The very cypress droops to death-
Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled,
The only constant mourner o'er the dead!

The steed is vanish'd from the stall; No serf is seen in Hassan's hall; The lonely spider's thin grey pall Waves slowly widening o'er the wall; The bat builds in his Haram bower, And in the fortress of his power The owl usurps the beacon-tower; The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim, With baffled thirst, and famine grim;

For the stream has shrunk from its marble bed

Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread.

'Twas sweet of yore to see it play,

And chase the sultriness of day,

As springing high the silver dew

In whirls fantastically flew,

And flung luxurious coolness round
The air and verdure o'er the ground.
'Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were
bright,

To view the wave of watery light,
And hear its melody by night.
And oft had Hassan's childhood play'd
Around the verge of that cascade;
And oft upon his mother's breast
That sound had harmonized his rest;
And oft had Hassan's youth along
Its bank been soothed by beauty's song;
And softer seem'd each melting tone
Of music mingled with its own.--
But ne'er shall Hassan's Age repose
Along the bank at Twilight's close:
The stream that fill'd that font is fled-
The blood that warm'd his heart is shed!
And here no more shall human voice
Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice.
The last sad note that swell'd the gale
Was woman's wildest funeral wail:
That quench'd in silence, all is still,

But the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill ;

Though raves the gust, and floods the rain,
No hand shall close its clasp again.
On desert sands 'twere joy to scan
The rudest steps of fellow-man,
So here the very voice of Grief
Might wake an Echo like relief-

At least 'twould say, "All are not gone;
There lingers Life, though but in one
For many a gilded chamber's there,
Which Solitude might well forbear;
Within that dome as yet Decay
Hath slowly work'd her cankering way-
But gloom is gather'd o'er the gate,
Nor there the Fakir's self will wait;
Nor there will wandering Dervise stay,
For bounty cheers not his delay;
Nor there will weary stranger halt
To bless the sacred "bread and salt."*
Alike must Wealth and Poverty
Pass heedless and unheeded by,

*To partake of food, to break bread and salt with your host, ensures the safety of the guest: even though an enemy, his person from that moment is sacred.

For Courtesy and Pity died

With Hassan on the mountain side.
His roof, that refuge unto men,

Is Desolation's hungry den.

The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour,

Since his turban was cleft by the Infidel's sabre !

I hear the sound of coming feet, But not a voice mine ear to greet: More near-each turban I can scan, And silver-sheathed ataghan ;' The foremost of the band is seen An Emir by his garb of green: t "Ho! who art thou?""This low salam‡ Replies of Moslem faith I am.' "The burthen ye so gently bear Seems one that claims your utmost care, And doubtless holds some precious freight, My humble bark would gladly wait.' "Thou speakest sooth; thy skiff unmoor,

And waft us from the silent shore:
Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply
The nearest oar that's scatter'd by,
And midway to those rocks where sleep
The channell'd waters dark and deep.
Rest from your task-so-bravely done,
Our course has been right swiftly run,
Yet 'tis the longest voyage, I trow
That one of-

Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank,
The calm wave rippled to the bank;
I watch'd it as it sank: methought
Some motion from the current caught
Bestirr'd it more,-'twas but the beam
That chequer'd o'er the living stream:
I gazed, till vanishing from view,
Like lessening pebble it withdrew;
Still less and less, a speck of white
That gemm'd the tide, then mock'd the
sight;

And all its hidden secrets sleep,
Known but to Genii of the deep,
Which, trembling in their coral caves,
They dare not whisper to the waves.

As rising on its purple wing
The insect queen of eastern spring, $
O'er the emerald meadows of Kashmeer
Invites the young pursuer near,
And leads him on from flower to flower,
A weary chase and wasted hour,
Then leaves him, as it soars on high,
With panting heart and tearful eye:
So beauty lures the full-grown child,
With hue as bright, and wing as wild;
A chase of idle hopes and fears,
Begun in folly, closed in tears.
If won, to equal ills betray'd,

The ataghan, a long dagger worn with pistols in the belt.

Green is the privileged colour of the Prophet's numerous pretended descendants.

"Salam aleikoum! aleikoum salam ! "Peace be with you; be with you peace the salutation reserved for the faithful.

The blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer.