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Their edge is but dullish, it must be confess'd,

And their temper, like E nb'r—h's, none of the best, [upon trying,

But you'll find them good hard-working Tools

Wer’t but for their brass, they are well worth the buying; [screens,

They're famous for making blinds, sliders, and

And they're, some of them, excellent turning machines!

The first Tool I’ll put up (they call it a Chancellor)
Heavy concern to both purchaser and seller---
Though made of pig iron, yet worthy of note 'tis,
"Tis ready to melt at a half minute's notice.
Who bids? Gentle buyer! 'twill turn as thou
"Twill make a good thumb-screw to torture a Papist;
Or else a cramp-iron, to stick in the wall
Of some church that old women are fearful will fall;
Or better, perhaps, (for I'm guessing at random,)
A heavy drag-chain for some Lawyer's old Tandem 1
Will nobody bid? It is cheap, I am sure, Sir---
Once, twice, going, going, thrice, gone!---it is
your's, Sir.
To pay ready money you sha'n't be distrest.
As a bill at long date suits the Chancellor best.

Come, where's the next Tool?---Oh! 'tis here in a
This implement, Ge’mmen! at first was a Vice;
(A tenacious and close sort of tool, that will let
Nothing out of its grasp it once happens to get.)
But it since has received a new coating of Tin,
Bright enough for a Prince to behold himself in:
Come, what shall we say for it? briskly! bid on,
We'll the sooner get rid of it---going---quite gone!
God be with it, such tools, if not quickly knock'd
down, - [Crown!
Might at last cost their owner---how much why, a

The next Tool I’ll set up has hardly had hansel or
Trial as yet, and is also a Chancellor---
Such dull things as these should be sold by the gross;
Yet, dull as it is, 'twould be found to shave close,
And like other close shavers, some courage to gather,
This blade first began by a flourish on leather 1
You shall have it for nothing---then, marvel with me
At the terrible tinkering work there must be, [it)
Where a Tool such as this is (I'll leave you to judge
Is placed by ill luck at the top of the Budgett


Now,through the Haram chambers, moving lights And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites;– From room to room the ready handmaids hie, Some skill'd to wreath the turban tastefully, Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade, O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, Who, if between the folds but one eye shone, Like Seba's queen could vanquish with that one:— While some bring leaves of Henna, to imbue

The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue,
So bright, that in the mirror's depth they see-
Like tips of coral branches in the stream;
And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye,
To give that long, dark languish to the eye, [rt |
Which makes the maids, whom kings are pro-
From fair Circassia's vales, so beautiful!
All is in motion; rings and plumes and pears
Are shining every where:—some younger girls
Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds,
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads:
Gay creatures! sweet, though mournful 'tis to see
How each prefers a garland from that tree
Which brings to mind her childhood's innocettas,
And the dear fields and friendships far away.
The maid of India, blest again to hold
In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold,
Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood,
Her little play-mates scatter'd many a bud
Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam
Just dripping from the consecrated stream: |
While the young Arab, haunted by the smell
Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell,—
The sweet Elcaya, and that courteous tree
Which bows to all who seek its canopy—
Sees, call'd up round her by these magic scents.
The well, the camels, and her father's tents:
Sighs for the home she left with little pain,
And wishes ev’n its sorrows back again!

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls. Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls Offragrant waters, gushing with cool sound From many a jasper fount, is heard around, Young Azim roams bewilder'd,—nor can gues What means this maze of light and lonelines. Here, the way leads, o'er tesselated floors Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors, Where, rang'd in cassolets and silver urns, Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns; And spicy rods, such as illume at night The bowers of Tibet, send forth odorous light. Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road For some pure spirit to its blest abode — And here, at once, the glittering saloon Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as nor:; Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays High as th' enamell'd cupola, which towers All rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers: And the mosaic floor beneath shines through The sprinkling of that sountain's silvery dew, Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye, That on the margin of the Red Sea lie.

Here too he traces the kind visitings

Of woman's love in those fair, living things
Of land and wave, whose fate, in bondage thrown
For their weak loveliness—is like her own:
On one side gleaming with a sudden grace
Thröugh water, brilliant as the crystal vase
In which it undulates, small fishes shine,
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;—

While, on the other, lattic'd lightly in With odoriferous woods of Comorin, .ach brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;– jay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between The crimson blossoms of the coral tree n the warm isles of India's sunny sea: Tecca's blue sacred pigeon, and the thrush )f Hindostan, whose holy warblings gush, at evening, from the tall pagoda's top;— 'hose golden birds that, in the spice time, drop bout the gardens, drunk with that sweet food Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood; ind those that under Araby's soft sun uild their high nests of budding cinnamon 3– n short, all rare and beauteous things, that fly hrough the pure element, here calmly lie leeping in light, like the green birds that dwell 1 Eden's radiant fields of asphodel!

Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when sparkling he gently open'd curtains of light blue [through hat veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes, eeping like stars through the blue evening skies, ook'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair hat sat so still and melancholy thereind now the curtains fly apart, and in rom the cool air, mid showers of jessamine Which those without fling after them in play, 'wo lightsome maidens spring, lightsome as they Who live in the air on odours, and around he bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, ‘hase one another, in a varying dance )f mirth and languor, coyness and advance, Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit:— While she, who sang so gently to the lute Her dream of home, steals timidly away, shrinking as violets do in summer's ray3ut takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh We sometimes give to forms that pass us by in the world's crowd, too lovely to remain, Creatures of light we never see again!

Around the white necks of the nymphs who danc'd Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore; While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall Of curls descending, bells as musical As those that, ou the golden-shafted trees Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze, Rang round their steps, at every bound more sweet, As 'twere th' extatic language of their feet! At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreath'd Within each other's arms; while soft there breath'd Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs Of moonlight flowers, music that seem'd to rise From some still lake, so liquidly it rose; And, as it swell'd again at each faint close, The ear could track through all that maze of chords, And youngsweet voices,these impassion'd words:–

A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh |s burning now through earth and air;

Where cheeks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh, Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there !

His breath is the soul of flowers like these,
And his floating eyes—oh ! they resemble

Blue water-lilies, when the breeze
Is making the stream around them tremble!

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power!
Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss's

Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,
And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

By the fair and brave,
Who blushing unite,

Like the sun and wave,
When they meet at night!

By the tear that shows
When passion is nigh,

As the rain-drop flows
From the heat of the sky!

By the first love-beat
Of the youthful heart,

By the bliss to meet,
And the pain to part!

By all that thou hast
To mortals given,

Which—oh ; could it last,
This earth were heaven

We call thee hither, entrancing Power!
spirit of Love! Spirit of Bliss!

Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour,
And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

Impatient of a scene, whose luxuries stole, Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, And where, midst all that the young heartloves most, Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost, The youth had started up, and turn'd away From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay, To muse upon the pictures that hung round,Bright images, that spoke without a sound, And views, like vistas into fairy ground. But here again new spells came o'er his sense;— All that the pencil's mute omnipotence Could call up into life, of soft and fair, Of fond and passionate, was glowing there; Nor yet too warm, but touch'd with that fine art Which paints of pleasure but the purer part; Which knows ev'n beauty when half-veil'd is best, Like her own radiant planet of the west, Whose orb when half retir'd looks loveliest' There hung the history of the Genii-king, Trac'd through each gay, voluptuous wandering With her from Saba's bowers, in whose bright eyes He read that to be blest is to be wise ;Here fond Zuleika woos with open arms The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms, Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone, wishes that Heav'n and she could both be won! And here Mohammed, born for love and guile.

Forgets the Koran in his Mary's smile;— Then beckons some kind angel from above With a new text to consecrate their love!

MOKANNA IN BATTLE. Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day—[way! They clash—they strive—the Caliph's troops give Mokanna's self plucks the black banner down, And now the Orient World's imperial crown Is just within his grasp-when, hark, that shout! Some hand hath check"d the flying Moslems’ rout, And now they turn—they rally—at their head A warrior (like those angel youths, who led, In glorious panoply of heav'n's own mail, The Champions of the Faith through Beder's vale) Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, Turns on the fierce pursuers' blades, and drives At once the multitudinous torrent back, While hope and courage kindle in his track, And, at each step, his bloody salchion makes Terrible vistas through which victory breaks! In vain Mokanna, midst the general flight, Stands, like the red moon, on some stormy night, Among the fugitive clouds that, hurrying by, Leave only her unshaken in the sky!— In vain he yells his desperate curses out, Deals death promiscuously to all about, To foes that charge and coward friends that fly, And seems of all the Great Arch-enemy! The panic spreads—“a miracle!” throughout The Moslem ranks, “a miracle!” they shout, All gazing on that youth, whose coming seems A light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams; And every sword, true as o'er billows dim The needle tracks the load-star, following him!

Right tow’rds Mokanna now he cleaves his path, Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath He bears from Heav'n withheld its awful burst From weaker heads, and souls but half-way curst, To break o'er him, the mightiest and the worst! But vain his speed---though, in that hour of blood, Had all God's seraphs round Mokanna stood, With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall, Mokanna's soul would have defied them all;--Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too strong For human force, hurries ev'n him along; In vain he struggles mid the wedg'd array Of flying thousands,---he is borne away; And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows In this forc'd flight is---murdering, as he goes! As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might Surprizes in some parch'd ravine at night, Turns, ev’n in drowning, on the wretched flocks Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks, And, to the last, devouring on his way, Bloodies the stream he hath not power to stay!


One morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood, disconsolate;

And as she listen'd to the springs
Of life within, like music flowing.
And caught the light upon her wings
Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should eler have lost that glorious place!

“How happy,” exclaim'd this child of air,
“Are the holy spirits who wander there.
Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall:
Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea.
And the stars themselves have flowers for me,
One blossom of Heaven out-blooms then all!

“Though sunny the lake of cool Cashmere,
With its plane-tree isle reflected clear,
And sweetly the founts of that valley sail;
Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-bay,
And the golden floods, that thitherward stray,
Yet---oh 'tis only the blest can say
How the waters of heaven outshine them all!

“Go, wing thy flight from star to star,
From world to luminous world, as far
As the universe spreads its flaming wali;
Take all the pleasures of all the spheres,
And multiply each through endless years,
One minute of Heaven is worth them all!"

The glorious angel, who was keeping
The gates of light, beheld her weeping;
And, as he nearer drew and listen’d
To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten’d
Within his eyelids, like the spray
From Eden's sountain, when it lies
On the blue flow'r, which—Bramins say—
Blooms no where but in Paradise!
“Nymph of a fair, but erring line!”
Gently he said---" One hope is thine.
'Tis written in the book of fate,
• The Peri yet may be forgiven
Who brings to this eternal gate
The gift that is most dear to Heaven”
Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin;--
'Tis sweet to let the pardon'd in "

Rapidly as comets run
To th” embraces of the sun:--
Fleeter than the starry brands,
Flung at night from angel hands
At those dark and daring sprites,
Who would climb th’ empyreal heights,
Down the blue vault the Peri flies,
And, lighted earthward by a glance
That just then broke from morning's eyes,
Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.

Just then beneath some orange trees,
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze
Were wantoning together, free-
Like age at play with infancy—-
Beneath that fresh and springiríg bower,
Close by the lake, she heard the moan

Df one who, at this silent hour,
Had thither stol'n to die alone:
)ne who in life, where'er he mov’d,
Drew after him the hearts of many;
Yet now, as though he ne'er were lov’d,
Dies here, unseen, unwept by any:
None to watch near him---none to slake
The fire that in his bosom lies,
With ev'n a sprinkle from that lake,
Which shines so cool before his eyes.
No voice, well-known through many a day,
To speak the last, the parting word,
Which, when all other sounds decay,
Is still like distant music heard:
That tender farewell on the shore
Of this rude world, when all is o'er,
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark
Puts off into the unknown dark.

Deserted youth! one thought alone *
Shed joy around his soul in death---
That she, whom he for years had known,
And lov’d, and might have call'd his own,
Was safe from this foul midnight's breath;---
Safe in her father's princely halls,
Where the cool airs from fountain-falls,
Freshly perfum’d by many a brand
Of the sweet wood from India's land,
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd.

But see, -who yonder comes by stealth,
This melancholy bower to seek,
Like a young envoy, sent by health,
With rosy gifts upon her cheek?
'Tis she---sar off, through moonlight dim,
He knew his own betrothed bride,
She, who would rather die with him,
Than live to gain the world beside!---
Her arms are round her lover now,
His livid cheek to hers she presses,
And dips, to bind his burning brow,
In the cool lake her loosen’d tresses.
Ah! once, how little did he think
An hour would come, when he should shrink
With horror from that dear embrace,
Those gentle arms, that were to him
Holy as is the cradling place
Of Eden's infant cherubim 1
And now he yields---now turns away,
Shuddering as if the venom lay
All in those proffer'd lips alone---
Those lips that, then so fearless grown,
Never until that instant came
Near his unask'd or without shame.
“Oh! let me only breathe the air,
The blessed air, that's breath’d by thee,
And, whether on its wings it bear
Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me!
There.---drink my tears, while yet they fall,---
Would that my bosom's blood were balm,
And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all,
To give thy brow one minute's calm.

Nay, turn not from me that dear face---
Am I not thine---thy own lov’d bride---
The one, the chosen one, whose place
In life or death is by thy side?
Think'st thou that she, whose only light,
In this dim world, from thee hath shone,
Could bear the long, the cheerless night,
That must be hers, when thou art gone?
That I can live, and let thee go,
Who art my life itself?---No, no---
When the stem dies, the leaf that grew
Out of its heart must perish too!
Then turn to me, my own love, turn,
Before like thee I fade and burn;
Cling to these yet cool lips, and share
The last pure life that lingers there!”
She fails---she sinks---as dies the lamp
In charnel airs or cavern-damp,
So quickly do his baleful sighs
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes!
One struggle---and his pain is past---
Her lover is no longer living!
One kiss the maiden gives, one last,
Long kiss, which she expires in giving!

“Sleep,” said the Peri, as softly she stole
The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul,
As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast---
“Sleep on, in visions of odour rest,
In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd
Th’ enchanted pile of that lonely bird,
Who sings at the last his own death lay,
And in music and perfume dies away !”

Thus saying, from her lips she spread
Unearthly breathings through the place,
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed
Such lustre o'er each paly face,
That like two lovely saints they seem'd
Upon the eve of dooms-day taken
From their dim graves, in odour sleeping;--
While that benevolent Peri beam'd
Like their good angel, calmly keeping
Watch o'er them, till their souls would waken!

But morn is blushing in the sky;
Again the Peri soars above,
Bearing to Heav'n that precious sigh
Of pure, self-sacrificing love.
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate,
The Elysian palm she soon shall win,
For the bright Spirit at the gate
Smilod as she gave that offering in;
And she already hears the trees
Of Eden, with their crystal bells
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze
That from the throne of Alla swells;
And she can see the starry bowls
That lie around that lucid lake,
Upon whose banks admitted souls
Their first sweet draught of glory take!

But ah! ev'n Peri's hopes are vain--Again the Fates forbade, again

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