Yet, ere it reach the plain below,

Breaks into floods, that part forever.

O you, that have the charge of Love,
Keep him in rosy bondage bound,

As in the Fields of Bliss above

He sits, with flowerets fettered round; Loose not a tie that round him clings, Nor ever let him use his wings; For even an hour, a minute's flight Will rob the plumes of half their light. Like that celestial bird, whose nest Is found beneath far Eastern skies, Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, Lose all their glory when he flies!

--

10

20

30

SYRIA

FROM PARADISE AND THE PERI

Now, upon Syria's land of roses,
Softly the light of eve reposes,
And, like a glory, the broad sun
Hangs over sainted Lebanon;
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer, in a vale of flowers,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.

To one who looked from upper air
O'er all the enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, how 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
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, with hum
Of the wild bees of Palestine,

Banqueting through the flowery vales; And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, And woods, so full of nightingales!

THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS

FROM LALLA ROOKH

"How sweetly," said the trembling maid, Of her own gentle voice afraid,

So long had they in silence stood,

Looking upon that tranquil flood

"How sweetly does the moonbeam smile To-night upon yon leafy isle!

Oft, in my fancy's wanderings,

I've wish'd that little isle had wings,
And we, within its fairy bowers,

Were wafted off to seas unknown, Where not a pulse would beat but ours, And we might live, love, die alone! Far from the cruel and the cold,

Where the bright eyes of angels only

ΙΟ

20

29

ΙΟ

And 'twixt their shafts you saw the water bright, Which through the tops glimmered with showering

light

261

So now you stood to think what odours best
Made the air happy in that lovely nest;
And now you went beside the flowers, with eyes
Earnest as bees, restless as butterflies;

And then turned off into a shadier walk,
Close and continuous, fit for lovers' talk;
And then pursued the stream, and as you trod
Onward and onward o'er the velvet sod,
Felt on your face an air, watery and sweet,
And a new sense in your soft-lighting feet.
At last you entered shades indeed, the wood,
Broken with glens and pits, and glades far-
viewed,

270

Through which the distant palace now and then
Look'd lordly forth with many-windowed ken;
A land of trees, which reaching round about
In shady blessing stretched their old arms out;
With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks
To lie and read in, sloping into brooks,
Where at her drink you startled the slim deer, 280
Retreating lightly with a lovely fear.

And all about, the birds kept leafy house,
And sung and darted in and out the boughs;
And all about, a lovely sky of blue

Clearly was felt, or down the leaves laughed

And formed of both, the loveliest portion lay,
A spot, that struck you like enchanted ground:
It was a shallow dell, set in a mound
Of sloping orchards,

- fig, and almond trees, Cherry and pine, with some few cypresses; Down by whose roots, descending darkly still, 300 (You saw it not, but heard) there gushed a rill, Whose low sweet talking seemed as if it said, Something eternal to that happy shade.

The ground within was lawn, with fruits and flowers

Heaped towards the centre, half of citron bowers;
And in the middle of those golden trees,
Half seen amidst the globy oranges,

Lurked a rare summer house, a lovely sight

Small, marble, well-proportioned, creamy white,

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,

But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

9

De Lorge's love o'erheard the King, a beauteous lively dame,

With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same;

She thought, the Count, my lover, is brave as brave can be;

He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me;

Stolen sweets are always sweeter;
Stolen kisses much completer;
Stolen looks are nice in chapels;
Stolen, stolen be your apples.

When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time for orchard-robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling
Were it not for stealing, stealing.

8

12