“How happy,” exclaim’d 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,

“And the stars themselves have flowers for me,

“One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all!

“Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashmere,

“With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,159

“And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall;

“Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hay,

“And the golden floods that thitherward stray,160

“Yet—oh, ’tis only the Blest can say

“How the waters of Heaven outshine them all!

“Go, wing thy flight from star to star,

“From world to luminous world, as far

“As the universe spreads its flaming wall:

“Take all the pleasures of all the spheres,

“And multiply each through endless years,

“One minute of Heaven is worth them all!”

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The glorious Angel, who was keeping

The gates of Light, beheld her weeping;

And, as he nearer drew and listen’d

To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten’d

Within his eyelids, like the spray

From Eden’s fountain, when it lies

On the blue flower, which—Bramins say—

Blooms nowhere but in Paradise.161

“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 Pardon’d in.”

Rapidly as comets run

To the’ embraces of the Sun;—

Fleeter than the starry brands

Flung at night from angel hands,162

At those dark and daring sprites

Who would climb the’ empyreal heights,

Down the blue vault the Peri flies,

And, lighted earthward by a glance

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That just then broke from morning’s eyes,

Hung hovering o’er our world’s expanse.

But whither shall the Spirit go

To find this gift for Heaven?—“I know

“The wealth,” she cries, “of every urn,

“In which unnumber’d rubies burn,

“Beneath the pillars of Chilminar;163

“I know where the Isles of Perfume are,

“Many a fathom down in the sea,

“To the south of sun-bright Araby;164

“I know, too, where the Genii hid

“The jewell’d cup of their King Jamshid,165

“With Life’s elixir sparkling high—

“But gifts like these are not for the sky.

“Where was there ever a gem that shone

“Like the steps of Alla’s wonderful Throne?

“And the Drops of Life—oh! what would they be

“In the boundless Deep of Eternity?”

While thus she mus’d, her pinions fann’d

The air of that sweet Indian land,

Whose air is balm; whose ocean spreads

O’er coral rocks, and amber beds:166

Whose mountains, pregnant by the beam

Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem;

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Whose rivulets are like rich brides,

Lovely, with gold beneath their tides;

Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice

Might be a Peri’s Paradise!

But crimson now her rivers ran

With human blood—the smell of death

Came reeking from those spicy bowers,

And man, the sacrifice of man,

Mingled his taint with every breath

Upwafted from the innocent flowers.

Land of the Sun! what foot invades

Thy Pagods and thy pillar’d shades167—

Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones,

Thy Monarchs and their thousand Thrones?168

’Tis He of Gazna169—fierce in wrath

He comes, and India’s diadems

Lie scatter’d in his ruinous path.—

His bloodhounds he adorns with gems,

Torn from the violated necks

Of many a young and lov’d Sultana;170

Maidens, within their pure Zenana,

Priests in the very fane he slaughters,

And choaks up with the glittering wrecks

Of golden shrines the sacred waters!

Downward the Peri turns her gaze,

And, through the war-field’s bloody haze

134

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

“The 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 his 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

Of morning light, she caught the last—

Last glorious drop his heart had shed,

Before its free-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,171

135

“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 offering Heaven holds dear,

“’Tis the last libation Liberty draws

“From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!”

“Sweet,” said the Angel, as she gave

The gift into his radiant hand,

“Sweet is our welcome of the Brave

“Who die thus for their native Land.—

“But see—alas!—the crystal bar

136

“Of Eden moves not—holier far

“Than even 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,172

Far to the South the Peri lighted;

And sleek’d her plumage at the fountains

Of that Egyptian tide—whose birth

Is hidden from the sons of earth

Deep in those solitary woods,

Where oft the Genii of the Floods

Dance round the cradle of their Nile,

And hail the new-born Giant’s smile.173

Thence over Egypt’s palmy groves,

Her grots, and sepulchres of Kings,174

The exil’d Spirit sighing roves;

And now hangs listening to the doves

In warm Rosetta’s vale175—now loves

To watch the moonlight on the wings

Of the white pelicans that break

The azure calm of Mœris’ Lake.176

’Twas a fair scene—a Land more bright

Never did mortal eye behold!

Who could have thought, that saw this night

Those valleys and their fruits of gold

137

Basking in Heaven’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;177—

Those virgin lilies, all the night

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 lapwing’s cry is heard,

Nought seen but (when the shadows, flitting

Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam,)

Some purple-wing’d Sultana178 sitting

Upon a column, motionless

And glittering like an Idol bird!—

Who could have thought, that there, even there,

Amid those scenes so still and fair,

The Demon of the Plague hath 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,

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Like plants, where the Simoom hath past,

At once falls 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 the’ unburied heaps

On which the lonely moonlight sleeps—

The very vultures turn away,

And sicken at so foul a prey!

Only the fierce hyæna stalks179

Throughout the city’s desolate walks180

At midnight, and his carnage plies:—

Woe to the half-dead wretch, who meets

The glaring of those large blue eyes181

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

Around 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,

139

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 stolen to die alone.

One who in life, where’er he mov’d,

Drew after him the hearts of many;

Yet now, as though he ne’er were lov’d,

Dies here unseen, unwept by any!

None to watch near him—none to slake

The fire that in his bosom lies,

With even 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 the 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 death—

140

That 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 perfum’d 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 comes by stealth,182

This melancholy bower to seek,

Like a young envoy, sent by Health,

With rosy gifts upon her cheek?

’Tis she—far off, through moonlight dim,

He knew his own betrothed bride,

She, who would rather die with him,

Than live to gain the world beside!—

Her arms are round her lover now,

His livid cheek to hers she presses,

And dips, to bind his burning brow,

In the cool lake her 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

141

Of Eden’s infant cherubim!

And now he yields—now turns away,

Shuddering as if the venom lay

All in those proffer’d lips alone—

Those lips that, then so fearless grown,

Never until that instant came

Near his unask’d or without shame.

“Oh! let me only breathe the air,

“That blessed air, that’s breath’d by thee,

“And, whether on its wings it bear

“Healing or death, ’tis 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 brow one minute’s calm.

“Nay, turn not from me that dear face—

“Am I not thine—thy own lov’d bride—

“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 thee go,

“Who art my life itself?—No, no—

“When the stem dies, the leaf that grew

142

“Out of its heart must perish too!

“Then turn to me, my own love, turn,

“Before, like thee, I fade and burn;

“Cling to these yet cool lips, and share

“The last pure life that lingers there!”

She fails—she sinks—as dies the lamp

In charnel airs, or cavern-damp,

So quickly do his baleful sighs

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 warm’d a woman’s breast—

“Sleep on, in visions of odour rest,

“In balmier airs than ever yet stirr’d

“The’ enchanted pile of that lonely bird,

“Who sings at the last his own death-lay,183

“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

143

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 Heaven that precious sigh

Of pure self-sacrificing love.

High throbb’d her heart, with hope elate,

The’ Elysian palm she soon shall 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!184

But, ah! even Peris’ hopes are vain—

Again 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, Peri, see—the crystal bar

145

“Of Eden moves not—holier far

“Than even this sigh the boon must be

“That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee.”

Now, upon Syria’s land of roses185

Softly the light of Eve reposes,

And, like a glory, the broad sun

Hangs over sainted Lebanon;

Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,

And whitens with eternal sleet,

While summer, in a vale of flowers,

Is sleeping rosy at his feet.

To one, who look’d 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 walls186

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

146

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 shepherd’s ancient reed,187 with hum

Of the wild bees of Palestine,188

Banqueting through the flowery vales;

And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine,

And woods, so full of nightingales.189

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 his own,190

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,

147

Which, spell’d by her illumin’d eyes,

May teach her where, beneath the moon,

In earth or ocean, lies the boon,

The 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 begun to wither;—

When, o’er the vale of Balbec 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,191

That flutter’d round the jasmine stems,

Like wingèd flowers or flying gems:—

And, near the boy, who tir’d 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 imaret’s rustic fount192

Impatient fling him down to drink.

Then swift his haggard brow he turn’d

To the fair child, who fearless sat,

148

Though never yet hath day-beam burn’d

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;

149

The ruin’d maid—the shrine profan’d—

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 Mercy weeps them out again.

Yet tranquil now that man of crime

(As if the balmy evening time

Soften’d his spirit) look’d 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 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,193 with his forehead to the south,

150

Lisping the’ 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.

Oh! ’twas a sight—that Heaven—that child—

A scene, which might have well beguil’d

Even 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 pure as thou,

“I look’d and pray’d like thee—but now—”

He hung his head—each nobler aim,

And hope, and feeling, which had slept

From boyhood’s hour, that instant came

Fresh o’er him, and he wept—he wept!

151

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 down from the moon

“Falls through the withering airs of June

“Upon Egypt’s land,194 of so healing a power,

“So balmy a virtue, that e’en in the hour

“The drop descends, contagion dies,

“And health re-animates earth and skies!—

“Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin,

152

“The precious tears of repentance fall?

“Though foul thy fiery plagues within,

“One heavenly drop hath dispell’d them all!”

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,

153

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 linger’d yet,

There fell a light more lovely far

Than ever came from sun or star,

Upon the tear that, warm and meek,

Dew’d that repentant sinner’s cheek.

To mortal eye this light might seem

A northern flash or meteor beam—

But well the’ enraptur’d Peri knew

’Twas a bright smile the Angel threw

From Heaven’s gate, to hail that tear

Her harbinger of glory near!

“Joy, joy for ever! my task is done—

“The Gates are pass’d, and Heaven is won!

“Oh! am I not happy? I am, I am—

“To thee, sweet Eden! how dark and sad

“Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam,195

“And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad!

“Farewell, ye odours of Earth, that die

“Passing away like a lover’s sigh;—

“My feast is now of the Tooba Tree,196

Whose scent is the breath of Eternity!

154

“Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that shone

“In my fairy wreath, so bright and brief;—

“Oh! what are the brightest that e’er have blown,

“To the lote-tree, springing by Alla’s throne,197

“Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf!

“Joy, joy for ever!—my task is done—

“The Gates are pass’d, and Heaven is won!”