There’s a beauty, for ever unchangingly bright, Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer-day’s light, Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendour. This _was_ not the beauty—oh, nothing like this, That to young NOURMAHAL gave such magic of bliss! But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays Like the light upon autumn’s soft shadowy days, Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies From the lip to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes; Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams, Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heav’n in his dreams. When pensive, it seem’d as if that very grace, That charm of all others, was born with her face! And when angry,—for ev’n in the tranquillest climes Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometimes— The short, passing anger but seem’d to awaken New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when shaken. If tenderness touch’d her, the dark of her eye At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye, From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings. Then her mirth—oh! ’twas sportive as ever took wing From the heart with a burst, like the wild-bird in spring; Illum’d by a wit that would fascinate sages, Yet playful as Peris just loos’d from their cages.[324] While her laugh, full of life, without any control But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul; And where it most sparkled no glance could discover, In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brighten’d all over,— Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun. Such, such were the peerless enchantments that gave NOURMAHAL the proud Lord of the East for her slave: And though bright was his Haram,—a living parterre Of the flowers[325] of this planet—though treasures were there, For which SOLIMAN’S self might have giv’n all the store That the navy from OPHIR e’er wing’d to his shore, Yet dim before _her_ were the smiles of them all, And the Light of his Haram was young NOURMAHAL! But where is she now, this night of joy, When bliss is every heart’s employ?— When all around her is so bright, So like the visions of a trance, That one might think, who came by chance Into the vale this happy night, He saw that City of Delight[326] In Fairy-land, whose streets and towers Are made of gems and light and flowers!— Where is the lov’d Sultana? where, When mirth brings out the young and fair, Does she, the fairest, hide her brow, In melancholy stillness now?