The fourscore windows all alight
As with the quintessence of flame,
A million tapers flaring bright
From twisted silvers look'd to shame
The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream'd
Upon the mooned domes aloof

In inmost Bagdat, till there seem'd
Hundreds of crescen.s on the roof
Of night new-risen, that marvellous
time

To celebrate the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.
Then stole I up, and trancedly
Gazed on the Persian gi.l alone,
Serene with argent-lidded eyes
Amorous, and lashes like to rays
Of darkness, and a brow of pearl
Tressed with redolent ebony,
In many a dark delicious curl,
Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone;
The sweetest lady of the time,
Well worthy of the golden prime
Of good IIaroun Alraschid.

Six columns, three on either side,
Pure silver, underpropt a ich
Throne of the massive ore, from which
Down-droop'd, in many a floating fold,
Engarlanded and diaper'd

With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold.

Thereon, his deep eye laughter-stirr'd
With merriment of kingly pride,

Sole star of all that place and time,
I saw him-in his golden prime,
THE GOOD HAROUN ALRASCHID!

For sure she deem'd no mist of earth could dull

Those spirit-thrilling eyes so keen and beautiful:

Sure she was nigher to heaven's spheres,

Listening the lordly music flowing from

The illimitable years.

O strengthen me, enlighten me!
I faint in this obscurity,
Thou dewy dawn of memory.

Or boldest since, but lightly weighs With thee unto the love thou bearest The first-born of thy genius. Artistlike,

Ever retiring thou dost gaze

On the prime labor of thine early days:

No matter what the sketch might be; Whether the high field on the bushless Pike,

Or even a sand-built ridge

Of heaped hills that mound the sea,
Overblown with murmurs harsh,
Or even a lowly cottage whence we see
Stretch'd wide and wild the waste
enormous marsh,

Where from the frequent bridge,
Like emblems of infinity,

The trenched waters run from sky to

MYSTERY of mysteries,
Faintly smiling Adeline,
Scarce of earth nor all divine,
Nor unhappy, nor at rest,

But beyond expression fair
With thy floating flaxen hair;
Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes

Take the heart from out my breast. Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?

II.

Whence that aery bloom of thine,
Like a lily which the sun
Looks thro' in his sad decline,
And a rose-bush leans upon,
Thou that faintly smilest still,
As a Naiad in a well,
Looking at the set of day,
Or a phantom two hours old

Of a maiden past away,

Ere the placid lips be cold?
Wherefore those faint smiles of thine,
Spiritual Adeline?

III.

What hope or fear or joy is thine?
Who talketh with thee, Adeline?

For sure thou art not all alone:
Do beating hearts of salient springs
Keep measure with thine own?

Hast thou heard the butterflies
What they say betwixt their wings?
Or in stillest evenings
With what voice the violet wooes
To his heart the silver dews?
Or when little airs arise,
How the merry bluebell rings

To the mosses underneath?

Hast thou look'd upon the breath Of the lilies at sunrise? Wherefore that faint smile of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?

IV.

Some honey-converse feeds thy mind, Some spirit of a crimson rose

In love with thee forgets to close
His curtains, wasting odorous sighs
All night long on darkness blind.
What aileth thee? whom waitest thou
With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow,

And those dew-lit eyes of thine,
Thou faint smiler, Adeline?

V.

Lovest thou the doleful wind

When thou gazest at the skies? Doth the low-tongued Orient Wander from the side of the morn, Dripping with Sabaan spice On thy pillow, lowly bent

With melodious airs lovelorn, Breathing Light against thy face, While his locks a-drooping twined

Round thy neck in subtle ring Make a carcanet of rays,

And ye talk together still, In the language wherewith Spring Letters cowslips on the hill? Hence that look and smile of thine, Spiritual Adeline.

A CHARACTER.
WITH a half-glance upon the sky
At night he said, The wanderings

Of this most intricate Universe
Teach me the nothingness of things."
Yet could not all creation pierce
Beyond the bottom of his eye.

He spake of beauty: that the dull
Saw no divinity in grass,

Life in dead stones, or spirit in air;
Then looking as 'twere in a glass,
He smooth'd his chin and sleek'd his
hair,

And said the earth was beautiful.

He spake of virtue: not the gods
More purely, when they wish to charm
Pallas and Juno sitting by:
And with a sweeping of the arm,
And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye,
Devolved his rounded periods.

He saw thro' life and death; thro' good and ill,

He saw thro' his own soul. The marvel of the everlasting will, An open scroll,

Before him lay: with echoing feet he threaded

The secretest walks of fame : The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed

And wing'd with flame,

Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue,

And of so fierce a flight, From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung, Filling with light

And vagrant melodies the winds which bore

Them earthward till they lit; Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower,

The fruitful wit

All day and all night it is ever drawn From the brain of the purple moun tain

Which stands in the distance yonder" It springs on a level of bowery lawn, And the mountain draws it from Heaven above,

And it sings a song of undying love; And yet, tho' its voice be so clear and full,

You never would hear it; your ears are so dull;

So keep where you are: you are foul with sin;

It would shrink to the earth if you came in.

THE SEA-FAIRIES. SLOW Sail'd the weary mariners and

saw,

Betwixt the green brink and the running foam,

Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest

To little harps of gold; and while they mused,

Whispering to each other half in fear, Shrill music reach'd them on the middle sea.

Whither away, whither away, whither away? fly no more.

Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming

shore ?

Day and night to the billow the foun. tain calls;

Down shower the gambolling waterfalls

From wandering over the lea:

Out of the live-green heart of the dells They freshen the silvery-crimson shells,

And thick with white bells the cloverhill swells

High over the full-toned sea:

O hither, come hither and furl your sails,

Come hither to me and to me :
Hither, come hither and frolic and
play;

Here it is only the mew that wails;
We will sing to you all the day:
Mariner, mariner, furl your sails,
For here are the blissful downs and
dales,

And merrily, merrily carol the gales,
And the spangle dances in bight and

bay.

And the rainbow forms and flies on the land

Over the islands free;

And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand;

Hither, come hither and see;
And the rainbow hangs on the poising

wave,

And sweet is the color of cove and

cave,