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.
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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
VOL. I.
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!
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Joy, joy, for ever! my task is done
The 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 the 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 done-
The gates are passed, and heaven is won!'
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 hill
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 low-
Yet heard in heaven, heard at the mercy-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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