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!”
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-Brahmins say— Blooms nowhere but in Paradise! "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 th' embraces of the sun :- Fleeter than the starry brands Flung at night from angel hands At those dark and daring sprites, Who would climb th' empyreal heights,*
3 Comets are here supposed to be
drawn irresistibly into the sun. But this, as it stands, is, fortunately, not the rule. If it were, this world would be burnt up the
first time a great comet was thus "embraced."
4 The Mahometans think falling stars are brands by which the good angels drive off the evil ones when they come too near heaven.
Down the blue vault the Peri flies,
And, lighted earthward by a glance That just then broke from morning's eyes, Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.
Now, upon Syria's land of roses Softly the light of Eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted Lebanon :5 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 th' enchanted regions there, How beauteous must have been the glow, The life, how sparkling from below! 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, Whose lonely columns stand sublime, Flinging their shadows from on high, Like dials, which the wizard, Time, Had raised to count his ages by!
Lebanon, a mountain range on the north of Palestine. The highest peak has snow on it, here and there, for most of the year. It is 10,200 feet above the level of the sea. Lebanon, like Mont Blanc, means "the white mountain"; but in this case the
name seems to have been given rather from the white limestone of its huge mass, than from snow on its top.
"The temple of the Sun, at Baalbec
or Heliopolis (the city of the Sun) in the valley between the two chains of Lebanon.
Cheered by sweet hope she bends her hither ;- 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 Baalbec 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,8 That flutter'd round the jasmine stems, Like wing'd 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 haggard10 brow he turn'd To the fair child, who fearless sat, 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 ruthless11 deed.
7 The poet compares the golden clouds of sunset to bowers.
8 damsel-flies, butterflies so called from their elegance and brilliant colours.
9 An imaret is a shelter where pilgrims or travellers are enter- tained without cost for three days.
10 haggard, wild-worn. 11 ruthless, pitiless.
Yet, tranquil12 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 lurid13 glance
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, As torches, that have burn'd all night Through some impure and godless rite, Encounter morning's glorious rays.
But hark! the vesper11 call to prayer, As slow the orb of daylight sets, Is rising sweetly on the air,
From Syria's thousand minarets !15 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,10 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!
12 tranquil, calm.
13 lurid, gloomy.
14 vesper, evening, from Hesperus,
15 minarets, those graceful towers that rise from mosques, or Ma
hometan churches. Instead of bells, a priest calls aloud to prayers, from the minaret. 16 south, towards Mecca, the holy city of the Mahometans.
Oh 'twas a sight-that heaven-that child- A scene which might have well beguiled Even haughty Eblis1 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 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 ! 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 orb19 had set, While on their knees they linger'd yet, There fell a light, more lovely far Than ever came from sun or star,
17 Eblis, the Mahometan name for
18 reclining, lying down. 19 the golden orb, the sun.
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