelled foliage." - The Bahardanush.

From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill,
Or their own youthful voices, heavenlier still.
And now they come, now pass before his eye,
Forms such as Nature moulds, when she would vie
With Fancy's pencil, and give birth to things
Lovely beyond its fairest picturings.
Awhile they dance before him, then divide,
Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide
Around the rich pavilion of the sun, -
Till, silently dispersing, one by one,
Through many a path, that from the chamber leads
To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads,
Their distant laughter comes upon the wind,
And but one trembling nymph remains behind, -
Beckoning them back in vain, for they are gone,
And she is left in all that light alone;
No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow,
In its young bashfulness more beauteous now;
But a light golden chain-work round her hair,
Such as the maids of Yezd ? and SHIRAZ wear,
From which, on either side, gracefully hung
A golden amulet, in the Arab tongue,
Engraven o'er with some immortal line
From Holy Writ, or bard scarce less divine;
While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood,
Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood,
Which, once or twice, she touched with hurried strain,
Then took her trembling fingers off again.

1 " One of the head-dresses of the Persian women is composed of a light golden chain-work, set with small pearls, with a thin gold plate pendant, about the bigness of a crown-piece, on which is impressed an Arabian prayer, and which hangs upon the cheek below the ear.Hanway's Travels.

2 « Certainly the women of Yezd are the handsomest women in Persia. The proverb is, that to live happy a man must have a wife of Yezd, eat the bread of Yezdecas, and drink the wine of Shiraz." - Tavernier.

But when at length a timid glance she stole
At Azim, the sweet gravity of soul
She saw through all his features calmed her fear,
And, like a half-tamed antelope, more near,
Though shrinking still, she came ; – then sat her down
Upon a musnud's edge, and, bolder grown,
In the pathetic mode of IsFAHAN 2
Touched a preluding strain, and thus began:-

There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER’s 3 stream,

And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream,

To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.

That bower and its music I never forget,

But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think — Is the nightingale singing there yet?

Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER?

No, the roses soon withered that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gathered, while freshly

they shone, And a dew was distilled from their flowers, that gave

All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone.

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,

An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,

Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER!

1 Musnuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for persons of distinction.

2 The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call their musical modes or Perdas by the names of different countries or cities, as the mode of Isfahan, the mode of Irak, &c.

3 A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar.

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