Hence is it, too, that NOURMAHAL, Amid the luxuries of this hour, Far from the joyous festival, Sits in her own sequester’d bower, With no one near, to soothe or aid, But that inspir’d and wondrous maid, NAMOUNA, the Enchantress;—one, O’er whom his race the golden sun For unremember’d years has run, Yet never saw her blooming brow Younger or fairer than ’tis now. Nay, rather,—as the west wind’s sigh Freshens the flower it passes by,— Time’s wing but seem’d, in stealing o’er, To leave her lovelier than before. Yet on her smiles a sadness hung, And when, as oft, she spoke or sung Of other worlds, there came a light From her dark eyes so strangely bright, That all believ’d nor man nor earth Were conscious of NAMOUNA’S birth! All spells and talismans she knew, From the great Mantra,[331] which around The Air’s sublimer Spirits drew, To the gold gems[332] of AFRIC, bound Upon the wandering Arab’s arm, To keep him from the Siltim’s[333] harm. And she had pledg’d her powerful art,— Pledg’d it with all the zeal and heart Of one who knew, though high her sphere, What ’twas to lose a love so dear,— To find some spell that should recall Her Selim’s[334] smile to NOURMAHAL! ’Twas midnight—through the lattice, wreath’d With woodbine, many a perfume breath’d From plants that wake when others sleep, From timid jasmine buds, that keep Their odour to themselves all day, But, when the sun-light dies away, Let the delicious secret out To every breeze that roams about;— When thus NAMOUNA:—“’Tis the hour “That scatters spells on herb and flower, “And garlands might be gather’d now, “That, twin’d around the sleeper’s brow, “Would make him dream of such delights, “Such miracles and dazzling sights, “As Genii of the Sun behold, “At evening, from their tents of gold “Upon the’ horizon—where they play “Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray, “Their sunny mansions melt away. “Now, too, a chaplet might be wreath’d “Of buds o’er which the moon has breath’d, “Which worn by her, whose love has stray’d, “Might bring some Peri from the skies, “Some sprite, whose very soul is made “Of flow’rets’ breaths and lovers’ sighs, “And who might tell⸺” “For me, for me,” Cried NOURMAHAL impatiently,— “Oh! twine that wreath for me to-night.” Then, rapidly, with foot as light As the young musk-roe’s, out she flew, To cull each shining leaf that grew Beneath the moonlight’s hallowing beams, For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams. Anemones and Seas of Gold,[335] And new-blown lilies of the river, And those sweet flow’rets, that unfold Their buds on CAMADEVA’S quiver;[336] The tube-rose, with her silvery light, That in the Gardens of Malay