With watchfulness the maid attends His rapid glance, where’er it bends— Why shoot his eyes such awful beams? What plans he now? what thinks or dreams? Alas! why stands he musing here, When every moment teems with fear? “HAFED, my own beloved Lord,” She kneeling cries—“first, last ador’d! “If in that soul thou’st ever felt “Half what thy lips impassioned swore, “Here, on my knees that never knelt “To any but their God before, “I pray thee, as thou lov’st me, fly— “Now, now—ere yet their blades are nigh. “Oh haste—the bark that bore me hither “Can waft us o’er yon darkening sea “East—west—alas, I care not whither, “So thou art safe, and I with thee! “Go where we will, this hand is thine, “Those eyes before me smiling thus, “Through good and ill, through storm and shine, “The world’s a world of love for us! “On some calm, blessed shore we’ll dwell, “Where ’tis no crime to love too well;— “Where thus to worship tenderly “An erring child of light like thee “Will not be sin—or, if it be, “Where we may weep our faults away, “Together kneeling, night and day, “Thou, for _my_ sake, at ALLA’S shrine, “And I—at _any_ God’s, for thine!” Wildly these passionate words she spoke— Then hung her head, and wept for shame; Sobbing, as if her heart-string broke With every deep-heav’d sob that came. While he, young, warm—oh! wonder not If, for a moment, pride and fame, His oath—his cause—that shrine of flame, And IRAN’S self are all forgot For her whom at his feet he sees Kneeling in speechless agonies. No, blame him not, if Hope awhile Dawn’d in his soul, and threw her smile O’er hours to come—o’er days and nights, Wing’d with those precious, pure delights Which she, who bends all beauteous there, Was born to kindle and to share. A tear or two, which, as he bow’d To raise the suppliant, trembling stole, First warn’d him of this dangerous cloud Of softness passing o’er his soul. Starting, he brush’d the drops away, Unworthy o’er that cheek to stray;— Like one who, on the morn of fight, Shakes from his sword the dews of night, That had but dimm’d, not stain’d its light. Yet, though subdued the’ unnerving thrill, Its warmth, its weakness linger’d still So touching in each look and tone, That the fond, fearing, hoping maid Half counted on the flight she pray’d, Half thought the hero’s soul was grown As soft, as yielding as her own, And smil’d and bless’d him, while he said,— “Yes—if there be some happier sphere, “Where fadeless truth like ours is dear,— “If there be any land of rest “For those who love and ne’er forget, “Oh! comfort thee—for safe and blest “We’ll meet in that calm region yet!”