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REPARE thy soul, young Azım! thou hast bray'd
The bands of GREECE, still mighty though enslav'd;
Hast fac'd her phalanx, arm'd with all its fame,
Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame;
All this hast fronted, with firm heart and brow,
But a more perilous trial waits thee now,-
Woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes
From every land where woman smiles or sighs;
Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise
His black or azure banner in their blaze;
And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash
That lightens boldly through the shadowy lash,
To the sly, stealing splendours, almost hid,
Like swords, half-sheath'd, beneath the downcast lid.
Such, AZIM, is the lovely luminous host

Now led against thee; and let conquerors boast
Their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms
A young, warm spirit against beauty's charms,
Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall,
Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all.

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 wreathe 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:*_

*Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes.".. Sol. Song.

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 seem
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,t
Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to
cull

From far CIRCASSIA's vales, so beautiful!

All is in motion; rings and plumes and pearls 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 innocent day, And the dear fields and friendships far away. The maid of INDIA, blest gain to hold In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold,‡ Thinks of the time when, by the GANGE's flood, Her little play-mates scatter'd many a bud Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam Just dripping from the consecrated stream;

*They tinged the ends of her fingers scarlet with Henna, so that they resembled branches of coral."---Story of Prince Futtun in Bahardanush.

"The women black the inside of their eyelids with a powder named the black Cohol."---Russel,

The appearance of the blossoms of the gold-coloured Campac on the black hair of the Indian women, has supplied the Sanscrit Poets with many elegant allusions."---v. Asiatic Researches, vol. iv.

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 canopyl-
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 even its sorrows back again!

Mean while, through vast illuminated halls,
Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls
Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound
From many a jasper fount is heard around,
Young AZIM roams bewilder'd,-nor can guess
What means this maze of light and loneliness.
Here the way leads, o'er tesselated floors
Or mats of CAIRO, through long corridors,
Where, ranged in cassolets and silver urus,
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 Perri's 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 noon;

* A tree famous for its perfume, and common on the hills of Yemen.--Niebuhr.

Of the genus mimosa, "which droops its branches whenever any person approaches it, seeming as if it saluted those who retire under its shade,".--Niebuhr.

"Cloves are a principal ingredient in the composition of the perfumed rods, which men of rank keep constantly burning in their presence."--Turner's Tibet.

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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 fountain'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 sudded grace
Through 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 CAMORIN,*

Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;-
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between
The crimson blossoms of the coral treef
In the warm isles of India's sunny sea:
Mecca's blue sacred pigeon,‡ and the thrush
Of Indostan, § whose holy warblings gush,

*C'est d'où vient le bois d'aloes, que les Arabes appellent Oud Comari, et celui du sandal, qui s'y trouve en grande quantité.---D'Herbelot.

"Thousands of variegated loories visit the coral trees."

Barrow. "In Mecca, there are quantities of blue pigeons, which none will affright or abuse, much less kill."

Pitt's Account of the Mahometans. "The Pagoda Thrush is esteemed among the first chorist ers of India. It sits perched on the sacred Pagodas and from thence delivers its melodious song."---Pennant's Hindostan.

"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 The witching scene, he felt its witchery glide Through 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!"
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;
Soften'd 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 look'd into each other's eyes,
Silent and happy-as if God had given
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven!

"Oh my lov'd mistress! whose enchantments still

My Pundits assure me that the plant before us [the Nilica] in their Sephalica, thus named because the bees are supposed to sleep on its blossoms." Sir W. Jones,

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