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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!"

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM

H! THE days are gone, when beauty bright
My heart's chain wove;

Ο OH!

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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