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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
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,

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, with his forehead to the south,
Lisping th' 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 't was a sight-that Heav'n—that child-
A scene, which might have well beguil'd
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!

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.


AT morn, beside yon summer sea,
Young Hope and Love reclin'd:

But scarce had noon-tide come, when he

Into his bark leap'd smilingly,

And left poor Hope behind-and left poor Hope behind!

"I go," said Love," to sail awhile,

Across this sunny main;"

And then so sweet his parting smile,

That Hope, who never dream'd of guile,

Believ'd he'd come again-believ'd he'd come again.

She linger'd there, till evening's beam

Along the waters lay;

And o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream,
Oft trac'd his name, which still the stream

As often wash'd away-as often wash'd away.

At length, a sail appears in sight,
And tow'rd the maiden moves;

'Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright,

His golden bark reflects the light;

But, ah, it is not Love's-but, ah, it is not Love's!

Another sail-'t was Friendship show'd

Her night lamp o'er the sea;

And calm the light that lamp bestow'd,

But Love had lights that warmer glow'd,

And where, alas! was He?-and where, alas! was He?

Now fast around the sea and shore

Night threw her darkling chain;

The sunny sails were seen no more,

Hope's morning dreams of bliss were o'er—

Love never came again!-Love never came again!




FAREWELL-farewell to thee, Araby's daughter!
(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea;)
No pearl ever lay, under Oman's green water,
More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee.

Oh! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing,
How light was thy heart till love's witchery came,
Like the wind of the south o'er a summer lute blowing,
And hush'd all its music and wither'd its frame!

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But long upon Araby's green sunny highlands,

Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom
Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands,
With nought but the sea-star to light up her tomb.

And still, when the merry date season is burning
And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old,
The happiest there, from their pastime returning,
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told.

The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses
Her dark-flowing hair, for some festival day,
Will think of thy fate, till neglecting her tresses,
She mournfully turns from the mirror away

Nor shall Iran, belov'd of her hero! forget thee,-
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start,
Close, close by the side of that hero she 'll set thee,
Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart.

Farewell-be it ours to embellish thy pillow

With everything beauteous that grows in the deep; Each flower of the rock, and each gem of the billow, Shall sweeten thy bed, and illumine thy sleep.

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept;

With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreath'd chamber,
We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept.

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling,
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head;

We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are sparkling.
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed.

FALLEN is thy throne, Oh Israel!
Silence is o'er thy plains;
Thy dwellings all lie desolate,
Thy children weep in chains.
Where are the dews that fed thee
On Etham's barren shore?
That fire from heav'n which led thee,
Now lights thy path no more.

Lord! thou didst love Jerusalem ;-
Once she was all thy own;
Her love thy fairest heritage,
Her power thy glory's throne,
Till evil came, and blighted,
Thy long lov'd olive tree;
And Salem's shrines were lighted
For other gods than thee!

Then sunk the star of Solyma;
Then pass'd her glory's ray,
Like heath, that in the wilderness
The wild wind whirls away.
Silent and waste her bowers,
Where once the mighty trod,
And sunk those guilty towers,
Where Baal reign'd as god.

“ Go,”—said the Lord-"ye conquerors!
Steep in her blood your swords,
And raze to earth her battlements;
For they are not the Lord's!
Till Zion's mournful daughter
O'er kindred bones shall tread,
And Hinnom's vale of slaughter,
Shall hide but half her dead!"


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

Those hues that make the sun's decline
So soft, 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
Is sparkling with unnumbered dies;—
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;
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.


OH! thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceiv'd and wounded here,
We could not fly to thee.

The friends, who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes are flown;
And he, who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.
But thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of wo.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And e'en the hope, that threw

A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimm'd and vanquish'd too!

Oh! who could bear life's stormy doom,

Did not thy wing of love

Come brightly wafting through the gloom

Our peace-branch from above?

Then sorrow, touch'd by thee, grows bright,

With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light,
We never saw by day!

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