Of thy most proud divinity,

Nor think thou'lt wound this mortal gaze. Too long and oft I've looked upon

Those ardent eyes, intense even thusToo near the stars themselves have gone, To fear aught grand or luminous.

Then doubt me not-oh, who can say

But that this dream may yet come true, And my blest spirit drink thy ray,

Till it becomes all heavenly too? Let me this once but feel the flame

Of those spread wings, the very pride Will change my nature, and this frame

By the mere touch bleified!"

Thus spoke the maid, as one not used
To be by earth or heaven refused-
As one, who knew her influence o'er

All creatures, whatsoe'er they were,
And, though to heaven she could not soar,
At least would bring down heaven to her.
Little did she, alas, or I—

Even I, whose soul, but half-way yet
Immerged in sin's obscurity
Was as the earth whereon we lie,

O'er half whose disk the sun is set-
Little did we foresee the fate,

The dreadful-how can it be told? Such pain, such anguish to relate

Is o'er again to feel, behold!

But, charged as 'tis, my heart must speak
Its sorrow out, or it will break!
Some dark misgivings had, I own,

Passed for a moment through my breast-
Fears of some danger, vague, unknown,
To one, or both-something unblest
To happen from this proud request.
But soon these boding fancies fled;
Nor saw I aught that could forbid
My full revealment, save the dread
Of that first dazzle, when, unhid,
Such light should burst upon a lid
Ne'er tried in heaven; and even this glare
She might, by love's own nursing care,
Be, like young eagles, taught to bear.
For well I knew, the lustre shed

From cherub wings, when proudliest spread, Was, in its nature, lambent, pure,

And innocent as is the light

The glow-worm hangs out to allure

Her mate to her green bower at night.
Oft had I in the mid-air, swept
Through clouds in which the lightning slept,
As in its lair, ready to spring,

Yet waked it not-though from my wing
A thousand sparks fell glittering!
Oft too when round me from above

The feathered snow, in all its whiteness,
Fell like the moultings of heaven's Dove-
So harmless, though so full of brightness,
Was my brow's wreath, that it would shake
From off its flowers each downy flake
As delicate, unmelted, fair,
And cool as they had lighted there.

Nay ever with LILIS-had I not

Around her sleep all radiant beamed,

The Dove, or pigeon which attended Mahomet as his Fa miliar, and was frequently seen to whisper into his ear, was, If I recollect right, one of that select number of animals (including also the ant of Solomon, the dog of the Seven Sleepers, &c.), which were thought by the Prophet worthy of admission into Paradise.

"The Moslems have a tradition that Mahomet was saved (when he hid himself in a cave in Mount Shur) by his pursuers finding the mouth of the cave covered by a spider's web, and a nest built by two pigeons at the entrance, with two eggs unbroken in it, which made them think no one could have entered it. In consequence of this, they say, Mahomet enjoined his followers to look upon pigeons as sacred, and never to kill spider "-Modern Universal History, vol. i.

Thus having-as, alas, deceived
By my sin's blindness, I believed-
No cause for dread, and those dark eyes
Now fixed upon me, eagerly
As though th' unlocking of the skies
Then waited but a sign from me-
How could I pause? how even let fall
A word, a whisper that could stir,
In her proud heart a doubt, that all

I brought from heaven belonged to her.
Slow from her side I rose, while she
Arose, too, mutely, tremblingly.
But not with fear-all hope and pride,
She waited for the awful boon,

Like priestesses, at eventide,

Watching the rise of the full moon, Whose light, when once its orb hath shone, "Twill madden them to look upon!

Of all my glories, the bright crown,

Which, when I last from heaven came down,
Was left behind me, in yon star

That shines from out those clouds afar-
Where, relic sad, 'tis treasured yet,
The downfallen angel's coronet!

Of all my glories, this alone

Was wanting: but th' illumin'd brow,
The sun-bright locks, the eyes that now
Had love's spell added to their own,
And poured a light till then unknown,
Th' unfolded wings, that, in their play,
Shed sparkles bright as ALLA's throne;
All I could bring of heaven's array,
Of that rich panoply of charms
A Cherub moves in, on the day
Of his best pomp, I now put on;
And, proud that in her eyes I shone

Thus glorious, glided to her arms;
Which still (though, at a sight so splendid,
Her dazzled brow had, instantly,
Sunk on her breast) were wide extended
To clasp the form she durst not see!*
Great Heaven! how could thy vengeance ligh
So bitterly on one so bright?

How could the hand, that gave such charms,
Blast them again in love's own arms?
Scarce had I touched her shrinking frame
When-oh most horrible! I felt
That every spark of that pure flame-

Pure, while among the stars I dwelt-
Was now, by my transgressions, turned
Into gross, earthly fire, which burned,
Burned all it touched, as fast as eye

Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes;
Till there-oh God, I still ask why
Such doom was hers? I saw her lie
Blackening within my arms to ashes!

That brow, a glory but to see

Those lips, whose touch was what the first Fresh cup of immortality

Is to a new-made angel's thirst!
Those clasping arms, within whose round-
My heart's horizon-the whole bound
Of its hope, prospect, heaven was found!
Which, ever in this dread moment, fond

As when they first were round me cast,
Loosed not in death the fatal bond,

But, burning, held me to the last! All, all, that, but that morn, had seemed As if Love's self there breathed and beamed

"Mohammed [says Sale,] though a prophet, was not able to bear the sight of Gabriel, when he appeared in his proper form, much less would others be able to support it."

Was maddening! but now hear even worse
Wd death, death only, been the curse
brought upon her-had the doom
But ended here, when her young bloom
Lay in the dust-and did the spirit
No part of that fell curse inherit,

"Twere not so dreadful-but, come near-
Too shocking 'tis for earth to hear-
Just when her eyes, in fading, took

Their last, keen, agonized farewell,
And looked in mine with-oh, that look!
Great vengeful Power, whate'er the hell
Thou mayst to human souls assign,
The memory of that look is mine!

In her last struggle, on my brow
Her ashy lips a kiss imprest,

So withering!-I feel it now—

'Twas fire-but fire, even more unblest
Than was my own, and like that flame,
The angels shudder but to name,
Hell's everlasting element !

Deep, deep it pierced into any brain,
Madd'ning and torturing as it went;

And here-mark here, the brand, the stain It left upon my front-burnt in

By that last kiss of love and sin-
A brand, which all the pomp and pride
Of a fallen Spirit can not hide!

But is it thus, dread Providence

Can it, indeed, be thus, that she,
Who (but for one proud, fond offence)
Had honored heaven itself, should be
Now doomed-I can not speak it—no,
Merciful ALLA! 'tis not so-
Never could lips divine have said
The fiat of a fate so dread.

And yet, that look-so deeply fraught

With more than anguish, with despairThat new, fierce fire, resembling naught

In heaven or earth-this scorch I bear! Oh-for the first time that these knees Have bent before thee since my fall, Great Power, if ever thy decrees

Thou couldst for prayer like mine recall, Pardon that spirit, and on me,

On me, who taught her pride to err,
Shed out each drop of agony

Thy burning vial keeps for her!
See, too, where low beside me kneel
Two other outcasts, who, though gone
And lost themselves, yet dare to feel

And pray for that poor mortal one.
Alas too well, too well they know
The pain, the penitence, the wo
That Passion brings upon the best,
The wisest, and the loveliest.

Oh, who is to be saved, if such

Bright, erring souls are not forgiven; So loath they wander, and so much

Their very wand'rings lean toward heaven! Again, I cry, Just Power, transfer

That creature's sufferings all to me-
Mine, mine the guilt, the torment be,
To save one minute's pain to her,
Let nine last all eternity!"

He paused, and to the earth bent down
His throbbing head; while they, who felt
That agony as 'twere their own,

Those angel youths, beside him knelt,
And, in the night's still silence there,
While mournfully each wand'ring air

Played in those plumes, that never more
To their lost home in heaven must soar,
Breathed inwardly the voiceless prayer,
Unheard by all but Mercy's ear-
And which if Mercy did not hear,
Oh, God would not be what this bright
And glorious univers of his,
This world of beauty, goodness, light,
And endless love, proclaims he is!
Not long they knelt, when, from a wood
That crowned that airy solitude,
They heard a low, uncertain sound,
As from a lute, that just had found
Some happy theme, and murmured round
The new-born fancy, with fond tone,
Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own!
Till soon a voice, that matched as well
That gentle instrument, as suits

The sea-air to an ocean-shell

(So kin its spirit to the lute's), Tremblingly followed the soft strain, Interpreting its joy, its pain,

And lending the light wings of words To many a thought, that else had lain Unfledged and mute among the chords. All started at the sound-but chief

The third young Angel, in whose face, Though faded like the others, grief

Had left a gentler, holier trace; As if, even yet, through pain and ill, Hope had not fled him-as if still Her precious pearl, in sorrow's cup, Unmelted at the bottom lay, To shine again, when, all drunk up, The bitterness should pass away. Chiefly did he, though in his eyes There shone more pleasure than surprise, Turn to the wood, from whence that sound Of solitary sweetness broke;

Then, listening, look delighted round

To his bright peers, while thus it spoke: "Come, pray with me, my seraph love, My angel-lord, come pray with me; In vain to-night my lip hath strove To send one holy prayer aboveThe knee may bend, the lip may move, But pray I can not, without thee! I've fed the altar in my bower

With droppings from the incense-tree; I've sheltered it from wind and shower, But dim it burns the livelong hour,

As if, like me, it had no power

Of life or lustre, without thee !

A boat at midnight sent alone

To drift upon the moonless sea,
A lute, whose leading enord is gone,
A wounded bird, that hath but one
Imperfect wing to soar upon,

Are like what I am, without thee!

Then ne'er, my spirit-love, divide,
In life or death, thyself from me;
But when again, in sunny pride.
Thou walkst through Eden, let me glide,
A prostrate shadow, by thy side-

Oh happier thus than without thee!"

The song had ceased, when, from the wood
Which, sweeping down that airy height,
Reached the lone spot whereon they stood-
There suddenly shone out a light
From a clear lamp, which, as it blazed
Across the brow of one, who raised
Its flame aloft (as if to throw
The light upon that group below),
Displayel two eyes, sparkling between
The dusky leaves, such as are seen
By fancy only, in those fees.

That haunt a poet's walk at even,
Looking from out their leafy places
Upon his dreams of love and heaven.

Twas but a moment-the blush, brought
O'er all her features at the thought

Of being seen thus, late, alone,
By any but the eyes she sought,

Had scarcely for an instant shoze

Through the dark leaves, when she was gone. Gone, like a meteor that o'erhead Suddenly shines, and, ere we've said, "Behold, how beautiful !"-'tis fled.

Yet, ere she went, the words, "I come, I come, my NAMA," reached her ear, In that kind voice, familiar, dear, Which tells of confidence, of home

Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near, Till they grow one-of faith sincere, And all that Love most loves to hear; A music, I reatting of the past,

The present, and the time to be, Where Hope and Memory, to the last, Lengthen out life's true harmony! Nor long did he, whom call so kind Summoned away, remain behind; Nor did there need much time to tell What they—alas! more fallen than he From happiness and heaven-knew well, His gentler love's short history!

Thus did it run-not as he told

The tale himself, but as 'tis graved Upon the tablets that, of old,

By SETH were from the deluge saved, All written over with sublime And sadd'ning legends of th' unblest, Bat glorious Spirits of that time,

And this young Angel's 'mong the rest.

THIRD ANGEL'S STORY.

AMONG the Spirits, of pure flame,
That in th' eternal heavens abide-
Circles of light, that from the same
Unclouded centre sweeping wide,
Carry its beams on every side-
Like spheres of air that waft around
The undulations of rich sound,
Till the far-circling radiance be
Diffused into infinity!

First and immediate near the Throne

Of ALLA, as if most his own,

The Scraphs stand-this burning sign Traced on their banner, "Love divine !"

• Seth is a favorite personage among the Orientals, and acts conspicuous part in many of their most extravagant roRances. The Syrians pretended to have a Testament of this Patriarch in their possession, in which was explained the whole theology of angels, their different orders, &c., &c. The Curds, too (as Hyde mentions in his Appendix), have a book, which contains all the rites of their religion, and which they all Sohuph Sheit, or the Book of Seth.

In the same manner that Seth and Cham are supposed to have preserved these memorials of antediluvian knowledge, Xixuthrus is said in Chaldean fable to have deposited in Siparis, the city of the Sun, those monuments of science which he had saved out of the waters of a deluge.-See Jablonski's learned remarks upon these columns or tablets of Seth, which he supposes to be the same with the pillars of Mercury, or the Egyptian Thoth.-Pantheon. Egypt., lib. v., cap. 5.

The Mussulmans, says D'Herbelot, apply the general name, Mocarreboun, to all those spirits "qui approchent le plus près le Trone." Of this number are Mikail and Gebrail. The Seraphim, or Spirits of Divine Love. There appears to be, among writers on the East, as well as among the Orientals themselves, considerable indecision with regard to the respective claims of Seraphim and Cherubim to the highest rank in the celestial hierarchy. The derivation which Hy le assigns to the word Cherub seems to determine he precedence in favor of that order of spirits: "Cherubim,

L.

Their rank, their honors, far &
Even those to high-browed C
Though knowing all ;-so much
Transcend all Knowledge, even
'Mong these was ZARAPH once-a.
E'er felt affection's holy fire,
Or yearned toward th' Eternal One,
With half such longing, deep desire.
Love was to his impassioned soul

Not, as with others, a mere part
Of its existence, but the whole-
The very life-breath of his heart!
Oft, when from ALLA's lifted brow

A lustre came, too bright to bear,
And all the seraph ranks would bow,

To shade their dazzled sight, nor dare
To look upon th' effulgence there-
This Spirit's eves would court the blaze
(Such pride he in adoring took),
And rather lose, in that one gaze,

The power of looking, than not look!
Then, too, when angel voices sung
The mercy of their God, and strung
Their harps to hail, with welcome sweet,
That moment, watched for by all eyes,
When some repentant sinner's feet

First touched the threshold of the skies,
Oh then how clearly did the voice
Of ZARAPH above all rejoice!
Love was in every buoyant tone-

Such love, as only could belong
To the blest angels, and alone

Could, even from angels, bring such song!

Alas, that it should e'er have been
In heaven as 'tis too often here,
Where nothing fond or bright is seen,
But it hath pain and peril near;
Where right and wrong so close resemble,
That what we take for virtue's thrill
Is often the first downward tremble
Of the heart's balance unto ill;
Where Love hath not a shrine so pure,
So holy, but the serpent, Sin,
In moments, even the most secure,
Beneath his altar may glide in!

So was it with that Angel-such
The charm, that sloped his fall along,
From good to ill, from loving much,

Too easy lapse, to loving wrong.
Even so that amorous Spirit, bound
By beauty's spell, where'er 'twas found,
From the bright things above the moon
Down to earth's beaming eyes descended
Till love for the Creator soon

In passion for the creature ended.

'Twas first at twilight, on the shore

Of the smooth sea, he heard the lute And voice of her he loved steal o'er

The silver waters, that lay mute, As loath, by even a breath, to stay The pilgrimage of that sweet lay, Whose echoes still went on and on, Till lost among the light that shone Far off, beyond the ocean's brim

There, where the rich cascade of day Had, o'er th' horizon's golden rim, Into Elysium rolled away!

1. e, Propinqui Angeli, qui sc. Deo proprius quam alii accedunt; nam Charab est i. q. Karab, appropinquare" (p. 263). Al Beidawi, too, one of the commentators of the Koran, on that passage, "The angels, who bear the throne, and those who stand about it" (chap. xl.), says, "These are the Cher ubim, the highest order of angels." On the other hand, we have seen, in a preceding note, that the Syrians place the sphere in which the Seraphs dwell at the very summit of all the celestial systems; and even among Mahometans, the words Azazil and Mocarreboun (which mean the spirits that stand nearest to the throne of Alla) are indiscriminately applied to both Seraphim and Cherubim.

Dwellings of

Then clorung, and of the mild All that, i Mercy, that beside

t

But girthrone for ever smiled, Myself with her white hand, to guide Pure as of vengeance to their preyThro he might quench them on the way! Tace-of that Atoning Love, Win whose star, shining above Wis twilight world of hope and fear, The weeping eyes of Faith are fixed So fond, that with her every tear

The light of that love-star is mixed!All this she sung, and such a soul

Of piety was in that song, That the charmed Angel, as it stole Tenderly to his ear, along Those lulling waters where he lay, Watching the daylight's dying ray, Thought 'twas a voice from out the wave, An echo, that some sea-nymph gave To Eden's distant harmony,

Heard faint and sweet beneath the sea!

Quickly, however, to its source,
Tracing that music's melting course,
He saw, upon the golden sand
Of the seashore, a maiden stand,
Before whose feet th' expiring waves
Flung their last offering with a sigh-
As, in the East, exhausted slaves

Lay down the far-brought gift, and dieAnd, while her lute hung by her, hushed, As if unequal to the tide

Of song, that from her lips still gushed,
She raised, like one beatified,

Those eyes, whose light seemed rather given
To be adored than to adore-

Such eyes, as may have looked from heaven, But ne'er were raised to it before?

Oh Love, Religion, Music-all

'That's left of Eden upon earth-The only blessings, since the fall Of our weak souls, that still recall

A trace of their high, glorious birthHow kindred are the dreams you bring! How Love, though unto earth so prone, Delights to take Religion's wing,

When time or grief hath stained his own! How near to Love's beguiling brink, Too oft, entranced Religion lies! While Music, Music is the link

They both still hold by to the skies, The language of their native sphere, Which they had else forgotten here.

How then could ZARAPH fail to feel
That moment's witcheries ?-one, so fair,
Breathing out music, that might steal

Heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer
That seraphs might be proud to share!
Oh, he did feel it, all too well-

With warmth, that far too dearly costNor knew he, when at last he fell, To which attraction, to which spell, Love, Music, or Devotion, most His soul in that sweet hour was lost.

Sweet was the hour, though dearly won,
And pure, as aught of earth could be,
For then first did the glorious sun

Before religion's altar see
Two hearts in wedlock's golden tie
Self-pledged, in love to live and die.
Blest union! by that Angel wove,

And worthy from such hands to come;
Safe, sole asylum, in which Love,
When fallen or exiled from above,

In this dark world can find a home.

"Les Egyptiens disent que la Musique est Sœur de a Religion"—Voyages de Fythagore, tom. i., p. 422.

And, though the Spirit had transgressed,
Had, from his station 'mong the blest
Won down by woman's smile, allowed
Terrestrial passion to breathe o'er
The mirror of his heart, and cloud
God's image, there so bright before-
Yet never did that Power look down
On error with a brow so mild;
Never did Justice wear a frown,

Through which so gently Mercy smiled.
For humble was their love-with awe
And trembling like some treasure kept,
That was not theirs by holy law-
Whose beauty with remorse they saw,
And o'er whose preciousness they wept.

Humility, that low, sweet root,
From which all heavenly virtues shoot,
Was in the hearts of both-but most

In NAMA's heart, by whom alone
Those charms for which a heaven was lost,
Seemed all unvalued and unknown;
And when her seraph's eyes she caught,
And hid hers glowing on his breast,
Even bliss was humbled by the thought-
"What claim have I to be so blest ?"
Still less could maid, so meek, have nursed
Desire of knowledge-that vain thirst,
With which the sex hath all been cursed,
From luckless EVE to her, who near

The Tabernacle stole to hear
The secrets of the angels: no-

To love as her own Seraph loved,

With Faith, the same through bliss and wo→
Faith, that, were even its light removed,
Could, like the dial, fixed remain.
And wait till it shone out again;
With Patience that, though often bowed

By the rude storm, can rise anew;
And Hope that, even from Evil's cloud,
Sees sunny Good half breaking through!
This deep, relying Love, worth more
In heaven than all a Cherub's lore-
This Faith, more sure than aught beside,
Was the sole joy, ambition, pride

Of her fond heart-th' unreasoning scope
Of all its views, above, below,

So true she felt it that to hope,

To trust, is happier than to know.

And thus in humbleness they trod,
Abashed, but pure before their God;
Nor e'er did earth behold a sight
So meekly beautiful as they,
When, with the altar's holy light

Full on their brows, they knelt to pray, Hand within hand, and side by side,

Two links of love, awhile untied

From the great chain above, but fast
Holding together to the last!—

Two fallen Splendors, from that tree,
Which buds with such eternally,

• Sara.

An allusion to the Sephiroths, or Splendors of the Jewish Cabbala, represented as a tree, of which God is the crown of summit.

The Sephiroths are the higher orders of emanative beings in the strange and incomprehensible system of the Jewish Cabbala. They are called by various names, Pity, Beauty, etc., etc.; and their influences are supposed to act through certain canals, which cominunicate with each other.

The reader may judge of the rationality of this Jewish system by the following explanation of part of the machinery: "Les canaux qui sortent de la Miséricorde et de la Force, et qui vont aboutir à la Beauté, sont chargés d'un grand nom bre d'Anges. Il y en a trente-cinq sur le canal de la Miséri corde, qui recompensent et qui couronnent la vertu des Saints," etc., etc.-For a concise account of the Cabalis: Philosophy, see Enfield's very useful compendium of Brucker. "On les représente quelquefois sous la figure d'un arbre l'Ensoph qu'on met au-dessus de l'arbre Sephirotique, ou des Splendeurs divins, est l'Infini."—L'Histoire" des Juijs i ix. 11.

Shaken to earth, yet keeping all
Their light and freshness in the fall.
Their only punishment (as wrong,

However sweet, must bear its brand),
Their only doom was this-that, long

As the green earth and ocean stand,
They both shall wander here-the same,
Throughout all time, in heart and frame-
Still looking to that goal sublime,

Whose light remote, but sure, they see;
Pilgrims of Love, whose way is Time,
Whose home is in Eternity!
Subject, the while, to all the strife,
True Love encounters in this life-
The wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain;
The chill, that turns his warmest sighs
To earthly vapor, ere they rise;
The doubt he feeds on, and the pain
That in his very sweetness lies:
Still worse, th' illusions that betray

His footsteps to their shining brink;
That tempt him, on his desert way

Through the bleak world, to bend and drink, Where nothing meets his lips, alas !— But he again must sighing pass On to that far-off home of peace, In which alone his thirst will cease.

All this they bear, but, not the less,
Have moments rich in happiness-
Blest meetings, after many a day
Of widowhood past far away,
When the loved face again is seen
Close, close, with not a tear between-
Confidings frank, without control,
Poured mutually from soul to soul;
As free from any fear or doubt

As is that light from chill or stain,
The sun into the stars sheds out,

To be by them shed back again !— That happy minglement of hearts,

Where, changed as chymic compounds are, Each with its own existence parts,

To find a new one, happier far!
Such are their joys-and, crowning all,
That blessed hope of the bright hour,
When, happy and no more to fall,

Their spirits shall, with freshened power, Rise up rewarded for their trust

In Him, from whom all goodness springs, And, shaking off earth's soiling dust

From their emancipated wings, Wander for ever through those skies Of radiance, where Love never dies!

In what lone region of the earth

These Pilgrims now may roam or dwell, God and the Angels, who look forth

To watch their steps, alone can tell. But should we, in our wanderings,

Meet a young pair, whose beauty wants
But the adornment of bright wings,

To look like heaven's inhabitants-
Who shine where'er they tread, and yet
Are humble in their earthly lot,
As is the wayside violet,

That shines unseen, and were it not
For its sweet breath, would be forgot-
Whose hearts, in every thought, are one,
Whose voices utter the same wills-
Answering, as Echo doth some tone
Of fairy music 'mong the hills,

So like itself, we seek in vain
Which is the echo, which the stran
Whose piety is love, whose love,

Though close as 'twere their souls' embrace,

Is not of earth, but from above

Like two fair mirrors, face to face,
Whose light, from one to th' other thrown,
Is heaven's reflection, not their own-
Should we e'er meet with aught so pure,
So perfect here, we may be sure

'Tis ZARAPH and his bride w And call young lovers round, to The pilgrim pair, as they pursue Their pathway toward eternity.

THE SYLPH'S BALL.

A SYLPH, as bright as ever sported
Her figure through the fields of air,
By an old swarthy Gnome was courted,
And, strange to say, he won the fair.

The annals of the oldest witch

A pair so sorted could not show,
But how refuse ?-the Gnome was rich,
The Rothschild of the world below;

And Sylphs, like other pretty creatures,
Are told, betimes, they must consider
Love as an auctioneer of features,

Who knocks them down to the best bidder.

Home she was taken to his Mine

A Palace, paved with diamonds allAnd, proud as Lady Gnome to shine, Sent out her tickets for a Ball.

The lower world, of course, was there,
And all the best; but of the upper
The sprinkling was but shy and rare,
A few old Sylphids, who loved supper.

As none yet knew the wondrous Lamp
Of DAVY, that renowned Aladdin,
And the Gnome's Halls exhaled a damp,
Which accidents from fire were bad in;
The chambers were supplied with light
By many strange but safe devices;
Large fire-flies, such as shine at night
Among the Orient's flowers and spices;-
Musical flint-mills-swiftly played

By elfin hands-that, flashing round,
Like certain fire-eyed minstrel maids,
Gave out, at once, both light and sound.

Bologna stones, that drink the sun;

And water from that Indian sea,
Whose waves at night like wild-fire run-
Corked up in crystal carefully.

Glow-worms, that round the tiny dishes,
Like little lighthouses, were set up!
And pretty phosphorescent fishes,

That by their own gay light were eat up.

'Mong the few guests from Ether, came That wicked Sylph, whom Love we call : My Lady knew him but by name,

My Lord, her husband, not at all.

Some prudent Gnomes, 'tis said, apprized
That he was coming, and, no doubt,
Alarmed about his touch, advised

He should, by all means, be kept out.

But others disapproved this plan,

And, by his flame though somewhat frighted, Thought Love too much a gentleman,

In such a dangerous place to light it.

However, there he was-and dancing

With the fair Sylph, light as a feather; They looked like two fresh sunbeams, glancing. At daybreak, down to earth together.

And all had gone off safe and wel!,

But for that plaguy torch, whose light, Though not yet kindled-who could tell How soon, how devilishly, it might ?