XI.

List to those ripe lips' warbled harmony!

Sweet as the wind, o'er groves of spicery Blowing at eve, when burthened with the boon

Of lute-notes, welcoming the rising moon.

"My Natal Star! O, why delayed so long Thy radiant journey through yon starry throng? Full fifty moons have waned, since last as now Thou shed'st a flood of glory on my brow,

And sent, as if a seraph from thy sphere,

A smiling youth to kneel beside me here,

And worship thee. . . . his natal planet too.... And waken love, till then I never knew—

Love so ecstatic, ardent, and divine,

Death cannot quench it, nor the grave

confine.

But why prate I of love, and still survive

Him, my love's life, o'er whose dust haply thrive

The rank weeds of a distant field of blood,

Where he his country's bravest hero stood,

And fell-unweeting who, around his form

Clung, to protect it, in the battle-storm?

That fearful eve, thine orb, like some red shield,
Glared from the west upon the fatal field;

Then, as my HAROLD breathed his last, sunk down

Behind the mountains, with terrific frown,

And left me with the ruthless, who denied

The boon I asked, to perish by his side!

"Wend on thy way!-My dream shall be fulfilled! This night, I'll seek the MAGIAN's castle, skilled

In deep star-lore, that I his aid may crave

To find my hapless lover's distant grave;
And, ere thy glory shall again depart,
There meekly rest this weary, broken heart!
Then my freed spirit, O sweet dream of bliss!
Shall dwell all pure, eternally with his,
And feast on love and happiness sublime,

In the rich vales of thy resplendent clime!”

XII.

Thus sings this lovely vision of the night;

Then, while a moment, with a wild delight,

Her eyes are sparkling turned, like moon-lit dew, To her loved star, she vanishes from view.

END OF THE FIRST CANTO.

THE STAR-SEER.

CANTO SECOND.

The Pilgrimage.