whence she might date the commencement of joys or sorrows. Splendour of dress, the attendance and flattery of slaves, with all the various luxuries which were here at her disposal, contributed in no small degree to banish from her mind the thoughts of her old home. Besides these, in the instructions of the various masters who were appointed to superintend her education, she found an unvaried source of delight. A new world was here opened to her view, one of poetry, music, and literature, and she improved with avidity those advantages which the liberality and pride of the prince placed within the reach of every inmate of the zenana. Alas! that so fair a sky should e'er be o'ercast, that so bright a sun should be obscured by foul vapours that rise reeking from the unhallowed soil of human passions!

When Giafar fled from the enchantment of the princess's presence, worn by care, and harassed by a perpetual conflict between love and fear, he sought among the wit and beauty of his harem to divert his thoughts, for a time at least, from the contemplation of loveliness which might not be his, but at great peril. He could not forget Abassa for a moment, yet he hoped that the fascinations which here surrounded him, like the harp of the minstrel, might sooth the demon Disappointment, if it could not expel him from his bosom. Even in this expectation, however reasonable it may seem, he was deceived. The image of his wife was everywhere before him; soon tired of all the world, he sought again her dear but dangerous society.

For a short period, Khatoun was his favourite. Her simplicity and inexperience interested him; her rapid progress in various accomplishments charmed and delighted him. He himself taught her upon the lute, and the lessons which she learned from him were ever the best remembered. He taught her to love too-that she never forgot. How could she resist his accomplishments-his talents? She had dreamed of such a lover; but to find him hers was a consummation of her wishes, unexpected, irresistible. She yielded to the charm, and surrendered her soul to the current of impetuous love. 'Twas but a leaf upon its eddying surface.

Giafar knew not the flame he was enkindling. He knew not that love, which visited his withered heart as drops of rain fall upon the arid desert, leaving it barren as before, was shedding its influence upon her fresh young bosom, like a shower upon an enclosed garden, and therein were springing up wild hopes, strange fears, and a thick succession of jealousies, griefs, and bitter disappointments. Had he known this, had he been aware of the existence of that burning love and anxiety which he was awaking in her soul, he would have paused, he would have hesitated, ere for his idle and transient pleasure, he destined a maiden so innocent to a life of sorrow. But he thought not of it. He stooped heedlessly to the violet, as he crossed the garden; but its sweetness is forgotten now that he has plucked the rose, and he remembers

VOL. II.-B

not that his lips have left upon the humble flower an impress that is blighting all its beauties.

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"What can keep him from me?" murmured the sad girl. Why did he ever come to me, if he meant to leave me thus? Ah! there is no happiness for a slave," she added, dejectedly. "If I might die-yes, I should be at peace in the grave -there, at least, I should forget him. But he will come, I am sure he will-and then he will be mine again." She smiled at the thought, and turned to look into her mirror. It reflected faithfully her beauty, and her full bosom heaved with hope as she gazed. "Yes, he may be mine again. There! there!" she continued, as she arranged her ornaments, and added jewel after jewel to her apparel, "is not that beautiful? But he values not jewels nor dress; foolish creature that I am, he has told me so a thousand times. Off! off!" she said, and she would have divested her person of the ornaments, but her eye caught again for a moment her mirrored beauty, and she desisted, adding, “yet no-let them remain, for they are beautiful." She paused a few moments, and then continued, "He may be mine again. He may-yet I have waited long, till my bosom is weary with sighing for him. I cannot help it. I shall always think upon him while this poor brain can think-'twill not be long, I fear, unless I see him soon. Yon bird is ever singing," she continued, as the wild warbling of a feathered favourite interrupted her sad musings; "I cannot bear that note-it mocks my misery.

Yet 'tis alone, it has no mate, poor thing! how can it be so happy?"

She approached, and threw a silken scarf over the cage. When his prison was thus darkened, the little warbler, after a few wavering notes, was silent.

"Yet once," she continued, "I could listen to that song for ever. I have changed since thenah me! how I have changed." Tears were coursing fast down her cheeks. She dashed them away, as the west wind shakes the dew from the red leaves of the rose, and having taken her lute, sang the following verses:—

"I have told my burning heart a hundred times to quench in the waters of forgetfulness the fires that consume it.

"It listens not to my words, but courts still the winds which increase its flame.

"Love's thousand torments will at last reduce it to ashes."

The words seemed to come from her very soul. When she had concluded her song, she placed her hand beneath her bosom, there where the pulsations of the heart may easiest be felt, as if to assure herself that the wearied organ had not yet ceased to beat. No, it was still busy, but its hurried and tumultuous motion threatened soon to impair its energies, unless some balm were found that might heal the griefs which were wearing upon her spirits.

"Ravisher of hearts !" she exclaimed, apostro

phizing thus tenderly the absent prince-" ravisher of hearts! whither hast thou fled? Into what ears are thy lips now whispering? Whom dost thou now render happy? Yet I can bear it for a while, if he will but return at last. I will not even complain, unless he leaves me for ever. Perhaps 'tis his princess keeps him from me; yes, it must be so. They tell me she is very beautiful. How can I expect him to love me?-me! He should not then have told me that he did. I was happy," continued the fond girl, with a sigh, "very happy, until he came and spoke to me of beauty and love; yes, and then I remember some bright, bright days. Allah help me! I speak of them as past-yes, they have passed away, and all is now night around me. Yet have I been to blame? Now that I know his falsehood, could I resist him? How, then, could I keep my heart when he first asked it of me? when he gave me for it, as he said, his Yet I should have known it could not last. Cruel one!" she exclaimed, in the words of a favourite song, "whene'er I write thy name, I will write false, unkind, faithless!" Bitter grief now overwhelmed her, and sunk in despondency, she wept profusely and in silence.

own.

But tears are of no avail. Time passes. The mild moon has completed her course, and, as though wearied with looking upon the sorrows of Khatoun, has left the heavens. Still Gia far comes not. Despair and rage now mingle themselves with regretting love, and throng successively upon