Nay, turn not from me that dear face-
Am I not thine-thy own lov'd bride-
The one, the chosen one, whose place 280
In life or death is by thy side!
Thinkst 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?
285
"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
The 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 310
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 doomsday 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, 325
For the bright Spirit at the gate
Smil'd as she gave that offering in,
And she already hears the trees
Of Eden, with their crystal bells Ringing in that ambrosial breeze
And she can see the starry bowls
That lie around that lucid lake,
That from the Throne of Alla swells;
Upon whose banks admitted Souls
But ah! even Peris' hopes are vain-
Again the Fates forbade, again
The immortal barrier clos'd-'not yet,'
The Angel said as, with regret,
He shut from her that glimpse of glory-
True was the maiden; and her story,
Written in light o'er Alla's head,
By seraph eyes shall long be read.
But, Peri, see-the crystal bar
Of Eden moves not-holier far
Than ev'n this sigh the boon must be
That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee.'
Now, upon Syria's land of roses
Softly the light of Eve reposes,
And, like a glory, the broad sun
Hangs over sainted Lebanon;
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer, in a vale of flowers,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.
To one, who look'd from upper air
O'er all the enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melons on their banks,
More golden where the sun-light_falls;—
Gay lizards, glittering on the walls
Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright
As they were all alive with light;-
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks,
With their rich restless wings, that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam
Of the warm west,—as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine, or made
Of tearless rainbows, such as span
The unclouded skies of Peristan!
And then, the mingling sounds that come,
Of shepherd's ancient reed with hum
Of the wild bees of Palestine,
Banqueting through the flowery vales; -
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine,
And woods, so full of nightingales!
But nought can charm the luckless Peri; 380
Her soul is sad-her wings are weary-
Joyless she sees the sun look down
On that great Temple, once his own,
Whose lonely columns stand sublime,
Flinging their shadows from on high, 385
Like dials, which the wizard, Time,
Had rais'd to count his ages by!
Yet haply there may lie conceal'd
Beneath those Chambers of the Sun,
Some amulet of gems, anneal'd
In upper fires, some tablet seal'd
With the great name of Solomon,
Which, spell'd by her illumin'd eyes
May teach her where, beneath the moon,
Their first sweet draught of glory take! In earth or ocean lies the boon,
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers or flying gems:
And, near the boy, who tir'd with play 410
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount
From his hot steed, and on the brink Of a small imaret's rustic fount
Impatient fling him down to drink.
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd
To the fair child, who fearless sat,
Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd
Upon a brow more fierce than that,—
Sullenly fierce-a mixture dire,
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire!
In which the Peri's eye could read
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed;
The ruin'd maid-the shrine profan'd-
Oaths broken-and the threshold stain'd 425
With blood of guests!-there written, all,
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing Angel's pen,
Ere Mercy weeps them out again!
Yet tranquil now that man of crime,
(As if the balmy evening time
Soften'd his spirit,) look'd and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play :-
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches, that have burnt all night
Through some impure and godless rite,
Encounter morning's glorious rays.
But hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of day-light sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air,
"There was a time,' he said in mild, 465
Heart-humbled tones-'thou blessed child!
When young and haply pure as thou,
I look'd and pray'd like thee-but now--
He hung his head-each nobler aim
And hope and feeling, which had slept 470 From boyhood's hour, that instant came Fresh o'er him, and he wept-he wept!
Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!
In whose benign, redeeming flow
Is felt the first, the only sense
Of guiltless joy that guilt can know, "There's a drop,' said the Peri, 'that down from the moon
Falls through the withering airs of June
Upon Egypt's land, of so healing a power,
So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in the hour 480
That drop descends, contagion dies,
And health reanimates earth and skies!-
Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin,
The precious tears of repentance fall?
Though foul thy fiery plagues within,
One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them
And now- -behold him kneeling there
By the child's side, in humble prayer,
While the same sun-beam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,
And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven
The Triumph of a soul Forgiven!
'Twas when the golden orb had set, While on their knees they linger'd yet, 440 There fell a light, more lovely far
From Syria's thousand minarets! The boy has started from the bed Of flowers, where he had laid his head, 445 And down upon the fragrant sod
Kneels, with his forehead to the south, Lisping the eternal name of God
From purity's own cherub mouth, And looking, while his hands and eyes 450 Are lifted to the glowing skies, Like a stray babe of Paradise,
Than ever came from sun or star,
Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek:
To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam-
But well the enraptur'd Peri knew
'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw
From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear
Her harbinger of glory near!
'Joy, joy for ever! my task is doneThe Gates are pass'd, and Heaven is won!
'Land of song!' said the warrior-bard, 'Tho' all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee!'
The Minstrel fell!-but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under; 10 The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder: And said, 'No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery! Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery.'
To the throne of Him who made it? 10 The stormiest sea's a resting place
Farewell, Erin,-farewell, all,
Who live to weep our fall!
Less dear the laurel growing,
Alive, untouch'd and blowing,
Than that, whose braid
Is pluck'd to shade
The brows with victory glowing.
We tread the land that bore us,
Her green flag glitters o'er us,
The friends we've tried
Are by our side,
And the foe we hate before us.
Farewell, Erin,-farewell, all, Who live to weep our fall!
To him who leaves such hearts on shore.
THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE.
15 The dawning of morn, the day-light's sink
The night's long hours still find me thinking Of thee, thee, only thee.
When friends are met, and goblets crown'd, And smiles are near, that once enchanted, Unreach'd by all that sunshine round,
My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted By thee, thee, only thee.
Whatever in fame's high path could waken My spirit once, is now forsaken
For thee, thee, only thee.
Like shores, by which some headlong bark
To the ocean hurries-resting never-
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark,
I know not, heed not, hastening ever 15
To thee, thee, only thee.
I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet when springing
From thee, thee, only thee.
Like spells, that nought on earth can break, Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken By thee, thee, only thee.
In yonder valley there dwelt, alone,
A youth, whose life all had calmly flown,
Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night,
He was haunted and watch'd by a Mountain
Sprite.
As he, by moonlight, went wandering o'er
The golden sands of that island shore,
A foot-print sparkled before his sight,
'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite.
Beside a fountain, one sunny day,
As, looking down on the stream, he lay, 10
Behind him stole two eyes of light,
And he saw in the clear wave the Moun-
tain Sprite.
He turn'd-but lo, like a startled bird,
The Spirit fled-and he only heard
Sweet music, such as marks the flight
Of a journeying star, from the Mountain
Sprite.
THOSE EVENING BELLS. Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells, Of youth, and home, and that sweet time, When last I heard their soothing chime. Those joyous hours are past away, And many a heart, that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells. And so 'twill be when I am gone; That tuneful peal will still ring on, While other bards shall walk the dells, And sing your praise, sweet evening bells! (Ibid.)
THOU ART, O GOD.
Thou art, O God, the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from Thee.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine!
When Day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the opening clouds of Even,
And we can almost think we gaze
Through golden vistas into Heaven- 10 Those hues, that make the Sun's decline So oft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.
When Night, with wings of starry gloom, O'ershadows all the earth and skies, Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume
5 Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes-
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.
When youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh; 20
And every flower the Summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine.
(Sacred Songs.)
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