When memory links the tone that is gone

With the blissful tone that's still in the ear: And hope from a heavenly note flies on

To a note more heavenly still that is near!

The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me,
Can as downy soft and as yielding be

As his own white plume, that high and amid death

Through the field has shown-yet moves with a breath.

And, oh how the eyes of Beauty glisten,

When music has reach'd her inward soul,
Like the silent stars, that wink and listen
While heaven's eternal melodies roll!
So hither I come

From my fairy home,

And if there's a magic in Music's strain,
I swear by the breath

Of that moonlight wreath,

Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again:

THERE'S A BOWER OF ROSES.

THERE'S a bower of roses by BENDEMEER'S stream,*

And the nightingale sings round it all the day long;

In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet

dream, To sit in the roses and hear e bird's song

um

* A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar.

That bower and its music I never forget,
But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year,
I think is the nightingale singing there yet?
Are the roses still bright by the calm BEN-
DEMEER?

No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the

wave,

But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly they shone,

And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that

gave

All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone.

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,

Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER!

PARADISE AND THE PERI.

ONE morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood, disconsolate;
And as she listen'd to the Springs

Of Life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings
Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!

"How happy," exclaim'd this child of air, “Are the holy Spirits who wander there,

Mid flowers that never shall fade, or-fall; Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, And the stars themselves have flowers for me, One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all!

Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashmere,
With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,*

And sweetly the founts of that valley fall; Though bright are the waters of SING-SU-HAY, And the golden floods that thitherward stray,†t Yet-oh! 'tis only the blest can say

How the waters of Heaven outshine them all! Go, wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world, as far As the universe spreads its flaming wall.

FAREWELL.

FAREWELL-farewell to thee, ARABY's daughter!

(Thus warbled a PERI beneath the dark sea;)

"Numerous small islands emerge from the Lake or Cashmere. One is called Char Chenaur, from the plane trees up. on it."-Forster.

"The Altan Kol, or Golden river of Tibet, which runs into the Lakes of Sing-su-hay, has abundance of gold in its sands, which employs the inhabitants all the summer in gathering it." Description of Tibet in Pinkerton.

No pearl ever lay, under OMAN's green water, More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee.

Oh! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, How light was thy heart till love's witchery

came,

Like the wind of the south* o'er a summer lute blowing,

And hush'd all its music and wither'd its frame!

But long upon ARABY's green sunny highlands, Shall maids and their lovers remember the

doom

Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands,

With nought but the sea-start to light up her

tomb.

And still, when the merry date season is burning And calls to the palm-groves the young and

the old,‡

The happiest there, from their pastime returning,

At sunset, will weep when thy story is told.

This wind [the Samoor] so softens the strings of lutes, that they can never be tuned while it lasts."--Stephen's Persia. "One of the greatest curiosities found in the Persian Gulf is a fish which the English call Star-fish. It is circular, and at night very luminous, resembling the full moon surrounded by rays."-Mirza Abu Taleb.

For a description of the merriment of the date-time, of their work, their dances, and their return home from the palmgroves at the end of autumn with the fruits, v. Kempfer, manitat, Exot.

The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses

Her dark-flowing hair, for some festival day, Will think of thy fate, till, neglecting her tresses,

She mournfully turns from the mirror away.

Nor shall IRAN, belov'd of her hero! forget thee,

Tho' tyrants watch over her tears as they start, Close, close by the side of that hero she'll set

thee,

Enbalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart.

Farewell-be it ours to embellish thy pillow With every thing beauteous that grows in the deep;

Each flower of the rock, and each gem of the billow,

Shall sweeten thy bed, and illumine thy sleep.

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber

That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ;* With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreath'd chamber,

We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept.

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling,

And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head

Some naturalists bave imagined that amber is a concretion of the tears of birds.--v. Trevaux, Chambers.