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SUBJECT OF THE PLATE IN NO. XIV.* UPON his couch the veiled Mokauna lay, While lamps around--not such as lend their ray, Glimmering and cold, to those who nightly prăy, In holy Koom, or Mecca's dim arcades, But, brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely maids Look loveliest in, shed their luxurious glow. Beside him stead of beads and books of prayer, Which the world fondly thought he mused on there, Stood Vases, filled with Kishmee's golden wine, And the red'weepings of the Shiraz vine; Of which his curtain'd lips full many a draught Took zealously, as if each drop they quaff”d, Like Zemzem's spring of holiness had power To freshen the soul's virtues into Aower! And still he drank and ponder'd-nor could see Th' approaching maid, so deep his reverie; At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which broke From Eblis at the fall of man, he spoke:“ Yes, ye vile race, for hell's amusement given, Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin with heaven."- Oh my lost soul!” exclaimed the shuddering maid, Whose ears had drank like poison all he said; Mokanna started, not abash'd, afraid * * 66 Ha, my fair Priestess !" thus with ready wile Th' impostor turn'd to greet her-" thou whose smile Hath inspiration in its rosy beam Beyond the Enthusiast's hope or Prophet's dream—".
" Thou seest this cup-no jnice of earth is here,
The Veiled Prophet.
By a mistake of the Printer, a wrong quotation was given in the last number.
TO MY ESTEEMED FRIEND, MRS. ** ****,
With a trifling present of some books.
“ The little rose that laughs upon its stem,
One of the sweets with which the gardens teem,
THOUGH FRIENDSHIP hath long been despised or
unknown, Her temple in ruins, her altars o'erthrown; . Though hearts close against her, rejecting her sway,
And those that receive her, receive to betray;
Which had else been in tedious apathy spent;
It would heighten their value a thousand per centAnd soon repetition would raise them too high, In my poor esteem, for a monarch to buy! For hours there are, when a spiritless dearth., . Oppresses the loveliest things upon earth; And WOMAN, the fairest and sweetest of these, (Like the flower, whose bloom on her cheek' is dis
played; That droops in its beauty, and sighs to the breeze) ; Is oft doomed to languish in Misery's shade. .
Oh, many an eye, in whose soft fringed recess
left bare, To the inroad of Grief, and the chill of Despair, Which should only have felt that wild throb of de
light, (Known to all that have loved, when the loved-one
is near) When she hears her name breathed on the silence of
night, By lips she would listen for ages to hear :--Gently murmuring o'er Aowers the night breeze she
meets, That bestows as it passes a million of sweets; But the sound of that voice, and the glance of that
eye, Bear a charm before which all their sweetness must
die--And she sees not the moon, though its silvery beanı Hath arrayed with such splendour the dark-rolling
stream; Though each'dew-drop that hangs on the foliage
around, Glitters bright as the diamond at Golconda found; Nor hears she the nightingale's melody now, Though sweetly as ever it swells from the bough; Her lover is there--he for whom her young heart Hath imbibed an affection which ne'er can depart, And her ear is all reckless, her bright eye is dim To the charms of a world, in the presence of him. Alas, that sweet Woman should ever feel woe, Save that which arises from joy's overflow! That her soft cheek should ever be stained with a :: tear, Unless fulness of rapture should bid it appear! Or Pity, who loves in her bosom to dwell, And inspires that trait which becomes her so well!
Oh, may no sterner grief e'er disturb YOUR repose,
Than such as may give to enjoyment a zest! As the breeze scatters dew from the cup of a rose, May the sweet breath of Joy dry the tear as it flow And the care which it sprung from expel from your breast!
A. Z. Dec. 26th, 1818.,
CHILDHOOD, · FROM “ THE PILGRIM'S FATE,” A POEM,
By Ingram Cobbin, M. A. O, HOW enchanting was life's day-break hour, Soft slumbers brooded o'er my cradled head, Seeming to mother's eyes like opening flower, A rose-bud sleeping on a mossy bed. And when that peeping rose-bud 'gan to spread, It bloomed more lovely to those partial eyes, While shining suns their genial influence shed, Pouring effulgent beams from cloudless skies, Dear to my heart those hours till recollection dies. And loftily I rollid my infant eye, When nurse bedeck'd me in my scarlet shoes, And silver clasps, and dress of brilliant dye,'. And broad and shining sash of many hues. And still my pensive mind doth love to muse On nurseling's duties, when I used to ride The rocking horse,—and with delight reviews The little cavalier in knight-like pride, Stretching his folded limbs on wooden beast astride. And next my thoughts recal the thoughtless boy, When flattering tongues with gravity admired The mother's picture and the father's joy; "Twas all their ears attentive then desired. Nor more ambition had my bosom fired, Save when the early efforts of my hand, In landscape rude, or blotted copy tired The less admiring'eye; thrust forth by fond command, And I a wonder was, shewn in a wondrous land. Proud of my lore, to school I dạily sped, With weighty satchel dangling at my heel, And task more weighty rolling through my head (The pleasing, painful burdens now I feel.)
The few short hours away would lingering steal,