So horrible-oh! never mayst thou see

What there lies hid from all but hell and me!
But I must hence-off, off-I am not thine,
Nor Heaven's, nor Love's, nor aught that is divine-
Hold me not-ha!-think'st thou the fiends that sever
Hearts, cannot sunder hands?—thus, then-for ever!"

With all that strength which madness lends the
weak,

She flung away his arm; and, with a shriek,-
Whose sound, though he should linger out more years
Than wretch e'er told, can never leave his ears,-
Flew up through that long avenue of light,
Fleetly as some dark ominous bird of night
Across the sun, and soon was out of sight!

LALLA ROOKH could think of nothing all day but the misery of these two young lovers. Her gaiety was gone, and she looked pensively even upon Fadladeen. She felt too, without knowing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure in imagining that Azim must have been just such a youth as Feramorz; just as worthy to enjoy all the blessings, without any of the pangs, of that illusive passion, which too often, like the sunny apples of Istkahar, is all sweetness on one side, and all bitterness on the other.

As they passed along a sequestered river after sunset, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank, whose employment seemed to them so strange, that they stopped their palankeens to observe her. She had lighted a small lamp, filled with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthen dish, adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand to the stream, and was now anxiously watching its progress down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. Lalla Rookh was all

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curiosity;-when one of her attendants, who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges (where this ceremony is so frequent, that often, in the dusk of the evening, the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like the Oton-tala or Sea of Stars), informed the Princess that it was the usual way in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe return. If the lamp sunk immediately, the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream, and continued to burn till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain.

Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than once looked back, to observe how the young Hindoo's lamp proceeded; and, while she saw with pleasure that it was still unextinguished, she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river. The remainder of the journey was passed in silence. She now, for the first time, felt that shade of melancholy which comes over the youthful maiden's heart, as sweet and transient as her own breath upon a mirror; nor was it till she heard the lute of Feramorz, touched lightly at the door of her pavilion, that she waked from the reverie in which she had been wandering. Instantly her eyes were lighted up with pleasure, and, after a few unheard remarks from Fadladeen upon the indecorum of a poet seating himself in presence of a princess, everything was arranged as on the preceding evening, and all listened with eagerness, while the story was thus continued :

WHOSE are the gilded tents that crowd the way,
Where all was waste and silent yesterday?
This City of War which, in a few short hours,
Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers
Of him who, in the twinkling of a star,
Built the high pillar'd halls of Chilminar,

Had conjured up, far as the eye can see,

This world of tents and domes and sun-bright

armoury!

Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a fold

Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold ;-
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun,
Their chains and poitrels glittering in the sun;
And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's shells,
Shaking in every breeze their light-toned bells !

But yester-eve, so motionless around,
So mute was this wild plain, that not a sound
But the far torrent, or the locust-bird

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Hunting among the thickets, could be heard ;-
Yet hark! what discords now, of every kind,
Shouts, laughs, and screams, are revelling in the wind!
The neigh of cavalry :-the tinkling throngs
Of laden camels and their drivers' songs ;-
Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze
Of streamers from ten thousand canopies ;-
War-music, bursting out from time to time
With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime ;—
Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds are mute,
The mellow breathings of some horn or flute,
That far off, broken by the eagle note
Of th' Abyssinian trumpet, swell and float !

Who leads this mighty army?-ask ye "who?"
And mark ye not those banners of dark hue,
The Night and Shadow, over yonder tent?—
It is the Caliph's glorious armament.
Roused in his palace by the dread alarms,
That hourly came, or the false Prophet's arms,
And of his host of infidels, who hurl'd
Defiance fierce at Islam and the world ;-
Though worn with Grecian warfare, and behind
The veils of his bright palace calm reclined,
Yet brook'd he not such blasphemy should stain,
Thus unrevenged, the evening of his reign.

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But, having sworn upon the Holy Grave,
To conquer or to perish, once more gave
His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze,
And with an army, nursed in victories,
Here stands to crush the rebels that o'errun
His blest and beauteous province of the sun.

Ne'er did the march of Mahadi display
Such pomp before ;-not e'en when on his way
To Mecca's temple, when both land and sea
Were spoil'd to feed the pilgrim's luxury;
When round him, 'mid the burning sands, he saw
Fruits of the north in icy freshness thaw,
And cool his thirsty lip, beneath the glow
Of Mecca's sun, with urns of Persian snow:
Nor e'er did armament more grand than that
Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat.
First, in the van, the People of the Rock,
On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock :
Then, chieftans of Damascus, proud to see
The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry;
Men, from the regions near the Volga's mouth,
Mix'd with the rude, black archers of the south;
And Indian lancers, in white turban'd ranks
From the far Sinde, or Attock's sacred banks,
With dusky legions from the Land of Myrrh,
And many a mace-armed Moor and Mid-Sea islandcr.

Nor less in number, though more new and rude
In warfare's school, was the vast multitude
That, fired by zeal, or by oppression wrong'd,
Round the white standard of th' impostor throng'd.
Beside his thousands of believers,-blind,
Burning and headlong as the Samiel wind,——
Many who felt, and more who fear'd to feel
The bloody Islamite's converting steel,

Flock'd to his banner ;-chiefs of th' Uzbek race,
Waving their heron crests with martial grace;

Turkomans, countless as their flocks, led forth From th' aromatic pastures of the north; Wild warriors of the turquoise hills,—and those Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows Of Hindoo Kosh, in stormy freedom bred, Their fort the rock, their camp the torrent's bed. But none, of all who own'd the Chief's command, Rush'd to that battle-field with bolder hand Or sterner hate than Iran's outlaw'd men, Her Worshippers of Fire-all panting then For vengeance on th' accursed Saracen ; Vengeance at last for their dear country spurn'd Her throne usurp'd, and her bright shrines o'erturn'd, From Yezd's eternal Mansion of the Fire, Where aged saints in dreams of heaven expire; From Badku, and those fountains of blue flame That burn into the Caspian, fierce they came, Careless for what or whom the blow was sped, So vengeance triumph'd, and their tyrants bled!

Such was the wild and miscellaneous host, That high in air their motley banners toss'd Around the Prophet-Chief-all eyes still bent Upon that glittering Veil, where'er it went, That beacon through the battle's stormy flood, That rainbow of the field, whose showers were blood!

Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set,
And ris'n again, and found them grappling yet;
While streams of carnage, in his noon-tide blaze,
Smoke up to heaven-hot as that crimson haze,
By which the prostrate caravan is awed,

In the red Desert, when the wind's abroad!
"On, Swords of God!" the Panting Caliph calls,-
"Thrones for the living-heaven for him who
falls!"

On, brave avengers, on," Mokanna cries, "And Eblis blast the recreant slave that flies!"