Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all, And the Light of his Haram was young NOURMAHAL! But where is she now, this night of joy, So like the visions of a trance, That one might think, who came by chance He saw that City of Delight* In Fairy-land, whose streets and towers Are made of gems and light and flowers! When mirth brings out the young and fair, Does she, the fairest, hide her brow, Alas!-how light a cause may move That stood the storm, when waves were rough, * The capital of Shadukiam. See note, Vol. VI. p. 184. Like ships that have gone down at sea, To spread the breach that words begin; Breaks into floods, that part for ever. Oh, you, that have the charge of Love, As in the Fields of Bliss above He sits, with flow'rets fetter'd round* Is found beneath far Eastern skies, Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, Lose all their glory when he flies! † Some difference, of this dangerous kind,- See the representation of the Eastern Cupid, pinioned closely round with wreaths of flowers, in Picart's Cérémonies Religieuses. "Among the birds of Tonquin is a species of goldfinch, which sings so melodiously that it is called the Celestial Bird. Its wings, when it is perched, appear variegated with beautiful colours, but when it flies they lose all their splendour."Grosier. Such cloud it is, that now hangs over And far hath banish'd from his sight When Pleasure through the fields and groves In vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes This Eden of the Earth supplies Come crowding round-the cheeks are pale, The eyes are dim:-though rich the spot With every flow'r this earth has got, What is it to the nightingale, If there his darling rose is not? + "As these birds on the Bosphorus are never known to rest, they are called by the French 'les âmes damnées.""— Dalloway. t "You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the nightingale, yet he wishes not, in his constant heart, for more than the sweet breath of his beloved rose. "- Jami. In vain the Valley's smiling throng He heeds them not -one smile of hers Is worth a world of worshippers. They but the Star's adorers are, She is the Heav'n that lights the Star! Hence is it, too, that NOURMAHAL, Far from the joyous festival, Sits in her own sequester'd bower, But that inspir'd and wond'rous maid, one, O'er whom his race the golden sun Nay, rather, as the west wind's sigh Time's wing but seem'd, in stealing o'er, |