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

OH

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,

As when first he sung to woman's ear
His soul-felt flame,

And at every close she blushed to hear
The one loved name.

No, that hallowed form is ne'er forgot
Which first love traced;

Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
On memory's waste.

'Twas odor fled

As soon as shed;

'Twas morning's winged dream:

'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream;

Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream.

Has been my heart's undoing.
Though Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorned the lore she brought me:
My only books

Were woman's looks,

And folly's all they've taught me.

Her smile when Beauty granted,
I hung with gaze enchanted,
Like him, the sprite

Whom maids by night
Oft meet in glen that's haunted.
Like him, too, Beauty won me;
But while her eyes were on me,
If once their ray

Was turned away,

Oh! winds could not outrun me.

And are those follies going?
And is my proud heart growing
Too cold or wise

For brilliant eyes

Again to set it glowing?

No-vain, alas! the endeavor

From bonds so sweet to sever:
Poor Wisdom's chance

Against a glance

Is now as weak as ever.

BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS

B

ELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms,

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,

Like fairy gifts fading away:

Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will;

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,

That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear:
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close;

As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,

The same look which she turned when he rose.

COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM

NOME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer:

C

Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;

Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast,

And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.

Oh, what was love made for, if 'tis not the same

Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame?

I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,

I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.

Thou hast called me thy angel in moments of bliss, And thy angel I'll be through the horrors of this: Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too! XVIII-644