Puslapio vaizdai


[From "Lallah Rookh," an oriental romance.

ONE morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood, disconsolate;
And as she listened to the springs
Of life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings

The fabled Peri of the East closely corresponds to the Fairy of our legends.]

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

How happy," exclaimed this child of air, Are the holy spirits who wander there, 'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall! Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea,

Then swift his haggard brow he turned
To the fair child, who fearless sat--
Though never yet hath day-beam burned
Upon a brow more fierce than that-
Sullenly fierce a mixture dire,
Like thunder-clouds of gloom and fire,
In which the Peri's eye could read
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed.

Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening time
Softened his spirit) looked and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play;
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance

One blossom of heaven out-blooms them Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance

The glorious angel who was keeping
The gates of light, beheld her weeping;
And, as he nearer drew and listened,
A tear within his eyelids glistened.-
"Nymph of a fair but erring line!"
Gently he said, one hope is thine.
"Tis written in the book of fate,

The Peri yet may be forgiven,
Who brings to this eternal gate

The gift that is most dear to Heaven! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin; 'Tis sweet to let the pardoned in!"

Rapidly as comets run

To the embraces of the sun,
Down the blue vault the Peri flies,

And lighted earthward by a glance
That just then broke from morning's eyes,
Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.

Over the vale of Baalbec winging,
The Peri sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild-flowers singing,
As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel-flies
That fluttered round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers or flying gems:
And near the boy, who, tired with play,
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount
From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small temple's rustic fount
Impatient fling him down to drink.

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, As torches that have burnt all night Encounter morning's glorious rays.

But hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air

From Syria's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers, where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod

Kneels, with his forehead to the south,
Lisping th' eternal name of God

From purity's own cherub mouth;
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,
And seeking for its home again!

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And now! behold him kneeling there,
By the child's side in humble prayer,
While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,

And hymns of joy proclaim through heaven
The triumph of a soul forgiven!

"Twas when the golden orb had set, While on their knees they lingered yet, There fell a light-more lovely far Than ever came from sun or star

Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dewed that repentant sinner's cheek:
To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam;
But well th' enraptured Peri knew
"Twas a bright smile the angel threw
From heaven's gate, to hail that tear-
Her harbinger of glory near!

"Joy! joy!" she cried; "my task is done The gates are passed, and heaven is won!" MOORE.


A MOTHER'S Love! -how sweet the name! | Ten thousand voices answer, "No!"

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THE nurse stood near, in whose embraces Thou from this tower defend th' important


His only hope hung smiling at her breast,

Whom each soft charm and early grace



There Agamemnon points his dreadful host,

That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,

Fair as the new-born star that gilds the And there the vengeful Spartan fires his

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Hung on his hand, and then dejected How would the sons of Troy, in arms re


Her bosom laboured with a boding sigh,

And the big tear stood trembling in her eye.


And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground,

Attaint the lustre of my former name,

Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou Should Hector basely quit the field of run?

Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son! And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be

A widow I, a helpless orphan he!


My early youth was bred to martial pains, My soul impels me to th' embattled plains: Let me be foremost to defend the throne, And guard my father's glories, and my own. Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!)

For sure such courage length of life denies;
And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice.
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain :
Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be The day when thou, imperial Troy! must.

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Oh, grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.

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Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears

to see,

Imbitters all thy woes, by naming me.
The thoughts of glory past, and present

A thousand griefs shall waken at the name!
May I lie cold before that dreadful day,
Pressed with a load of monumental clay!
Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep,
Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee

He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,

Restored the pleasing burden to her arms: Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,

Hushed to repose, and with a smile surveyed.

The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear,

She mingled with the smile a tender tear. The softened chief with kind compassion viewed,

Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief And dried the falling drops, and thus pur

of Troy Stretched his fond arms to clasp the lovely


The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, Scared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest.


Andromache! my soul's far better part! Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart?

No hostile hand can antedate my doom,

With secret pleasure each fond parent Till fate condemn me to the silent tomb.


And Hector hasted to relieve his child;
The glittering terrors from his brows un-



Fixed is the term to all the race of earth;
And such the hard condition of our birth,
No force can then resist, no flight can


And placed the beaming helmet on the All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. No more but hasten to thy tasks at home; There guide the spindle, and direct the loom:

Then kissed the child, and lifting high in air,
Thus to the gods preferred a father's prayer:

Me glory summons to the martial sceneO thou! whose glory fills th' ethereal The field of combat is the sphere for men : Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim


And all ye deathless powers! protect my

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Whole hosts may hail him with deserved Sought her own palace, and indulged her acclaim,


And say, This chief transcends his father's There, while her tears deplored the godlike fame:


While pleased amidst the general shouts of Through all the train the soft infection ran;
The pious maids their mingled sorrows

His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.


And mourn the living Hector as the dead,
POPE'S "Homer."


Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern | Tunes sweetest his love-laboured song; clime

now reigns

Advancing, sowed the earth with orient Full-orbed the Moon, and with more pleaspearl,

When Adam waked, so customed....

He, with voice Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes, Eve's hand soft touching, whispered thus: 66 Awake,

ing light

Shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain,
If none regard: Heaven wakes with all

his eyes,

Whom to behold but thee, Nature's desire?
In whose sight all things joy, with ravish-

Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze.'
I rose, as at thy call, but found thee not;
To find thee I directed then my walk;


My fairest, my espoused, my latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight! Awake; the morning shines, and the fresh And on, methought, alone I passed through field Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how That brought me on a sudden to the tree spring Of interdicted knowledge: fair it seemed,Much fairer to my fancy than by day: And, as I wondering looked, beside it stood What drops the myrrh, and what the One shaped and winged like one of those balmy reed,from Heaven How nature paints her colours,-how the By us oft seen; his dewy locks distilled bee Ambrosia on that tree he also gazed: And, 'O fair plant,' said he, with fruit surcharged!

Our tended plants,-how blows the citron grove,

Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet." Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye

On Adam; whom embracing, thus she spake:

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Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet,

Nor God, nor Man? is knowledge so despised?

O sole in whom my thoughts find all Or envy, or what reserve, forbids to taste? repose, Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold

My glory, my perfection! glad I see

Thy face, and morn returned; for I this Longer thy offered good; why else set here?' night, This said, he paused not, but with ventur

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He plucked, he tasted: me damp horror chilled

(If dreamed,) not, as I oft am wont, of thee, Works of day past, or morrow's next design; At such bold words vouched with a deed

But of offence and trouble, which my mind

so bold;

But he thus, overjoyed: 'O fruit divine! Knew never till this irksome night. Me- Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thought,

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