Light of my soul! my Azza's dead,
Wild flash my eyes with phrenzied fire,
Joy smiles no more, each hope is fled,
Grief blights the blossoms of desire !

Who has not seen her yellow hair,

Soft lingering on the conscious gale? Who has not mark'd her form so fair, Oft glide along the Alurian vale?

Who has not seen those dark black eyes, Whose liquid chrystal gleam'd with love, Who has not heard her fragrant sighs,

Whilst rambling in the Palm-tree grove?

Sweet Moon! alas thy tranquil beam,
Now rising o'er the cloudy steeps,
With mellowing lustre gilds the stream,
That murmurs wild where Azza sleeps.

Oh! it was sweet with her to rove,
And mark thy tremulous lustre play,
On the green hill, the citron grove,
And sing the transient hours away.

Oh! it was sweet beneath thy light,
Whilst gazing on her brilliant eyes,
To catch the odorous gale of night,
That stole its sweets from Azza's sighs!

Then lovely Moon! I bless'd thy beams,
Gaz'd on her form, by her caress'd;
Love revell'd then in golden dreams,
And oh! what transport swell'd my

breast!

Then silver Moon! swift fled the hours,
Love warbled loud his sweetest lay,
Joy deck'd our brows with laughing flowers,
And rapture pour'd his brightest ray!

But now alas! I rove alone,

Blanch'd is my cheek, and dim my eye,
Echo repeats each heartfelt groan,
And murmurs every burning sigh.

He sigh'd no more, the dews of night
Fell on his cheek so cold and pale,
The sorrowing Moon withdrew her light,

And darkness mourn'd along the vale

Soon as the Sun dispell'd the gloom,
And flash'd upon the eastern wave,
The Alurian youths bewail'd his doom,
And Omar shared his Azza's grave.

The love-eyed Gazels sport along,
Where now the youthful beauties sleep;
The Camel-drivers cease their song,
And o'er their mingled ashes weep !

And often as the pale moon hangs

Her full-orb'd beauty midst the skies, The Alurian maids rehearse the pangs, That clos'd the faithful Omar's eyes.

And as in silver tones they sing

That she was lovely, he was brave, They kiss the sweetest flowers of spring, And strew them o'er the lovers grave.

The ambrosial kiss of beauty glows

And gives new fragrance to each flower; Their gems of grief empearl the rose, And add fresh life to beauty's power.

MARKOFF,

A SIBERIAN ECLOGUE.

By JOSEPH COTTLE.

Amid Siberian wastes and trackless ways,
The Cossack, Markoff, pass'd his happy days:
No rapturous hope or rankling care he knew,
His means were simple, as his wants were few.
When Summer cloth'd the hill and deck'd the plain,
He wisely thought of Winter's cheerless reign;
And when the wintry snows the scene o'ercast,
Look'd on to Summer and endured the blast.
Thus life roll'd on, and thus he sooth'd his breast,
Freedom his guide, and Cheerfulness his guest;
Till restless thoughts and vain desires arose
To break his calm and long-enjoy'd repose.

* Though the Cossacks reside about the Neiper and the Don, bordering on the Black Sea, yet tribes of them have spread over many parts of Siberia. A body of Cossacks dwell at the Mouth of the Jana in latitude 71. It is well known that Siberia became subject to Russia in the last Century through the means of Yermac, a Cossack Warrior.

Beside his Hut the musing Cossack stood

And listen'd to the sound of neighbouring wood
Whose slow and solemn murmurs fill'd his ear
Through all the changeful seasons of the year.
The dark Uralian Hills* before him rose,
The wind of Autumn now impetuous blows:
Dreary the view! the frost o'erspreads the ground,
And the loud Brook with fetters now is bound.
He mark'd the clouds from Arctic mountains roll'd,
He call'd to mind the tale of Traveller bold;
He thought of distant scenes, of realms unknown
Where through all ages, tempests held their throne
Sounding their ceaseless wrath, whose awful reign.
No mortal foot had ever dared profane.

The desperate resolve is made! He cried,

"These feet shall dare yon wilds, whate'er betide; "These eyes explore the extent yon regions spread "Where the young north-wind dwells, the storm is bred. "I, who in caves of ice have oft reclined, "And braced my sinews in the fiercest wind; "May smile at danger! dangers but invite, "And storms and tempests were my first delight.

*The loftiest in Siberia.