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A simple Syrian lyre was on her breast, And on her crimson lip was murmuring A village strain, that in the day's sweet rest Is heard in Araby round many a spring, When down the twilight vales the maidens bring The flocks to some old patriarchal well; Or where beneath the palms some desert-king Lies, with his tribe around him as they fell! The thunder burst again; a long, deep, crashing peal.

The angel heard it not; as round the range Of the blue hill-tops roar'd the volley on, Uttering its voice with wild, aerial change; Now sinking in a deep and distant moan, Like the last echo of a host o'erthrown; Then rushing with new vengeance down again, Shooting the fiery flash and thunder-stone; Till flamed, like funeral pyres, the mountain chain. The angel heard it not; its wisdom all was vain.

He heard not even the strain, though it had changed

From the calm sweetness of the holy hymn. His thoughts from depth to depth unconscious ranged,

Yet all within was dizzy, strange, and dim;
A mist seem'd spreading between heaven and him;
He sat absorb'd in dreams;-a searching tone
Came on his ear, oh how her dark eyes swim
Who breathed that echo of a heart undone,
The song of early joys, delicious, dear, and gone!
Again it changed.-But, now 't was wild and
grand,
[trol,
The praise of hearts that scorn the world's con-
Disdaining all but love's delicious band,
The chain of gold and flowers, the tie of soul.
Again strange paleness o'er her beauty stole,
She glanced above, then stoop'd her glowing eye,
Blue as the star that glitter'd by the pole;
One tear-drop gleam'd, she dash'd it quickly by,
And dropp'd the lyre, and turn'd-as if she turn'd
to die.

The night-breeze from the mountains had begun ;
And as it wing'd among the clouds of even,
Where, like a routed king, the Sultan Sun
Still struggled on the fiery verge of heaven;
Their volumes in ten thousand shapes were driven;
Spreading away in boundless palace halls,
Whose lights from gold and emerald lamps were
given ;

Or airy citadels and battled walls;

Or sunk in valleys sweet, with silver waterfalls.

But, for those sights of heaven the angel's heart
Was all unsettled: and a bitter sigh
Burst from his burning lip, and with a start
He cast upon the earth his conscious eye.
The whole horizon from that summit high
Spread out in vision, from the pallid line
Where old Palmyra's pomps in ruin lie,
Gilding the Arab sands, to where supine
The western lustre tinged thy spires, lost Palestine!

Yet, loveliest of the vision was the vale
That sloped beneath his own imperial bowers;

Sheeted with colours like an Indian mail, A tapestry sweet of all sun-painted flowers, Balsam, and clove, and jasmines scented showers, And the red glory of the Persian rose, Spreading in league on league around the towers, Where, loved of Heaven, and hated of its foes, The queen of cities shines, in calm and proud repose. And still he gazed-and saw not that the eve Was fading into night. A sudden thought Struck to his dreaming heart, that made it heave; Was he not there in Paradise?—that spot, Was it not lovely as the lofty vault That rose above him? In his native skies, Could he be happy till his soul forgot, Oh! how forget, the being whom his eyes Loved as their light of light! He heard a tempest rise

Was it a dream? the vale at once was bare, And o'er it hung a broad and sulphurous cloud: The soil grew red and rifted with its glare; Down to their roots the mountain cedars bow'd; Along the ground a rapid vapour flow'd, Yellow and pale, thick seam'd with streaks of flame. Before it sprang the vulture from the shroud; The lion bounded from it scared and tame; Behind it, darkening heaven, the mighty whirlwind came.

Like a long tulip bed, across the plain A caravan approach'd the evening well, A long, deep mass of turban, plume, and vane; And lovely came its distant, solemn swell Of song, and pilgrim-horn, and camel-bell. The sandy ocean rose before their eye, In thunder on their bending host it fell Ten thousand lips sent up one fearful cry; [lie. The sound was still'd at once, beneath its wave they

But, two escaped, that up the mountain sprung, And those the dead men's treasure downwards

drew;

One, with slow steps; but beautiful and young
Was she, who round his neck her white arms threw.
Away the tomb of sand like vapour flew.
There, naked lay the costly caravan,

A league of piles of silk and gems that threw
A rainbow light, and mid them stiff and wan,
Stretch'd by his camel's flank, their transient master,

man.

The statelier wanderer from the height was won, And cap and sash soon gleam'd with plunder'd gold.

But, now the desert rose, in pillars dun,

Glowing with fire like iron in the mould, [roll'd; That wings with fiery speed, recoil'd, sprang, Before them waned the moon's ascending phase, The clouds above them shrank the reddening fold: On rush'd the giant columns blaze on blaze, The sacrilegious died, wrapp'd in the burning haze. The angel sat enthroned within a dome Of alabaster raised on pillars slight, Curtain'd with tissues of no earthly loom; For spirits wove the web of blossoms bright, Woof of all flowers that drink the morning light,

And with their beauty figured all the stone
In characters of mystery and might,

A more than mortal guard around the throne, That in their tender shade one glorious diamond shone.

And every bud round pedestal and plinth,
As fell the evening, turn'd a living gem.
Lighted its purple lamp the hyacinth,

The dahlia pour'd its thousand-colour'd gleam,
A ruby torch the wondering eye might deem
Hung on the brow of some night-watching tower,
Where upwards climb'd the broad magnolia's stem.
An urn of lovely lustre every flower,
Burning before the king of that illumined bower.

And nestling in that arbour's leafy twine,
From cedar's top to violet's lowly bell,
Were birds, now hush'd, of plumage all divine,
That, as the quivering radiance on them fell,
Shot back such hues as stain the orient shell,
Touching the deep, green shades with light from
eyes

Jacinth, and jet, and blazing carbuncle,

And gold-dropt coronets, and wings of dyes Bathed in the living streams of their own Paradise. The angel knew the warning of that storm; But saw the shuddering minstrel's step draw near, And felt the whole deep witchery of her form; Her sigh was music's echo to his ear; He loved and what has love to do with fear? Now night had droop'd on earth her raven wing, But in the arbour all was splendour clear; And, like twin spirits in its charmed ring, Shone that sweet child of earth and that stardiadem'd king.

For, whether 'twas the light's unusual glow, Or that some dazzling change had on her come; Her look, though lovely still, was loftier now, Her tender cheek was flush'd with brighter bloom; Yet in her azure eyebeam gather'd gloom, Like evening's clouds across its own blue star, Then would a sudden flash its depths illume; And wore she but the wing and gemm'd tiar, She seem'd instinct with might to make the clouds her car.

She slowly raised her arm, that, bright as snow, Gleam'd like a rising meteor through the air, Shedding white lustre on her turban'd brow; And gazed on heaven, as wrapt in solemn prayer; She still look'd woman, yet more proudly fair; And as she stood and pointed to the sky, With that fix'd look of loveliness and care, The angel thought, and check'd it with a sigh, He saw some spirit fallen from immortality. The silent prayer was done; and now she moved Faint to his footstool, and, upon her knee, Besought her lord, if in his heaven they loved, That, as she never more his face must see, She there might pledge her heart's fidelity. Then turn'd, and pluck'd a cluster from the vine, And o'er a chalice waved it, with a sigh, Then stoop'd the crystal cup before the shrine. In wrath the angel rose—the guilty draught was wine!

She stood; she shrank; she totter'd. Down he sprang,

Clasp'd with one hand her waist, with one upheld The vase-his ears with giddy murmurs rang; His eye upon her dying cheek was spell'd; Up to the brim the draught of evil swell'd Like liquid rose, its odour touch'd his brain; He knew his ruin, but his soul was quell'd; He shudder'd-gazed upon her cheek again, Press'd her pale lip, and to the last that cup did drain.

The enchantress smiled, as still in some sweet dream,

Then waken'd in a long, delicious sigh,
And on the bending spirit fix'd the beam
Of her deep, dewy, melancholy eye.
The undone angel gave no more reply
Than hiding his pale forehead in the hair
That floated on her neck of ivory,

And breathless pressing, with her ringlets fair, From his bright eyes the tears of passion and despair.

The heaven was one blue cope, inlaid with gems Thick as the concave of a diamond mine, But from the north now fly pale, phosphor beams That o'er the mount their quivering net entwine; The smallest stars through that sweet lustre shine; Then, like a routed host, its streamers fly : Then, from the moony horizontal line A surge of sudden glory floods the sky, Ocean of purple waves, and melted lazuli. But wilder wonder smote their shrinking eyes: A vapour plunged upon the vale from heaven, Then, darkly gathering, tower'd of mountain size; From its high crater column'd smokes were driven; It heaved within, as if pent flames had striven With mighty winds to burst their prison hold, Till all the cloud-volcano's bulk was riven With angry light, that seem'd in cataracts roll'd, Silver, and sanguine steel, and streams of molten gold.

Then echoed on the winds a hollow roar, An earthquake groan, that told convulsion near: Out rush'd the burden of its burning core, Myriads of fiery globes, as day-light clear. The sky was fill'd with flashing sphere on sphere, Shooting straight upward to the zenith's crown. The stars were blasted in that splendour drear, The land beneath in wild distinctness shone, From Syria's yellow sands to Libanus' summit

stone.

The storm is on the embattled clouds receding,
The purple streamers wander pale and thin,
But o'er the pole a fiercer flame is spreading,
Wheel within wheel of fire, and far within
Revolves a stooping splendour crystalline.
A throne;-but who the sitter on that throne!
The angel knew the punisher of sin;

Check'd on his lip the self-upbraiding groan,
And clasp'd his dying love, and joy'd to be undone.

And once, 'twas but a moment, on her cheek He gave a glance, then sank his hurried eye, And press'd it closer on her dazzling neck.

Yet, even in that swift gaze, he could espy
A look that made his heart's blood backwards fly.
Was it a dream? there echoed in his ear
A stinging tone-a laugh of mockery!

It was a dream-it must be. Oh! that fear, When the heart longs to know, what it is death to hear.

He glanced again-her eye was upward still,
Fix'd on the stooping of that burning car;
But through his bosom shot an arrowy thrill,
To see its solemn, stern, unearthly glare;
She stood a statue of sublime despair,
But on her lip sat scorn.-His spirit froze,-
His footstep reel'd,-his wan lip gasp'd for air;
She felt his throb,—and o'er him stoop'd with

brows

As evening sweet, and kiss'd him with a lip of rose.
Again she was all beauty, and they stood
Still fonder clasp'd, and gazing with the eye
Of famine gazing on the poison'd food
That it must feed on, or abstaining die.
There was between them now nor tear nor sigh;
Theirs was the deep communion of the soul;
Passion's absorbing, bitter luxury;

What was to them or heaven or earth, the whole Was in that fatal spot, where they stood sad, and sole.

The minstrel first shook off the silent trance; And in a voice sweet as the murmuring Of summer streams beneath the moonlight's glance, Besought the desperate one to spread the wing Beyond the power of his vindictive king. Slave to her slightest word, he raised his plume, For life or death, he reck'd not which, to spring; Nay, to confront the thunder and the gloom. She wildly kiss'd his hand, and sank, as in a tomb. The angel sooth'd her, "No! let justice wreak Its wrath upon them both, or him alone." A flush of love's pure crimson lit her cheek; She whisper'd, and his stoop'd ear drank the tone With mad delight: "O there is one way, one, To save us both. Are there not mighty words, Graved on the magnet-throne where Solomon Sits ever guarded by the genii swords, [Lord's?" To give thy servant wings, like her resplendent This was the sin of sins! The first, last crime, In earth and heaven, unnamed, unnameable; This from his throne of light, before all time, Had smitten Eblis, brightest, first that fell. He started back." What urged him to rebel? What led that soft seducer to his bower? Could she have laid upon his soul that spell, Young, lovely, fond; yet but an earthly flower?"But for that fatal cup, he had been free that hour. But still its draught was fever in his blood. He caught the upward, humble, weeping gleam Of woman's eye, by passion all subdued; He sigh'd, and at his sigh he saw it beam: Oh! the sweet frenzy of the lover's dream! A moment's lingering, and they both must die. The lightning round them shot a broader stream; He felt her clasp his feet in agony; [reply! He spoke the "Words of might,"-the thunder gave

Away! away! the sky is one black cloud, Shooting its lightnings down in spire on spire. Around the mount its canopy is bow'd, A fiery vault upraised on pillar'd fire; The stars like lamps along its roof expire; But through its centre bursts an orb of rays; The angel knew the Avenger in his ire! The hill-top smoked beneath the stooping blaze, The culprits dared not there their guilty glancesraise. And words were utter'd from that whirling sphere, That mortal sense might never hear and live. They pierced like arrows through the angel's ear; He bow'd his head; 'twas vain to fly or strive. Down comes the final wrath: the thunders give The doubled peal,-the rains in cataracts sweep, Broad bars of fire the sheeted deluge rive; The mountain summits to the valley leap, Pavilion, garden, grove, smoke up one ruin'd heap.

The storm stands still! a moment's pause of terror! All dungeon-dark!-Again the lightnings yawn, Showing the earth as in a quivering mirror, The prostrate angel felt but that the one, Whose love had lost him Paradise, was gone: He dared not see her corpse !-he closed his eyes; A voice burst o'er him, solemn as the tone Of the last trump,-he glanced upon the skies, He saw, what shook his soul with terror, shame, surprise.

The minstrel stood before him; two broad plumes Spread from her shoulders on the burden'd air; Her face was glorious still, but love's young blooms Had vanish'd for the hue of bold despair; A fiery circle crown'd her sable hair; And, as she look'd upon her prostrate prize, Her eyeballs shot around a meteor glare, Her form tower'd up at once to giant size; "Twas Eblis! king of Hell's relentless sovereignties.

The tempter spoke-❝ Spirit, thou mightɛt have stood,

But thou hast fallen a weak and willing slave.
Now were thy feeble heart our serpents' food,
Thy bed our burning ocean's sleepless wave,
But haughty Heaven controls the power it gave.
Yet art thou doom'd to wander from thy sphere,
Till the last trumpet reaches to the grave;

Till the sun rolls the grand concluding year; Till earth is Paradise; then shall thy crime be clear.

The angel listen'd, risen upon one knee,
Resolved to hear the deadliest undismay'd.
His star-dropt plume hung round him droopingly,
His brow, like marble, on his hand was stay'd.
Still through the auburn locks' o'erhanging shade
His face shone beautiful; he heard his ban;
Then came the words of mercy, sternly said;
He plunged within his hands his visage wan,
And the first wild, sweet tears from his heart-
pulses ran.

The giant grasp'd him as he fell to earth,
And his black vanes upon the air were flung,
A tabernacle dark;-and shouts of mirth

Mingled with shriekings through the tempest

swung;

His arm around the fainting angel clung. Then on the clouds he darted with a groan; A moment o'er the mount of ruin hung, [cone, Then burst through space, like the red comet's Leaving his track on heaven a burning, endless zone.

A SCENE FROM CATILINE.

Catiline. FLUNG on my pillow! does the last night's wine

Perplex me still? Its words are wild and bold.

(Reads) "Noble Catiline! where you tread, the earth is hollow, though it gives no sound. There is a storm gathering, though there are no clouds in the sky. Rome is desperate; three hundred patricians have sworn to do their duty; and what three hundred have sworn, thirty thousand will make good." Why, half the number now might sack the city, With all its knights, before a spear could come From Ostia to their succour.-'Twere a deed!(Reads) "You have been betrayed by the senate, betrayed by the consuls, and betrayed by the people. You are a Roman, can you suffer chains? You are a soldier, can you submit to shame? You are a man; will you be ruined, trampled on, disdained ?" (Flings away the paper.)

Disdain'd! They're in the right.-It tells the
I am a scoff and shame-a public prate. [truth-
There's one way left: (draws a poniard) this dag-
ger in my heart-

The quickest cure! . But 'tis the coward's cure;
And what shall heal the dearer part of me,
My reputation? What shield's for my name,
When I shall fling it, like my corpse, to those
Who dared not touch it living, for their lives?
So, there lies satisfaction; and my veins
Must weep-for nothing! when my enemies
Might be compell'd to buy them drop by drop.
No! by the Thunderer, they shall pay their price.
To die in days when helms are burnishing;
When heaven and earth are ripening for a change;
And die by my own hand!-Give up the game
Before the dice are thrown!-Clamour for chains,
Before the stirring trumpet sounds the charge!—
Bind up my limbs-a voluntary mark
For the world's enginery, the ruffian gibe,
The false friend's sneer, the spurn of the safe foe,
The sickly, sour hypocrisy, that loves
To find a wretch to make its moral of,
Crushes the fallen, and calls it Charity!—
Sleep in your sheath! [He puts up the poniard.
How could my mind give place
To thoughts so desperate, rash, and mutinous?
Fate governs all things. Madman! would I give
Joy to my enemies, sorrow to my friends,-
Shut up the gate of hope upon myself?
My sword may thrive!-Dreams, dreams! my
mind's as full

Of vapourish fantasies as a sick girl's!

I will abandon Rome,-give back her scorn
With tenfold scorn: break up all league with her,-
All memories. I will not breathe her air,

Nor warm me with her fire, nor let my bones Mix with her sepulchres. The oath is sworn. [Aurelia enters with papers. Aurelia. What answers for this pile of bills, my lord?

Catiline. Who can have sent them here?

Aurelia. Your creditors!

As if some demon woke them all at once,
These have been crowding on me since the morn.
Here, Caius Curtius claims the prompt discharge
Of his half million sesterces; besides

The interest on your bond, ten thousand more.
Six thousand for your Tyrian canopy;

Here, for your Persian horses-your trireme :
Here, debt on debt. Will you discharge them now?
Catiline. I'll think on it.

Aurelia. It must be now; this day!
Or, by to-morrow, we shall have no home.
Catiline. "Twill soon be all the same.
Aurelia. We are undone!

My gold, my father's presents, jewels, rings,—
All, to the baubles on my neck, are gone.
The consulship might have upheld us still;
But now, we must go down.

Catiline. Aurelia!-wife!

All will be well: but hear me-stay-a little;
I had intended to consult with you-
On our departure-from-the-city.

Aurelia, indignantly and surprised. Rome?
Catiline. Even so, fair wife! we must leave
Rome.

Aurelia. Let me look on you; are you Catiline?
Catiline.-I know not what I am-we must
be gone!
Aurelia. Madness!

Catiline, wildly. Not yet-not yet!

Aurelia. Let them take all?

Catiline. The gods will have it so!
Aurelia. Seize on your house?

Catiline. Seize my last sesterce! Let them

have their will.

We must endure. Ay, ransack-ruin all;
Tear up my father's grave,-tear out my heart.
Wife! the world's wide,-Can we not dig or beg?
Can we not find on earth a den, or tomb?
Aurelia. Before I stir, they shall hew off my
hands.

Catiline. What's to be done?

Aurelia. Hear me, Lord Catiline : The day we wedded,-'tis but three short years! You were the first patrician here, and I Was Marius' daughter! There was not in Rome An eye, however haughty, but would sink When I turn'd on it: when I pass'd the streets My chariot wheel was follow'd by a host Of your chief senators; as if their gaze Beheld an empress on its golden round; An earthly providence!

Catiline. "Twas so!-'twas so! But it is vanish'd-gone.

Aurelia. By yon bright sun!

That day shall come again: or, in its place,
One that shall be an era to the world!

Catiline, eagerly. What's in your thoughts?
Aurelia. Our high and hurried life

Has left us strangers to each other's souls: But now we think alike. You have a sword,— Have had a famous name i' the legions!

Catiline. Hush!

Aurelia. Have the walls ears! Great Jove! I
wish they had;

And tongues too, to bear witness to my oath,
And tell it to all Rome.

Catiline. Would you destroy?
Aurelia. Were I a thunderbolt!

Rome's ship is rotten:
Has she not cast you out; and would you sink
With her, when she can give you no gain else
Of her fierce fellowship? Who'd seek the chain
That link'd him to his mortal enemy?

Who'd face the pestilence in his foe's house? Who, when the poisoner drinks by chance the cup, That was to be his death, would squeeze the dregs To find a drop to bear him company?

Catiline, shrinking. It will not come to this. Aurelia, haughtily. Shall we be dragg'd, A show to all the city rabble;-robb'd,— Down to the very mantle on our backs,— A pair of branded beggars! Doubtless CiceroCatiline. Cursed be the ground he treads! Name him no more.

Aurelia. Doubtless he'll see us to the city gates; "Twill be the least respect that he can pay To his fallen rival. Do you hear, my lord? Deaf as the rock (aside.) With all his lictors shouting,

"Room for the noble vagrants; all caps off For Catiline! for him that would be consul." Catiline, turning away. Thus to be, like the scorpion, ring'd with fire,

Till I sting mine own heart! (aside.) There is no hope!

Aurelia. One hope there is, worth all the restrevenge!

The time is harass'd, poor, and discontent;
Your spirit practised, keen, and desperate,-
The senate full of feuds,-the city vex'd
With petty tyranny,-the legions wrong'd-
Catiline, scornfully. Yet, who has stirr'd?
Woman, you paint the air

With passion's pencil.

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We might have pitched our tents and slept on gold.
But we had work to do,-our swords were thirsty.
We enter'd Rome, as conquerors, in arms;

I by my father's side, cuirass'd and helm'd,
Bellona beside Mars.

Catiline, with coldness. The world was yours. Aurelia. Rome was all eyes; the ancient totter'd forth;

The cripple propp'd his limbs beside the wall;
The dying left his bed to look and die.
The way before us was a sea of heads;
The way behind a torrent of brown spears:
So, on we rode, in fierce and funeral pomp,
Through the long, living streets, that sank in gloom,
As we, like Pluto and Proserpina,
Enthroned, rode on, like twofold destiny!

Catiline, sternly, interrupting her. Those tri

umphs are but gewgaws. All the earth What is it? Dust and smoke. I've done with life!

Aurelia, coming closer, and looking steadily upon him. Before that eve-one hundred senators, And fifteen hundred knights, had paid-in blood, The price of taunts, and treachery, and rebellion! Were my tongue thunder-I would cry, Revenge! Catiline, in sudden wildness. No more of this! In, to your chamber, wife!

There is a whirling lightness in my brain
That will not now bear questioning.-Away!

[As Aurelia moves slowly towards the door.
Where are our veterans now? Look on these
I cannot turn their tissues into life.
[walls;
Where are our revenues--our chosen friends?
Are we not beggars? Where have beggars friends?
I see no swords and bucklers on these floors!
I shake the state! 1-What have I on earth
But these two hands? Must I not dig or starve?-
Come back! I had forgot. My memory dies,

I think, by the hour. Who sups with us to-night?
Let all be of the rarest,-spare no cost.-

If 'tis our last;-it may be-let us sink
In sumptuous ruin, with wonderers round us, wife!
Our funeral pile shall send up amber smokes;
We'll burn in myrrh, or-blood!
[She goes.

I feel a nameless pressure on my brow,
As if the heavens were thick with sudden gloom;
A shapeless consciousness, as if some blow
Were hanging o'er my head. They say such thoughts
Partake of prophecy. [He stands at the casement.
This air is living sweetness. Golden sun,
Shall I be like thee yet? The clouds have past-
And, like some mighty victor, he returns
To his red city in the west, that now
Spreads all her gates, and lights her torches up,
In triumph for her glorious conqueror.

ASTROLOGY.

Look there! the hour is written in the sky. Jove rushes down on Saturn,-'tis the sign Of war throughout the nations. In the east The Crescent sickens;-and the purple star, Perseus, the Ionian's love, lifts up his crest, And o'er her stands exulting!

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