Of the wise king, or, great Darius, thine!

Though time may dim your lustre, in my heart Your charms shall be enshrined, while life is mine. Yet sad experience will this truth impart

To loveliest maid on earth,-a fading thing thou art.

V.

The Prophet has not to his faithful given (So prodigal of what he could not give) Such bliss refined in his Arabian heaven,

As that which they enjoy who here arrive. Vain bliss, indeed, that through a night may live! Let but her joys be guiltless, Mirth again Will, when the season sweet returns, revive: Then let to-morrow bring or bliss or pain : All are united now by Pleasure's flowery chain!

VI.

Fair silver pillars grace the spacious halls :
The pavement is mosaic; precious stones
Enrich with intermingling hues the walls;
And emerald vines o'ercanopy the thrones,
Robed in all colours that the Pavone owns.
And music, with its magic influence, makes
The heart responsive to its tender tones:

A master-spirit now the harp awakes,

Till to its inmost core each hearer's bosom shakes!

VII.

And here and there from golden urns arise,
Impregn'd with perfumes, purple clouds, that throw
Like hues just caught from fair Ausonia's skies,
Throughout the palace an Elysian glow,-
Odorous as roses when they newly blow.
And couches, splendid as the gorgeous light
Of the declining sun, or high or low,

As suits capricious luxury, invite

To sweet repose indeed each pleasure-laden wight.

I

pass

VIII.

the dance, the converse soft between, As fly the hours along with rapid pace. Lo! in her chair of state Golconda's Queen Sits goddess-like; majestic is her face, Yet mild, as well becomes her pride of place. Even Fatima in pomp of beauty ne'er Received fair Montague with such a grace As this all-beauteous queen withouten glare Of rank receives her guests-how winning is her air!

IX.

Profusely gay, the exuberance of joy

All feel-all feel their spirits mounting high!

One feast of happiness, that ne'er can cloy,

Life seems to them, though death perchance be nigh.

Why should fair bosoms ever heave a sigh?
Life is with love so closely knit, what kills
Love in young breasts may dim the brightest eye.
Yet tears, that eloquently speak of ills,

Are as medicinal balm when grief the heart o'erfills.

X.

In whirls fantastical the waters dance,

Springing from fountains jasper-paved; the noon
Of night their sparkling freshness doth enhance.
How glorious is the cupola! a moon

Of pearl shines mildly o'er the vast saloon.
Fair queen of night, shall art then imitate
Thy quiet majesty? in sooth as soon
Might the poor pageantries of regal state

On earth, heaven's matchless splendours vainly emulate!

XI.

The banquet is prepared with sumptuous cost:
Flagons of massive gold here flame around;
Amid the piles of wealth distinction 's lost;
And splendours without end the mind astound!
All that can feast the senses here abound
Invention's highly-gifted sons unfold

;

(So fine their art, the like was never found,) Peris most exquisitely wrought in gold,

And other delicate sprites in Eastern fables told!

XII.

As if "instinct with living spirits," sing
Birds of a thousand colours; and their hues,
Brilliant as flowers that o'er the meads in spring
Their gay variety of tints diffuse,

Would e'en the painter's shrewdest ken confuse.
And art, how wonderful! has raised a tree
To rival Nature-(for such toys amuse

Those who despise dear Nature's charms ;) and see As the boughs stir-the birds all join in harmony.

XIII.

Wealth, inexhaustible as Danaë's shower,
That pen can scarcely blazon, thought conceive,
Excels not in itself the meanest flower

That Innocence within her hair might weave
Wandering on Avon's banks, this lovely eve!
Even Nature's humblest things can stir those deep
Affections in us that will ne'er deceive.

Cherish these deep-sown feelings, ye shall reap A harvest of delight, when Pride in dust shall sleep!

XIV.

Not that I scorn this fête unparagon'd:
"Tis like a well-spring amid desert sands,
Or a rich vale where Flora sits enthroned,
Surrounded by bleak hills, and barren lands!

What cynic would destroy love's rosy bands?
The paths of life are thorny; o'er our heads
Those grim magicians, Cares, uplift their wands!

Why marvel, then, that Youth their influence dreads, And basks him in the rays the sun of beauty sheds?

April, 1824.