"Now haste thy message, page," he Lay the heaving breast of the young cried, princess, In the bloom of her virgin charms. "To sea, to sea, my mariners!" "Ask the forest oak why down it falls Beneath the woodman's stroke; Ask life, when death the tyrant calls, Why it yields to such a yoke."Through the wood, in morning's solitude, Gildeluec roam'd alone, The cloister hath another nun, The gentlest, purest, holiest there; Before the crucifix, morn and eve, She kneels in fervent prayer: Her thoughts are of the things above, Her dreams have all a blest abode, And knock'd at the door of the her. Where, 'midst the bowers of Para TRADITIONS in the East are imperishable, and the singularly romantic genius of the country often invests them with the mingled force of superstition and fancy. Among the most frequent and favourite of these traditions, is the descent of angels enamoured of earthly beauty-a tale evidently formed on the language of the Pentateuch, alluding to the first defection of the patriarchal family-the "sons of God," the Sethites, allying themselves with the "daughters of men," the descendants of Cain. The "Loves of the Angels," by the poet Moore, gives the history; the following lines are the mere transcript of the idea: "Rest thee, rest thee, weary stranger, Now the day is falling dim; " Holy Bramin, I must wander "Gentle maiden, 'tis the taper On he sweeps, blue, bright, and cold." "Man of age, I must not linger "Haste thee, haste thee, weeping beauty "Ancient Bramin, till to-morrow " Mine, young maiden, is no bower Hung with gold and silken pall; Sorrow is an humble flower, Fittest for the cottage wall." Now, beneath the straw-wove awning, "Taste this goblet, lovely maiden, Taste these fruits, and weep no more: Let old age be anguish-laden, Of the purple grape she tasted, But what strains are round her flowing? To the minstrel sounds ascending, Painted with a thousand glories, On its golden roof embow'd. Now the rush of thousand pinions, Mix'd with harps, is heard afar, Stooping from their blue dominions, Children of the Vesper-star. Where is gone the ancient stranger? Diamonds on the caftan glitter'd Now, with glorious beauty beaming, Stands the Bramin, wing'd and crown'd; Spirit, with heaven's lustre gleaming On his brow the star-drops bound. "Come," he cries, "earth's loveliest flower; Come, and be thy lover's bride; Where celestial roses shower, Where is pour'd joy's richest tide. "When I came, a pilgrim lowly, Sent to mark the world's decline; Then I found thee, bright and holy One pure diamond in the mine. "With no earthly flame I loved thee, "Then to absence long I left thee; "Sweet one, I was watching o'er thee, "Now thy weary way is ended, Lip to lip, like new-born roses, All with joy celestial blushing Now is reached the starry portal, : "Εως. |