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But ah! even 'Peri's 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

gates of heaven for thee.'

Now, upon Styria'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,
Banquetting through the flowery vales,-
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine,
And woods, so full of nightingales !

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!

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 --Sallenly fierce--a mixture dire, Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire ! In which the Peri's


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 bark! the vesper-call to prayer,

As slow the orb of day-light 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 forebead 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!

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