As ever wind, that o'er the tents

Of AZAB blew, was full of scents,

Steals on her ear, and floats and swells,
Like the first air of morning creeping
Into those wreathy Red Sea shells,

Where Love himself, of old, lay sleeping; And now a Spirit-formed, 'twould seem, Of music and of light,-so fair,

So brilliantly his features beam,

And such a sound is in the air

Of sweetness when he waves his wings-
Hovers around her, and thus sings:

From CHINDARA'S warbling fount I come, Called 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 turned, 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,
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 touched by me,
Can as downy soft and as yielding be

As his own white plume, that high amid death
Through the field has shone-yet moves with a breath!
And, O, how the eyes of Beauty glisten,

When Music has reached her inward soul,

Like the silent stars, that wink and listen

While Heaven'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 !

'Tis dawn--at least that earlier dawn,
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn,
As if the morn had waked, and then
Shut close her lids of light again.
And NOURMAHAL is up, and trying

The wonders of her lute, whose strings—
O bliss !—now murmur like the sighing
From that ambrosial Spirit's wings.

And then, her voice, 'tis more than human—

Never, till now, had it been given To lips of any mortal woman

To utter notes so fresh from heaven; Sweet as the breath of angel sighs,

When angel sighs are most divine.

'Oh! let it last till night," she cries, "And he is more than ever mine." And hourly she renews the lay,

So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness Should, ere the evening, fade away,—

For things so heavenly have such fleetness !
But, far from fading, it but grows
Richer, diviner as it flows;

Till rapt she dwells on every string,
And pours again each sound along,
Like Echo, lost and languishing,

In love with her own wondrous song.

That evening (trusting that his soul
Might be from haunting love released
By mirth, by music, and the bowl),
The imperial SELIM held a feast
In his magnificent Shalimar ;
In whose Saloons, when the first star
Of evening o'er the waters trembled,
The Valley's loveliest all assembled ;
All the bright creatures that, like dreams,
Glide through its foliage, and drink beams
Of beauty from its founts and streams;
And all those wandering minstrel-maids,
Who leave-how can they leave ?-the shades
Of that dear Valley, and are found
Singing in gardens of the South
Those songs, that ne'er so sweetly sound
As from a young Cashmerian's mouth.

There, too, the Haram's inmates smile ;

Maids from the West, with sun-bright hair,

And from the Garden of the NILE,
Delicate as the roses there ;-
Daughters of Love from CYPRUS' rocks,
With Paphian diamonds in their locks ;—
Light PERI forms, such as they are
On the gold meads of CANDAHAR;
And they, before whose sleepy eyes,

In their own bright Kathaian bowers,
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies,

That they might fancy the rich flowers, That round them in the sun lay sighing, Had been by magic all set flying.

Everything young, everything fair
From East and West is blushing there,
Except-except-oh, NOURMAHAL !
Thou loveliest, dearest of them all,
The one, whose smile shone out alone,
Amidst a world the only one ;

Whose light, among so many lights,
Was like that star on starry nights,
The seaman singles from the sky,
To steer his bark forever by !
Thou wert not there-so SELIM thought,

And everything seemed drear without thee,
But, ah! thou wert, thou wert—and brought
Thy charm of song all fresh about thee!
Mingling unnoticed with a band
Of lutanists from many a land,
And veiled by such a mask as shades
The features of young Arab maids—
A mask that leaves but one eye free,
To do its best in witchery-
She roved, with beating heart, around,

And waited, trembling, for the minute, When she might try if still the sound

Of her loved lute had magic in it.

The board was spread with fruits and wine;
With grapes of gold, like those that shine
On CASBIN'S hills ;-pomegranates full

Of melting sweetness, and the pears,
And sunniest apples that CAUBUL

In all its thousand gardens bears ;—
Plantains, the golden and the green,
MALAYA'S nectared mangusteen;
Prunes of BOKHARA, and sweet nuts
From the far groves of SAMARCAND,
And BASRA dates, and apricots,

Seed of the sun, from IRAN's land ;—
With rich conserve of Visna cherries,
Of orange flowers, and of those berries
That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles
Feed on in ERAC's rocky dells.
All these in richest vases smile,

In baskets of pure santal-wood,
And urns of porcelain from that isle
Sunk underneath the Indian flood,
Whence oft the lucky diver brings
Vases to grace the halls of kings.
Wines, too, of every clime and hue,
Around their liquid lustre threw ;
Amber Rosolli-the bright dew

From vineyards of the Green-Sea gushing→→ And SHIRAZ wine, that richly ran

As if that jewel, large and rare, The ruby for which KUBLAI-KHAN Offered a city's wealth, was blushing, Melted within the goblets there!

And amply SELIM quaffs of each,
And seems resolved the flood shall reach
His inward heart—shedding around

A genial deluge, as they run,

That soon shall leave no spot undrowned,
For Love to rest his wings upon.