And thus it proved, when from behind With step so delicately light, As would not crush the tenderest flower Among the comates of her youth Over the green sward cool and smooth; And o'er her cheek that mindfulness, Midst all the mirth and revel here, Dash'd the salt spray of many a tear.Could it from any eyelid less, That oped not on one object dear ;On one the heart could wish to bless, On one it loved with soul sincere? For Zella breathed a warmer sigh Than that for childhood's hour gone by. "Oh! Selim, Selim! where art thou?" She inly cried," I'd rather gaze "A moment on the dark eye now "That flashes from under thy manly brow, "Than all these bright-lamps' dazzling blaze;— "I'd rather hear one angel tone "Of thy loved voice in desert lone, "Than all the notes now gaily ringing "Through this high and princely hall, That Zella deem'd so lowly of, But from the rankling wound of love, Where none but angels whose eyes are glistening, Like their own high towers of gems are listening, From her own Yemen's happy vales The girl was borne by hostile sails; Wild as the goats that clamber o'er That springs along the mountain slope, She paused a moment, till the tone The tuneful power on every side,- And blushingly disclosed to view A face where not a rose had faded; And with a voice, whose every note "Ye children of pleasure, come hasten away,- of hours? Here all sunny hearts one emotion pervades, It heaves the smooth bosom, and lights the dark eye, While the whisper'd consent of the bashfullest maid, Like the airy lute's music is won by a sigh. Then let spirit and senses one rapture employ, And melt in delight ere its ardour be cold, Till our souls are o'erwhelm'd by the fullness of joy, As the camel bends under his burden of gold." Applauding clamors rose around, And broke the tenor of her song; That swept the vaulted roof along; She had not learnt the fearless look That beams on all as none were by, Nor could she yet, unblushing, brook The stare of wild impurity; But turn'd an instant to the sky Which through the casement still was bright, She look'd upon a sister's sadness, But the sad softness of the strain Than the rich maddening draught of pleasure; Yet still it had the fading glow, Like the last hue of Autumn-leaves, European Magazine. SUPPOSED TO BE SUNG BY THE WIFE OF A JAPANESE, Who had accompanied the Russians to their Country. The following lines breathe more of imagination and romance than of real passion, which would seem not to be in good taste, as the heart, when it is deeply sunk with grief and affliction, seldom chooses to wander into the wizard retreats of fancy. Here, however, it is justifiable, for when the original intensity of passion is subdued by long disappointment, and softened by some faint glimpses of distant hope, imagination resumes her sway, and soothes affliction by her fairy images. I look through the mist and I see thee not- And still thy bark is far away! The tents are ready, the mats are spread, The Saranna is plucked for thee. Alas! what fate has thy baidare led So far from thy home and me? Has my bower no longer charms for thee? Where the purple jessamines twine Round the stately, spreading, cedar tree, As I have reposed in thinc. |