And scatter'd at the whirlwind's will,
Hang floating in the pure air still,
Filling it all with precious balm,
In gratitude for this sweet calm;-
And every drop the thunder-showers
Have left upon the grass and flowers
Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem
Whose liquid flame is born of them!
When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze,
There blow a thousand gentle airs,
And each a different perfume bears,-
As if the loveliest plants and trees
Had vassal breezes of their own
To watch and wait on them alone,
And waft no other breath than theirs!
When the blue waters rise and fall,
In sleepy sunshine mantling all;
And ev❜n that swell the tempest leaves
Is like the full and silent heaves
Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest,
Too newly to be quite at rest!

Such was the golden hour, that broke
Upon the world, when Hinda woke
From her long trance, and heard around
No motion but the water's sound
Rippling against the vessel's side,
As slow it mounted o'er the tide.-
But where is she?-her eyes are dark,
Are wilder'd still-is this the bark,
The same, that from Harmozia's bay
Bore her at morn-whose bloody way
The sea-dog tracks?-no-strange and new
Is all that meets her wondering view.
Upon a galliot's deck she lies,

Beneath no rich pavilion's shade,
No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes,
Nor jasmin on her pillow laid.
But the rude litter, roughly spread
With war-cloaks, is her homely bed,
And shawl and sash, on javelins hung,
For awning o'er her head are flung.
Shuddering she look'd around-there lay
A group of warriors in the sun
Resting their limbs, as for that day
Their ministry of death were done.
Some gazing on the drowsy sea,
Lost in unconscious reverie;
And some, who seem'd but ill to brook
That sluggish calm, with many a look

To the slack sail impatient cast,

As loose it flagg'd around the mast." (P. 233-236.) The passage of the Persian galliot with Hinda on board, over whose eyes a bandage had been tied after the vessel was captured, through the cave's mouth to the entrance into the secret glen, where Hafed and his followers concealed themselves, is very beautiful, and in our mind, if it stood alone, would establish Mr. Moore's claim to the title of poet.

"Amid the' illumin'd land and flood
Sunless that mighty mountain stood;
Save where, above its awful head,
There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red,
As 'twere the flag of destiny

Hung out to mark where death would be!

Had her bewilder'd mind the power
Of thought in this terrific hour,

She well might marvel where or how

Man's foot could scale that mountain's brow;
Since ne'er had Arab heard or known
Of path but through the glen alone.—
But every thought is lost in fear,
When, as their bounding bark drew near
The craggy base, she felt the waves
Hurry them tow'rd those dismal caves
That from the Deep in windings pass
Beneath that Mount's volcanic mass-
And loud a voice on deck commands
To lower the mast and light the brands!
Instantly o'er the dashing tide
Within a cavern's mouth they glide,
Gloomy as that eternal Porch,

Through which departed spirits go;—
Not ev❜n the flare of brand and torch
Its flickering light could further throw
Than the thick flood that boil'd below.
Silent they floated-as if each

Sat breathless, and too aw'd for speech
In that dark chasm, where even sound
Seem'd dark,-so sullenly around
The goblin echoes of the cave
Mutter'd it o'er the long black wave,
As 'twere some secrets of the grave!
But, soft-they pause-the current turns
Beneath them from its onward track ;-
Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns
The vexed tide, all foaming, back,
And scarce the oar's redoubled force
Can stem the eddy's whirling force ;-

When, hark!-some desperate foot has sprung
Among the rocks-the chain. is flung-
The oars are up-the grapple clings,
And the toss'd bark in moorings swings.
Just then, a day-beam through the shade
Broke tremulous-but, ere the maid
Can see from whence the brightness steals,
Upon her brow she shuddering feels
A viewless hand, that promptly ties
A bandage round her burning eyes;
While the rude litter where she lies,
Uplifted by the warrior throng,

O'er the steep rocks is borne along.
Blest power of sunshine! genial Day,
What balm, what life are in thy ray!
To feel thee is such real bliss,
That had the world no joy but this,
To sit in sunshine calm and sweet,-
It were a world too exquisite
For man to leave it for the gloom,
The deep, cold shadow of the tomb!
Ev'n Hinda, though she saw not where
Or whither wound the perilous road,
Yet knew by that awakening air,

Which suddenly around her glow'd,
That they had ris'n from darkness then,
And breath'd the sunny world again!
But soon this balmy freshness fled-
For now the steepy labyrinth led

Through damp and gloom-'mid crash of boughs,
And fall of loosen'd crags that rouse

The leopard from his hungry sleep,

Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey,

And long is heard from steep to steep,

Chasing them down their thundering way!

The jackal's cry-the distant moan

Of the hyæna, fierce and lone ;-
And that eternal, saddening sound

Of torrents in the glen beneath,

As 'twere the ever-dark Profound

That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death! All, all is fearful-ev'n to see

To gaze on those terrific things

She now but blindly hears, would be
Relief to her imaginings!

Since never yet was shape so dread,

But Fancy, thus in darkness thrown,

And by such sounds of horror fed,
Could frame more dreadful of her own."

(P. 239–243.)

The funeral pyre of odorous woods, glimmering behind the altar's blaze, on which Hafed and his comrades had prepared to consecrate their deaths when all hope of resistance should be at an end; and the melancholy and fixed devotion with which the heroic youth gazes upon it, is among the many fine parts of this poem; but there is something that sounds so profanely in the comparison of this devotion with that which inspired the holy martyrs who have suffered for the name of Jesus, that we forbear transcribing it. The summoning of the dauntless few who were prepared for the last dreadful conflict with the overpowering enemy, and the parting pangs of the lovers, are told in terms so grand and pathetic, that, numerous as our extracts have been, we cannot resist the temptation to present another to our readers.

"Scarce had she time to ask her heart
If good or ill these words impart,
When the rous'd youth impatient flew
To the tower-wall, where, high in view,
A ponderous sea-horn hung, and blew
A signal, deep and dread as those
The storm-fiend at his rising blows.—
Full well his Chieftains, sworn and true
Through life and death, that signal knew;
For 'twas th' appointed warning-blast,
Th' alarm, to tell when hope was past,
And the tremendous death-die cast!
And there, upon the mouldering tower,
Has hung this sea-horn many an hour,
Ready to sound o'er land and sea
That dirge-note of the brave and free.
They came-his Chieftains at the call
Came slowly round, and with them all-
Alas, how few!-the worn remains
Of those who late o'er Kerman's plains
Went gaily prancing to the clash
Of Moorish zel and tymbalon,
Catching new hope from every flash
Of their long lances in the sun-
And, as their coursers charg'd the wind,
And the white ox-tails stream'd behind,
Looking, as if the steeds they rode
Were wing'd, and every Chief a God!
How fall'n, how alter'd now! how wan
Each scarr'd and faded visage shone,
As round the burning shrine they came ;-
How deadly was the glare it cast,
As mute they paus'd before the flame
To light their torches as they pass'd!

'Twas silence all-the youth had plann'd
The duties of his soldier-band;

And each determin'd brow declares
His faithful Chieftains well know theirs.

But minutes speed-night gems the skies-
And oh how soon, ye blessed eyes,
That look from heav'n, ye may behold
Sights that will turn your star-fires cold!
Breathless with awe, impatience, hope,
The maiden sees the veteran group
Her litter silently prepare,

And lay it at her trembling feet;-
And now the youth, with gentle care,
Has plac'd her in the shelter'd seat,
And press'd her hand-that lingering press
Of hands, that for the last time sever;
Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness,
When that hold breaks, is dead for ever.
And yet to her this sad caress

Gives hope-so fondly hope can err!
'Twas joy, she thought, joy's mute excess-
Their happy flight's dear harbinger;
'Twas warmth-assurance-tenderness-
'Twas any thing but leaving her.

6 Haste, haste!" she cried, the clouds grow dark, 'But still, ere night, we'll reach the bark;

And, by to-morrow's dawn-oh bliss!

With thee upon the sunbright deep,

Far off, I'll but remember this,

'As some dark vanish'd dream of sleep! "And thou-' but ha!-he answers notGood Heav'n!-and does she go alone? She now has reach'd that dismal spot,

Where, some hours since, his voice's tone
Had come to soothe her fears and ills,
Sweet as the Angel Israfil's,
When every leaf on Eden's tree
Is trembling to his minstrelsy-
Yet, now-oh now, he is not nigh-
Hafed! my Hafed !—if it be

Thy will, thy doom this night to die, 'Let me but stay to die with thee, • And I will bless they lovely name, ''Till the last life-breath leave this frame. Oh! let our lips, our cheeks be laid • But near each other while they fade ; 'Let us but mix our parting breaths, 'And I can die ten thousand deaths!