While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, Each note of which but adds new, downy links To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. He turns him toward the sound, and far away Thro' a long vista sparkling with the play Of countless lamps,—like the rich track which Day Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us, So long the path, its light so tremulous;— He sees a group of female forms advance, Some chained together in the mazy dance By fetters forged in the green sunny bowers, As they were captives to the King of Flowers;[71] And some disporting round, unlinkt and free, Who seemed to mock their sisters' slavery; And round and round them still in wheeling flight Went like gay moths about a lamp at night; While others waked, as gracefully along Their feet kept time, the very soul of song From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill, Or their own youthful voices heavenlier still. And now they come, now pass before his eye, Forms such as Nature moulds when she would vie With Fancy's pencil and give birth to things Lovely beyond its fairest picturings. Awhile they dance before him, then divide, Breaking like rosy clouds at eventide Around the rich pavilion of the sun,— Till silently dispersing, one by one, Thro' many a path that from the chamber leads To gardens, terraces and moonlight meads, Their distant laughter comes upon the wind, And but one trembling nymph remains behind,— Beckoning them back in vain—for they are gone And she is left in all that light alone; No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow, In its young bashfulness more beauteous now; But a light golden chain-work round her hair,[72] Such as the maids of YEZD and SHIRAS wear,[73] From which on either side gracefully hung A golden amulet in the Arab tongue, Engraven o'er with some immortal line From Holy Writ or bard scarce less divine; While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood, Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood, Which once or twice she touched with hurried strain, Then took her trembling fingers off again. But when at length a timid glance she stole At AZIM, the sweet gravity of soul She saw thro' all his features calmed her fear, And like a half-tamed antelope more near, Tho' shrinking still, she came;—then sat her down Upon a musnud's[74] edge, and, bolder grown. In the pathetic mode of ISFAHAN[75] Touched a preluding strain and thus began:—

There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEER's[76] stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.

That bower and its music, I never forget, But oft when alone in the bloom of the year I think—is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER?

No, the roses soon withered that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gathered while freshly they shone. And a dew was distilled from their flowers that gave All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone.

Thus memory draws from delight ere it dies An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER!

"Poor maiden!" thought the youth, "if thou wert sent "With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment "To wake unholy wishes in this heart, "Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art. "For tho' thy lips should sweetly counsel wrong, "Those vestal eyes would disavow its song. "But thou hast breathed such purity, thy lay "Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day, "And leads thy soul—if e'er it wandered thence— "So gently back to its first innocence, "That I would sooner stop the unchained dove, "When swift returning to its home of love, "And round its snowy wing new fetters twine. "Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine!"

Scarce had this feeling past, when sparkling thro' The gently open'd curtains of light blue That veiled the breezy casement, countless eyes Peeping like stars thro' the blue evening skies, Looked laughing in as if to mock the pair That sat so still and melancholy there:— And now the curtains fly apart and in From the cool air mid showers of jessamine Which those without fling after them in play, Two lightsome maidens spring,—lightsome as they Who live in the air on odors,—and around The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, Chase one another in a varying dance Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance, Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit:— While she who sung so gently to the lute Her dream of home steals timidly away, Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,— But 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 danced Hung carcanets of orient gems that glanced More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore;[77] While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall Of curls descending, bells as musical As those that on the golden-shafted trees Of EDEN shake in the eternal breeze,[78] Rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet. As 'twere the ecstatic language of their feet. At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreathed Within each other's arms; while soft there breathed Thro' the cool casement, mingled with the sighs Of moonlight flowers, music that seemed to rise From some still lake, so liquidly it rose; And as it swelled again at each faint close The ear could track thro' all that maze of chords And young sweet voices these impassioned words:—

A SPIRIT there is whose fragrant sigh Is burning now thro' 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[79] Blue water-lilies,[80] when the breeze Is making the stream around them tremble.

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power! Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss! 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 thither, 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 heart loves most, Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost, The youth had started up and turned away From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay To muse upon the pictures that hung round,—[81] 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 touched with that fine art Which paints of pleasure but the purer part; Which knows even Beauty when half-veiled is best,— Like her own radiant planet of the west, Whose orb when half retired looks loveliest.[82] There hung the history of the Genii-King, Traced thro' 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[83] The Hebrew boy who flies from her young charms, Yet flying turns to gaze and half undone Wishes that Heaven 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.[84]

With rapid step, yet pleased and lingering eye, Did the youth pass these pictured stories by, And hastened to a casement where the light Of the calm moon came in and freshly bright The fields without were seen sleeping as still As if no life remained in breeze or rill. Here paused he while the music now less near Breathed with a holier language on his ear, As tho' the distance and that heavenly ray Thro' which the sounds came floating took away All that had been too earthly in the lay.

Oh! could he listen to such sounds unmoved, And by that light—nor dream of her he loved? Dream on, unconscious boy! while yet thou may'st; 'Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste. Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart, Ere all the light that made it dear depart. Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last, Clear, beautiful, by naught of earth o'ercast; Recall her tears to thee at parting given, Pure as they weep, if angels weep in Heaven. Think in her own still bower she waits thee now With the same glow of heart and bloom of brow, Yet shrined in solitude—thine all, thine only, Like the one star above thee, bright and lonely. Oh! that a dream so sweet, so long enjoyed, Should be so sadly, cruelly destroyed!

The song is husht, the laughing nymphs are flown, And he is left musing of bliss alone;— Alone?—no, not alone—that heavy sigh, That sob of grief which broke from some one nigh— Whose could it be?—alas! is misery found Here, even here, on this enchanted ground? He turns and sees a female form close veiled, Leaning, as if both heart and strength had failed, Against a pillar near;—not glittering o'er With gems and wreaths such as the others wore, But in that deep-blue, melancholy dress.[85] BOKHARA'S maidens wear in mindfulness Of friends or kindred, dead or far away;— And such as ZELICA had on that day He left her—when with heart too full to speak He took away her last warm tears upon his cheek.

A strange emotion stirs within him,—more Than mere compassion ever waked before; Unconsciously he opes his arms while she Springs forward as with life's last energy, But, swooning in that one convulsive bound, Sinks ere she reach his arms upon the ground;— Her veil falls off—her faint hands clasp his knees— 'Tis she herself!—it is ZELICA he sees! But, ah, so pale, so changed—none but a lover Could in that wreck of beauty's shrine discover The once adorned divinity—even he Stood for some moments mute, and doubtingly Put back the ringlets from her brow, and gazed Upon those lids where once such lustre blazed, Ere he could think she was indeed his own, Own darling maid whom he so long had known In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both; Who, even when grief was heaviest—when loath He left her for the wars—in that worst hour Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night-flower,[86] When darkness brings its weeping glories out, And spreads its sighs like frankincense about.

"Look up, my ZELICA—one moment show "Those gentle eyes to me that I may know "Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, "But there at least shines as it ever shone. "Come, look upon thy AZIM—one dear glance, "Like those of old, were heaven! whatever chance "Hath brought thee here, oh, 'twas a blessed one! "There—my loved lips—they move—that kiss hath run "Like the first shoot of life thro' every vein, "And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again. "Oh the delight—now, in this very hour, "When had the whole rich world been in my power, "I should have singled out thee only thee, "From the whole world's collected treasury— "To have thee here—to hang thus fondly o'er "My own, best, purest ZELICA once more!"

It was indeed the touch of those fond lips Upon her eyes that chased their short eclipse. And gradual as the snow at Heaven's breath Melts off and shows the azure flowers beneath, Her lids unclosed and the bright eyes were seen Gazing on his—not, as they late had been, Quick, restless, wild, but mournfully serene; As if to lie even for that tranced minute So near his heart had consolation in it; And thus to wake in his beloved caress Took from her soul one half its wretchedness. But, when she heard him call her good and pure, Oh! 'twas too much—too dreadful to endure! Shuddering she broke away from his embrace. And hiding with both hands her guilty face Said in a tone whose anguish would have riven A heart of very marble, "Pure!—oh Heaven!"—

That tone—those looks so changed—the withering blight, That sin and sorrow leave where'er they light: The dead despondency of those sunk eyes, Where once, had he thus met her by surprise, He would have seen himself, too happy boy, Reflected in a thousand lights of joy: And then the place,—that bright, unholy place, Where vice lay hid beneath each winning grace And charm of luxury as the viper weaves Its wily covering of sweet balsam leaves,[87]— All struck upon his heart, sudden and cold As death itself;—it needs not to be told— No, no—he sees it all plain as the brand Of burning shame can mark—whate'er the hand, That could from Heaven and him such brightness sever, 'Tis done—to Heaven and him she's lost for ever! It was a dreadful moment; not the tears, The lingering, lasting misery of years Could match that minute's anguish—all the worst Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst Broke o'er his soul and with one crash of fate Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate.

"Oh! curse me not," she cried, as wild he tost His desperate hand towards Heav'n—"tho' I am lost, "Think not that guilt, that falsehood made me fall, "No, no—'twas grief, 'twas madness did it all! "Nay, doubt me not—tho' all thy love hath ceased— "I know it hath—yet, yet believe, at least, "That every spark of reason's light must be "Quenched in this brain ere I could stray from thee. "They told me thou wert dead—why, AZIM, why "Did we not, both of us, that instant die "When we were parted? oh! couldst thou but know "With what a deep devotedness of woe "I wept thy absence—o'er and o'er again "Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain, "And memory like a drop that night and day "Falls cold and ceaseless wore my heart away. "Didst thou but know how pale I sat at home, "My eyes still turned the way thou wert to come, "And, all the long, long night of hope and fear, "Thy voice and step still sounding in my ear— "Oh God! thou wouldst not wonder that at last, "When every hope was all at once o'ercast, "When I heard frightful voices round me say "Azim is dead!—this wretched brain gave way, "And I became a wreck, at random driven, "Without one glimpse of reason or of Heaven— "All wild—and even this quenchless love within "Turned to foul fires to light me into sin!— "Thou pitiest me—I knew thou wouldst—that sky "Hath naught beneath it half so lorn as I. "The fiend, who lured me hither—hist! come near. "Or thou too, thou art lost, if he should hear— "Told me such things—oh! with such devilish art. "As would have ruined even a holier heart— "Of thee, and of that ever-radiant sphere, "Where blest at length, if I but served him here, "I should for ever live in thy dear sight. "And drink from those pure eyes eternal light. "Think, think how lost, how maddened I must be, "To hope that guilt could lead to God or thee! "Thou weep'st for me—do weep—oh, that I durst "Kiss off that tear! but, no—these lips are curst, "They must not touch thee;—one divine caress, "One blessed moment of forgetfulness "I've had within those arms and that shall lie "Shrined in my soul's deep memory till I die; "The last of joy's last relics here below, "The one sweet drop, in all this waste of woe, "My heart has treasured from affection's spring, "To soothe and cool its deadly withering! "But thou—yes, thou must go—for ever go; "This place is not for thee—for thee! oh no, "Did I but tell thee half, thy tortured brain "Would burn like mine, and mine go wild again! "Enough that Guilt reigns here—that hearts once good "Now tainted, chilled and broken are his food.— "Enough that we are parted—that there rolls "A flood of headlong fate between our souls, "Whose darkness severs me as wide from thee "As hell from heaven to all eternity!"

"ZELICA, ZELICA!" the youth exclaimed. In all the tortures of a mind inflamed Almost to madness—"by that sacred Heaven, "Where yet, if prayers can move, thou'lt be forgiven, "As thou art here—here, in this writhing heart, "All sinful, wild, and ruined as thou art! "By the remembrance of our once pure love, "Which like a church-yard light still burns above "The grave of our lost souls—which guilt in thee "Cannot extinguish nor despair in me! "I do conjure, implore thee to fly hence— "If thou hast yet one spark of innocence, "Fly with me from this place"— "With thee! oh bliss! "'Tis worth whole years of torment to hear this. "What! take the lost one with thee?—let her rove "By thy dear side, as in those days of love, "When we were both so happy, both so pure— "Too heavenly dream! if there's on earth a cure "For the sunk heart, 'tis this—day after day "To be the blest companion of thy way; "To hear thy angel eloquence—to see "Those virtuous eyes for ever turned on me; "And in their light re-chastened silently, "Like the stained web that whitens in the sun, "Grow pure by being purely shone upon! "And thou wilt pray for me—I know thou wilt— "At the dim vesper hour when thoughts of guilt "Come heaviest o'er the heart thou'lt lift thine eyes "Full of sweet tears unto the darkening skies "And plead for me with Heaven till I can dare "To fix my own weak, sinful glances there; "Till the good angels when they see me cling "For ever near thee, pale and sorrowing, "Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven, "And bid thee take thy weeping slave to Heaven! "Oh yes, I'll fly with thee"— Scarce had she said These breathless words when a voice deep and dread As that of MONKER waking up the dead From their first sleep—so startling 'twas to both— Rang thro' the casement near, "Thy oath! thy oath!" Oh Heaven, the ghastliness of that Maid's look!— "'Tis he," faintly she cried, while terror shook Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her eyes, Tho' thro' the casement, now naught but the skies And moonlight fields were seen, calm as before— "'Tis he, and I am his—all, all is o'er— "Go—fly this instant, or thou'rt ruin'd too— "My oath, my oath, oh God! 'tis all too true, "True as the worm in this cold heart it is— "I am MOKANNA'S bride—his, AZIM, his— "The Dead stood round us while I spoke that vow, "Their blue lips echoed it—I hear them now! "Their eyes glared on me, while I pledged that bowl, "'Twas burning blood—I feel it in my soul! "And the Veiled Bridegroom—hist! I've seen to-night "What angels know not of—so foul a sight. "So horrible—oh! never may'st thou see "What there lies hid from all but hell and me! "But I must hence—off, off—I am not thine, "Nor Heaven's, nor Love's, nor aught that is divine— "Hold me not—ha! think'st thou the fiends that sever "Hearts cannot sunder hands?—thus, then—for ever!"

With all that strength which madness lends the weak She flung away his arm; and with a shriek Whose sound tho' be should linger out more years Than wretch e'er told can never leave his ears— Flew up thro' that long avenue of light, Fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of night, Across the sun; and soon was out of sight!

LALLA ROOKH could think of nothing all day but the misery of those two young lovers. Her gayety was gone, and she looked pensively even upon FADLAPEEN. She felt, too, without knowing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure in imagining that AZIM must have been just such a youth as FERAMORZ; just as worthy to enjoy all the blessings, without any of the pangs, of that illusive passion, which too often like the sunny apples of Istkahar[88] is all sweetness on one side and all bitterness on the other.

As they passed along a sequestered river after sunset they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank, whose employment seemed to them so strange that they stopped their palankeens to observe her. She had lighted a small lamp filled with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthen dish adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand to the stream; and was now anxiously watching its progress down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. LALLA ROOKH was all curiosity;—when one of her attendants, who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges, (where this ceremony is so frequent that often in the dusk of the evening the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like the Oton-tala or Sea of Stars,)[89] informed the princess that it was the usual way in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe return. If the lamp sunk immediately the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream and continued to burn till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain.

LALLA ROOKH as they moved on more than once looked back to observe how the young Hindoo's lamp proceeded; and while she saw with pleasure that it was still unextinguished she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river. The remainder of the journey was passed in silence. She now for the first time felt that shade of melancholy which comes over the youthful maiden's heart as sweet and transient as her own breath upon a mirror; nor was it till she heard the lute of FERAMOKZ, touched lightly at the door of her pavilion that she waked from the revery in which she had been wandering. Instantly her eyes were lighted up with pleasure; and after a few unheard remarks from FADLADEEN upon the indecorum of a poet seating himself in presence of a Princess everything was arranged as on the preceding evening and all listened with eagerness while the story was thus continued:—

Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way, Where all was waste and silent yesterday? This City of War which, in a few short hours, Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers[90] Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star, Built the high pillared halls of CHILMINAR,[91] Had conjur'd up, far as the eye can see, This world of tents and domes and sunbright armory:— Princely pavilions screened by many a fold Of crimson cloth and topt with balls of gold:— Steeds with their housings of rich silver spun, Their chains and poitrels glittering in the sun; And camels tufted o'er with Yemen's shells[92] Shaking in every breeze their light-toned bells!

But yester-eve, so motionless around, So mute was this wide plain that not a sound But the far torrent or the locust bird[93] Hunting among thickets could be heard;— Yet hark! what discords now of every kind, Shouts, laughs, and screams are revelling in the wind; The neigh of cavalry;—the tinkling throngs Of laden camels and their drivers' songs;— Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze Of streamers from ten thousand canopies;—[94] War-music bursting out from time to time With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime;— Or in the pause when harsher sounds are mute, The mellow breathings of some horn or flute, That far off, broken by the eagle note Of the Abyssinian trumpet, swell and float.[95]

Who leads this mighty army?—ask ye "who?" And mark ye not those banners of dark hue, The Night and Shadow, over yonder tent?—[96] It is the CALIPH'S glorious armament. Roused in his Palace by the dread alarms, That hourly came, of the false Prophet's arms, And of his host of infidels who hurled Defiance fierce at Islam and the world,[97] Tho' worn with Grecian warfare, and behind The veils of his bright Palace calm reclined, Yet brooked he not such blasphemy should stain, Thus unrevenged, the evening of his reign; But having sworn upon the Holy Grave[98] To conquer or to perish, once more gave His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze, And with an army nurst in victories, Here stands to crush the rebels that o'errun His blest and beauteous Province of the Sun.

Ne'er did the march of MAHADI display Such pomp before;—not even when on his way To MECCA'S Temple, when both land and sea Were spoiled to feed the Pilgrim's luxury;[99] When round him mid the burning sands he saw Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw, And cooled his thirsty lip beneath the glow Of MECCA'S sun with urns of Persian snow:— Nor e'er did armament more grand than that Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat. First, in the van, the People of the Rock[100] On their light mountain steeds of royal stock:[101] Then chieftains of DAMASCUS proud to see The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry;—[102] Men from the regions near the VOLGA'S mouth Mixt with the rude, black archers of the South; And Indian lancers in white-turbaned ranks From the far SINDE or ATTOCK'S sacred banks, With dusky legions from the Land of Myrrh,[103] And many a mace-armed Moor and Midsea islander.

Nor less in number tho' more new and rude In warfare's school was the vast multitude That, fired by zeal or by oppression wronged, Round the white standard of the impostor thronged. Beside his thousands of Believers—blind, Burning and headlong as the Samiel wind— Many who felt and more who feared to feel The bloody Islamite's converting steel, Flockt to his banner;—Chiefs of the UZBEK race, Waving their heron crests with martial grace;[104] TURKOMANS, countless as their flocks, led forth From the aromatic pastures of the North; Wild warriors of the turquoise hills,—and those[105] Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows Of HINDOO KOSH, in stormy freedom bred, Their fort the rock, their camp the torrent's bed. But none of all who owned the Chief's command Rushed to that battle-field with bolder hand Or sterner hate than IRAN'S outlawed men, Her Worshippers of Fire—all panting then[106] For vengeance on the accursed Saracen; Vengeance at last for their dear country spurned, Her throne usurpt, and her bright shrines o'erturned.

From YEZD'S eternal Mansion of the Fire[107] Where aged saints in dreams of Heaven expire: From BADKU and those fountains of blue flame That burn into the CASPIAN, fierce they came,[108] Careless for what or whom the blow was sped, So vengeance triumpht and their tyrants bled.

Such was the wild and miscellaneous host That high in air their motley banners tost Around the Prophet-Chief—all eyes still bent Upon that glittering Veil, where'er it went, That beacon thro' the battle's stormy flood, That rainbow of the field whose showers were blood!

Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set And risen again and found them grappling yet; While streams of carnage in his noontide blaze, Smoke up to Heaven—hot as that crimson haze By which the prostrate Caravan is awed[109] In the red Desert when the wind's abroad. "Oh, Swords of God!" the panting CALIPH calls,— "Thrones for the living—Heaven for him who falls!"— "On, brave avengers, on," MOKANNA cries, "And EBLIS blast the recreant slave that flies!" Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day— They clash—they strive—the CALIPH'S troops give way! 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 checkt the flying Moslem's rout; And now they turn, they rally—at their head A warrior, (like those angel youths who led, In glorious panoply of Heaven's own mail, The Champions of the Faith thro BEDER'S vale,)[110] 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 falchion makes Terrible vistas thro' 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 Archenemy. 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 lode-star, following him!

Right towards MOKANNA now he cleaves his path, Impatient cleaves as tho' the bolt of wrath He bears from Heaven 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—tho', in that hour of blood, Had all God's seraphs round MOKANNA stood With swords o'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 even him along; In vain he struggles mid the wedged array Of flying thousands—he is borne away; And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows, In this forced flight, is—murdering as he goes! As a grim tiger whom the torrent's might Surprises in some parched ravine at night, Turns even 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 lie hath not power to stay.

"Alla illa Alla!"—the glad shout renew— "Alla Akbar"—the Caliph's in MEROU.[111] Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, And light your shrines and chant your ziraleets.[112] The swords of God have triumpht—on his throne Your Caliph sits and the veiled Chief hath flown. Who does not envy that young warrior now To whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow, In all the graceful gratitude of power, For his throne's safety in that perilous hour? Who doth not wonder, when, amidst the acclaim Of thousands heralding to heaven his name— Mid all those holier harmonies of fame Which sound along the path of virtuous souls, Like music round a planet as it rolls,— He turns away—coldly, as if some gloom Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume;— Some sightless grief upon whose blasted gaze Tho' glory's light may play, in vain it plays. Yes, wretched AZIM! thine is such a grief, Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief! A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break. Or warm or brighten,—Like that Syrian Lake[113] Upon whose surface morn and summer shed Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead!— Hearts there have been o'er which this weight of woe Came by long use of suffering, tame and slow; But thine, lost youth! was sudden—over thee It broke at once, when all seemed ecstasy; When Hope lookt up and saw the gloomy Past Melt into splendor and Bliss dawn at last— 'Twas then, even then, o'er joys so freshly blown This mortal blight of misery came down; Even then, the full, warm gushings of thy heart Were checkt—like fount-drops, frozen as they start— And there like them cold, sunless relics hang, Each fixt and chilled into a lasting pang.

One sole desire, one passion now remains To keep life's fever still within his veins, Vengeance!—dire vengeance on the wretch who cast O'er him and all he loved that ruinous blast. For this, when rumors reached him in his flight Far, far away, after that fatal night,— Rumors of armies thronging to the attack Of the Veiled Chief,—for this he winged him back, Fleet as the Vulture speeds to flags unfurled, And when all hope seemed desperate, wildly hurled Himself into the scale and saved a world. For this he still lives on, careless of all The wreaths that Glory on his path lets fall; For this alone exists—like lightning-fire, To speed one bolt of vengeance and expire!

But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives; With a small band of desperate fugitives, The last sole stubborn fragment left unriven Of the proud host that late stood fronting Heaven, He gained MEROU—breathed a short curse of blood O'er his lost throne—then past the JIHON'S flood,[114] And gathering all whose madness of belief Still saw a Saviour in their down-fallen Chief, Raised the white banner within NEKSHEB'S gates,[115] And there, untamed, the approaching conqueror waits.

Of all his Haram, all that busy hive, With music and with sweets sparkling alive, He took but one, the partner of his flight, One—not for love—not for her beauty's light— No, ZELICA stood withering midst the gay. Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday From the Alma tree and dies, while overhead To-day's young flower is springing in its stead.[116] Oh, not for love—the deepest Damned must be Touched with Heaven's glory ere such fiends as he Can feel one glimpse of Love's divinity. But no, she is his victim; there lie all Her charms for him-charms that can never pall, As long as hell within his heart can stir, Or one faint trace of Heaven is left in her. To work an angel's ruin,—to behold As white a page as Virtue e'er unrolled Blacken beneath his touch into a scroll Of damning sins, sealed with a burning soul— This is his triumph; this the joy accurst, That ranks him among demons all but first: This gives the victim that before him lies Blighted and lost, a glory in his eyes, A light like that with which hellfire illumes The ghastly, writhing wretch whom it consumes!

But other tasks now wait him—tasks that need All the deep daringness of thought and deed With which the Divs have gifted him—for mark,[117] Over yon plains which night had else made dark, Those lanterns countless as the winged lights That spangle INDIA'S field on showery nights,—[118] Far as their formidable gleams they shed, The mighty tents of the beleaguerer spread, Glimmering along the horizon's dusky line And thence in nearer circles till they shine Among the founts and groves o'er which the town In all its armed magnificence looks down. Yet, fearless, from his lofty battlements MOKANNA views that multitude of tents; Nay, smiles to think that, tho' entoiled, beset, Not less than myriads dare to front him yet;— That friendless, throneless, he thus stands at bay, Even thus a match for myriads such as they. "Oh, for a sweep of that dark Angel's wing, "Who brushed the thousands of the Assyrian King[119] "To darkness in a moment that I might "People Hell's chambers with yon host to-night! "But come what may, let who will grasp the throne, "Caliph or Prophet, Man alike shall groan; "Let who will torture him, Priest—Caliph—King— "Alike this loathsome world of his shall ring "With victims' shrieks and howlings of the slave,— "Sounds that shall glad me even within my grave!" Thus, to himself—but to the scanty train Still left around him, a far different strain:— "Glorious Defenders of the sacred Crown "I bear from Heaven whose light nor blood shall drown "Nor shadow of earth eclipse;—before whose gems "The paly pomp of this world's diadems, "The crown of GERASHID. the pillared throne "Of PARVIZ[120] and the heron crest that shone[121] "Magnificent o'er ALI'S beauteous eyes.[122] "Fade like the stars when morn is in the skies: "Warriors, rejoice—the port to which we've past "O'er Destiny's dark wave beams out at last! "Victory's our own—'tis written in that Book "Upon whose leaves none but the angels look, "That ISLAM'S sceptre shall beneath the power "Of her great foe fall broken in that hour "When the moon's mighty orb before all eyes "From NEKSHEB'S Holy Well portentously shall rise! "Now turn and see!"—They turned, and, as he spoke, A sudden splendor all around them broke, And they beheld an orb, ample and bright, Rise from the Holy Well and cast its light[123] Round the rich city and the plain for miles,— Flinging such radiance o'er the gilded tiles Of many a dome and fair-roofed imaret As autumn suns shed round them when they set. Instant from all who saw the illusive sign A murmur broke—"Miraculous! divine!" The Gheber bowed, thinking his idol star Had waked, and burst impatient thro' the bar Of midnight to inflame him to the war; While he of MOUSSA'S creed saw in that ray The glorious Light which in his freedom's day Had rested on the Ark, and now again[124] Shone out to bless the breaking of his chain.

"To victory!" is at once the cry of all— Nor stands MOKANNA loitering at that call; But instant the huge gates are flung aside, And forth like a diminutive mountain-tide Into the boundless sea they speed their course Right on into the MOSLEM'S mighty force. The watchmen of the camp,—who in their rounds Had paused and even forgot the punctual sounds Of the small drum with which they count the night,[125] To gaze upon that supernatural light,— Now sink beneath an unexpected arm, And in a death-groan give their last alarm. "On for the lamps that light yon lofty screen[126] "Nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean; "There rests the CALIPH—speed—one lucky lance "May now achieve mankind's deliverance." Desperate the die—such as they only cast Who venture for a world and stake their last. But Fate's no longer with him—blade for blade Springs up to meet them thro' the glimmering shade, And as the clash is heard new legions soon Pour to the spot, like bees of KAUZEROON[127] To the shrill timbrel's summons,—till at length The mighty camp swarms out in all its strength. And back to NEKSHEB'S gates covering the plain With random slaughter drives the adventurous train; Among the last of whom the Silver Veil Is seen glittering at times, like the white sail Of some tost vessel on a stormy night Catching the tempest's momentary light!

And hath not this brought the proud spirit low! Nor dashed his brow nor checkt his daring? No. Tho' half the wretches whom at night he led To thrones and victory lie disgraced and dead, Yet morning hears him with unshrinking crest. Still vaunt of thrones and victory to the rest;— And they believe him!—oh, the lover may Distrust that look which steals his soul away;— The babe may cease to think that it can play With Heaven's rainbow;—alchymists may doubt The shining gold their crucible gives out; But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast To some dear falsehood hugs it to the last.

And well the Impostor knew all lures and arts, That LUCIFER e'er taught to tangle hearts; Nor, mid these last bold workings of his plot Against men's souls, is ZELICA forgot. Ill-fated ZELICA! had reason been Awake, thro' half the horrors thou hast seen, Thou never couldst have borne it—Death had come At once and taken thy wrung spirit home. But 'twas not so—a torpor, a suspense Of thought, almost of life, came o'er the intense And passionate struggles of that fearful night, When her last hope of peace and heaven took flight: And tho' at times a gleam of frenzy broke,— As thro' some dull volcano's veil of smoke Ominous flashings now and then will start, Which show the fire's still busy at its heart; Yet was she mostly wrapt in solemn gloom,— Not such as AZIM'S, brooding o'er its doom And calm without as is the brow of death While busy worms are gnawing underneath— But in a blank and pulseless torpor free From thought or pain, a sealed-up apathy Which left her oft with scarce one living thrill The cold, pale victim of her torturer's will.

Again, as in MEROU, he had her deckt Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect; And led her glittering forth before the eyes Of his rude train as to a sacrifice,— Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride Of the fierce NILE, when, deckt in all the pride Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide.[128] And while the wretched maid hung down her head, And stood as one just risen from the dead Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would tell His credulous slaves it was some charm or spell Possest her now,—and from that darkened trance Should dawn ere long their Faith's deliverance. Or if at times goaded by guilty shame, Her soul was roused and words of wildness came, Instant the bold blasphemer would translate Her ravings into oracles of fate, Would hail Heaven's signals in her flashing eyes And call her shrieks the language of the skies!

But vain at length his arts—despair is seen Gathering around; and famine comes to glean All that the sword had left unreaped;—in vain At morn and eve across the northern plain He looks impatient for the promised spears Of the wild Hordes and TARTAR mountaineers; They come not—while his fierce beleaguerers pour Engines of havoc in, unknown before,[129] And horrible as new;—javelins, that fly[130] Enwreathed with smoky flames thro' the dark sky, And red-hot globes that opening as they mount Discharge as from a kindled Naphtha fount[131] Showers of consuming fire o'er all below; Looking as thro' the illumined night they go Like those wild birds that by the Magians oft[132] At festivals of fire were sent aloft Into the air with blazing fagots tied To their huge wings, scattering combustion wide. All night the groans of wretches who expire In agony beneath these darts of fire Ring thro' the city—while descending o'er Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore,— Its lone bazars, with their bright cloths of gold, Since the last peaceful pageant left unrolled,— Its beauteous marble baths whose idle jets. Now gush with blood,—and its tall minarets That late have stood up in the evening glare Of the red sun, unhallowed by a prayer;— O'er each in turn the dreadful flame-bolts fall, And death and conflagration throughout all The desolate city hold high festival!

MOKANNA sees the world is his no more;— One sting at parting and his grasp is o'er, "What! drooping now?"—thus, with unblushing cheek, He hails the few who yet can hear him speak, Of all those famished slaves around him lying, And by the light of blazing temples dying; "What!—drooping now!—now, when at length we press "Home o'er the very threshold of success; "When ALLA from our ranks hath thinned away "Those grosser branches that kept out his ray "Of favor from us and we stand at length "Heirs of his light and children of his strength, "The chosen few who shall survive the fall "Of Kings and Thrones, triumphant over all! "Have you then lost, weak murmurers as you are, "All faith in him who was your Light, your Star? "Have you forgot the eye of glory hid "Beneath this Veil, the flashing of whose lid "Could like a sun-stroke of the desert wither "Millions of such as yonder Chief brings hither? "Long have its lightnings slept—too long—but now "All earth shall feel the unveiling of this brow! "To-night—yes, sainted men! this very night, "I bid you all to a fair festal rite, "Where—having deep refreshed each weary limb "With viands such as feast Heaven's cherubim "And kindled up your souls now sunk and dim "With that pure wine the Dark-eyed Maids above "Keep, sealed with precious musk, for those they love,—[133] "I will myself uncurtain in your sight "The wonders of this brow's ineffable light; "Then lead you forth and with a wink disperse "Yon myriads howling thro' the universe!"

Eager they listen—while each accent darts New life into their chilled and hope-sick hearts; Such treacherous life as the cool draught supplies To him upon the stake who drinks and dies! Wildly they point their lances to the light Of the fast sinking sun, and shout "To-night!"— "To-night," their Chief re-echoes in a voice Of fiend-like mockery that bids hell rejoice. Deluded victims!—never hath this earth Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth. Here, to the few whose iron frames had stood This racking waste of famine and of blood, Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out:— There, others, lighted by the smouldering fire, Danced like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre Among the dead and dying strewed around;— While some pale wretch lookt on and from his wound Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled, In ghastly transport waved it o'er his head!

'Twas more than midnight now—a fearful pause Had followed the long shouts, the wild applause, That lately from those Royal Gardens burst, Where the veiled demon held his feast accurst, When ZELICA, alas, poor ruined heart, In every horror doomed to bear its part!— Was bidden to the banquet by a slave, Who, while his quivering lip the summons gave, Grew black, as tho' the shadows of the grave Compast him round and ere he could repeat His message thro', fell lifeless at her feet! Shuddering she went—a soul-felt pang of fear A presage that her own dark doom was near, Roused every feeling and brought Reason back Once more to writhe her last upon the rack. All round seemed tranquil even the foe had ceased As if aware of that demoniac feast His fiery bolts; and tho' the heavens looked red, 'Twas but some distant conflagration's spread. But hark—she stops—she listens—dreadful tone! 'Tis her Tormentor's laugh—and now, a groan, A long death-groan comes with it—can this be The place of mirth, the bower of revelry?

She enters—Holy ALLA, what a sight Was there before her! By the glimmering light Of the pale dawn, mixt with the flare of brands That round lay burning dropt from lifeless hands, She saw the board in splendid mockery spread, Rich censers breathing—garlands overhead— The urns, the cups, from which they late had quaft All gold and gems, but—what had been the draught? Oh! who need ask that saw those livid guests, With their swollen heads sunk blackening on their breasts, Or looking pale to Heaven with glassy glare, As if they sought but saw no mercy there; As if they felt, tho' poison racked them thro', Remorse the deadlier torment of the two! While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plain Would have met death with transport by his side, Here mute and helpless gasped;—but as they died Lookt horrible vengeance with their eyes' last strain, And clenched the slackening hand at him in vain.

Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare, The stony look of horror and despair, Which some of these expiring victims cast Upon their souls' tormentor to the last; Upon that mocking Fiend whose Veil now raised, Showed them as in death's agony they gazed, Not the long promised light, the brow whose beaming Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming, But features horribler than Hell e'er traced On its own brood;—no Demon of the Waste,[134] No church-yard Ghoul caught lingering in the light Of the blest sun, e'er blasted human sight With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those The Impostor now in grinning mockery shows:— "There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your Star— "Ye would be dupes and victims and ye are. "Is it enough? or must I, while a thrill "Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still? "Swear that the burning death ye feel within "Is but the trance with which Heaven's joys begin: "That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgraced "Even monstrous men, is—after God's own taste; "And that—but see!—ere I have half-way said "My greetings thro', the uncourteous souls are fled. "Farewell, sweet spirits! not in vain ye die, "If EBLIS loves you half so well as I.— "Ha, my young bride!—'tis well—take thou thy seat; "Nay come—no shuddering—didst thou never meet "The Dead before?—they graced our wedding, sweet; "And these, my guests to-night, have brimmed so true "Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge one too. "But—how is this?—all empty? all drunk up? "Hot lips have been before thee in the cup, "Young bride,—yet stay—one precious drop remains, "Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins;— "Here, drink—and should thy lover's conquering arms "Speed hither ere thy lip lose all its charms, "Give him but half this venom in thy kiss, "And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss!

"For, me—I too must die—but not like these "Vile rankling things to fester in the breeze; "To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown, "With all death's grimness added to its own, "And rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes "Of slaves, exclaiming, 'There his Godship lies!' "No—cursed race—since first my soul drew breath, "They've been my dupes and shall be even in death. "Thou seest yon cistern in the shade—'tis filled "With burning drugs for this last hour distilled; "There will I plunge me, in that liquid flame— "Fit bath to lave a dying Prophet's frame!— "There perish, all—ere pulse of thine shall fail— "Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale. "So shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave, "Proclaim that Heaven took back the Saint it gave;— "That I've but vanished from this earth awhile, "To come again with bright, unshrouded smile! "So shall they build me altars in their zeal, "Where knaves shall minister and fools shall kneel; "Where Faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell, "Written in blood—and Bigotry may swell "The sail he spreads for Heaven with blasts from hell! "So shall my banner thro' long ages be "The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy;— "Kings yet unborn shall rue MOKANNA'S name, "And tho' I die my spirit still the same "Shall walk abroad in all the stormy strife, "And guilt and blood that were its bliss in life. "But hark! their battering engine shakes the wall— "Why, let it shake—thus I can brave them all. "No trace of me shall greet them when they come, "And I can trust thy faith, for—thou'lt be dumb. "Now mark how readily a wretch like me "In one bold plunge commences Deity!"

He sprung and sunk as the last words were said— Quick closed the burning waters o'er his head, And ZELICA was left—within the ring Of those wide walls the only living thing; The only wretched one still curst with breath In all that frightful wilderness of death! More like some bloodless ghost—such as they tell, In the Lone Cities of the Silent dwell,[135] And there unseen of all but ALLA sit Each by its own pale carcass watching it. But morn is up and a fresh warfare stirs Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers. Their globes of fire (the dread artillery lent By GREECE to conquering MAHADI) are spent; And now the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent From high balistas and the shielded throng Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along, All speak the impatient Islamite's intent To try, at length, if tower and battlement And bastioned wall be not less hard to win, Less tough to break down than the hearts within. First he, in impatience and in toil is The burning AZIM—oh! could he but see The impostor once alive within his grasp, Not the gaunt lion's hug nor boa's clasp Could match thy gripe of vengeance or keep pace With the fell heartiness of Hate's embrace!

Loud rings the ponderous ram against the walls; Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls, But, still no breach—"Once more one mighty swing "Of all your beams, together thundering!" There—the wall shakes—the shouting troops exult, "Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult "Right on that spot and NEKSHEB is our own!" 'Tis done—the battlements come crashing down, And the huge wall by that stroke riven in two Yawning like some old crater rent anew, Shows the dim, desolate city smoking thro'. But strange! no sign of life—naught living seen Above, below—what can this stillness mean? A minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes— "In thro' the breach," impetuous AZIM cries; But the cool CALIPH fearful of some wile In this blank stillness checks the troops awhile.— Just then a figure with slow step advanced Forth from the ruined walls and as there glanced A sunbeam over it all eyes could see The well-known Silver Veil!—"'Tis He, 'tis He, "MOKANNA and alone!" they shout around; Young AZIM from his steed springs to the ground— "Mine, Holy Caliph! mine," he cries, "the task "To crush yon daring wretch—'tis all I ask." Eager he darts to meet the demon foe Who still across wide heaps of ruin slow And falteringly comes, till they are near; Then with a bound rushes on AZIM'S spear, And casting off the Veil in falling shows— Oh!—'tis his ZELICA'S life-blood that flows!

"I meant not, AZIM," soothingly she said, As on his trembling arm she leaned her head, And looking in his face saw anguish there Beyond all wounds the quivering flesh can bear— "I meant not thou shouldst have the pain of this:— "Tho' death with thee thus tasted is a bliss "Thou wouldst not rob me of, didst thou but know "How oft I've prayed to God I might die so! "But the Fiend's venom was too scant and slow;— "To linger on were maddening—and I thought "If once that Veil—nay, look not on it—caught "The eyes of your fierce soldiery, I should be "Struck by a thousand death-darts instantly. "But this is sweeter—oh! believe me, yes— "I would not change this sad, but dear caress. "This death within thy arms I would not give "For the most smiling life the happiest live! "All that stood dark and drear before the eye "Of my strayed soul is passing swiftly by; "A light comes o'er me from those looks of love, "Like the first dawn of mercy from above; "And if thy lips but tell me I'm forgiven, "Angels will echo the blest words in Heaven! "But live, my AZIM;—oh! to call thee mine "Thus once again! my AZIM—dream divine! "Live, if thou ever lovedst me, if to meet "Thy ZELICA hereafter would be sweet, "Oh, live to pray for her—to bend the knee "Morning and night before that Deity "To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain, "As thine are, AZIM, never breathed in vain,— "And pray that He may pardon her,—may take "Compassion on her soul for thy dear sake, "And naught remembering but her love to thee, "Make her all thine, all His, eternally! "Go to those happy fields where first we twined "Our youthful hearts together—every wind "That meets thee there fresh from the well-known flowers "Will bring the sweetness of those innocent hours "Back to thy soul and thou mayst feel again "For thy poor ZELICA as thou didst then. "So shall thy orisons like dew that flies "To Heaven upon the morning's sunshine rise "With all love's earliest ardor to the skies! "And should they—but, alas, my senses fail— "Oh for one minute!—should thy prayers prevail— "If pardoned souls may from that World of Bliss "Reveal their joy to those they love in this— "I'll come to thee—in some sweet dream—and tell— "Oh Heaven—I die—dear love! farewell, farewell."

Time fleeted—years on years had past away, And few of those who on that mournful day Had stood with pity in their eyes to see The maiden's death and the youth's agony, Were living still—when, by a rustic grave, Beside the swift Amoo's transparent wave, An aged man who had grown aged there By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer, For the last time knelt down—and tho' the shade Of death hung darkening over him there played A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek, That brightened even Death—like the last streak Of intense glory on the horizon's brim, When night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim. His soul had seen a Vision while he slept; She for whose spirit he had prayed and wept So many years had come to him all drest In angel smiles and told him she was blest! For this the old man breathed his thanks and died.— And there upon the banks of that loved tide, He and his ZELICA sleep side by side.

The story of the Veiled Prophet of Khorassan being ended, they were now doomed to hear FADLADEEN'S criticisms upon it. A series of disappointments and accidents had occurred to this learned Chamberlain during the journey. In the first place, those couriers stationed, as in the reign of Shah Jehan, between Delhi and the Western coast of India, to secure a constant supply of mangoes for the Royal Table, had by some cruel irregularity failed in their duty; and to eat any mangoes but those of Mazagong was of course impossible.[136] In the next place, the elephant laden with his fine antique porcelain,[137] had, in an unusual fit of liveliness, shattered the whole set to pieces:—an irreparable loss, as many of the vessels were so exquisitely old, as to have been used under the Emperors Yan and Chun, who reigned many ages before the dynasty of Tang. His Koran too, supposed to be the identical copy between the leaves of which Mahomet's favorite pigeon used to nestle, had been mislaid by his Koran-bearer three whole days; not without much spiritual alarm to FADLADEEN who though professing to hold with other loyal and orthodox Mussulmans that salvation could only be found in the Koran was strongly suspected of believing in his heart that it could only be found in his own particular copy of it. When to all these grievances is added the obstinacy of the cooks in putting the pepper of Canara into his dishes instead of the cinnamon of Serendib, we may easily suppose that he came to the task of criticism with at least a sufficient degree of irritability for the purpose.

"In order," said he, importantly swinging about his chaplet of pearls, "to convey with clearness my opinion of the story this young man has related, it is necessary to take a review of all the stories that have ever"—-"My good FADLADEEN!" exclaimed the Princess, interrupting him, "we really do not deserve that you should give yourself so much trouble. Your opinion of the poem we have just heard, will I have no doubt be abundantly edifying without any further waste of your valuable erudition."—"If that be all," replied the critic,—evidently mortified at not being allowed to show how much he knew about everything but the subject immediately before him—"if that be all that is required the matter is easily despatched." He then proceeded to analyze the poem, in that strain (so well known to the unfortunate bards of Delhi), whose censures were an infliction from which few recovered and whose very praises were like the honey extracted from the bitter flowers of the aloe. The chief personages of the story were, if he rightly understood them, an ill-favored gentleman with a veil over his face;—a young lady whose reason went and came according as it suited the poet's convenience to be sensible or otherwise;—and a youth in one of those hideous Bokharian bonnets, who took the aforesaid gentleman in a veil for a Divinity. "From such materials," said he, "what can be expected?—after rivalling each other in long speeches and absurdities through some thousands of lines as indigestible as the filberts of Berdaa, our friend in the veil jumps into a tub of aquafortis; the young lady dies in a set speech whose only recommendation is that it is her last; and the lover lives on to a good old age for the laudable purpose of seeing her ghost which he at last happily accomplishes, and expires. This you will allow is a fair summary of the story; and if Nasser, the Arabian merchant, told no better, our Holy Prophet (to whom be all honor and glory!) had no need to be jealous of his abilities for story-telling."

With respect to the style, it was worthy of the matter;—it had not even those politic contrivances of structure which make up for the commonness of the thoughts by the peculiarity of the manner nor that stately poetical phraseology by which sentiments mean in themselves, like the blacksmith's [138] apron converted into a banner, are so easily gilt and embroidered into consequence. Then as to the versification it was, to say no worse of it, execrable: it had neither the copious flow of Ferdosi, the sweetness of Hafez, nor the sententious march of Sadi; but appeared to him in the uneasy heaviness of its movements to have been modelled upon the gait of a very tired dromedary. The licenses too in which it indulged were unpardonable;—for instance this line, and the poem abounded with such;—

Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream.

"What critic that can count," said FADLADEEN, "and has his full complement of fingers to count withal, would tolerate for an instant such syllabic superfluities?"—He here looked round, and discovered that most of his audience were asleep; while the glimmering lamps seemed inclined to follow their example. It became necessary therefore, however painful to himself, to put an end to his valuable animadversions for the present and he accordingly concluded with an air of dignified candor, thus:—

"Notwithstanding the observations which I have thought it my duty to make, it is by no means my wish to discourage the young man:—so far from it indeed that if he will but totally alter his style of writing and thinking I have very little doubt that I shall be vastly pleased with him."

Some days elapsed after this harangue of the Great Chamberlain before LALLA ROOKH could venture to ask for another story. The youth was still a welcome guest in the pavilion—to one heart perhaps too dangerously welcome;—but all mention of poetry was as if by common consent avoided. Though none of the party had much respect for FADLADEEN, yet his censures thus magisterially delivered evidently made an impression on them all. The Poet himself to whom criticism was quite a new operation, (being wholly unknown in that Paradise of the Indies, Cashmere,) felt the shock as it is generally felt at first, till use has made it more tolerable to the patient;—the Ladies began to suspect that they ought not to be pleased and seemed to conclude that there must have been much good sense in what FADLADEEN said from its having set them all so soundly to sleep;—while the self-complacent Chamberlain was left to triumph in the idea of having for the hundred and fiftieth time in his life extinguished a Poet. LALLA ROOKH alone—and Love knew why—persisted in being delighted with all she had heard and in resolving to hear more as speedily as possible. Her manner however of first returning to the subject was unlucky. It was while they rested during the heat of noon near a fountain on which some hand had rudely traced those well-known words from the Garden of Sadi.—"Many like me have viewed this fountain, but they are gone and their eyes are closed for ever!"—that she took occasion from the melancholy beauty of this passage to dwell upon the charms of poetry in general. "It is true," she said, "few poets can imitate that sublime bird which flies always in the air and never touches the earth:[139]—it is only once in many ages a Genius appears whose words, like those on the Written Mountain last for ever:[140]—but still there are some as delightful perhaps, though not so wonderful, who if not stars over our head are at least flowers along our path and whose sweetness of the moment we ought gratefully to inhale without calling upon them for a brightness and a durability beyond their nature. In short," continued she, blushing as if conscious of being caught in an oration, "it is quite cruel that a poet cannot wander through his regions of enchantment without having a critic for ever, like the old Man of the Sea, upon his back!"[141]—FADLADEEN, it was plain took this last luckless allusion to himself and would treasure it up in his mind as a whetstone for his next criticism. A sudden silence ensued; and the Princess, glancing a look at FERAMORZ, saw plainly she must wait for a more courageous moment.

But the glories of Nature and her wild, fragrant airs playing freshly over the current of youthful spirits will soon heal even deeper wounds than the dull Fadladeens of this world can inflict. In an evening or two after, they came to the small Valley of Gardens which had been planted by order of the Emperor for his favorite sister Rochinara during their progress to Cashmere some years before; and never was there a more sparkling assemblage of sweets since the Gulzar-e-Irem or Rose-bower of Irem. Every precious flower was there to be found that poetry or love or religion has ever consecrated; from the dark hyacinth to which Hafez compares his mistress's hair to be Camalata by whose rosy blossoms the heaven of Indra is scented.[142] As they sat in the cool fragrance of this delicious spot and LALLA ROOKH remarked that she could fancy it the abode of that flower-loving Nymph whom they worship in the temples of Kathay, [143] or of one of those Peris, those beautiful creatures of the air who live upon perfumes and to whom a place like this might make some amends for the Paradise they have lost,—the young Poet in whose eyes she appeared while she spoke to be one of the bright spiritual creatures she was describing said hesitatingly that he remembered a Story of a Peri, which if the Princess had no objection he would venture to relate. "It is," said he, with an appealing look to FADLADEEN, "in a lighter and humbler strain than the other:" then, striking a few careless but melancholy chords on his kitar, he thus began:—

PARADISE AND THE PERI.

One morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood disconsolate; And as she listened to the Springs Of Life within like music flowing And caught the light upon her wings Thro' the half-open portal glowing, She wept to think her recreant race Should e'er have lost that glorious place!

"How happy," exclaimed this child of air, "Are the holy Spirits who wander there "Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall; "Tho' mine are the gardens of earth and sea "And the stars themselves have flowers for me, "One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all!

"Tho' sunny the Lake of cool CASHMERE "With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,[144] "And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall; "Tho' bright are the waters of SING-SU-HAY And the golden floods that thitherward stray,[145] 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 wall: Take all the pleasures of all the spheres And multiply each thro' 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 listened To her sad song, a tear-drop glistened Within his eyelids, like the spray From Eden's fountain when it lies On the blue flower which—Bramins say— Blooms nowhere but in Paradise.[146]

"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 Pardoned in."

Rapidly as comets run To the embraces of the Sun;— Fleeter than the starry brands Flung at night from angel hands[147] At those dark and daring sprites Who would climb the 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.

But whither shall the Spirit go To find this gift for Heaven;—"I know The wealth," she cries, "of every urn In which unnumbered rubies burn Beneath the pillars of CHILMINAR:[148] I know where the Isles of Perfume are[149] Many a fathom down in the sea, To the south of sun-bright ARABY;[150] I know too where the Genii hid The jewelled cup of their King JAMSHID,[151] "With Life's elixir sparkling high— "But gifts like these are not for the sky. "Where was there ever a gem that shone "Like the steps of ALLA'S wonderful Throne? "And the Drops of Life—oh! what would they be "In the boundless Deep of Eternity?"

While thus she mused her pinions fanned The air of that sweet Indian land Whose air is balm, whose ocean spreads O'er coral rocks and amber beds,[152] Whose mountains pregnant by the beam Of the warm sun with diamonds teem, Whose rivulets are like rich brides, Lovely, with gold beneath their tides, Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice Might be a Peri's Paradise! But crimson now her rivers ran With human blood—the smell of death Came reeking from those spicy bowers, And man the sacrifice of man Mingled his taint with every breath Upwafted from the innocent flowers. Land of the Sun! what foot invades Thy Pagods and thy pillared shades— Thy cavern shrines and Idol stones, Thy Monarch and their thousand Thrones?[153]

'Tis He of GAZNA[154], fierce in wrath He comes and INDIA'S diadems Lie scattered in his ruinous path.- His bloodhounds he adorns with gems, Torn from the violated necks Of many a young and loved Sultana;[155] Maidens within their pure Zenana, Priests in the very fane he slaughters, And chokes up with the glittering wrecks Of golden shrines the sacred waters! Downward the PERI turns her gaze, And thro' the war-field's bloody haze Beholds a youthful warrior stand Alone beside his native river,— The red blade broken in his hand And the last arrow in his quiver. "Live," said the Conqueror, "live to share "The trophies and the crowns I bear!" Silent that youthful warrior stood— Silent he pointed to the flood All crimson with his country's blood, Then sent his last remaining dart, For answer, to the Invader's heart.

False flew the shaft tho' pointed well; The Tyrant lived, the Hero fell!— Yet marked the PERI where he lay, And when the rush of war was past Swiftly descending on a ray Of morning light she caught the last— Last glorious drop his heart had shed Before its free-born spirit fled!

"Be this," she cried, as she winged her flight, "My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. "Tho' foul are the drops that oft distil "On the field of warfare, blood like this "For Liberty shed so holy is, "It would not stain the purest rill "That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss! "Oh, if there be on this earthly sphere "A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, "'Tis the last libation Liberty draws "From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!" "Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave The gift into his radiant hand, "Sweet is our welcome of the Brave "Who die thus for their native Land.— "But see—alas! the crystal bar "Of Eden moves not—holier far "Than even this drop the boon must be "That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee!"

Her first fond hope of Eden blighted, Now among AFRIC'S lunar Mountains[156] Far to the South the PERI lighted And sleeked her plumage at the fountains Of that Egyptian tide whose birth Is hidden from the sons of earth Deep in those solitary woods Where oft the Genii of the Floods Dance round the cradle of their Nile And hail the new-born Giant's smile.[157] Thence over EGYPT'S palmy groves Her grots, and sepulchres of Kings,[158] The exiled Spirit sighing roves And now hangs listening to the doves In warm ROSETTA'S vale;[159] now loves To watch the moonlight on the wings Of the white pelicans that break The azure calm of MOERIS' Lake.[160] 'Twas a fair scene: a Land more bright Never did mortal eye behold! Who could have thought that saw this night Those valleys and their fruits of gold Basking in Heaven's serenest light, Those groups of lovely date-trees bending Languidly their leaf-crowned heads, Like youthful maids, when sleep descending Warns them to their silken beds,[161] Those virgin lilies all the night Bathing their beauties in the lake That they may rise more fresh and bright, When their beloved Sun's awake, Those ruined shrines and towers that seem The relics of a splendid dream, Amid whose fairy loneliness Naught but the lapwing's cry is heard,— Naught seen but (when the shadows flitting, Fast from the moon unsheath its gleam,) Some purple-winged Sultana sitting[162] Upon a column motionless And glittering like an Idol bird!— Who could have thought that there, even there, Amid those scenes so still and fair, The Demon of the Plague hath cast From his hot wing a deadlier blast, More mortal far than ever came From the red Desert's sands of flame! So quick that every living thing Of human shape touched by his wing, Like plants, where the Simoom hath past At once falls black and withering! The sun went down on many a brow Which, full of bloom and freshness then, Is rankling in the pest-house now And ne'er will feel that sun again, And, oh! to see the unburied heaps On which the lonely moonlight sleeps— The very vultures turn away, And sicken at so foul a prey! Only the fierce hyaena stalks[163] Throughout the city's desolate walks[164] At midnight and his carnage plies:— Woe to the half-dead wretch who meets The glaring of those large blue eyes Amid the darkness of the streets!

"Poor race of men!" said the pitying Spirit, "Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall— "Some flowerets of Eden ye still inherit, "But the trail of the Serpent is over them all!" She wept—the air grew pure and clear Around her as the bright drops ran, For there's a magic in each tear Such kindly Spirits weep for man!

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 springing bower Close by the Lake she heard the moan Of one who at this silent hour, Had thither stolen to die alone. One who in life where'er he moved, Drew after him the hearts of many; Yet now, as tho' he ne'er were loved, Dies here unseen, unwept by any! None to watch near him—none to slake The fire that in his bosom lies, With even a sprinkle from that lake Which shines so cool before his eyes. No voice well known thro' 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 loved and might have called 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 perfumed by many a brand Of the sweet wood from India's land, Were pure as she whose brow they fanned.

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—far off, thro' 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 loosened 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! And now he yields—now turns away, Shuddering as if the venom lay All in those proffered lips alone— Those lips that then so fearless grown Never until that instant came Near his unasked or without shame. "Oh! let me only breathe the air. "The blessed air, that's breathed 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 knowst, 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 loved bride— "The one, the chosen one, whose place "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? "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 warmed a woman's breast— "Sleep on, in visions of odor rest "In balmier airs than ever yet stirred "The enchanted pile of that lonely bird "Who sings at the last his own death-lay[165] "And in music and perfume dies away!" Thus saying, from her lips she spread Unearthly breathings thro' the place And shook her sparkling wreath and shed Such lustre o'er each paly face That like two lovely saints they seemed, Upon the eve of doomsday taken From their dim graves in ordor sleeping; While that benevolent PERI beamed 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 Heaven that precious sigh Of pure, self-sacrificing love. High throbbed her heart with hope elate The Elysian palm she soon shall win. For the bright Spirit at the gate Smiled 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![166]

But, ah! even PERIS' hopes are vain— Again the Fates forbade, again The immortal barrier closed—"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 even this sigh the boon must be "That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee."

Now upon SYRIA'S land of roses[167] 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 looked 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 sunlight falls;— Gay lizards, glittering on the walls[168] Of ruined 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,[169] with hum Of the wild bees of PALESTINE,[170] Banqueting thro' the flowery vales; And, JORDAN, those sweet banks of thine And woods so full of nightingales.[171] But naught can charm the luckless PERI; Her soul is sad—her wings are weary— Joyless she sees the Sun look down On that great Temple once his own,[172] Whose lonely columns stand sublime, Flinging their shadows from on high Like dials which the Wizard Time Had raised to count his ages by!

Yet haply there may lie concealed Beneath those Chambers of the Sun Some amulet of gems, annealed In upper fires, some tablet sealed With the great name of SOLOMON, Which spelled by her illumined eyes, May teach her where beneath the moon, In earth or ocean, lies the boon, The charm, that can restore so soon An erring Spirit to the skies.

Cheered by this hope she bends her thither;— Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, Nor have the golden bowers of Even In the rich West begun to wither;— When o'er the vale of BALBEC winging Slowly she sees a child at play, Among the rosy wild flowers singing, As rosy and as wild as they; Chasing with eager hands and eyes The beautiful blue damsel-flies,[173] That fluttered round the jasmine stems Like winged flowers or flying gems:— And near the boy, who tired with play 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 turned To the fair child who fearless sat, Tho' never yet hath day-beam burned 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 ruined maid—the shrine profaned— Oaths broken—and the threshold stained 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 Softened his spirit) looked and lay, Watching the rosy infant's play:— Tho' still whene'er his eye by chance Fell on the boy's, its lucid glance Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, As torches that have burnt all night Tho' some impure and godless rite, Encounter morning's glorious rays.

But, hark! the vesper call to prayer, As slow the orb of daylight sets, Is rising sweetly on the air. From SYRIA'S thousand minarets! The boy has started from the bed Of flowers where he had laid his head. And down upon the fragrant sod Kneels[174] 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 Are lifted to the glowing skies Like a stray babe of Paradise Just lighted on that flowery plain And seeking for its home again. Oh! 'twas a sight—that Heaven—that child— A scene, which might have well beguiled Even haughty EBLIS of a sigh For glories lost and peace gone by! And how felt he, the wretched Man Reclining there—while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place. Nor brought him back one branch of grace. "There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones—"thou blessed child! "When young and haply pure as thou "I looked and prayed like thee—but now"— He hung his head—each nobler aim And hope and feeling which had slept 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 thro' the withering airs of June "Upon EGYPT'S land,[175] of so healing a power, "So balmy a virtue, that even in the hour "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? "Tho' foul thy fiery plagues within "One heavenly drop hath dispelled them all!" And now—behold him kneeling there By the child's side, in humble prayer, While the same sunbeam shines upon The guilty and the guiltless one. And hymns of joy proclaim thro' Heaven The triumph of a Soul Forgiven!

'Twas when the golden orb had set, While on their knees they lingered yet, There fell a light more lovely far Than ever came from sun or star, Upon the tear that, warm and meek, Dewed that repentant sinner's cheek. To mortal eye this light might seem A northern flash or meteor beam— But well the enraptured 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 done— "The Gates are past and Heaven is won! "Oh! am I not happy? I am, I am— "To thee, sweet Eden! how dark and sad "Are the diamond turrets of SHADUKIAM,[176] "And the fragrant bowers of AMBERABAD!

"Farewell ye odors of Earth that die "Passing away like a lover's sigh;— "My feast is now of the Tooba Tree[177] "Whose scent is the breath of Eternity!

"Farewell, ye vanishing flowers that shone "In my fairy wreath so bright an' brief;— "Oh! what are the brightest that e'er have blown "To the lote-tree springing by ALLA'S throne[178] "Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf. "Joy, joy for ever.—my task is done— "The Gates are past and Heaven is won!"

"And this," said the Great Chamberlain, "is poetry! this flimsy manufacture of the brain, which in comparison with the lofty and durable monuments of genius is as the gold filigree-work of Zamara beside the eternal architecture of Egypt!" After this gorgeous sentence, which, with a few more of the same kind, FADLADEEN kept by him for rare and important occasions, he proceeded to the anatomy of the short poem just recited. The lax and easy kind of metre in which it was written ought to be denounced, he said, as one of the leading causes of the alarming growth of poetry in our times. If some check were not given to this lawless facility we should soon be overrun by a race of bards as numerous and as shallow as the hundred and twenty thousand Streams of Basra.[179] They who succeeded in this style deserved chastisement for their very success;—as warriors have been punished even after gaining a victory because they had taken the liberty of gaining it in an irregular or unestablished manner. What then was to be said to those who failed? to those who presumed as in the present lamentable instance to imitate the licence and ease of the bolder sons of song without any of that grace or vigor which gave a dignity even to negligence;—who like them flung the jereed[180] carelessly, but not, like them, to the mark;—"and who," said he, raising his voice to excite a proper degree of wakefulness in his hearers, "contrive to appear heavy and constrained in the midst of all the latitude they allow themselves, like one of those young pagans that dance before the Princess, who is ingenious enough to move as if her limbs were fettered, in a pair of the lightest and loosest drawers of Masulipatam!"

It was but little suitable, he continued, to the grave march of criticism to follow this fantastical Peri of whom they had just heard, through all her flights and adventures between earth and heaven, but he could not help adverting to the puerile conceitedness of the Three Gifts which she is supposed to carry to the skies,—a drop of blood, forsooth, a sigh, and a tear! How the first of these articles was delivered into the Angel's "radiant hand" he professed himself at a loss to discover; and as to the safe carriage of the sigh and the tear, such Peris and such poets were beings by far too incomprehensible for him even to guess how they managed such matters. "But, in short," said he, "it is a waste of time and patience to dwell longer upon a thing so incurably frivolous,—puny even among its own puny race, and such as only the Banyan Hospital[181] for Sick Insects should undertake."

In vain did LALLA ROOKH try to soften this inexorable critic; in vain did she resort to her most eloquent commonplaces, reminding him that poets were a timid and sensitive race whose sweetness was not to be drawn forth like that of the fragrant grass near the Ganges by crushing and trampling upon them,[182] that severity often extinguished every chance of the perfection which it demanded, and that after all perfection was like the Mountain of the Talisman,—no one had ever yet reached its summit.[183] Neither these gentle axioms nor the still gentler looks with which they were inculcated could lower for one instant the elevation of FADLADEEN'S eyebrows or charm him into anything like encouragement or even toleration of her poet. Toleration, indeed, was not among the weaknesses of FADLADEEN:—he carried the same spirit into matters of poetry and of religion, and though little versed in the beauties or sublimities of either was a perfect master of the art of persecution in both. His zeal was the same too in either pursuit, whether the game before him was pagans or poetasters, worshippers of cows, or writers of epics.

They had now arrived at the splendid city of Lahore whose mausoleums and shrines, magnificent and numberless where Death appeared to share equal honors with Heaven would have powerfully affected the heart and imagination of LALLA ROOKH, if feelings more of this earth had not taken entire possession of her already. She was here met by messengers despatched from Cashmere who informed her that the King had arrived in the Valley and was himself superintending the sumptuous preparations that were then making in the Saloons of the Shalimar for her reception. The chill she felt on receiving this intelligence,—which to a bride whose heart was free and light would have brought only images of affection and pleasure,—convinced her that her peace was gone for ever and that she was in love, irretrievably in love, with young FERAMORZ. The veil had fallen off in which this passion at first disguises itself, and to know that she loved was now as painful as to love without knowing it had been delicious. FERAMORZ, too,—what misery would be his, if the sweet hours of intercourse so imprudently allowed them should have stolen into his heart the same fatal fascination as into hers;—if, notwithstanding her rank and the modest homage he always paid to it, even he should have yielded to the influence of those long and happy interviews where music, poetry, the delightful scenes of nature,—all had tended to bring their hearts close together and to waken by every means that too ready passion which often like the young of the desert-bird is warmed into life by the eyes alone! [184] She saw but one way to preserve herself from being culpable as well as unhappy, and this however painful she was resolved to adopt. FERAMORZ must no more be admitted to her presence. To have strayed so far into the dangerous labyrinth was wrong, but to linger in it while the clew was yet in her hand would be criminal. Though the heart she had to offer to the King of Bucharia might be cold and broken, it should at least be pure, and she must only endeavor to forget the short dream of happiness she had enjoyed,—like that Arabian shepherd who in wandering into the wilderness caught a glimpse of the Gardens of Irim and then lost them again for ever!

The arrival of the young Bride at Lahore was celebrated in the most enthusiastic manner. The Rajas and Omras in her train, who had kept at a certain distance during the journey and never encamped nearer to the Princess than was strictly necessary for her safeguard here rode in splendid cavalcade through the city and distributed the most costly presents to the crowd. Engines were erected in all the squares which cast forth showers of confectionery among the people, while the artisans in chariots[185] adorned with tinsel and flying streamers exhibited the badges of their respective trades through the streets. Such brilliant displays of life and pageantry among the palaces and domes and gilded minarets of Lahore made the city altogether like a place of enchantment;—particularly on the day when LALLA ROOKH set out again upon her journey, when she was accompanied to the gate by all the fairest and richest of the nobility and rode along between ranks of beautiful boys and girls who kept waving over their heads plates of gold and silver flowers,[186] and then threw them around to be gathered by the populace.