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Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, Which seeks from all the refuge found in none; No words suffice the secret soul to show, For Truth denies all eloquence to Woe. On Conrad's stricken soul exhaustion prest, And stupor almost lulled it into rest; So feeble now-his mother's softness crept To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept: It was the very weakness of his brain, Which thus confessed without relieving pain. None saw his trickling tears-perchance, if seen, That useless flood of grief had never been: Nor long they flowed-hie dried them to depart, In helpless-hopeless--brokenness of heart: The sun goes forth--but Conrad's day is dim; And the night cometh---ne'er to pass from him. There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, On Grief's vain eye--ihe blindest of the blind ! Which may not-dare not see—but turns aside To blackest shade-nor will endure a guide! His heart was formed for softness- warped to wrong; Betrayed too early, and beguiled too long; Each feeling pure-as falls the dropping dew Within the grot; like that had hardened too; Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials passed, But sunk, and chilled, and petrified at last. Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock; If such his heart, so shattered it the shock. There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, 'Though dark the shade-it sheltered-save till now. The thunder came--that bolt hath blasted both, The granite's firmness, and the lily's growth : The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell Its tale, but shrunk and withered where it fell, And of its cold protector, blacken round But shivered fragments on the barren ground !
'Tis morn-to venture on his lonely hour
"Tis idle all-moons roll on moons away,
PARADISE AND THE PERI.
of life within, like music flowing,
Through the half-open portal glowing
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!
66 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,
5* One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all!
Though sunny the lake of cool CASHMERE,
“ And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall;
And the golden floods, that thitherward stray,
" How the waters of Heaven outshine them all!
“ As the universe spreads its flaming wall;
« One minute of Heaven is worth them all!""
From Eden's fountain, when it lies On the blue flow'r, which-Bramins say~ ·
Blooms no where but in Paradise ! “ Nymph of a fair, but erring line !" Gently he said—“ One hope is thine. “ 'Tis written in the book of Fate,
“ The Peri yet may be forgiven " Who brings to this Eternal Gate " The Gift that is most dear to heaven!
Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin ;“ 'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in !"
Now, upon Syria's land of roses
And whitens with eternal sleet,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet. To one, who look'd from upper air O'er all th’ enchanted regions there, How beauteous must have been the glow, 'The life, the sparkling from below! Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks Of golden melons on their banks, · More golden where the sun-light falls ;Gay lizards glittering on the walls or ruin'd shrines, busy and bright As they were all alive with light,And yet more splendid, numerous flocks Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, With their rich restless wings, that gleam Variously in the crimson beam of the warm west,-as if inlaid With brilliants from the mine, or made Of tearless rainbows, such as span 'Th' unclouded skies of PERISTAN? And then, the mingling sounds that come, Of shepherd's ancient reed, with hum of the wild bees of PALESTINE,
Banqueting through the flowery vales ;And, JOPDAN, those sweet banks of thine,
And woods, so full of nightingales ! But nought can charm the luckless Peri: Her soul is sad-her wings are wearyJoyless she sees the sun look down
On that great Temple, once his own,
Flinging their shadows from on high,
Had rais'd to count bis ages by!
Beneath those Chambers of the Sun ;
With the great name of SOLOMON,
Which, spelld by her illumin'd eyes,
An erring Spirit to the skies !
Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven,
Nor have the golden howers of Even In the rich West begun to wither;When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging,
Slowly, she sees a child at play,
As rosy and as wild as they ;
From his hot steed, and on the brink
Impatient Aling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd
To the fair child, who fearless sat,
Upon a brow more fierce than that,-
Yet tranquil now that man of crime,
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
Encounter morning's glorious rays.
As slow the orb of day-light sets,
From Syria's thousand minarets !
Kniels with his forehead to the south,
From purity's own cherub mouth, And looking, while his hands and eyes Are listed to the glowing skies, Like a stray babe of Paradise, Just lighted on that flowery plain, And seeking for its home again! Oh 'twas a sight—that Heav'n—that Child A scene, which might have well beguild Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh For glories lost and peace gone by! And how felt he, the wretched Man, Reclining there—while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace! “ There was a time,” he said in mild, Heart-humbled tones—" thou blessed child; " When young and haply pure as thou, - I look'd and pray'd like thee-but now He hung his head-each nobler aim
And hope and feeling, which bad slept From boyhood's hour, that instant came
Fresh o'er him and he wept! he wept, Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!
In whose benign, redeeming flow