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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 happy, 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 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 is 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

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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 sun-beam 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, for ever ! my task is doneThe 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 odours 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 tbe brightest that e'er have blown, To the lota tree, springing by Alla's throne, Whose flowers have a soul in

every

leaf ! Joy, joy, for ever! my task is doneThe gates are passed, and heaven is won!'

Moore. THE BETROTHED!"

Behold a meeting scene Of early love, and then infer its worth. It was an eve of Autumn's holiest mood; The corn fields, bathed in Cynthia's silver light, Stood ready for the reaper's gathering hand; And all the winds slept soundly; nature seemed, In silent contemplation, to adore Its Maker: now and then the aged leaf Fell from its fellows, rustling to the ground ; And, as it fell, bade man think on his end. On vale and lake, on wood and mountain high, With pensive wing outspread, sat heavenly thought Conversing with itself: Vesper looked forth From out her western hermitage, and smiled; And

up

the east unclouded rode the Moon
With all her stars, gazing on earth intense,
As if she saw some wonder walking there.
Such was the night—so lovely, still, serene ;
When by a hermit thorn that on the bill
Had seen a hundred flowery ages pass,
A damsel kneeled to offer

up her

prayer ;

Her prayer nightly offered, nightly heard. This ancient thorn had been the meeting place Of love, before his country's voice had called The ardent youth to fields of honour far Beyond the wave. And hither now repaired, Nightly, the maid, by God's all-seeing eye Seen only, while she sought this boon alone :Her lover's safety, and his quick return. In holy, humble attitude she kneeled ; And to her bosom, fair as moon-beam, pressed One hand, the other lifted up to Heaven ; Her eyes upturned, bright as the star of morn, As violet meek, excessive ardour streamed, Wafting away her earnest heart to God. Her voice scarce uttered ; soft as zephyr sighs On morning lily's cheek; tho' soft and lowYet heard in heaven, heard at the merey-seat. A tear-drop wandered on her lovely face; It was a tear of faith, and holy fear, Pure as the drops that hang at dawning-time, On yonder willows by the stream of life. On her the moon looked stedfastly; the stars, That circle nightly round the eternal throne, Glanced down, well pleased; and everlasting love Gave gracious audience to her prayer

sincere. O had her lover seen her thus alone,

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