From bloodshed and devotion spare
One ininute for a farewell there?
No-close within, in changeful fits
Of cursing and of pray'r, he sits
In savage loneliness to brood
Upon the coming night of blood,-

With that keen, second-scent of death, By which the vulture snuffs his food

In the still warm and living breath!* While o'er the wave his weeping daughter Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter,As a young bird of BABYLON,†

Let loose to tell of vict'ry won,

Flies home, with wing, ah! not unstain'd
By the red hands that held her chain'd.

And does the long-left home she seeks
Light up no gladness on her cheeks?

The flow'rs she nursed-the well-known groves,
Where oft in dreams her spirit roves-
Once more to see her dear gazelles
Come bounding with their silver bells;
Her birds' new plumage to behold,

And the gay, gleaming fishes count,
She left, all filleted with gold,

Shooting around their jasper fount ;t Her little garden mosque to see,

And once again, at evening hour,
To tell her ruby rosary§

In her own sweet acacia bow'r.-
Can these delights, that wait her now,
Call up no sunshine on her brow?
No, silent, from her train apart,—
As even now she felt at heart

The chill of her approaching dooni,—
She sits, all lovely in her gloom
As a pale Angel of the Grave;

And o'er the wide, tempestuous wave,
Looks, with a shudder, to those tow'rs,
Where, in a few short awful hours,
Blood, blood, in streaming tides shall run,
Foul incense for to-morrow's sun!
'Where art thou, glorious stranger! thou,
"So loved, so lost, where art thou now?
"Foe-Gheber-infidel-whate'er

"Th' unhallow'd name thou'rt doom'd to bear, "Still glorious-still to this fond heart "Dear as its blood, whate'er thou art! "Yes-ALLA, dreadful ALLA! yes"If there be wrong, be crime in this, "Let the black waves that round us roll, "Whelm me this instant, ere my soul, 66 Forgetting faith-home-father-all"Before its earthly idol fall,

Nor worship ev'n Thyself above him"For, oh, so wildly do I love him,

66

Thy Paradise itself were dim

"And joyless, if not shared with him!"
Her hands were clasp'd-her eyes upturn'd,
Dropping their tears like moonlight rain;
And, though her lip, fond raver! burn'd
With words of passion, bold, profane,
Yet was there light around her brow,
A holiness in those dark eyes,

Which show'd-though wand'ring earthward now—
Her spirit's home was in the skies.
Yes-for a spirit pure as hers

Is always pure, ev'n while it errs;
As sunshine, broken in the rill,

Though turn'd astray, is sunshine still!
So wholly had her mind forgot

All thoughts but one, she heeded not

"I have been told that whensoever an animal falls down dead, one or more vultures, unseen before, instantly appear."-Pennant.

"They fasten some writing to the wings of a Bagdat or Babylonian pigeon."-Travels of certain Englishmen.

"The Empress of Jehan-Guire used to divert herself with feeding tame fish in her canals, some of which were many years afterwards known by fillets of gold, which she caused to be put around them."Harris.

S "Le Tespih, qui est un chapelet, composé de 99 petites boules d'agathe, de jaspe, d'ambre, de corail, ou d'autre matière précieuse. J'en ai vu un superbe au Seigneur Jerpos; il étoit de belles et grosses Derles parfaites et égales, estimé trente mille piasters."-Toderini.

The rising storm-the wave that cast
A moment's midnight, as it pass'd-
Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread
Of gath'ring tumult o'er her head-
Clash'd swords and tongues that seem'd to vie
With the rude riot of the sky.

But, hark!—that war-whoop on the deck-
That crash, as if each engine there,
Mast, sails, and all, were gone to wreck,
'Mid yells and stampings of despair! .
Merciful Heaven! what can it be?
"Tis not the storm, though fearfully
The ship has shudder'd as she rode

O'er mountain-waves-" Forgive me, God:
Forgive me"-shriek'd the maid, and knelt
Trembling all over-for she felt

As if her judgment-hour was near;

While crouching round, half dead with fear,

Her handmaids clung, nor breathed, nor stirr'd.
When, hark!-a second crash-a third-
And now, as if a bolt of thunder

Had riven the labouring planks asunder,
The deck falls in-what horrors then!
Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and men
Come mix'd together through the chasm,-
Some wretches in their dying spasm
Still fighting on-and some that call
"For GoD and IRAN!" as they fall!

Whose was the hand that turn'd away
The perils of th' infuriate fray,
And snatch'd her breathless from beneath
This wilderment of wreck and death?
She knew not-for a faintness came
Chill o'er her, and her sinking frame
Amid the ruins of that hour
Lay, like a pale and scorched flow'r
Beneath the red volcano's show'r.
But, oh the sights and sounds of dread
That shock'd her ere her senses fled!

The yawning deck-the crowd that strove
Upon the tott'ring planks above-

The sail, whose fragments, shivering o'er
The strugglers' heads, all dash'd with gore,
Flutter'd like bloody flags-the clash
Of sabres, and the lightning's flash
Upon their blades, high toss'd about
Like meteor brands*-as if throughout
The elements one fury ran,

One gen'ral rage, that left a doubt
Which was the fiercer, Heaven or man.

Once too-but no-it could not be-
"Twas fancy all-yet once she thought,
While yet her fading eyes could see,
High on the ruin'd deck she caught
A glimpse of that unearthly form,
That glory of her soul,-even then,
Amid the whirl of wreck and storm,
Shining above his fellow-men,
As, on some black and troublous night,
The Star of EGYPT,† whose proud light
Never hath beam'd on those who rest
In the White Islands of the West,!
Burns through the storm with looks of flame
That put Heaven's cloudier eyes to shame.
But no 'twas but the minute's dream-
A fantasy-and ere the scream
Had half-way pass'a her pallid lips,
A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse
Of soul and sense its darkness spread
Around her, and she sunk, as dead

How calm, how beautiful comes on
The stilly hour, when storms are gone;
When warring winds have died away,
And clouds, beneath the glancing ray,
Melt off, and leave the land and sea

The meteors that Piny calls "faces."

The brilliant Canopu, unseen in European climates."-Brown See Wilford's learned Essays on the Sacred Isies in the West.

Sleeping in bright tranquillity,-
Fresh as if Day again were born,
Again upon the lap of Morn!—
When the light blossoms, rudely torn,
And scatter'd at the whirlwind's will,
Hang floating in the pure air still,
Filling it all with precious balm,
In gratitude for this sweet calm ;-
And every drop the thunder-show'rs
Have left upon the grass and flow'rs
Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem*
Whose liquid flame is born of them!
When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze,
There blow a thousand gentle airs,
And each a diff'rent perfume bears,-
As if the loveliest plants and trees
Had vassal breezes of their own
To watch and wait on them alone,
And waft no other breath than theirs:
When the blue waters rise and fall,
In sleepy sunshine mantling all ;

And ev❜n that swell the tempest leaves
Is like the full and silent heaves
Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest,
Too newly to be quite at rest.

Such was the golden hour that broke
Upon the world, when HINDA woke
From her long trance, and heard around
No motion but the water's sound
Rippling against the vessel's side,
As slow it mounted o'er the tide.-
But where is she?-her eyes are dark,
Are wilder'd still-is this the bark,
The same, that from HARMOZIA's bay
Bore her at morn-whose bloody way

The sea-dog track'd?-no-strange and new
Is all that meets her wond'ring view.
Upon a galliot's deck she lies,

Beneath no rich pavilion's shade,-
No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes,
Nor jasmine on her pillow laid,
But the rude litter, roughly spread
With war-cloaks, is her homely bed,
And shawl and sash, on javelins hung,
For awning o'er her head are flung.
Shudd'ring she look'd around-there lay
A group of warriors in the sun,
Resting their limbs, as for that day
Their ministry of death were done.
Some gazing on the drowsy sea,
Lost in unconscious revery;

And some, who seem'd but ill to brook
That sluggish calm, with many a look
To the slack sail impatient cast,
As loose it flagg'd around the mast.

Blest ALLA! who shall save her now?
There's not in all that warrior band
One Arab sword, one turban'd brow

From her own faithful Moslem land.
Their garb-the leathern belt that wraps
Each yellow vest!-that rebel hue-
The Tartar fleece upon their caps-§

Yes-yes-her fears are all too true,
And Heav'n hath, in this dreadful hour,
Abandon'd her to HAFED's power;
HAFED, the Gheber!-at the thought

Her very heart's blood chills within;
He, whom her soul was hourly taught
To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin,
Some minister, whom Hell had sent,
To spread its blast, where'er he went,

A precious stone of the Indies, called by the ancients Ceraunium, cause it was supposed to be found in places where thunder ad fallen. Tertullian says it has a glittering appearance, as if there had been fire in it; and the author of the Dissertation in Harris's Voyages, supposes it to be the opal.

Herbelet, art. Agduani.

"The Guebres are known by a dark yellow colour, which the men eet in their clo bes."-Thevenot.

The Kolah, or cap, worn by the Persians, is made of the skin

f the sheep of Ta tary."-Waring.

And fling, as o'er our earth he trod,
His shadow betwixt man and God!
And she is now his captive,-thrown
In his fierce hands, alive, alone;
His th' infuriate band she sees,
All infidels-all enemies!
What was the daring hope that then
Cross'd her like lightning, as again,
With boldness that despair had lent,

She darted through that armed crowd
A look so searching, so intent,

That even the sternest warrior bow'd Abash'd, when he her glances caught, As if he guess'd whose form they sought. But no-she sees him not-'tis gone, The vision that before her shone Through all the maze of food and storm, Is fled 'twas but a phantom formOne of those passing, rainbow dreams, Half light, half shade, which Fancy's beams Paint on the fleeting mists that roll

In trance or slumber round the soul.

But now the bark, with ivelise bound,
Scales the blue wave-the crew's in motion.
The oars are out, and with light sound

Break the bright mirror of the ocean,
Scatt'ring its brilliant fragments round.
And now she sees-with horror sees,

Their course is tow'rd that mountain-hold, Those tow'rs that make her life-blood freeze, Where MECCA's godless enemies

Lie, like beleaguer'd scorpion's, rol!'d In their last deadly, venomous fold! Amid th' illumined land and flood Sunless that mighty mountain stood; Save where, above its awful head, There shone a flaming cloud, blood-r.d, As 'twere the flag of destiny

Hung out to mark where death would be.

Had her bewilder'd mind the pow'r
Of thought in this terrific hour,
She well might marvel where or how
Man's foot could scale that mountain's brʊ
Since ne'er had Arab heard or known
Of path but through the glen alone.-
But every thought was lost in fear,
When, as their bounding bark drew near
The craggy base, she felt the waves
Hurry them tow'rd those dismal caves,
That from the Deep in windings pass
Beneath that Mount's volcanic mass ;-
And loud a voice on deck commands
To low'r the mast and light the brands!-
Instantly o'er the dashing tide
Within a cavern's mouth they glide,
Gloomy as that eternal Porch

Through which departed spirits go :-
Not ev'n the flare of brand and torci
Its flick'ring light could further throw
Than the thick flood that boi'd below.
Silent they floated-as if each
Sat breathless, and too awed for speech
In that dark chasm, where even sound
Seem'd dark, so sullenly around
The goblin echoes of the cave
Mutter'd it o'er the long black wave
As 'twere some secret of the grave!

But soft-they pause-the current turns
Beneath them from its onward track ;-
Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns

The vexed tide, all foaming, back,
And scarce the oars' redoubled force
Can stem the eddy's whirling force;
When, hark!-some desp'rate foot has sprun
Among the rocks-the chain is flung-
The oars are up-the grapple clings,
And the toss'd bark in moorings swings

Just then, a day-beam through the shade
Broke tremulous-but, ere the maid
Can see from whence the brightness steals,
Upon her brow she shudd'ring feels
A viewless hand, that promptly ties
A bandage round her burning eyes;
While the rude litter where she lies,
Uplifted by the warrior throng,
O'er the steep rocks is borne along.

Blest power of sunshine!--genial Day,
What balm, what life is in thy ray!
To feel thee is such real bliss,
That had the world no joy but this,
To sit in sunshine calm and sweet,-
It were a world too exquisite
For man to leave it for the gloom,
The deep, cold shadow of the tomb.
Ev'n HINDA, though she saw not where
Or whither wound the perilous road,
Yet knew by that awak'ning air,

Which suddenly around her glow'd,
That they had ris'n from darkness then,
And breathed the sunny world again!
But soon this balmy freshness fled—
For now the steepy labyrinth led

Through damp and gloom-'mid crash of boughs, And fall of loosen'd crags that rouse

The leopard from his hungry sleep,

Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey, And long is heard, from steep to steep,

Chasing them down their thund'ring way!

The jackal's cry-the distant moan
Of the hyena, fierce and lone-
And that eternal sadd'ning sound

Of torrents in the glen beneath,
As 'twere the ever-dark Profound

That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death!
All, all is fearful-ev'n to see,

To gaze on those terrific things
She now but blindly hears, would be
Relief to her imaginings;
Since never yet was shape so dread,

But Fancy, thus in darkness thrown,
And by such sounds of horror fed,

Could frame more dreadful of her own.

But does she dream? has Fear again
Perplex'd the workings of her brain,
Or did a voice, all music, then
Come from the gloom, low whisp'ring near-
Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here ?"
She does not dream--all sense, all ear,
She drinks the words, "Thy Gheber's here."
'Twas his own voice-she could not err---
Throughout the breathing world's extent
There was but one such voice for her,
So kind, so soft, so eloquent!
Oh, sooner shall the rose of May

Mistake her own sweet nightingale,
And to some meaner minstrel's lay
Open her bosom's glowing veil,*
Than Love shall ever doubt a tone,
A breath of the beloved one!

Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think
She has that one beloved near,
Whose smile, though met on ruin's brink,
Hath power to make even ruin dear,-
Yet soon this gleam of rapture, cross'd
By fears for him, is chill'd and lost.
How shall the ruthless HAFED brook
That one of Gheber blood should look,
With aught but curses in his eye,
On her, a maid of ARABY-

A Moslem maid--the child of him,

A frequent image among the oriental poets. "The nightingales waroled their enchanting notes, and rent the thin veils of the rose Jud and the rose. "-Jami.

Whose bloody banner's dire success Hath left their altars cold and dim,

And their fair land a wilderness! And, worse than all, that night of blood Which comes so fast-Oh! who shall stay The sword that once hath tasted food

Of Persian hearts, or turn its way? What arm shall then the victim cover, Or from her father shield her lover?

"Save him, my God!" she inly cries—
"Save him this night-and if thine eyes
"Have ever welcomed with delight
"The sinner's tears, the sacrifice

"Of sinners' hearts--guard him this night, "And here, before thy throne, I swear "From my heart's inmost core to tear

"Love, hope, remembrance, though they be "Link'd with each quiv'ring life-string there, "And give it bleeding all to Thee! "Let him but live,-the burning tear, "The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear,

Which have been all too much his own,
"Shall from this hour be Heaven's alone.
"Youth pass'd in penitence, and age
"In long and painful pilgrimage,
"Shall leave no traces of the flame

"That wastes me now-nor shall his name
"E'er bless my lips, but when I pray
"For his dear spirit, that away
"Casting from its angelic ray

"Th' eclipse of earth, he, too, may shine
"Redeem'd, all glorious and all Thine!
"Think-think what victory to win
"One radiant soul like his from sin,-
"One wand'ring star of virtue back
"To its own native, heaven-ward track!
"Let him but live, and both are Thine,

THE next evening LALLA ROOKн was entreated by ne Ladies to continue the relation of her wonderful dream, but the fearful interest that hung round the fate of HINDA and her lover had completely removed every trace of it from her mind; much to the disappointment of a fair seer or two in her train, who prided themselves on their skill in interpreting visions, and who had already remarked, as an unlucky omen, that the Princess, on the very morn ing after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms of the sorrowful tree, Nilica.*

FADLADEEN, whose indignation had more than once broken out during the recital of some parts of this heterodox poem, seemed at length to have made up his mind to the infliction; and took his seat this evening with all the patience of a martyr, while the Poet resumed his pro fane and seditious story as follows:

To tearless eyes and hearts at ease
The leafy shores and sun-bright seas,
That lay beneath that mountain's height,
Had been a fair enchanting sight.
"Twas one of those ambrosial eves
A day of storm so often leaves
At its calm setting-when the West
Opens her golden bowers of rest,
And a moist radiance from the skies
Shoots trembling down, as fro:n the eyes

"Blossom of the sorrowful Nyctanthes give a durable colour to silk."-Remarks on the Husbandry of Bengal, p. 200. Nilica is one of the Indian names of this flower.-Sir W. Jones. The Persians eall Gul.-Carrers.

Of some meek penitent, whose last,
Bright hours atone for dark ones past
And whose sweet tears, o'er wrong forgiv'n,
Shine, as they fall with light from heav'n!

'Twas stillness all- the winds that late

Had rush'd through KERMAN's almond groves, And shaken from her bow'rs of date

That cooling feast the traveller loves,* Now, lull'd to languor, scarcely curl

The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam
Limpid, as if her mines of pearl

Were melted all to form the stream:
And her fair islets, small and bright,
With their green shores reflected there,
Look like those PERI isles of light,

That hang by spell-work in the air.

But vainly did those glories burst
OR HINDA's dazzled eyes, when first
The bandage from her brow was taken,
And, pale and awed as those who waken
In their dark tombs-when, scowling near,
The Searchers of the Gravet appear,-
She shudd'ring turn'd to read her fate

In the fierce eyes that flash'd around;
And saw those towers all desolate

That o'er her head terrific frown'd,
As if defying ev'n the smile

Of that soft heav'n to gild their pile.
In vain with mingled hope and fear,
She looks for him whose voice so dear
Had come, like music, to her ear-
Strange, mocking dream! again 'tis fled
And oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread
That through her inmost bosom run,

When voices from without proclaim
"HAFED, the Chief"-and, one by one,
The warriors shout that fearful name!
He comes-the rock resounds his tread-
How shall she dare to lift her head,
Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare
Not YEMEN's boldest sons can bear?
In whose red beam, the Moslem tells,
Such rank and deadly lustre dwells,
As in those hellish fires that light
The mandrake's charnel leaves at night.
How shall she bear that voice's tone,
At whose loud battle-cry alone
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran,
Scatter'd like some vast caravan,
When, stretch'd at evening round the well,
They hear the thirsting tiger's yell.

Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down,
Shrinking beneath the fiery frown,
Which, fancy tells her, from that brow
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now:
And shudd'ring as she hears the tread
Of his retiring warrior band.—
Never was pause so full of dread;

Till HAFED with a trembling hand
Took hers, and, leaning o'er her, said,
"HINDA ;"-that word was all he spoke,
And 'twas enough-the shriek that broke
From her full bosom, told the rest.-
Panting with terro., joy, surprise,
The maid but lifts her wond'ring eyes,
To hide them on her Gheber's breast!
'Tis he, 'tis he--the man of blood,
The fellest of the Fire-fiend's brood,
HAFED, the demon of the fight,

Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight,-
Is her own loved Gheber, mild

And glorious as when first he smiled In her lone tow'r, and left such beams Of his pure eye to light her dreams, That she believed her bower had giv'n Rest to soine wanderer from heav'n!

Moments there are, and this was one
Snatch'd like a minute's gleam of sun
Amid the black Simoom's eclipse--

Or, like those verdant spots that bloom
Around the crater's burning lips,

Sweet'ning the very edge of doom!
The past-the future-all that Fate
Can bring of dark or desperate
Around such hours, but makes them cast
Intenser radiance while they last!

Ev'n he, this youth-though dimm'd and gone
Each star of Hope that cheer'd him on-
His glories lost-his cause betray'd—
IRAN, his dear-loved country, made

A land of carcasses and slaves,
One dreary waste of chains and graves!-
Himself but ling'ring, dead at heart,

To see the last, long struggling breath
Of Liberty's great soul depart,

Then lay him down and share her deathEv'n he, so sunk in wretchedness,

With doom still darker gath'ring o'er him,
Yet, in this moment's pure caress,

In the mild eyes that shone before him,
Beaming that bless'd assurance, worth
All other transports known on earth,
That he was loved-well, warmly loved-
Oh! in this precious hour he proved
How deep, how thorough-felt the glow
Of rapture, kindling out of wo;-
How exquisite one single drop
Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top
Of mis'ry's cup-how keenly quaff'd,
Though death must follow on the draught.

She, too, while gazing on those eyes
That sink into her soul so deep,
Forgets all fears, all miseries,

Or feels them like the wretch in sleep,
Whom fancy cheats into a smile,
Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while.
The mighty Ruins where they stood,

Upon the mount's high, rocky verge,
Lay open tow'rds the ocean flood,

Where lightly o'er the illumined surge Many a fair bark that, all the day, Had lurk'd in shelt'ring creek or bay, Now bounded on, and gave their sails, Yet dripping, to the ev'ning gales; Like eagles, when the storm is done, Spreading their wet wings in the sun. The beauteous clouds, though daylight Star Had sunk behind the hills of LAR, Were still with ling'ring glories bright,As if, to grace the gorgeous West, The Spirit of departing Light That eve had left his sunny vest

Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight.
Never was scene so form'd for love!
Beneath them waves of crystal move
In silent swell-Heav'n glows above,
And their pure hearts, to transport giv'n,
Swell like the wave, and glow like Heav'n

But ah! too soon that dream is past-
Again, again her fear returrs ;-
Night, dreadful night, is gath'ring fast.
More faintly the horizon burns,
And every rosy tint that lay
On the smooth sea hath died away.
Hastily to the dark'ning skies

A glance she casts-then wildly cries,
At night, he said—and, look, 'tis near-
'Fly, fly—if yet thou lov'st mc, fly-

66

66

"Upon thy pale and prostrate charms,
I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er
Thy safety through that hour's alarms)
To meet th' unmanning sight no more-

66

Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow? Why weakly, madly met thee now?"Start not-that noise is but the shock

"Of torrents through yon valley hurl'd— "Dread nothing here-upon this rock "We stand above the jarring world, "Alike beyond its hope-its dread"In gloomy safety, like the Dead! "Or, could ev'n earth and hell unite "In league to storm this Sacred Height, "Fear nothing thou-myself, to-night, "And each o'erlooking star that dwells "Near God will be thy sentinels;"And, ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow, "Back to thy sire

"To-morrow!-no-"

The maiden scream'd-" thou'lt never see "To-morrow's sun-death, death will be "The night-cry through each reeking tower, "Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour!

"Thou art betray'd-some wretch who knew That dreadful glen's mysterious clewNay, doubt not-by yon stars, 'tis true— "Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire; "This morning, with that smile so dire "He wears in joy, he told me all,

"And stamp'd in triumph through our hall, "As though thy heart already beat "Its last life-throb beneath his feet. "Good Heav'n, how little dream'd I then "His victim was my own loved youth!Fly-send-let some one watch the glen"By all my hopes of heav'n 'tis truth!"

Oh! colder than the wind that freezes
Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd,
Is that congealing pang which seizes

The trusting bosom, when betray'd.
He felt it deeply felt--and stood,
As if the tale had froz'n his blood,
So mazed and motionless was he ;-
Like one whom sudden spells enchant,
Or some mute, marble habitant

Of the still Halls of IsнMONIE !*

But soon the painful chill was o'er, And his great soul, herself once more, Look'd from his brow in all the rays Of her best, happiest, grandest days.

For an account of Ishmonie, the petrified city in Upper Egypt, where it is said there are many statues of men, women, &c., to be seen to this day, see Perry's View of the Levant.

Never, in moment most elate,
Did that high spirit loftier rise ;-
While bright, serene, determinate,
His looks are lifted to the skies,
As if the signal lights of Fate

Were shining in those awful eyes!
'Tis come-his hour of martyrdom
In IRAN's sacred cause is come;
And, though his life hath pass'd away,
Like lightning on a stormy day,
Yet shall his death-hour leave a track
Of glory, permanent and bright,
To which the brave of after-times,
The suff'ring brave, shall long look back
With proud regret,--and by its light
Watch through the hours of slav'ry's night
For vengeance on th' oppressor's crimes.
This rock, his monument aloft,

Shall speak the tale to many an age:
And hither bards and heroes oft

Shall come in secret pilgrimage,
And bring their warrior sons, and tell
The wond'ring boys where HAFed fell;
And swear them on those lone remains
Of their lost country's ancient fanes,
Never-while breath of life shall live
Within them-never to forgive

Th' accursed race, whose ruthless chain
Hath left on IRAN's neck a stain
Blood, blood alone can cleanse again.

Such are the swelling thoughts that now
Enthrone themselves on HAFED's brow;
And ne'er did Saint of ISSA* gaze

On the red wreath, for martyrs twined,
More proudly than the youth surveys

That pile, which through the gloom behind Half lighted by the altar's fire, Glimmers-his destined funeral pyre? Heap'd by his own, his comrades' hands, Of ev'ry wood of odorous breath, There, by the Fire-God's shrine it stands, Ready to fold in radiant death The few still left of those who swore To perish there, when hope was o'erThe few, to whom that couch of flame, Which rescues them from bonds and shame, Is sweet and welcome as the bed For their own infant Prophet spread, When pitying Heav'n to roses turn'd

The death-flames that beneath him burn'd:1

* Jesus.

t The Ghebers say that when Abraham, their great Prophet, was thrown into the fire by order of Nimrod, the flame turned instantly ipta "a bed of roses, where the child sweetly reposed."-Tavernier.

Of their other Prophet, Zoroaster, there is a story told in Dion Pra saus, Orat. 36, that the love of wisdom and virtue leading him to a soli tury life upon a mountain, he found it one day all in a flame, shining with celestial fire, out of which he came without any harm, and instituted certain sacrifices to God, who, he declared, then appeared to him.-V.de Patrick on Exodus, ui. 2