The prayers are prayed; the vows are said; they look the' unuttered bliss :

O how wilt thou endure, fond maid, to give the parting

kiss?

VII.

And now in close embrace she strains her sister to her

breast,

Yet still her latent grief remains unknown as unconfessed; No anxious fears the bridegroom move, her gushing tears

to see

He has but loved as brothers love, and as a sister she.

VIII.

And now the farewell words are said; the wedded pair

depart

To her lone home the gentle maid bears back a breaking

heart;

A heart that cannot cease to love, until it beats no more, And only hopes for rest above, when this sad strife is o'er.

IX.

For never shall the loved one know what she hath felt and feels,

Not when at length in speechless woe beside her bed he

kneels ;

To him then be her last farewell-her parting accents

given,

Without a word on earth to tell what must be loved in

heaven.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

BY W. READ, ESQ.

I.

O, DOUBT not! nor deem that my heart, like a glass,
Can reflect other features when yours are removed :
You have reft it of all but your image, alas !—
If this be not loving, you have not been loved.

II.

I never deceived you, and yet you condemn—

Is this the reward my fond truth has achieved?

I turned from my friends, and preferred you to them— If this be deceiving, you have been deceived.

III.

Nor deem I forget, though between roll the deep

Oh! 'twere well for my peace, could that lesson be

taught !

From the dream which recalls you, I wake but to weepIf this be forgetting, you have been forgot.

FERAMORZ RELATING THE STORY OF THE PERI. Published by Longman Rees, Orme, Brown & Green Nov 1828.

Printed by Mr Queen.

In an evening or two after, they came to the small Valley of Gardens, which had been planted by order of the Emperor for his favourite sister Rochinara, during their progress to Cashmere, some years before; and never was there a more sparkling assemblage of sweets, since the Gulzar-e-Irem, or Rose-bower of Irem. Every precious flower was there to be found, that poetry, or love, or religion has ever consecrated; from the dark hyacinth, to which Hafiz compares his mistress's hair, to the Camalata, by whose rosy blossoms the heaven of India is scented. As they sat in the cool fragrance of this delicious spot, and Lalla Rookh remarked that she could fancy it the abode of that flower-loving nymph whom they worship in the temples of Cathay, or of one of those Peris, those beautiful creatures of the air who live upon perfumes, and to whom a place like this might make some amends for the Paradise they have lost,-the young Poet, in whose eyes she appeared, while she spoke, to be one of