Upon whose banks admitted souls
Their first sweet draught of glory take!
But ah! even Peris' hopes are vain: Again the fates forbade, again
The immortal barrier closed. "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
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 roses
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 looked 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 sunlight falls; Gay lizards, glittering on the walls. Of ruined 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 shepherd's ancient reed, with hum
Of the wild bees of Palestine,
Banqueting through the flowery vales; And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, And woods so full of nightingales. But naught 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, Whose lonely columns stand sublime, Flinging their shadows from on high Like dials which the wizard Time
Had raised to count his ages by!
Yet haply there may lie concealed Beneath those chambers of the sun Some amulet of gems, annealed In upper fires, some tablet sealed
With the great name of Solomon, Which, spelled by her illumined 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.
Cheered 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, That fluttered round the jasmine stems Like winged flowers or flying gems:
And near the boy, who, tired 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 fount,
Impatient fling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turned To the fair child, who fearless sat,
Though never yet hath day-beam burned 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,- The ruined maid, the shrine profaned, Oaths broken, and the threshold stained 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 Softened his spirit) looked 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 with his forehead to the south,
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 beguiled
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 looked and prayed 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!
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, of so healing a power, So balmy a virtue, that even in the hour That drop descends, contagion 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 dispelled 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,
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 lingered yet,
There fell a light more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star, Upon the tear that, warm and meek, Dewed that repentant sinner's cheek. To mortal eye this light might seem A northern flash or meteor beam; But well the enraptured Peri knew 'Twas a bright smile the angel threw
From heaven's gate, to hail that tear Her harbinger of glory near!
"Joy, joy forever! my task is done- The gates are passed, 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,
And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad!
"Farewell, ye odors of earth, that die Passing away like a lover's sigh: My feast is now of the Tooba Tree, Whose scent is the breath of Eternity!
"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,
Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf. Joy, joy forever! my task is done -
The gates are passed, and heaven is won!"
H! THE days are gone, when beauty bright My heart's chain wove;
When my dream of life, from morn till night,
Was love, still love.
New hope may bloom, And days may come
Of milder, calmer beam,
But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream;
No, there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.
Though the bard to purer fame may soar, When wild youth's past;
Though he win the wise, who frowned before, To smile at last:
He'll never meet
A joy so sweet,
In all his noon of fame,
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