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Her worshipp'd image from its base,
To give to me the ruin'd place;-

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Then, fare thee well-I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake,
When thawing suns begin to shine,
Than trust to love so false as thine !


FROM CAINDARA’s* warbling fount I come,

Call'd by that moonlight garland's spell; From CHINDARA's fount, my fairy home,

Where in music, morn and night, I dwell ;
Where lutes in the air are heard about,

And voices are singing the whole day long,
And every sigh the heart breathes out
Is turn'd, as it leaves the lips, to song!

Hither I come

From my fairy home,
And if there's a magic in Music's strain,.

I swear by the breath

Of that moonlight wreath,
Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again,
For mine is the lay that lightly floats,
And mine are the murmuring, dying notes,

** A fabulous fountain, where instruments are said to be constantly plaring."-Richardson.

That fall as soft as snow on the sea,
And melt in the heart as instantly!

And the passionate strain that, deeply going,

Refines the bosom it trembles through,
As the musk-wind, over the water blowing,

Ruffles the wave but sweetens it too !

Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway
The Spirits of past Delight obey ;-
Let but the tuneful talisman sound,
And they come, like Genii, hovering round.
And mine is the gentle song that bears,

From soul to soul, the wishes of love,
As a bird, that wafts through genial airs

The cinnamon seed from grove to grove.*

'Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure
The past, the present, and future of pleasure ;
When memory

links the tone that is gone
With the blissful tone that's still in the ear;
And hope from a heavenly note flies on

To a note more heavenly still that is near!

The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me,
Can as downy soft and as yielding be

*“ The Pompadour pigeon is the species, which, by carrying the fruit of the cinnamon to different places, is a great desseminator of this valuable tree.”

V. Brown's Illustr. Tab. 19.

As his own white plume, that high amid death Through the field has shown--yet moves with a


And, oh how the eyes of Beauty glisten,

When Music has reach'd ber inward soul, Like the silent stars, that wink and listen While heav'n's eternal melodies roll!

So, hither I come

From my fairy home,
And if there's a magic in Music's strain,

I swear by the breath

Of that moonlight wreath, Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again.


THERE's a bower of roses by BendEMEER's 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 ?

* A river which flows near the ruins of Cbilminar.

No, the roses soon wither’d that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gather’d, while freshly

they shone, And a dew was distill’d 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 breaths of it many a year ; Thus bright to may soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bende



One morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood, disconsolate ;
And as she listen’d to the Springs

Of Life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings

Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!

's How happy,” exclaim'd this child of air, 66 Are the holy Spirits who wander there,

“ Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall; 66 Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea,

" And the stars themselves have flowers for me,

“ One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all! “ Though sunny the Lake of cool CASHMERE, "With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,*

“ And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall ;

Though bright are the waters of SING-SU-HAY, “ And the golden floods that thitherward stray,t “ Yet--oh! 'tis only the Blest can say

6 How the waters of Heaven outshine them all ! “Go, wing thy flight from star to star, c. From world to luminous world, as far

“ As the universe spreads its flaming wall.”


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,

** Numerous small islands emerge from the Lake of Cashmere. One is called Char Chenaur, from the plane-trees upon it.”-Forster.

+ “ The Altan Kol, or Golden River of Tibet, which runs into the Lakes of Sing-su-hay, has abundance of gold in its sands, which employs the inbabitants all the sunmer in gathering it.”—Description of Tibit in Pinkerton.

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