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The Owl usurps the beacon.tower ;
The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim, 295
With baffled thirst, and famine, grim;
For the stream has shrunk from its marble bed,
Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread.
'Twas sweet of yore to see it play
And chase the sultriness of day,

300
As springing high the silver dew
In whirls fantastically flew,
And Aung luxurious coolness round
The air, and verdure o'er the ground.
'Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright, 305
To view the wave of watery light,
And hear its melody by night.
And oft had Hassan's Childhood play'd
Around the verge of that cascade ;
And oft upon his mother's breast
That sound had harmonized his rest;
And oft had Hassan's Youth along
Its bank been soothed by Beauty's song;
And softer seem'd each melting tone
Of Music mingled with its own.

315 But ne'er shall Hassan's Age repose Along the brink at Twilight's close: The stream that fill'd that font is filed The blood that warm'd his heart is shed ! And here no more shall human voice Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice.

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320

The last sad note that swell’d the gale
Was woman's wildest funeral wail:
That quench'd in silence, all is still,
But the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill: 325
Though raves the gust, and floods the rain,
No hand shall close its clasp again.
On desert sands 'twere joy to scan
The rudest steps of fellow man,
So here the very voice of Grief

330 Might wake an Echo like reliefAt least 'twould say, “all are not gone; “There lingers Life, though but in one-". For many a gilded chamber's there, and Which Solitude might well forbear;

$35 Within that dome as yet Decay b oy Hath slowly work'd her cankering wayBut gloom is gather'd o'er the gate, Nor there the Fakir's self will wait; Nor there will wandering Dervise stay, 340 For Bounty cheers not his delay; Nor there will weary stranger halt To bless the sacred “bread and salt." (11) Alike must Wealth and Poverty Pass heedless and unheeded by,

345 For Courtesy and Pity died 12000 With Hassan on the mountain side. His roof, that refuge unto men, Is Desolation's hungry den.

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The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour, 350 Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre!(12)

I hear the sound of coming feet, But not a voice mine ear to greet; More near-each turban I can scan, And silver-sheathed ataghan ;(13)

355 The foremost of the band is seen An Emir by his garb of green :(14) “Ho! who art thou ?--this low salam (15) “Replies of Moslem faith I am. “The burthen ye so gently bear,

360 * Seems one that claims your utmost care, “ And, doubtless, holds some precious freight, “My humble bark would gladly wait.”

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“Thou speakest sooth, thy skiff unmoor, “And waft us from the silent shore;

Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply " The nearest oar that's scatter'd by, “ And midway to those rocks where sleep « The channeld waters dark and deep. * Rest from your task--bravely done, 6 Our course has been right swiftly run; “ Yet 'tis the longest voyage, I trow, 46 That one of_* * * * * * * * * * *

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Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank,
The calm wave rippled to the bank;
I watch'd it as it sank, methought
Some motion from the current caught
Bestirr'd it more,—'twas but the beam
That chequer'd o'er the living stream:
I gazed, till vanishing from view,
Like lessening pebble it withdrew;
Still less and less, a speck of white
That gemm’d the tide, then mock'd the sight;
And all its hidden secrets sleep,
Known but to Genii of the deep,
Which, trembling in their coral caves,
They dare not whisper to the waves.
* * * * * * *

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As rising on its purple wing
The insect-queen (16) of eastern spring,
O’er emerald meadows of Kashmeer
Invites the young pursuer near,
And leads him on from flower to flower
A weary chase and wasted hour,
Then leaves him, as it soars on high,
With panting heart and tearful eye:
So Beauty lures the full-grown child,
With hue as bright, and wing as wild;
A chase of idle hopes and fears,
Begun in folly, closed in tears.

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If won, to equal ills betray'd,
Wo waits the insect and the maid ;
A life of pain, the loss of peace,
From infant's play, and man's caprice:
The lovely toy so fiercely sought
Hath lost its charm by being caught,
For every touch that wooed its stay
Hath brush'd its brightest hues away,
Till charm, and hue, and beauty gone,
'Tis left to fly or fall alone.
With wounded wing, or bleeding breast,
Ah! where shall either victim rest?
Can this with faded pinion soar
From rose to tulip as before ?
Or Beauty, blighted in an hour,
Find joy within her broken bower?
No: gayer insects fluttering by
Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die,
And lovelier things have mercy shown
To every failing but their own,
And every wo a tear can claim
Except an erring sister's shame.

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The Mind, that broods o'er guilty woes,

Is like the Scorpion girt by fire,
In circle narrowing as it glows,
The flames around their captive close,

inly search'd by thousand throes,
d maddening in her ire,

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