Eating into its heart. The lightning bright
That cuts ethereal space with speed so great,
As 'twere upon an angel's errand flying,
Kills, though 'tis beautiful. Alas! alas!
The cankered rose, the lightning, and young
Love Are in their natures like.
Dark shadows are falling on holy Mandar,
Who rears his bold brow like a monarch afar;
'Tis the time when the dove seeks his mate in her nest
And beauty lies pillowed on Love's gentle breast;
When seraphs their flight to our green earth are winging
To hear the sweet hymn that the wild winds are singing
When the sound of the Pearl-fall enraptured we hear
Like the strains of heaven's singers saluting the ear,
And the gush of the fountain afar is as soft
As the flute of young Krishna on mountains aloft;
When the boughs of the forest all gaily are swinging,
And flowers their rich fragrance around us are flinging;
When the Bulbul's loved mate, the Zuleikha of flowers,
Like a young eastern bride, blooms unseen in her bowers;
When the sorrowful moon looketh out to awaken
A thought in the gazes of maiden forsaken;
The stars are expanding like young hopes above,
And bright as the eyes of the lady we love,
And the heavens their gem-melted dew-drops are weeping
O'er evergreen shrubs that in silence are sleeping.
On, on to the sea is the blue river flowing
Like Time to Eternity, ceaselessly going,
And glassed on its bosom the planets behold
Their faces as bright as the sheen of pure gold:—
The lamps are lit up in the Mussulman's towers,
And soft is the song in his emerald bowers!
And sweet's the sitar that the minstrel hath strung
And sweeter the lay that the Georgian hath sung—
O! these are for Shoojah in Rajmahal gay,
The song-gladdened halls, and the minstrel's sweet lay,
The hours are like moments of happiness fleet,
The scenes so enchanting, the music so sweet!