Dowulward the Peri turns her gaze,
And, through the war-field's bloody haze
Beholds a youthful warrior stand,

Alone, beside his native river-
The red blade broken in his hand

And the last arrow in his quiver.
"Live," said the Conqueror, live to share
T'he trophies and the crowns I bear!"
Silent that youthful warrior stood-
Silent he pointed to the flood,
All crimson with his country's blood,
Then sent bis last remaining dart,
For answer, to the Invader's heart.
False flew the shaft, though pointed well-
The Tyrant liv'd, the Hero fell!
Yet mark'd the Peri where he lay,

And when the rush of war was past,
Swiftly descending on a ray

or morning light, she caught the last Last glorious drop bis heart

had shed, Betore its frec-born spirit fled! * Be this,” she cried, as she wing'd her flight, " My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. “ Though foul are the drops

that oft distil * On the field of warfare, blood like this,

* For Liberty shed, so holy is, * It would not stain the purest rill

" That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss! * Oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere, * A boon, an offermg Heaven holds dear, " 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws * From the beart that bleeds and breaks in her

cause!” * Sweet,” said the Angel, as sbe gave

The gift into his radiant land, * Sweet is our welcome of the Brave

* Who die thus for their native Land. * But see-alas! the crystal bar * Of Eden moves not-holier far "Than e'en this drop the boon must be, " That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee." Her first fond hope of Eden blighted,

Now among Afric's Lunar Mountains. (*)
Far to the South, the Peri lighted;

And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains
or that Egyptian tide, whose birth
Ls hidden from the sons of earth,
Deep in those solitary woods,
Where oft the Genii of the Ploods
Dance round the cradle of their Nile,
And hail the new-born Giant's smile! (+)
Thence, over Egypt's palmy groves,

Her frots, and sepulchres of Kings (1)
The exil'd Spirit sighing roves,
And now hangs listening to the doves
In warm Rosetta's vale ($)-now loves

To watch the moonlight on the wings
of the white pelicans that break
The azure calm of Mæris' Lake (1)
'Twas a fair scene-a Land more bright

Never did mortal eye behold!

(*) The Mountains of the Moon, or the Montes Lunæ of antiquity, at the foot of which the Nile is supposed to arisc.-Bruce.

(+) The Nile, which the Abyssinians know by the names of Abey and Alawy or the Giant. -Asiat. Research. vol. i. p. 387.

(1) V. Perry's View of the Levant for an account of the sepulchres in Upper Thebes, and the numberless grots, covered all over with hieroglyphics in the mountains of Upper Egypt.

W The orcharls of Rosetta are filled with turtle-loves.-Sonnini.

(D Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lako Morris,

Who could have thought, that saw this night

Those valleys and their fruits of gold
Basking in heav'n's serenest light;
Those groups of lovely date-trees bending

Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads,
Like youthful maids, when sleep, descending

Warns them to their silken beds: (1)
Those virgin bilies, all the vight

Bathing their beauties in the lake
That they may rise more fresh and bright,

When their beloved Sun's awake;-
Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem
The relics of a splendid dream;

Amid whose fairy loneliness
Nought but the lap-wing's cry is heard,
Nought seen but (when the shadows Ditting
Fast tiom the moon, unsheath its gleam)
Some purple-wing’d Sultana (tt) sitting

Upon a column motionless
And glittering, like an idol bird! -
Who could have thought, that the re, e'en there,
Amid those scenes so still and fair,
The Demon of the Plagrie bath cast
From his hot wing a deadlier blast,
More mortal far than ever came
From the red Desert's sands of flame!
So quick, that every living thing
of human shape, touch'd by his wing,
Like plants, where the Simoom hath past,
At once faus black and withering!
The sun went down on many a brow,

Which, full of bloom and freshness then,
Is rankling in the pest-house now,

And ne'er will feel that sun again!
And oh! to see th' unburied heaps
On which the lonely moonlight sleeps
The very vultures turn away,
And sicken at so toul a préy!
Only the fierce hyæna stalks (11)
*Throughout the city's desolate walke!
At midnight, and his carnage plies-

Wo to the half-dead wretch, who meets
The glaring of those large blue eyes (ID

Amid the darkness of the streets! “Poor race of Men!" said the pitying Spirit,

“Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall"Some flow'rets of Eden ye still inherit, “But the trail of the Serpent is over them

all!” She wept-the air grew pure and clear

Aronnd her, as the bright drops ran;
For there's a magic in each tear

Such kindly spirits weep for man!
Just then beneath some orange trees,
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze
Were wantoning together, free,
Like age at play with infancy-
Beneath that fresh and springing bower

Close by the Lake, she heard the moan of one who, at this silent hour

Had thither stol'n to die alone.

(9) T'he superb date-tree, whose bead languidly reclines, like that of a handsome woman overcome with sleep:- Dafard et Hadad.

(tt) That beaudful bird, with plumage of the finest shining blue, with purple beak and legs, the natural and living ornament of the temples and palaces of the Greeks and Romans, which from the stateliness of its port, as well as the brilliancy of its colours, has obtained the title of Sultana.-Sonnini.

(11) Jackson speaking of the plague that occurred in West Barbary, when he was there, says, “ The birds of the air fied away from the abodes of men. The hyænas, on the contrary, visited the cemeteries," &c.

CD Brwe.

One who in life, where'er he mor'd,

Drew after him the hearts of many; Yet now, as though he ne'r were lová,

Dies here unseen, unwept by any!
None to watch near laim-none to slake

The fire that in his bosom lies
With e'en a sprinkle from that Lake,

Which shines so cool before his eyes.
No voice, well-known through many a day,

To speak the last, the parting word,
Which, when all other sounds decay,

Is still like distant music heard. That tender farewell on Wie shore Of this rude world, when all is o'er, Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark Puts off into the unknown Dark. Deserted youth! one thought alone

Shed joy around his soul in deathThat she, whom he for years had known And lov'd, and might have call'd his own,

Was safe from this foul midnight's breath;Safe in her father's princely halls, Where the cool airs from fountain falls, Freshly perfuind by many a brand of the sweet wood from India's land, Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd. But see,-who yonder ccmes by stealth,

This melancholy bower to seek, Like a young, envoy, sent by Health,

With rosy gifts upon her cheek? 'Tis shefar off, through moonlight dim,

He knew his own betrothed bride, She, who would rather die with him,

Tban live to gain the world beside! Her arins are round her lover now,

His livid cheek to hers she presses, And dips, to bind his burning brow,

In the cool lake ber loosen d tresses. Ah! once, how little did he think An hour would come, when he should shrink With horror from that dear embrace,

Those gentle arms, that were to him
Holy as is the cradling place,

of Eden's infant cheruvim!
And now he yields--now turns away,
Shuddering as it the venom lay
All in those proffer'd lips alone
Tliose lips that, then so fearless grown,
Never until that instant came
Near bis unask'd or without shaine.
* Oh! let me only breathe the air,

* The blessed air, that's breath'd by thee; * And, whether on its wings it bear

" Healing or death, 'lis sweet to me! “ There-drink my tears, while yet they fall

* Would that my bosom's blood were balm, ** And well thou know'st, I'd shed it all,

" To give thy hrow one minute's calm. * Nay, turn not from me that dear face

"Am I not thine--thy own lov'd brille *** The one, the chosen one, whose place,

" In life or death is by thy side!
Think'st thou that she, whose only light,

* In this dim world, from thee hath shone, "Could bear the long, the cheerless night,

" That must be hers, when thou art gone? * That I can live, and let the go, # Who art my life itself? No, no, “ When the stem dies, the leaf that grew "Out of its heart must perish too! * Then turn to me, my own love torti, * Before like thee I fade and burn; * Cling to these yet cool lips, and share * Tlie last pure life that lingers there!" She fails, she sinks; as dies the lamp An charnel airs or cavern-damp, So quickly du his baleful sighis Quench all the sweet light of her eyes!

One struggle; and his pain is past,

Her lover is no longer living! One kiss the maiden gives, one last,

Long kiss, which she expires in giving! Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stole The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, As true as e'er warmd a woman's breast; * Sleep on, in visions of odour rest, " In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd “Th' enchanted pile of that holy bird, “Who sings at the last his own death lay, (1)

And in music and perfume dies away! Thus saying, from her lips she spread

Unearthly breathings through the place,
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed

Such lustre o'er each paly face,
That like two lovely saints they seem'd

Upon the eve of doomsday taken
From their dim graves, in odour sleeping;

While that benevolent Peri beam'd
Like their good angel, calmly keeping,

Watch o'er them, till their souls would waken But morn is blushing in the sky;

Again the Peri soars above, Bearing to heavin that precious sigh

of pure, self-sacrificiug love. High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate,

The Elysian palm she soon will win, For the bright Spirit at the gate

Smil'd as she gave that offering in; And she already hears the trees

Of Eden, with their crystal bells Ringing in that ambrosial breeze

That from the Throne of Alla swells; And she can see the starry bowls

That lie around that lucid lake, Upon whose banks admitted Souls

Their first sweet draught of glory take!(2) But ah! e'en Peri's hopes are vainAgain the Fates forbade, again The immortal barrier clos'd" not yet" The Angel said, as, with regret, He shut from her that glimpse of glory" True was the maiden, and her story, " Written in light o'er Alla's head,

By seraph eyes shall long be read. “But Perì, see-the crystal bar * Of Eden moves not-holier far “Than e'en this sigh the boon must be " That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee." Now, upon Syria's land of roses(3) Softly the light Eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted Lebanon, Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,

And whitens with eternal slett, While summer in a vale of flowers

Is sleeping rosy at his feel.

(1)" In the East, they suppose the Phoenix to have fifty orifices in his bill, which are continued to his tail: aud that, after living one thousand years, he builds himself a funeral pile, sings a melodious air of different barmo bies through Ins fifty organ-pipes, tlaps his wings with a velocity which sets fire to the wood, and consumes himself."- Richardson.

(2) * On the shores of a quadrangular lake stand a thousand goblets, made of stairs, out of which souls predestined to enjoy felicity drink the crystal wave.- From Chateaubrianil's De scription of the Mahometan Paradise, in his Beauties of Christianity.

(3) Richardson thinks that Syria hall its name from Suri, a beautiful and delicate species of rose, for which that country, has been always famous; hence, Suristan, the Land of Rose's.

To one, who look from upper air
O'er all the enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melons on their banks,
More golden where the sun-light falls;
Gay lizards, glittering on the walls(4)
of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright
As they were all alive with light;
And yet more splendid, numerous flocks
of pigeons, settling on the rocks,
With their rich restless wings, that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam
of the warm west, as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine or made
of tearless rainbows, such as span
The unclouded skies of Peristan!
And then the mingling sounds that come,
Of shepherds' ancient reed(5), with hum
of the wild bees of Palestine,

Banquetting through the flowery vales;-
And Jordan, those sweet banks of thine,

And woods so full of nightingales!
But nought can charm the luckless Peri;
Her soul is sad-her wings are weary-
Joyless she sees the sun look down
On that great Temple, once bis own (6)
Whose lonely columns stand sublime,

Flinging their shadows from on high,
Like dials, which the wizard Time,

Had rais'd to count his ages by!
Yet haply there may lie conceal'd

Beneath those Chambers of the Sun,
Some amulet of gems, anneal'd
In upper fires, some tablet seal'd

With the Great Name of Solomon,

Which, spellid by her illumin'd eyes,
May teach her where, beneath the moon,
In earth or ocean lies the boon,
T'he charm, that can restore so soon,

An erring Spirit to the skies!
Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither;-

Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven,

Nor have the golden bowers of Even In the rich West began to wither:When, o'er the vale of Balbeek winging

Slowly, she 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 (1)
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers or flying gems:-
And, near the boy, who tírd 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 immaret's rustic fount

Impatient fling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd

To the fair child, who fearless sat, Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd

Upon a brow more fierce than that

(4)" The number of lizards I saw one day in the great court of the Temple of the sun at Balbec, amounted to many thousands; the ground, the walls and stones of the ruined buildings, were com nered with them, "--Bruce.

(5) The Syrinx or Pan's pipe is still a pastoral instrument in Syria.-Russel.

(6) The Temple of the Sun at Balbec.

(7) " You behold there a considerable number of a remarkable species of beautiful insects the ele sance of whose appearance and their attire procured for them the name of Damsels."Sonnini.

Sullenly fierce a mixture dire,
Like thunder-clonds, of gloom and fire!
In which the Peri's eye could read
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed;
The ruin'd maid-the shrine profand
Oaths broken-and the threshold stain'd
With blood of guests!-there written all,
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing Angel's pen,
Ere Merey weeps them out again!
Yet tranquil now that man of crime,
(As if the balmy evening time
Soften'd his spirit.) looků and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play:
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches, that have burnt all night
Through some impure and godless rite,

Encounter morning's glorious rays.
But hark! the vesper call to prayer,

As slow the orb of day-light 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, wbile 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! Oh 'twas a sight-that Heav'n-that Child A scene, which might have well beguild E'en haughty Eblis of a sigh For glories lost and peace gone by! And how felt he, the wretched man Reclining there--while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace! " There was a time," he said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones- thou blessed child! “When young and haply pare as thou, " I look'd and pray'd like thee-but now-" He hung his head-each nubber aim

And bope and feeling, which had slept From boyhood's hour, that instant came

Fresh o'er bim, and he wept-he wept! Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!

In whose benign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. " There's a drop,” said the Peri," that dovu

" from the moon “ Falls through the withering airs of June " Upon Egypt's land, (8) of so healing a power,

So balmy a virtue, that e'en in the hour " That drop descends, contagiou dies, « And health reanimates earth and skies! * Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin,

the precious tears of repentance fall? “Though foul thy fiery plagues within,

“One heavenly drop hath dispelld them all: And now-behold him kneeling there By the child's side in humble prayer,

(8) The Nucta, or Miraculous Drop, which falls in Egypt precisely on St. John's day, in June, and is supposed to bave the effect of stop ping the plague.